Dog Crazy (23 page)

He moans. “I don't know what I was thinking! I mean I do—I was thinking about myself, and Laura, and the kids. But I should have been thinking about you, too. I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I was going to give Billy back as soon as I convinced Rosie to change her will. I was going to say I found him.”

“What a hero,” Clive says.

“And what about you?” Anya asks, whipping her head around to look at Clive. “What was your role in all of this?”

“Ignorant innocent!” Clive says cheerfully. Then he glares down at Terrence. “And, now, enraged brother. I've already told Terrence he's going to be on family-breakfast cooking and cleanup duty for the next decade.”

“So what are you doing here?” Anya asks.

Clive looks hurt. “I'm here for you, Anya.” He shrugs. “I'll always be here for you.”

Anya gives him a small, lightning-quick smile and he returns it with one of his own. Terrence's bloodshot gaze flicks back and forth between them and he releases another agonized moan. Anya looks at him and rolls her eyes. She digs through the pockets of her tuxedo coat, finally pulling out a threadbare handkerchief.

“It's Rosie's,” she says, handing it to Terrence. “So I don't know if your conscience will allow you to use it.”

Terrence takes the handkerchief but doesn't seem to know what to do with it. He stares at it, blinking his round eyes. A few tears cling, trembling, to his giant walrus mustache. Anya sighs and grabs the handkerchief and swipes it brutally below each of his eyes and once along his mustache. Terrence holds himself very still throughout as though he is waiting for a blow to fall. Anya stuffs the damp cloth back in her pocket.

“You're an idiot,” she tells him. “You know that, right? Why didn't you just ask me?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“What the hell do I want with that huge house? I don't think I could live there after Rosie is gone anyway. And I'm going to be too busy working at the frame shop and getting my photography business off the ground and taking classes and volunteering with SuperMutt to take care of it. If you'd asked, I would have just given it to you.”

Terrence pales, sinking back on his heels. “Really?”

Anya shrugs. “Rosie would have, too, I'm sure, if you ever asked her. You're always hemming and hawing around her. But you're her grandson. She would have helped you.”

It's the beating hearts,
I think.

Anya gives Billy a couple of soft thwacks along the side of his belly and he immediately drops down and rolls over, wriggling below her scratches. Anya grins. It's as though her brother's betrayal has slipped entirely from her thoughts; all she can really focus on is Billy. “How'd you get so fat?” she asks her dog.

“The kids,” Terrence says sheepishly. He reaches out to pet Billy, but then seems to reconsider and pulls his hand back to his lap. “He sleeps on Mason's bed, and Sophie gives him treats every five minutes. They always wanted a dog. They've been in heaven, I'm ashamed to say. I kept telling them they were feeding him too much, but they love him. That's why I haven't brought the kids around the house lately—I was afraid they'd tell you Billy was with us. I told them—Laura, too—that you asked us to dog-sit for a while.”

“What were you going to do when they finally saw Anya—or any of us?” Henry asks. “Weren't you afraid they'd tell us Billy had been with them the whole time?”

Terrence blinks. “I—I don't know,” he admits, somehow reddening a shade deeper.

“Diabolical mastermind,” Anya mutters. There is a trace of pity in her voice. She fingers Billy's collar. On a turquoise background, a chain of fluorescent-pink hearts catches the light that falls from the windows of the Jacobsens' house. “What's this atrocity?”

“A gift from Sophie. She spent all of her allowance money in the pet store around the corner from us. She'd been saving for a new doll but she said she'd rather get Billy a new collar.”

Anya's lip twitches. “So she's not an asshole like her dad.”

“I guess I've used up all the family asshole stock. There's none left.”

“Even for Clive?” Anya asks, jerking her head toward her brother.

“Clive took his share at birth.”

“Even I,” Clive says, “draw the line at dognapping, dear brother.”

Terrence's shoulders slump again, his eyes shining with shame. Anya stands. Beside her, Billy flips to his feet and shakes out his fur. Anya holds out her hand to Terrence and he takes it, lumbering to his feet.

“I'll talk to Rosie,” Anya says. “Maybe we can sell the house and just keep enough of the money from the sale to cover a nurse's salary and her medical bills. We're rolling stones, Rosie and me. We don't need much.”

