Page 23 of Buttons

“No, no, it’s okay. Some grants need to be renewed annually; others every five years. The renewal process and finding new ones is a large undertaking, whether we’ve done it or not.”

Beatrix studies me for a long moment, her weathered hands drumming on the counter. I wouldn’t be surprised if funding isn’t their only issue. She’s the only person I see here, too. To train me is a task in and of itself, plus to trust me. I may not be Creulla De Vil ready to take off with some puppies, but I might get keys, I might be in charge of making community connections with agencies such as veterinarians, I might have the ability to mess a lot up for the animal shelter.

“Most volunteers don’t last a week once they see what it’s really like here,” she says finally. “The cute factor wears off fast when you’re scrubbing kennels and dealing with sick animals.”

“I’m not looking for cute,” I reply.

Something in my tone must convince her, because she gives a short nod and comes around the counter. She’s shorter than I expected, compact and sturdy in faded jeans and a sweatshirt that reads “SKCAS.”

“Two hours,” she says. “Twice a week to start. We’ll see if you’re still interested after you see the disaster zone of paperwork I’m dealing with.”

“Thank you,” I say. “When can I start?”

“Right now, if you’ve got the time.” She gestures toward a door behind her marked “Office.” “Fair warning, it’s not pretty in there.”

“Mommy,” Leo whispers, tugging at my sleeve. “What about the animals?”

Beatrix’s stern expression softens almost imperceptibly as she glances at my children. “The friendly cats are in the socialization room down that hallway. First door on the right. Rules are posted on the wall. Follow them exactly.”

“Can we, Mommy?” Meredith asks, already pulling me toward the hallway.

I hesitate, looking from the children to Beatrix and back.

“Go ahead,” Beatrix says with a sigh. “Get that out of the way first. I’ll wait.”

I follow the children down the hallway, my mind already categorizing the shelter’s needs.

The office makes our apartment look bare. Every surface disappears under stacks of paper, folders, and donation envelopes. Three mismatched filing cabinets stand against one wall, their drawers partially open with files spilling out. The 1990s desktop computer on the desk has sticky notes framing the monitor and that distinct whirl where I just know it freezes every ten minutes.

After letting the children spend ten minutes in the socialization room—just enough for Leo to cautiously pet a sleeping tabby and for Meredith to declare she wants “the orange one with only one eye”—Beatrix has brought me here tosee what I’m really getting myself into. Meanwhile, the children are safely next to me, playing with a stack of papers and pencils.

“So,” she says, arms crossed, watching my face for signs of regret. “Still interested?”

Veterinary bills here. Adoption applications in that corner. My fingers itch to start.

“Absolutely,” I reply. “But you’ll need to explain your current system before I can improve it.”

Beatrix snorts. “System? What you see is what you get.”

I move toward the filing cabinet marked “Medical,” pulling the top drawer open to inspect its contents. “Do you keep digital copies of the animals’ records?”

“On that,” Beatrix says, nodding toward the computer. “When it works.”

Understandable. Hard to keep digital files when I’m pretty sure I had the exact same computer in middle school.

“And backups?”

She gives me a look that answers the question.

“Okay, first priority is backing up your data,” I say, making mental notes. “Then setting up a proper filing system for both physical and digital records. After that, upgrading your current system.”

The door bangs open. A woman with bright copper hair, cut in a choppy bob, storms in, immediately positioning herself between me and Beatrix. Her paint-splattered jeans and faded T-shirt with “OVERCOME” across the front couldn’t be further from the coordinated outfits I wore as Julian’s wife, but she carries herself with a confidence I envy.

“Beatrix, for God’s sake!” The woman’s voice fills the small office. “Are you terrorizing another volunteer? We’ve talked about this!”

“Sarah—” Beatrix starts.

“No, don’t ‘Sarah’ me.” The woman—Sarah—plants her hands on her hips. “Last month it was that college kid, and before that, the retired teacher. If you keep scaring everyone off, who’s going to help when you finally collapse from doing everything yourself?”