Free A House by the Side of the Road by Jan Gleiter

burg?”
    â€œThere is, actually. I don’t think she left because she’d have to move. I think she wanted a more exciting life. However, if I can get some leverage by making you feel guilty, why not try?”
    â€œCharming,” said Meg. “And lawyers wonder why they have such bad reputations. But no, I’m not looking for paying work. Scratch that. I’m usually looking for paying work, but I brought my job with me—writing vocabulary worksheets for middle-school kids. My next deadline’s a few days off, though, so I’m taking a little time to settle.”
    â€œHow about taking a little time to have dinner? You need to get a sense of the elegant night life this town has to offer.”
    Meg hesitated, feeling unprepared. “I don’t know … I’ve got so much to do.”
    â€œYou have to eat.”
    â€œYeah, but…”
    â€œWe’ll make it quick. The Main Street Cafe has great onion burgers. You can show up in paint-spattered overalls, and nobody will even blink.”
    â€œOkay,” said Meg. “I’ll meet you there. What time?”
    â€œSix-thirty,” said Mike. “Eat lunch early. The portions are large.”
    *   *   *
    Christine rode up on a bicycle at noon and admired the fence.
    â€œIt’s going to take me the rest of my adult life to paint it,” said Meg. “And it’s hopelessly boring. Any chance Jane likes to paint? Pays better than baby-sitting.”
    â€œShe might,” said Christine. “She likes doing almost anything. And she likes you. Anyone who invites her over to play catch rates pretty high with her. And she’s saving money to buy stock, so she’d probably like a job.”
    â€œSaving money to buy stock?”
    â€œMrs. Ehrlich left her a few shares along with her sterling silver, and Janie’s decided to become a force on Wall Street, which I don’t discourage, being as how I’ll need somebody to support me in my old age.”
    â€œStock and sterling silver…” said Meg. “If her house is the one I think it is, just west of you, it doesn’t quite seem the home of a rich lady. Nice, but…”
    â€œWell,” said Christine, her blue eyes softening with memories, “she didn’t care about any of that. She wasn’t a typical ‘rich lady.’ Her husband’s family had money and the things that go along with having money, and most of it ended up with her. Hardly anybody around here realized she was as well-off as she was.”
    They sat in a sunny spot on the porch, leaning against the wall of the house, eating bread and cheese and deviled eggs and drinking apple cider. The brown dog, who had moved off when Christine arrived, walked warily back into the yard and lay down at a distance.
    â€œYou’ve got a visitor,” said Christine.
    â€œI’m afraid so,” Meg replied. “I wanted her to stop being so skittish and made the mistake of trying to accomplish that with some of your cookies. They were wildly successful, and now she seems to think she lives here. She woke me up barking in the night. I hate to drive her off; it wasn’t easy to make friends at all. But I can’t figure out why she doesn’t just go home.”
    Christine chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t think she has one,” she said. “I mean, I don’t think she had one. She seems to think she does now.”
    â€œOh, great,” said Meg. “I thought she lived someplace down the road.”
    â€œNope. She just appeared a few weeks back. I think somebody moved and left her behind, or opened the car door and shoved as they went through.”
    She looked at the dog with distaste. “It’s not hard to figure out why. Don’t get me wrong. I loathe the rent-a-pet mentality. But that dog is not just ugly; she’s bad-tempered. I can’t get near her.”
    â€œI