Terrence shakes his head. “I—I don't know what to say, Anya. I'll make sure you're always taken care of.”

Anya gives a sharp laugh. “Thanks, but no thanks, Terrence. I'd say your big-brother instincts are questionable at best these days. Anyway, I'm not worried. I'm a business owner now. My pet photography sessions go for a thousand dollars a pop.” She gathers up Billy's leash even though it's clear he would remain plastered to her side with or without a restraint. Anya had been right, of course; it's hard to imagine a dog like Billy ever showing the slightest interest in running away. His black eyes gaze up at her with concentrated focus; I don't think he'll let her out of his sight again; nor her, him.

“Maggie, meet Billy,” Anya says, turning toward me. There's only the slightest hint of “I told you so” underlying her tone.

I bend down to pet his head, feeling his bristly fur beneath my palm. With his keen, shining black eyes and shock of white fur, he really does look an awful lot like Albert Einstein. “Welcome back, Billy. At long last.”

“I think we'll head out now,” Anya says, “unless you think Sybil needs me for something else.”

I shake my head. “I'm sure she'd want you to enjoy your reunion.”

Anya glances at Huan and he immediately steps forward. “I'll go get the car,” he says, but then doesn't move. I have the sense he wants to make sure Anya isn't planning on abandoning him now that Billy has returned.

“You're not my chauffeur, Huan. You don't need to pick me up. Billy and I will come with you.”

Huan grins.

“So we're—we're okay, Anya?” Terrence asks.

She studies him, her eyes narrowing, and taps her pointer finger slowly against her lips. “Sophie and Mason really love dogs, huh?”

Terrence gives a very small nod, as though he worries a verbal answer might land him in a trap.

“Well, they can't have Billy, obviously. They're going to be heartbroken, aren't they?”

Again, Terrence gives a barely perceptible nod.

“And it would probably only add to their heartbreak if they knew their dad was a dog thief, huh? A scum-of-the-earth sociopath determined to prove to their great-grandmother that their aunt is a head case?”

Terrence winces. “Anya—”

“Let me finish,” she says sharply. “SuperMutt, the rescue organization that Maggie and I volunteer with, has a lot of really great dogs in foster care that could use a good, forever home with a couple of loving kids.”

Terrence takes a deep breath, running his hand over his face.
“Ah,” he says. “Okay. Yes. We'll pick out a dog for the kids as soon as possible.”

“By that,” Anya says smoothly, “I assume you mean you'll pick out a dog tomorrow.”

Terrence blinks. He glances at Henry, and Henry nods stonily.

“Yes,” Terrence says quietly. “Of course. We'll adopt a dog tomorrow. The kids will be thrilled.”

“Yeah, well, don't expect any public service awards,” Anya says drily. “Besides, it's not just for the kids. You're clearly under a lot of stress. A dog of your own will be good for you.” She glances toward me. “A very wise lady told me that for some people, maybe even for a nut job like you, Terrence, a dog can have the same effect as Prozac.”

Clive barks out a laugh.

Anya turns to Henry. “Thanks for getting Billy back for me.”

“You were right all along,” Henry says. “Just like Mom. ‘Hope for sun.' ”

Anya's eyes swim. She holds up her left hand, the one without the camera tattoo. “Maybe I'll get it tattooed here.” She draws her finger along the back of her hand. “ ‘Hope for sun.' ”

When Henry stammers, clearly troubled by the idea, Clive chimes in. “I think it makes more sense to tattoo Mom's saying onto Terrence's hand.”

Terrence pales, backing away.

Anya laughs. “Anyway, Henry, thanks. If you weren't moving to Los Angeles any second, I'd offer to make you breakfast. Some of those burned eggs I know you love.”

Henry smiles. “Let's talk tomorrow, okay? There's a lot I need to tell you. But in the meantime, you should know that it was
Maggie who insisted I talk to Terrence. She's the one who deserves your appreciation.”

“Thanks, Maggie,” Anya says. “Really. For everything.”

“Thank
you,
” I say.

She nods, then turns and starts heading down the block. She's a few steps away when she suddenly spins around and runs back to me, Billy bounding along at her side. Before I know it, her thin arms encircle me, squeezing with surprising intensity.

