Free Protecting Marie by Kevin Henkes

curious as to how long her mother had been waiting there.
    Had her parents said anything to each other yet? Had they kissed? She must have met him at the door, then gone out to the car to retrieve the bags, Fanny reasoned. She probably knows as little as I do.
    Ellen moved across the room purposefully, the bags clutched tightly in one hand, the bottle of wine propped under her arm. With her free hand she grasped Henry’s sleeve and led him away.
    Fanny watched as Henry and Ellen walkedto the kitchen. She thought that her father had never looked older and that her mother had never looked younger. Usually, they just looked like her parents.
    Fanny followed her parents. And Dinner followed Fanny. The two of them only made it as far as the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. It was nearly always open (unless they had company); now it was closed. The creaky door was still swaying slightly on its rusty hinges, until Fanny stopped it with her shoulder. She slid down against the door, down to the floor, and extended her legs before her, straight as yardsticks. Dinner squeezed between Fanny’s legs, shoving them as far apart as they would go, then turned onto her back, her belly pushed forward and upward, prominent as a roasted turkey.
    â€œOkay, I’ll scratch you,” Fanny whispered. “But only for a minute. And I can’t really look at you or get to know you—yet. Not until I know it’s safe.”
    Dinner stretched and made a long, high,moany sound that ended in a short bark.
    â€œShhh,” Fanny uttered faintly. “Let’s listen.”
    From behind the door, voices lifted and dropped, then became soft whispers—soft, fierce whispers. There were brief silences before they started up again, and during the absence of voices Fanny could hear plates and silverware being placed onto the table, keys being fiddled with, a napkin ring rolling across the counter, tap water running.
    Fanny knew that her mother was collecting details, the pieces of the puzzle that had taken Henry away from them and returned him with a big, friendly dog.
    Intermittently, the voices were clear. Ellen said, “But you’re an adult! Imagine how confusing it must be for a twelve-year-old.” Later, she said, “I don’t care what other people think,” and “Maybe you should see someone.” Most of the time, Henry was mumbling in a low tone that Fanny couldn’t understand at all, except when he’d say, “Damn it,” which he did several times.
    â€œWho cares?” said Fanny. Finally, trying to drown it all out, she singsonged, “La-la-la-la-la-la . . .”
    Dinner’s ears perked. One stood erect and the other shot off to the side, the tip curled over. The insides of her ears were pearly and pink with ridges and knobs that swirled into darkness. They reminded Fanny of seashells. She rested her ear against Dinner’s and listened for the ocean.
    Eating a piping hot Whopper and french fries at Burger King is one thing; eating a Whopper and fries that have grown cold on a winter night and been reheated in an oven at home is entirely another. The tomato slices and soggy lettuce leaves were especially unappetizing, even for a diehard fan. Using real china didn’t help one bit. Fanny was amazed, however, at how much of the food her parents were eating.
    Both of her parents were subdued, and their faces showed traces of postargument stress—tight cheeks, sharp eyes, flushed skin. Fanny hoped that her father would tell her all aboutDinner. But no one said much of anything.
    Dinner was lying on the throw rug in the corner, close to the warmth of the oven. With her front legs crossed directly above her paws and her head held firm and even, there was a strange and humorous air of elegance surrounding her. Because of it, her collar and tags took on the appearance of flashy adornments.
    Fanny hid her head and