Slice and Dice by Ellen Hart

to,” she said, smiling broadly.
     
    “Great.” He took out his wallet.
     
    She quickly laid her hand over his. “The meal’s on me. Put your money away.”
     
    He grinned. “Just like old times, huh? We could always eat here for free.” He turned his hand over and held hers for a moment. “God, I wish the rest of the world would just go away and leave us alone for a day, a month, the rest of our lives.”
     
    She gazed at him sadly. “Not possible.”
     
    “No, I guess not. But at least I’ve got you for the afternoon. That’s a start.”
     
    It wasn’t exactly the sentiment she wanted to hear, but she allowed him to hold her hand as she eased out of her chair. It felt so strange to be near him again, walking out the door with his hand pressed to her back. At the same time, she noticed a lightness inside her body she hadn’t felt in years.
     

6
    Bram returned from his golf game a little before two. After checking Sophie’s office to see if she was around and finding it empty, he decided to take Ethel, their much-adored mutt, for a short walk down by the river.
     
    Ethel’s transition from living in a house in south Minneapolis to becoming a hotel dog had been rocky. Bram and Sophie had tried hard to ease her into her new digs, but Ethel was an old girl, set in her ways, and not terribly interested in new people, new surroundings, or even new tennis balls. The fact was, Ethel had never been a ball of fire. She walked slowly, ate slowly, slept soundly, and dragged through every day in third gear. She’d spent most of the winter moping around the apartment on the sixteenth floor, primarily because it didn’t have an attached porch where she could sit and watch the garbage trucks lumber down the alley. Elevators were a brief curiosity, but she lost interest in diem after a couple of weeks.
     
    Down by the Mississippi, Ethel had rediscovered bug watching, a favorite activity now denied her because she had no patio to guard.
Activity
wasn’t usually a word Bram associated with Ethel. Bug watching was about as athletic as she ever got. Knowing they had to do something to get her out of her funk, Sophie had finally come up with a plan.
     
    One afternoon she went over to Manderbach’s department store and bought a large, overstuffed pillow. That night she placed it next to their bed and encouraged Ethel to sleep on it. Ethel loved anything soft, so it wasn’t a tough sell. She snoozed on top of it for several weeks before Sophie finally moved it to the hotel lobby. When Ethel saw the pillow in its new location, she immediately dragged her old bones over to it and slumped down. If she could have jumped for joy, she would have. Instead, she just morosely raised her eyes. Both Bram and Sophie recognized it as a good sign.
     
    Now she reclined in comfort for most of the day, glowering at the guests. They might not be as entertaining as bugs or garbage trucks, but hotel dogs had to make certain sacrifices. The bellmen took her out regularly for her daily ablutions, while the rest of the staff fawned over her with comments like “The poor thing. She needs some cheering up.” They all thought she was such a pathetic little pooch. Ethel was good at
pathetic
— she’d been working the image for years.
     
    “Well, old girl,” said Bram, giving her leash a gentle tug, “I think we better head back to the hotel. Your pillow’s probably getting cold. And I’ve got some research I need to do for one of next week’s shows.”
     
    Ethel smacked her jaws a couple of times, then looked up, giving him her most pitiful stare.
     
    Back at the hotel, Bram stood for a few moments at the reception desk, checking the day’s mail. It was mostly bills, with one postcard from Rudy and John “somewhere in the Black Forest.” Bram had grown close to Rudy and John during the past winter. They’d made a number of plans to get together for dinner, movies, theatre, and musical events, only to have Sophie back out at