“U at home?” my friend Cynthia texted me on Saturday. She and her family had left the house at the crack of dawn for her daughter’s graduation. They would be delayed and the dog needed to be let out. “Call when u get there,” she said. “The back door lock is tricky.”
I drove right over, found the key under the welcome mat and let myself in. Kelly bounded over to greet me. “You want to go out?” I asked, punching in Cynthia’s cell phone number as I headed for the back door—which was open. Cynthia was going to flip.
“Open?!” she said. Nothing was disturbed. Somebody apparently forgot to shut the door after letting Kelly in before they left the house. Those kids are gonna get it, I thought.
I let Kelly back in, Cynthia explained the lock and we hung up. Or tried to hang up. Cynthia’s phone was still on, and I could hear her telling the rest of the family what had happened. I wondered who would be in trouble for leaving the door wide open.
Instead one voice after another chimed in to try to solve the mystery. They all talked over one another so I could hardly make out who was who. Then the laughing started, and the jokes, and the wild imaginings that Kelly had simply unlocked the tricky door herself. I thought only heavenly angels could be so joyful. This family of five sounded like one big, overflowing party. One big, happy, loving family party that I felt blessed to crash even if I wasn’t officially invited.
