Unbreak My Heart(20)

“We should name her Sandy,” Ian said as I drove us home from the shelter while he petted the little border collie-Lab puppy sitting in his lap.

I shook my head. “Sandy is a guy. This dog is a girl.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

I rolled my eyes. “You want to name your girl dog after a guy?”

He stared at me as I drove. “Did I not teach you better than this?”

“What? What lesson did I fail to learn now?” I asked, as if I were frustrated, but I wasn’t. I liked that we were acting normal. That the cancer might be destroying cells, but it wasn’t killing his funny bone, it wasn’t damaging his sense of self.

He pointed a finger at me. “You’re not a sexist pig.”

I laughed. “I’m definitely not a sexist pig. You know that.”

Ian narrowed his mostly-missing eyebrows at me and hugged the dog tightly. “Sandy is not a sexist pig. She doesn’t mind being named after a man.”

I cracked up as I drove. “So you naming a chick dog after a guy athlete means you’re not sexist? I feel like that might be the definition of sexist.”

“Watch it, or we’ll start calling you Andrea.”

“You and the dog are a we now?”

He’d nodded, grinning wickedly. “Yes. I’ve decided this is my one chance to be totally off my rocker and do whatever weird shit I want. Including calling the dog and me a we.”

“Memo to Ian—you’ve been weird your whole life. It didn’t start when your cells metastasized.”

He liked it when I didn’t shirk away from the reality—he didn’t want me to whisper the name of his disease or call it the C word. “It is what it is, and I’m going to kick cancer’s motherfucking ass.”

Back then, I’d slowed at a light and reached out to stroke the dog’s chin. “I like this non-sexist woman-power canine.”

Sandy was a fitting name for the dog. Sandy Koufax wasn’t just the greatest pitcher ever. He was resilient. He played through pain, pitching with a damaged elbow, throwing heat with injured fingers. The name would be a fitting tribute, not just to a baseball legend, but to my brother.

In the back of my mind, I knew the dog would outlive Ian. But I wanted to believe that my brother—who was kick-ass at everything he did—would drop-kick cancer’s ass too.

Now Sandy is all mine. She always was mine, truth be told—even though we called her Ian’s dog, she made her allegiance clear. The first night home she slept in my bed.

I’m going to miss this dog like crazy.

With Sandy waiting in the front seat of the car, I knock on Mrs. Callahan’s door.

She opens it in seconds, and a smile launches across her weathered face. “Hello, Andrew. What can I do for you?”

“I’m going away for a little while. A few weeks, I think. Can you—?”

“Consider it done. The lawn will be a gleaming shade of emerald when you return, and the flowers will be blooming.”

I nod and thank her, then I drive Sandy to Jeremy’s tiny bungalow. He’s watching his parents’ two Chihuahua–Min Pin mixes, and Sandy races to the yard and starts rounding up the diminutive dogs.

“You’re the only one I trust to take care of my dog,” I remind Jeremy.

“That dog is in good hands.”

“That dog catches Frisbees on the beach. Those are hard to come by.”

Jeremy points to the tiny beasts in his yard. “Those dogs are not chick magnets. I take those dogs to the beach, and the girls want to take me shopping and ask which shoes to buy.”

“My dog is a lady magnet,” I say, and pat Jeremy on the back. “You will score endlessly with her by your side.”

“I’m taking her to the pier every day.”

“Take good care of her.”

“I will. But I’m not sending you photos of her.”

“But text me, okay? Let me know how Sandy is doing?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re embarrassing. You’re like a girl when it comes to this dog.”

“Don’t be a sexist pig,” I say.

“Get out of here, asshole.”

I call Sandy over, rub her head, pet her ears, and tell her to be good. She tilts her head as if she’s listening. Her tongue hangs out of her mouth. I tell her I love her in a voice so low Jeremy can’t hear me say it.

Next, I go to Kate’s home to say goodbye to my cousin.

She parks her hands on my shoulders and looks up, her eyes fierce. “Don’t crash any cars or punch any walls in Tokyo. It’ll be harder for me to come rescue you.”

“I’ll do my best to exercise self-restraint.”

I take off for the law firm. I tell Don Jansen, the managing partner, he can reach me on my cell if he needs anything. That might be one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever said to anyone.

“I’ll do my best not to call,” he says with a smile.

He won’t call. He’s never called me. Even when I interned here. Don’s been running this place since Ian cut back his hours, then when he quit earlier this year. I might own the joint, but I’m not needed day in and day out. Don is.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Looking forward to seeing you here when you’re back.”