This would have been a lot better if he’d accidentally tossed the gun instead.
Despite our epic playdate and walk home, Kingston takes the opportunity to lay into a bout of zoomies, doing three laps around the couch before bounding up the stairs. I can hear him running back and forth in the hallway, completely content in Zoomieland. My brave protector.
With no leash to hold onto anymore, I throw my hands in the air. “Your grandma gave me the passcode so I can take care of her dog.”
The man flicks something on the gun, and his finger moves toward the trigger. “Bullshit. Nonna doesn’t have a dog.”
Kingston does another lap upstairs. I’ve seen his zoomie circuit plenty of times. Most likely he’s hopping onto Nonna’s bed, doing three high speed circles, then jumping down with a huff. Above us, his tiny feet continue to run back down the hallway, down the stairs, and he sprints another three laps around me, the guy with the gun, and the couch, before running into the kitchen and barking at me.
“I beg to differ.” I take a few steps forward but stop when the man makes a low rumble sound in his chest. There are a million things weird about this. “If you didn’t think Kingston is Nonna’s dog, why did you take off his leash?”
His mouth hangs open. “Um, I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be here.”
Kingston barks at the dishwasher and bounces, pausing long enough to give me his what-are-you-waiting-for glare.
Before I can grab his bowl for him, the front door opens behind me, and a woman says, “Joey, why are you trying to shoot the dog walker?”
He lowers his gun slightly, his gaze dancing between me and this new woman. She puts her hand on my shoulder and steps between us. Clearly, she also has no fear of death.
Brushing past Joey, she heads into the kitchen. “Sorry, Kingston. Mean old Joey isn’t letting you get any water.” She opens the dishwasher, pulls out the water bowl, and fills it before walking it over to the back door where Kingston normally eats and drinks.
“Nonna had a dog?” He lowers his gun slightly and sits on the edge of the couch, staring off into space. “That doesn’t make any sense. I come here every day at noon and never see a dog.”
“And I pick him up every day at eleven,” I inform him. “Nonna and I drink some tea, I walk Kingston and then return him at one thirty.” I scoot against the wall to go toward the kitchen, leaving as much space as possible between me and Mr. Itchy Trigger Finger.
Once Kingston’s had enough water, he trots into the living room and goes to his basket, where he cautiously and with precision pulls out all of his toys and scatters them around the floor. He hates it when his prized possessions aren’t out for him to survey. He’s in all his glory showing off his hoard to Joey and this mystery woman.
The woman comes out of the kitchen, and I finally get a good look at her. Holy shit! How are we the same species? She’s tall with long blonde hair, her bone structure like she was carved from marble. And the way she’s dressed, I’m dead. Blazer, leggings, and a teal blouse. I should wear more blouses, they’re cute.
The woman turns her head between me and Joey, then back to me. She extends her hand. “Hello, I’m Alana. You must be Jenny. Nonna spoke about you all the time.”
Joey whips his head toward us. “No, she didn’t.” But he lowers his gun completely, placing it next to the leash, and leans against the back of the couch. He might be relaxed, but I’m not.
“Well, not to you,” Alana counters as she shakes my hand and then clasps both her hands around mine. “It’s a shame we had to meet like this.”
“By gunpoint?”
She holds my gaze, and her expression is hard to understand. “I’m sorry to tell you, but Nonna passed away.”
“No, she’s on a trip to Italy.” I shake my head. “She left early this morning.”
“Three hours into her flight, the private jet went off course and exploded over the Atlantic Ocean.”
The words sound so strange. Planes don’t explode. They crash, but they don’t explode. Sometimes my mouth works faster than the social awareness part of my brain. “That’s great!”
Joey jumps to his feet. “The fuck?”
“I mean, it was fast. She didn’t even feel it, right? The likelihood of her surviving the explosion and the impact with the water has to be small.”
Alana raises her eyebrows. “I was thinking the same thing.”
I shrug. “It was fast, painless, and she didn’t see it coming. It’s the third best option besides dying in your sleep. Well, assuming you’re dreaming of nice things and nothing scary. Or getting fucked to death—which you would see coming. Hopefully.”
Joey throws his arms up in the air and starts to pace. “That’s my grandma you’re talking about.”
I point at him. “We had lengthy conversations about how she wanted to die. Seriously, just a week ago we were sitting at the kitchen table, eating cookies and talking about the best ways to die. We both agreed not seeing it coming would be ideal. Fast and painless, like decapitation or something. Or poison, a fast acting one, like you’re here one moment, and the next you're facedown in your soup.”
Joey’s eyes grow wide, completely horrified. I’m not exactly giving him the reaction he expects.
