“I think we know what your intruder was after,” Nathan offered, scratching the little dog’s chin. His fingers found a silver bone-shaped tag. “Looks like his name is Brando.”
I looked into the big brown eyes of my furry visitor. His little dog whiskers were quivering, so I reached out to cup his face. He leaned into my touch. I felt a rush of warmth in my chest. I remembered when my children were babies, how easy it was to love them and for them to love me back. They were so vulnerable, with their tiny bodies and fragile hearts, so I let myself be vulnerable, too: crying like a blubbering fool over first steps, lost teeth, wobbly choir solos at tedious school concerts. But then they grew up, and our love soured. Their affection became conditional upon getting things they wanted: a trip to Europe, a new car, a down payment on a condo by the beach. Was it the money that had ruined us? Would we have been better off if I had hidden it from them? Or never made it in the first place?
“There, there,” I soothed, and Brando’s fluffy tail sprang to life, flipping side to side like a conductor’s baton. And suddenly I remembered what it felt like to feel affection with no strings attached.
“There’s a number, shall I call?” Nathan asked as he took out his phone.
“Poor sweet thing,” I said, evading the question. “What kind of irresponsible menace lets their dog run free in the dead of night?”
“Do I need to hide your gun?” Nathan asked as he dialed.
“Maybe,” I said noncommittally.
I knew we had to call the owner-intruder, and that she would come and get her dog. But I didn’t know that this mysterious stranger would give me not a reason to live but rather—at long last—an opportunity to die.
CHAPTER 7
* * *
ASHLEY
“Ashley! What happened? Where’s Brando?” Jordan asked as I burst through the front door. He had changed into pale-blue scrub bottoms and a Green Bay Packers T-shirt that was so old and worn you could almost see through it.
“Oh, Jordan, I messed up bad!” I wailed as I wiped tears and snot from my face with the back of my hand. I had known Jordan almost all my life. He’d seen me in my girls’-night best, my morning-after worst, and everything in between. I was beyond feeling self-conscious in front of him.
“Take a breath and tell me what happened,” he said calmly, like a doctor would. Comforting hysterical people was something that had always come naturally to Jordan—he’d been doing it for frightened patients, nervous interns, and at least one über-sensitive actress for the better part of the last decade. He pulled out a chair and I collapsed into it. Shame and embarrassment pressed down on my chest like a wet blanket. Jordan had told me a hundred times not to let Brando off the leash, how it would only take “one rogue squirrel” to lure him in front of a speeding car. But of course I didn’t listen.
“I only took him off the leash for a minute,” I lied. “Just so he could stretch his legs.”
Jordan crouched down in front of me and put a hand on my knee. His reach was long—I’d seen him palm a basketball many a time—and his fingers stretched high up onto my thigh. Under different circumstances I might have read something into the gesture, but at the moment I was all hysteria and oozing phlegm.
“Shhhhh,” he soothed. I was hiccup crying now, so he squeezed my leg to reassure me. “He’s small—he couldn’t have gotten too far. I’ll get changed and we’ll go look for him, OK?”
I nodded. I was too embarrassed to tell him about the gunshots. Letting Brando run free was already stupid and reckless. I didn’t want my sane, sensible roommate to know not only had I lost my dog, but I’d also chased after him, past a NO TRESPASSING sign, into the yard of someone determined to aggressively enforce it.
As Jordan stood up, my phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket. The caller ID said “Unknown Caller.” I glanced at Jordan as I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Brando’s owner?” a smooth male voice asked.
“Yes! Yes it is! Do you have him?”
Jordan raised an optimistic eyebrow.
“We do indeed. And I think he’s eager to be reunited with you.” My heart exploded with joy. Running home that night, I had prayed for a miracle, promising my guardian angels if they brought my dog back to me, I’d never let him out of my sight again.
“Oh! Thank you so much,” I gushed as I jumped to my feet. “And I’m so sorry to have troubled you.”