succession. Hunter stepped around the dog for a look at her face. Her eyes were red.
“You’re allergic.”
He wrapped one hand around her arm to pull her up.
“No, it’s fine. I’m—.”
As soon as she resisted, the dog advanced so his body partially blocked April’s, and growled. Hunter didn’t know dogs well, but he knew a warning when he heard it. He had to admire the animal’s positioning — protective, and equally poised for offense or defense.
“Dragon! Shame on you. Don’t you growl at Hunter.”
The dog stopped making the sound, but he stayed right where he was and his eyes didn’t waver from Hunter.
“Really, I’m fine.” She sneezed again.
“Right.”
“It’s not Dragon — or any of the dogs. I’m allergic to cats. I guess I didn’t wash my hands well enough. It’ll stop.” She gave her arm a slight tug. He released it and Dragon relaxed. “If I weren’t so allergic, I’d have had a cat years ago.”
Her voice dropped. “Don’t tell the cats, but I’d rather have a dog, anyway. My apartment building didn’t allow dogs. The building manager caught me keeping one for a weekend, so I could show him to a family who couldn’t get to the shelter during regular hours. And it worked! The Flannerys adopted Homer. They sent a picture of Homer bounding through the grass and you could see how happy he was. Uh, what was I saying?”
“The building manager caught you breaking the rules.”
“Oh. Right. After that he watched me like a hawk. One time he insisted on looking in my laundry basket—”
Dirty-minded super probably hoped to see what Sharon had described with such glee. Lacy cups, High cut—
“—As if I’d hide a dog under all those towels.”
He eased his hands open. Towels.
“The machine here was broken, so I said I’d do them. Roger tried to say I wasn’t allowed to do commercial laundry under terms of the lease. I told him it wasn’t commercial since I wasn’t receiving money. He had no argument for that.” Her smile faded. “More recently, I’ve only been able to visit sometimes on my lunch hour.”
“While you lived with Warrington?”
He hadn’t meant to say anything — certainly not to ask a question. And most certainly not one with a rough edge to it. But there it was — a rough-edged question spoken aloud.
Her hands stilled as she tipped her head to look up. “Yes.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
She resumed petting the dog. “A few more minutes. Poor old Dragon here needs a good home. People who love him as much as he loves them. People as loyal to him as he is to them. Is that so much to ask?”
He had no answer. He went to the cage’s wire door and swung it open. Behind him, April sighed, and he heard her getting up.
Beneath the name “Dragon,” a card attached to the door listed feeding requirements and check marks for when he’d been fed, watered, walked. At the bottom was a date.
“What’s December 27 on here for?”
Her hesitation gave him a moment to wonder why on earth he’d asked.
“He’s got until then to be adopted.”
What she didn’t say was that if he weren’t adopted, that would be the end of the animal that so clearly had caught her heart. Did the woman specialize in lost causes?
“Why didn’t you adopt Dragon last week?”
“Rufus’ date was the next day. Dragon has more time to be adopted. And he will be,” she added fiercely. “Someone will see how wonderful he is. Someone will adopt him.”
* * *
On the way back to the car, April checked her cell phone. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Family. I haven’t— I need to call them.”
“You can’t tell them anything about—”
“I know. But I haven’t told them ... I haven’t talked to them in a while. It’s Thanksgiving. I have to call them back.”
“I’m going to listen.”
“I won’t—”
“I’m going to listen.”
She jerked one shoulder. “Fine.” She stabbed a number on her phone.
Apparently it
“You’re allergic.”
He wrapped one hand around her arm to pull her up.
“No, it’s fine. I’m—.”
As soon as she resisted, the dog advanced so his body partially blocked April’s, and growled. Hunter didn’t know dogs well, but he knew a warning when he heard it. He had to admire the animal’s positioning — protective, and equally poised for offense or defense.
“Dragon! Shame on you. Don’t you growl at Hunter.”
The dog stopped making the sound, but he stayed right where he was and his eyes didn’t waver from Hunter.
“Really, I’m fine.” She sneezed again.
“Right.”
“It’s not Dragon — or any of the dogs. I’m allergic to cats. I guess I didn’t wash my hands well enough. It’ll stop.” She gave her arm a slight tug. He released it and Dragon relaxed. “If I weren’t so allergic, I’d have had a cat years ago.”
Her voice dropped. “Don’t tell the cats, but I’d rather have a dog, anyway. My apartment building didn’t allow dogs. The building manager caught me keeping one for a weekend, so I could show him to a family who couldn’t get to the shelter during regular hours. And it worked! The Flannerys adopted Homer. They sent a picture of Homer bounding through the grass and you could see how happy he was. Uh, what was I saying?”
“The building manager caught you breaking the rules.”
“Oh. Right. After that he watched me like a hawk. One time he insisted on looking in my laundry basket—”
Dirty-minded super probably hoped to see what Sharon had described with such glee. Lacy cups, High cut—
“—As if I’d hide a dog under all those towels.”
He eased his hands open. Towels.
“The machine here was broken, so I said I’d do them. Roger tried to say I wasn’t allowed to do commercial laundry under terms of the lease. I told him it wasn’t commercial since I wasn’t receiving money. He had no argument for that.” Her smile faded. “More recently, I’ve only been able to visit sometimes on my lunch hour.”
“While you lived with Warrington?”
He hadn’t meant to say anything — certainly not to ask a question. And most certainly not one with a rough edge to it. But there it was — a rough-edged question spoken aloud.
Her hands stilled as she tipped her head to look up. “Yes.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
She resumed petting the dog. “A few more minutes. Poor old Dragon here needs a good home. People who love him as much as he loves them. People as loyal to him as he is to them. Is that so much to ask?”
He had no answer. He went to the cage’s wire door and swung it open. Behind him, April sighed, and he heard her getting up.
Beneath the name “Dragon,” a card attached to the door listed feeding requirements and check marks for when he’d been fed, watered, walked. At the bottom was a date.
“What’s December 27 on here for?”
Her hesitation gave him a moment to wonder why on earth he’d asked.
“He’s got until then to be adopted.”
What she didn’t say was that if he weren’t adopted, that would be the end of the animal that so clearly had caught her heart. Did the woman specialize in lost causes?
“Why didn’t you adopt Dragon last week?”
“Rufus’ date was the next day. Dragon has more time to be adopted. And he will be,” she added fiercely. “Someone will see how wonderful he is. Someone will adopt him.”
* * *
On the way back to the car, April checked her cell phone. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Family. I haven’t— I need to call them.”
“You can’t tell them anything about—”
“I know. But I haven’t told them ... I haven’t talked to them in a while. It’s Thanksgiving. I have to call them back.”
“I’m going to listen.”
“I won’t—”
“I’m going to listen.”
She jerked one shoulder. “Fine.” She stabbed a number on her phone.
Apparently it
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