Free Once Upon a List by Robin Gold Page A

How—How long have you been listening?”
    â€œJust a minute or two.” Clara remained leaning in the doorway. “I’m sorry. Sounds beautiful.”
    â€œWell, come in,” Libby beckoned. Regaining her composure, she gestured to the sheet music before her. “Want to turn pages for me? Like old times?”
    â€œOh gosh, it’s been so long I don’t think I even remember how to read music anymore. But thanks . . .” Clara, a former flute student who was forced to quit playing after suffering continual fainting spells from forgetting to breathe (a minor problem), took a seat on the sofa. “Would it be all right if I interrupt you for a minute though?”
    â€œOf course.” Libby zipped over and joined her on the couch. “What’s up? Would you like me to make you some breakfast? I have fifty boxes of frozen blueberry waffles out in the garage freezer.”
    â€œFifty boxes?” Clara’s eyebrows arched upward.
    â€œI did a jingle for Wanda’s Waffles.”
    â€œAh . . .” Clara chewed her bottom lip, hesitating. “Wow. No, thank you. I wanted to ask you something though. And please feel free to say no. Really. I promise you I’ll understand if you’re opposed to this. I know how you feel about disorder and mess and crumbs and little pieces of string and dust and hair and—”
    â€œI’m going to interrupt you before you add wire hangers to that list.” Libby smirked. “What is it you’re trying to ask, Clara-pie? Name it. Anything.”
    Had Clara been presented with this dream offer as a child, she’d have asked for either a Pegasus or her own hot dog stand. Instead, she reluctantly handed Libby her time capsule list. “See number one .” She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this.
    Springing up to retrieve her reading glasses from the piano, Libby returned to the couch with an expression of curiosity. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here—” She squinted her eyes a bit, reading aloud, “Have a pet dog (who cares if it sheds! BESIDES LIBBY!).”
    Clara grimaced in anticipation of what was to come next.
    Slowly refolding the piece of paper, Libby’s eyes grew large. She crossed her long, willowy arms. “You want me to buy you a dog ?”
    â€œNo, no, no,” Clara said, shaking her head. Her mother had this all wrong. “Of course not. I’ll pay for it myself. You know I’m only staying here temporarily until I find a more long-term—albeit short-term while I’m in town—solution. The thing is, I’d kind of hoped to get started with my list right away. As in, today . Which is why I wanted to know if it might possibly be okay if I were to maybe get a dog while I’m still staying here? With you .” She felt the need to clarify. “The person who views shedding animals as proof of the devil and never allowed us to have a dog in the past.”
    Libby removed her reading glasses. Her lips curled into a smile as she shook her head in what appeared to be amazement.
    Confused, Clara fidgeted with a limp strand of chestnut-colored hair that used to receive a healthy trim every six to eight weeks in order to help maintain its lustrous shine, but had long been neglected. “What? Why are you grinning at me like that? You’re not gonna offer me fifty boxes of waffles again, are you?”
    â€œWell, I can’t say I’m surprised you want to hit the ground running with your list. You’ve always been a bound and determined, feast-or-famine type of person.”
    Clara assumed her mother was referring to the fact that when her interest in a subject was piqued, or she committed herself to something, she tended to dive in headfirst—immersing herself in it, devoting herself wholeheartedly—as she’d done with Boston, opera, and all of her favorite poets. Upon falling madly in love