“I got Six-Thirty a leash,” she finally announced.
“Why?” Calvin asked.
“It’s the law,” she explained.
“What law?”
She described the new law and he laughed. “Oh—that. Well, that doesn’t apply to us. It’s for people who don’t have a dog like Six-Thirty.”
“No, it’s for everyone. It’s new. I’m pretty sure they mean business.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry. Six-Thirty and I pass the precinct almost every day. The police know us.”
“But that’s about to change,” she insisted. “Probably because there’s been a surge in pet deaths. A lot more dogs and cats are getting hit by cars.” She didn’t know if this was factually true, but it seemed like it certainly could be. “Anyway, yesterday I took Six-Thirty out on a walk and used the leash. He liked it.”
“I can’t run with a leash,” Calvin said, glancing up. “I hate feeling tethered. Besides, he always stays right with me.”
“Something could happen.”
“What could happen?”
“He could run out into the street. He could get hit. Remember the firecracker? It’s not you I’m worried about,” she said. “It’s him.”
Calvin smiled to himself. It was a side of Elizabeth he’d never seen before: a mothering instinct.
“By the way,” he said, “there’s lightning in the forecast. Dr. Mason called—rowing’s been canceled the rest of the week.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, trying not to sound relieved. She’d rowed in the men’s eight four times now, and each time it had left her more exhausted than she cared to admit. “Did he say anything else?” She didn’t want to sound like she was fishing for a compliment, but she was. Dr. Mason seemed like a decent man; he always spoke to her as an equal. Calvin had mentioned he was an obstetrician.
“He mentioned we’re in the lineup for next week,” Calvin said. “And that he’d like us to consider a regatta in the spring.”
“You mean a race?”
“You’ll love it. It’s fun.”
Actually, Calvin was pretty sure she might not love it. Racing was stressful. The fear of losing was bad enough, but there was also that knowledge that the row itself was going to hurt, that once the word “Attention!” was called, the rower would risk heart attack, cracked ribs, lung donation—whatever it took—just to earn that dime-store medal at the end. Coming in second? Please. It wasn’t called first loser for nothing.
“Sounds interesting,” she lied.
“It really is,” he lied back.
* * *
—
“Rowing was canceled, remember?” Calvin said two days later, surprised to sense Elizabeth getting dressed in the dark. He reached for his alarm clock. “It’s four a.m. Come back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep,” she said. “I think I’ll go into work early.”
“No,” he begged. “Stay with me.” He pulled at the covers and motioned her back in.
“I’ll put that potato dish in the oven on low,” she said, slipping on some shoes. “It’ll make a good breakfast for you.”
“Look, if you’re going, I’m going,” he said, yawning. “Just give me a few minutes.”
“No, no,” she said. “You sleep.”
He woke an hour later to find himself alone.
“Elizabeth?” he called.
He padded his way to the kitchen, where a pair of oven mitts sat on the counter. Enjoy the potatoes, she’d written. See you soon xoxoxo E.
* * *
—
“Let’s run to work this morning,” he called to Six-Thirty. He didn’t actually feel like going on a run, but that way they could all ride home together in one car. It wasn’t because he cared about saving gas; it was because he couldn’t stand the thought of Elizabeth driving home alone. There were trees out there. And trains.
She’d hate it if she knew how much he worried and fussed, so he kept it to himself. But how could he not fuss over the person he loved more than anything, more than seemed even possible? Besides, she fussed over him too—making sure he ate, constantly suggesting he run indoors with Jack, buying a leash, of all things.
Out of the corner of his eye he spied some bills and made a mental note to file the latest crop of flimflam correspondence. He’d gotten yet another letter from the woman claiming to be his mother—They told me you’d died, she always wrote. He’d also gotten one from an illiterate who claimed Calvin had stolen all his ideas, and another from a so-called long-lost brother who wanted money. Oddly, no one had ever written pretending to be his father. Maybe because his father was still out there, pretending he’d never had a son.