Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(70)

Bernadette’s lips move. Nothing comes out except the word alone—I don’t want to be alone.

I feel a pang in my heart.

It’s strange how a long life can be reduced to a darkened hospice room, a stranger scrolling Instagram, and a little white dog.

Though I suppose it’s no more strange than my playing the part of a pet whisperer, which I never in my life wanted to do, and a hundred percent blame my friend Kimmy for.

Kimmy is the one who put on a festival to raise money for her animal shelter, the one who looked at me so beseechingly, holding a colorful scarf and hoop earrings, when the real pet whisperer didn’t show up for the pet whisperer booth.

Just make shit up, she said. It’ll be fun, she said.

I left Carly to handle the booth selling my dog accessories and put on the scarf.

I’d said whatever came into my head that day. A lot of pets had complaints about their food. Most wanted the owners to play with them more. Sometimes, if the companion person seemed sad, the pet would express intense empathy and love. I think, no matter who you are, your pet cares about you.

Sometimes I’d say how much the pet enjoys it when they talk to them or when they sing to them, because doesn’t everyone talk and sing to their pets?

Then Bernadette came by, steely and outraged, smashing the pavement with her cane alongside a tiny, energetic toy dog.

She threw down two five-dollar bills and demanded to know what Smuckers wanted to tell her. I honestly couldn’t tell whether she wanted to debunk me or if she really wanted to know.

So I took the little dog in my lap and rubbed his fuzzy little ears and started talking. I’d found, over the course of my afternoon as a pet whisperer, that the more flattering you are, the more the people buy it.

Smuckers loves you so much, I’d told her. He knows you think you’re too slow for him, but he doesn’t care. He loves you. And he mostly loves to hear you sing. Maybe you can’t run around with him, but he wants you to know that your singing is amazing to him. He thinks you’re beautiful when you sing.

When I looked up, her eyes were shining. She really believed me. I hadn’t felt like a scammer until then. She asked for my card, but I told her it was just for fun.

She didn’t believe I didn’t have a card. Like I was evilly keeping my card from her.

I told her that if she just watched Smuckers closely enough, she could do it, too.

She bit back something about not all of us being pet whisperers and then proceeded to try and get my contact information from other people there, who refused to give it, and who she then insulted.

She finally left, and I thought I was home free, but New York has a way of pulling random people into each other’s lives. And you can be sure that the exact person you don’t want to run into in the city of millions will show up as a regular where you work or shop, or in Bernadette’s case, as a frequent sitter on the bench Carly and I had to pass on the way to her school.

I look up from Instagram to see Smuckers at the edge of the bed, like he wants to jump down. I go over and give him a vigorous ear rub and he circles and settles.

The last time I was here visiting, a priest came in, offering to say a few words, and Bernadette called him a sewer rat in the process of banishing him from the room. Sewer rat is one of her favorite insults for neighbors, mail carriers, clerks, and the revolving roster of maids she has in.

But never for Smuckers. I stay at the bedside, feeling so bad for her.

“Smuckers wants you not to be scared,” I say. “Smuckers says you’re not alone, and you won’t be.”

Her dry lips move. If I could give her anything it would be some way for her not to be scared, but it’s pretty unavoidable in her situation. I don’t care what religion you are, the unknown is always scary, and death is the ultimate unknown quantity.

A nurse comes in just then, entering stealthily. She spots Smuckers before I can flick the sheet over him like I usually manage to do. “You can’t have a dog in here!”

I shamble on a surprised face. “The other nurses didn’t say anything about the dog…” Since they didn’t see the dog.

“You need to remove the animal.”

“Get out,” Bernadette says hoarsely.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse says. “Animals not allowed.”

I go over. “Please,” I say under my breath. “The dog’s all she has. You need to give her a break.”

“Hospital regulations.”

I look back over at Bernadette, who is doing a nervous clutching thing on Smuckers’s fur, something Smuckers won’t tolerate too long. I go back over and put a protective hand on Bernadette’s to get her to stop it.

“A few more minutes,” I say. “If he was a service animal you’d let him in here. Can’t you just pretend he’s a service animal? I mean, he pretty much is one.”

“You’ll have to remove the animal.”

“A few more minutes,” I say.

“I’m getting security.” She spins and leaves. Security.

I turn to Bernadette. “The animal,” I say. “Please.”

She’s only paying attention to Smuckers, though. Her breathing is erratic. She’s upset.

Security will throw us out, and I probably won’t get Smuckers in here again. Which means this is the last time Bernadette sees Smuckers, and maybe she knows it.