“How odd,” she says.
But as I lead a giddy Caleb and his new plush pig out to where his foster mom is waiting in the car, I’m actually thinking that maybe it’s not so odd after all.
When I get home there’s a similar white box on the front porch of the brownstone, and I’m not the least bit surprised at this either. I stand on the steps and peek inside to find a purple Northwestern hoodie. That’s it. No note. No signature. No label.
There’s nobody in the kitchen, which isn’t unexpected, since it’s still too early for my aunt and uncle to be home from work. But I was assuming the puppy would come hurling itself at me. As I make my way from room to room, calling out for Leo, waiting to hear the scrape of paws on the hardwood floors, I start to worry.
But then I hear the faint sound of barking from outside. Through the glass doors that lead to the deck, I see Leo with the puppy. And someone else too.
When I get closer I realize it’s Max.
He’s seated at the table with a can of soda, laughing as he tracks the dog—who is in hot pursuit of something, nose to the ground—and my spirits lift at the sight of him sitting there like he isn’t supposed to be in Michigan right at this very moment, like he and Leo didn’t just break up a few weeks ago, like nothing has changed at all.
“Max,” I say as I slide open the door, and he swings his head in my direction, grinning, then hops up and pulls me into a hug.
“Alice,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Man, have I missed you.”
From over Max’s shoulder, I can see Leo watching us with an uncertain smile. I step back and put a hand on each of Max’s shoulders, studying him. He looks a little bit taller than I remember, a little bit scruffier, but he has the same unruly brown hair and uneven dimples, and he’s wearing the same canvas jacket he’s had since his sophomore year.
“You look the same,” I say approvingly, once I’ve had a chance to look him over. “Except for the stubble.”
He laughs and rubs at his jaw. “That’s just laziness.”
“Well, it suits you,” I say with a grin. “What are you doing here?”
“Leo needed some reinforcements to help with this guy,” Max says, bending down to scoop the puppy into his arms.
“Seriously?” I ask, glancing over at Leo, who gives a sheepish shrug.
“I know he looks innocent,” Leo says. “But trust me, he’s all teeth.”
“I grew up with dogs,” Max says, shifting the puppy in his arms, “and I was looking for an excuse to avoid studying for finals, so I figured I might as well come see the little dude myself.”
They’re both looking at each other now, neither quite smiling, but also neither quite able to break away until the puppy cranes his neck up and bites at Max’s ear.
“Ouch,” he says, laughing. “He’s like a piranha.”
“Maybethat’swhat we should call him,” I say, but Leo shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “I’m still working on that.”
“Well, I think I figured out where he came from,” I say, ready to tell them about the library this afternoon, about seeing Teddy and the box with the stuffed pig and the sweatshirt from Northwestern. But then Leo nods.
“Me too,” he says with a look of amusement. “Teddy, right?”
“Right,” I say, surprised that he figured it out too.
“It’s what I said I’d want if I ever won the lottery,” he says, answering my unasked question. “But that was a million years ago. I can’t believe he remembered.”
“Me neither,” I say, though that’s not exactly true. In fact I’m starting to think we might have underestimated Teddy a bit.
Max sets the puppy back on the deck, and we all watch as he balances on the top step, trying to work up the nerve to hop down. “You definitely need a name that captures that adventurer’s spirit,” Max says, and I laugh at this. But when I look over at Leo, his face has gone slack.
“Be right back,” he mumbles, heading for the door.
“I’m just gonna…,” I say, and Max nods distractedly as he crosses the deck to grab the puppy again.
In the kitchen Leo is standing at the sink, his arms braced on either side as he stares out the window that faces the backyard.
