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knew when you might start to believe.

I woke up sweating early the next morning, panicked from another dream about my dad. We were together in a dark room. I had been looking and looking for him, and finally found him there, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t ever reach him — to touch him, to hug him. And I couldn’t see his face, either. I was desperate to see his face, and I called to him and called to him:
Just look at me, Dad. Just look at me. Please!
    Aunt Sue was sitting alone at the kitchen table, staring vacantly into a cup of black coffee, when I went downstairs. Beatrice’s mom had told me that Aunt Sue worked the graveyard shift as a stockroom supervisor at Walmart, so I figured she must have just come home. I studied her for a minute before I spoke — waiting for her to notice me and smile or offer coffee or do anything that might indicate some sort of kindness.
    I finally gave up waiting and said good morning, but she still didn’t speak.
    “Is it OK if I have some coffee?” I asked.
    She studied her mug for another second, then got up and refilled it. “Rest is yours,” she said, gesturing at the nearly empty pot.
    I had to wash a dirty mug before pouring myself what was left. Most of the kitchen counters were covered with what I quickly figured out was cheese-making equipment — stainless-steel pots, a mountain of plastic containers, a couple of cheese presses. I looked in the refrigerator for some milk, and it was half full of what appeared to be containers of soft white cheeses. I’d noticed another refrigerator out on the screen porch last night, which I assumed Aunt Sue also used for her cheese-making operation.
    Book stumbled in not long after that, slammed a couple of cabinets, then poured half a box of Walmart cornflakes into a mixing bowl. He followed that with several spoonfuls of sugar and most of a half gallon of milk. He practically ducked his whole face inside the bowl while he ate, and I had the impression that he would have taken a nap in there once he finished, except that Aunt Sue thumped him on the head with her coffee spoon and he had to come up for air.
    “Goats,” she said. She picked up a two-gallon stainless-steel bucket from the floor and shoved it in front of him, knocking the cereal bowl to the side.
    “Why can’t she do it now she’s here?” he said.
    They both looked at me.
    “Nah,” Aunt Sue said. “You show her how this afternoon. I want it done right. Then it’ll be her job.”
    She turned to me again. “You ever milk anything? Cow, goat, anything?”
    I nodded. “With my dad. He went to a lot of farms to take care of their animals. Mostly cows, but goats, too.”
    Aunt Sue yawned. “Book will walk you through it this afternoon. You get the hang of that, then you’ll move on to helping make the cheeses for farmers’ market.”
    “OK,” I said, happy that I would be working with ani mals again.
    “OK?”
She scowled. “Don’t you mean to say ‘Yes, ma’am’?”
    I’d never said “Yes, ma’am” before. No one did in Maine. I apologized to Aunt Sue, though, and said, “Yes, ma’am,” though it sounded strange, as if someone else was speaking.
    Book headed out to the barn. Gnarly yelped in the backyard, and I jumped out of my chair. I knew a kicked dog when I heard one.
    “Don’t be going anywheres,” Aunt Sue said. “Go get yourself whatever kind of cleaned up and ready you need to be. Y’all got school, and they told me to send you early for the paperwork. I already filled out my part. You got to be there to do yours.”
    It took all the restraint I had not to run out and defend Gnarly, but I knew I had to get along with Aunt Sue and Book, because where else did I have to go?
    So I went to take a shower — and wondered if high school would be as bad as things already seemed to be at Aunt Sue’s. I shuddered at the thought, and at the thought of facing it alone. I’d walked or ridden bikes or carpooled with Beatrice to