But it’s obvious Leo doesn’t realize that. At least not yet.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Lucky it is.”
When Uncle Jake gets home from work, he drops his briefcase onto the kitchen table, where I’m working on my final essay for U.S. history, a halfhearted defense of Aaron Burr.
“Where is everyone?” he asks just as the puppy comes trotting over, all wrinkles and floppy ears. Uncle Jake peers down at him with an exaggerated look of menace. “Not you. I definitely wasn’t looking for you.”
“Aunt Sofia has to work late,” I tell him, closing my laptop. “And Leo is with Max.”
His eyes go comically big. “What?”
I laugh. “Yeah.”
“He’s here? In Chicago?”
“He came to help with the puppy. Supposedly.”
“Well,” he says, glancing down at the dog. “I guess you’re not totally useless.”
“They went out for coffee a little while ago, and they haven’t come back yet. Which is either a really great sign or a really bad one.”
“Let’s assume great for now,” Uncle Jake says, walking over to the refrigerator and opening the door. The dog trots after him, rising onto his hind legs to peruse the shelves, his nose quivering. “So it’s just the two of us for dinner, then?”
“Three of us.”
He grabs a beer, then closes the door and makes a face at the puppy. “Mongrel,” he says, and the dog wags its tail cheerfully.
“Actually,” I say, “he has a name now.”
“You do know it’s a lot harder to kick them out once you’ve named them, right?”
“It’s Lucky.”
“What’s lucky…?” he asks as he searches for the bottle opener; then he stops and looks over. “Oh, I get it. Cute. Sounds like Teddy’s handiwork.”
“Nope,” I say, deciding not to tell him that the dog itself is Teddy’s handiwork, since Uncle Jake might never forgive him. “Leo picked it.”
“Well, I guess we’re stuck with him, then.”
“You’ll get used to him.”
“Yeah?” he says as he sits down across from me. “How do you figure?”
“You got used to me,” I say with a shrug, and Uncle Jake’s eyes snap up to meet mine. He looks surprised, and I am too. I hadn’t planned to say that. I hadn’t even known I was thinking it.
“Alice,” he says, his face very serious. “You were hardly a stray dog.”
I shake my head. “I know. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay. I just don’t ever want you to think…”
“I wouldn’t ever…”
He holds up a hand. “Stop. Pause.”
“No—” I start to say, but it’s too late.
“I think,” he’s saying as he stands up from the table again, “that we’re about to have a Conversation with a capital C, yes?”
