Matchmaking for Beginners(112)

“No, I’m coming with you,” he says. His face has gone pale.

We thread our way through the crowds of people all coming to sled and play, calling his name. There’s a German shepherd roaming free, and a golden retriever who’s walking along between some twins like he’s their supervisor. No Bedford. A poodle comes by in a fussy sweater. And two dachshunds in down jackets.

“Bedford! BEDFORD! Here, boy!” I call. It’s snowing harder now, and I can’t see quite as far as I want to.

Sammy looks like he’s about to cry. “This is my fault. I lost him. I lost your dog.”

“It’s fine. We’ll find him. Let’s go down this other street. Maybe he left the park and started for home.”

“Yeah, dogs always know the way home,” he says. “I heard that somewhere.”

I don’t want to say that I’m not so sure that’s true of Bedford. He’s been a freelance dog since long before he belonged to me. He may not really know for sure where his home is, or even that he belongs with me. Maybe he met some nice people at the park and trotted off with them because they had fried chicken or something. I may never see him again, and I won’t know if he left me for a ham sandwich, or if he got taken to the pound.

I get out my cell phone and call Jessica. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask when she answers.

“I’m now lying about, being lazy,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“Well, we’re having a fine old time, but Bedford seems to have gone missing. Would you mind looking outside and seeing if you can spot his lovely countenance? Sammy has a theory that dogs know to go home when they’re lost.”

After a while, she comes back to the phone. “No sign of him. I’ll ask Patrick if he’s seen him and I’ll call you back.”

“Oh, don’t bother Patrick. He doesn’t even like Bedford. I’m sure he hasn’t seen him.”

“Well,” she says. “Okay.”

“I’ll keep looking around here for a while, and then Sammy and I will come back. The wind’s coming up, and it’s getting kind of cold.”

“I can barely hear you, there’s so much noise from the wind,” she says.

“I know. But listen, my battery is about to die, so we’re going to keep searching and then we’ll come back . . .”

“Shall I send Andrew? Are you near the pond?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure exactly. But give me a little while to look before you send him.”

The phone goes dead.

“She hasn’t seen him?” asks Sammy. His shoulders slump, but then he gathers himself up and starts calling again, “BEDFORD! BEDFORD!”

We walk along. My hands and ears are freezing. And even though the snow has stopped falling, it’s even harder to see. By the time it’s four thirty, we’ve walked blocks and blocks, and there’s the feeling of twilight. People packing up to go. I think I have possibly lost a couple of toes by now.

“I think we have to give up, Sammy boy,” I say. “I’m sure he’ll show up at home.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. Dogs are smart creatures.”

“But what if a car hit him or something? What if somebody took him and stole him?”

“Sssh. Let’s think positive. He’s probably just fine somewhere. Probably he’s gone to a bodega and is enjoying a meatball sub in the back. Let’s go home and warm up. Get some hot chocolate. Maybe we’ll go out later and look again, with your dad.”

We walk along the sidewalk. I keep peering down the street, trying to see. And then I see two men coming toward us, and one of them is Andrew—and the other one is Patrick, and my stomach feels like it slides down to my toes.

Patrick. Outside, in a flimsy parka and sweatpants. Running toward me. He’s outside and he’s running to me, and I put my hand over my mouth because this is clearly not good. I freeze in position, but Sammy says, “Dad!” and starts galloping to Andrew’s side, blubbering now, talking about the dog and how he’s sorry. Andrew leans down and scoops him into a hug, but Patrick keeps coming toward me.

“Bedford—” he says, and I start to cry.

“Oh my God. Is he dead?”

“No, but a car hit him. In front of our house. I’ve been trying to call you.” He stops talking, panting so hard he can’t make words right.

“Oh, no! Where is he? Oh my God. Is he going to be okay?”

He bends down, puts his hands on his knees, tries to catch his breath. “No . . . it’s okay . . . going to be okay . . . I took him to the vet . . .”

“The vet? You took him—? Wait. Patrick, take a deep breath. Breathe.” I put my hand on his arm. “Just nod—you saved him, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep, deep breath, and another and then nods. “He’s going to be okay. A broken leg, they said. They fixed it up. I’ve been looking for you. Jessica said you and Sammy were sledding . . .”

“Where is he?”

“The animal hospital four blocks from here. They’re setting it now.” Another deep breath. “So he’ll stay there tonight. Make sure there are no further complications.”

“You saw it happen? Was it awful?”