“Let's keep going on those walks, okay?” she says. “I'm going to need to work these extra pounds off Billy. He looks like an overstuffed sausage.” Then she drops her voice to a whisper. “And don't forget what I said about having a dog be your life jacket.”

I nod. She rejoins Huan, and the three of them—Anya, Huan, and Billy—set off down the street again. Henry puts his arm back around me, smiling. I wipe at my eyes, laughing a little.

“I'm going to call a cab,” Terrence says wearily. “I guess I'll be spending the evening perusing the SuperMutt website.”

“Check out Sally,” I say, thinking of the sweet white dog with the lips that curled into a grin and the Flying Nun ears. “Her foster family says she's great with kids.”

He nods, pulling out his phone.

“Are you sure you shouldn't take a bus?” Clive asks him. “Hell of a lot cheaper than a cab.” Terrence's shoulders sink and Clive claps him on the back, laughing. “Oh, fine. I'll drive you home, you sorry sack. My car's around the corner.”

“Do you want to go back to the party?” Henry asks me.

I nod. “Things should be wrapping up soon and I promised Sybil I'd help clean up a bit.” I turn toward the house, not trusting myself to look into Henry's face. “I guess you have a flight to catch.”

“No. I changed my ticket so I fly out first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Henry seems puzzled by my reticence, but I'm not sure how much enthusiasm I can muster at this point. How excited could I really be that he is sticking around another, what? Nine, ten hours?

“Well,” he says slowly. “Long day. I could use a drink.”

I wave over my shoulder. “Open bar. Tickets are only one hundred dollars.”

“A one-hundred-dollar cocktail?” Henry lifts his eyebrows, smiling. “Anything for the dogs, I suppose.”

T
HE MOMENT WE'RE
through the door, Sybil catches my eye and waves, looking frantic.

“That's Sybil, the director of SuperMutt,” I tell Henry. “I better see what's going on. You'll be okay on your own for a bit?”

“Take your time. You can find me at the bar when you have a free moment.”

It seems that a few of the auction items are missing, and we need to locate them before the people who won them start asking for their coats and leaving for the night. I promise Sybil I'll find the missing items and set off to check in with the other volunteers working the event. It isn't long before I learn that one of them moved a box of donated items into a book-lined study tucked away in a corner of the first floor.

As I gather the box into my arms, I find myself replaying the turns of the night in my head—my solitary journey across the city, surviving the crowd of the party, the sweet reunion of Anya and Billy, Anya's parting words to me. I think of Seymour leaving
Grant and Chip's apartment tomorrow, heading out in his tentative, worried way toward a new life. I might never see him again. My throat tightens.

I hurry back out to the party and find Sybil, dumping the box into her arms. “I'm going to bid on Seymour,” I tell her. I can't seem to stop smiling.

Sybil's eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, Maggie! Why didn't you tell me earlier? I just closed the bids. All of the dogs were adopted!”

I race over to Seymour's photograph. Below it, running the length of the sheet of paper, there is a list of names and bids. I scan to the bottom of the list, where Sybil has circled the winning bid.

Henry Ravenhurst.

My thoughts run together in confusion.
Henry?

He's beside me then, nervously clearing his throat.

“I don't understand,” I say. “You want to adopt Seymour?”

He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls a photograph from the lining's pocket. It's one of Anya's photographs, the one of Seymour and me during our first walk together, taken just before Seymour managed to slip out of his collar. I remember feeling fraught with anxiety during that walk, but in the photograph I'm smiling. I look happy. Seymour gazes at me with love in his eyes.

I breathe out, surprised by the beauty of the photograph. It looks like a dog and his person, like two beings who have decided to spend as long a stretch of time together as they are allowed.

“Anya gave me the photo,” Henry tells me. “She thinks the two of you belong together, and I have to say, especially looking at this photo, that I agree. I thought I could keep Seymour until you're
ready for him.” I open my mouth to speak, but Henry presses on. “You know, I understand that falling in love again is difficult—it's nearly impossible not to think of how it will end. Sometimes it feels like there's so much to lose that it's hard to remember how much there is to gain.”