Auntie's secret mission

My car sits silently in the cul-de-sac. 7:32. I should be done already, but she’s running late today. If she doesn’t leave soon, she’ll be late for work. Just as I start to feel antsy the garage door opens. I instinctively lean back in my seat despite being concealed by tinted windows. Furthermore, in her hurried state, she’s not likely to see me from four houses away and across the street.

She pulls out of the driveway entirely too fast and zooms out of the neighborhood, barely pausing at the stop sign. I remain still. As anxious as I am to carry out my task, I have to be sure she doesn’t come back. Her lunch, her phone, documents for work: any number of things could be left behind causing her to come rushing back.

After five minutes I pull into her driveway. I move without hesitation through the wooden gate into the backyard and lock it behind me, a braided rope swinging over my shoulder.

“Daisy!” I call toward the backdoor. Pointed ears and ice-blue eyes pop out of the doggie door. Instantly I’m tackled and covered in kisses. “There’s Auntie’s favorite little girl. Let’s go to the park.”