The Same Sky(28)

“Ugh,” I said to Jake. “I’m just not sure about this. Evian’s headed for trouble.”

“You know,” said Jake, who was lying on the floor next to the crate, rubbing Pete’s ears through the bars, “I think I always wanted a dog more than a kid, in the end. I mean, this is f*cking awesome.”

“I think the crate is supposed to be his space,” I said. “In other words, don’t go poking your hands in.”

“Oh,” he said, looking chagrined.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” I said.

“You’re right,” he said, leafing through our book. “The monks do say not to stick your fingers in the crate.”

“Jake,” I said.

He looked up.

“I …,” I said. “I …”

“You what?”

I swallowed my sadness, my feeling that something was missing. After all, we had so much.

“Please, Alice,” said Jake. He stood, then wrapped me in his arms. I started to cry, for the loss of Mitchell, for the baby no dog could ever replace. I didn’t mean to be selfish, to ask for more than anyone deserved. But I had a hole in me, and worse: a persistent feeling that someone was looking for me, someone who needed me desperately.

“Please,” whispered Jake, holding me so tight I could feel his heart thumping. “Please, honey,” asked my husband, “can’t this be enough?”


My cell phone rang early in the morning, yanking me from sleep. Jake had already gone to work; he’d fed and walked Pete beforehand, and Pete was napping in his crate. I fumbled with the phone, stammering, “Hello?”

“Um, Alice?” said a young voice.

“Evian? This is Evian?” I said.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I narrowed my eyes and checked the clock: 8:03.

“I was wondering …” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” I said, somewhat impatiently.

“I am at school,” she said. “Don’t be mad. I’m here, I just … my mom was kind of wonked out this morning. I wondered if you could maybe … check on her. Just make sure she gets up and goes to work?”

I bit my tongue, not sure how to respond. Clearly, this whole Big Sister situation was going to be more than I had bargained for. “I don’t know what to say,” was all I could manage to say.

“Never mind,” said Evian. “Just forget it. I’ll go home and check on her myself.”

“No …,” I said. There was silence on the line; she waited.

“Did you say something?” said Evian, when I didn’t finish.

“I’ll run by,” I said.

“Oh my God, thank you!” said Evian. “You’re totally awesome. Awesome sauce, as Sam says. I have, um … PE, and I don’t want to miss it. You can just text me and let me know? Thanks so much, Alice!” She cut the line before I could reply.

My awkward stammerings had waked Pete. He yipped and pawed at the crate. I let him outside and sat on the porch swing to consider my next move. Coffee, I decided, then Evian’s trailer park. I’d pretend I was stopping by to say hello, to meet Evian’s mom in person, and then I’d leave. I would text with the news that Evian’s mother was fine and dandy and get on with my day. Pete peed in the yard and then crumpled next to me. He peered up, as if to say, Come on. This heat—it’s too much.

“You’re right,” I said, grabbing the brand-new leather leash Jake had picked out and clipping it onto Pete’s matching collar. I led him to the truck, opened the hatchback, and laughed as he jumped inside the car and made his way to the front, settling himself on the passenger seat. Again, he glanced back at me with his haughty expression.

“Onward,” I said. I could swear the dog nodded.

Cenote was a gorgeous coffee shop in the neighborhood, housed in a historic building. Jake and I had watched the progress of the space from an abandoned home (formerly owned by a long-leaf-pine salesman, hence the refinished floors) to an elegant café with robin’s-egg-blue walls and large glass doors painted with gold. Jake and I didn’t know the owners, but I hoped we’d meet them one of these days. Pete strode alongside me as I approached the counter. I ordered coffee from a swanlike woman wearing a ruby-colored (or maybe actual ruby) stud in her nose.

“Cute dog,” said the woman.

“Thanks,” I said.

“There’s water in a bowl outside,” she said, gesturing to Pete, who was panting.

“Oh!” I said, grabbing my coffee and leading him to drink. I had a lot to learn.

Back in the car, I drove west, turning onto the dead-end street where Evian lived. I sipped my dark brew and parked. There was no sign of life inside the trailer, but what had I expected? A motherly woman mowing the lawn or reading a romance novel on the front porch? There wasn’t a porch, anyway, just two metal chairs and a rusted coffee can filled with gravel and cigarette butts. And the awful dogs, surrounding my car and barking. Pete barked back, becoming hysterical and pawing the door. Jesus H. Christ.

I did know I couldn’t leave Pete in a hot car, so I blasted the AC and got out, trying to ignore the canine mayhem. I rapped on the trailer door and called, “Hello? Mrs. Kenman?” There was no response. I turned to Pete, met his beseeching gaze through the windshield, and called out for Evian’s mother once more. Then I tested the door. It was unlocked. I hesitated for just a moment before stepping across the threshold and saying, “Hello? Is anyone home?”