Wow, I can’t remember the last time I lingered in my house after seven. Maybe a few years back when I caught the flu and Mika had to take care of me. She told someone on the phone I had the man flu. I googled the term. It meant I whined like a little bitch from my permanent position on the couch down here.
Oh hey, if I pretend to have the flu and get my man on, maybe my wife will take pity on me and take care of me. She’d make an excellent caregiver. I think she would actually give a shit when I’m down. Look how she adopted the dog, who’s eyeing me from the kitchen, tail wagging from side to side.
The second our eyes lock, he finds something to look at on the wall, but I keep staring and catch him side-eyeing me. I sit and tap the couch. “Come here, boy.”
Unlike a healthy dog, he approaches slowly, as if unsure why I called him. Most dogs I’ve had growing up loved lounging on the couch.
And leaving hair everywhere, but that’s neither here nor there.
I don’t gotta pick up the hair. Poor maid. I bet she hates that Benedetta brought the dog.
I check the clock and glare up the stairs. Do I hear a shower? I tilt my head. The dog stops and tilts his. Why yes, we hear a shower. What the fuck? My wife said “I’ll be a sec.” Sec is short for a second, as in a single fast unit of time.
I blink. It takes me a second to blink. What’s happening upstairs doesn’t take a second. More like half an hour.
I tap my knee for the dog. “Come here.”
He places his head on my lap. I pet him. “We are young and handsome,” I tell him and lean in. “We have the same color eyes. Bro,” I add to sound more hip. Hm, I like bro. “Gonna name you Bro. Not Prince. That’s gonna be my son’s nickname when I have one.”
Startled, I lean back. I want a kid. A boy, I guess. Some people don’t care, but I guess I do. Why do I want a boy?
I want to teach him things, like how to play football or run a large corporation or, well, how to live better than I have so he doesn’t regret not marrying sooner, not making time for his wife and leaving her alone for almost a month. A mistake on my part that I’m going to rectify.
As soon as my wife makes it downstairs.
I check my watch again.Forty-five minutes since the “I’ll be a sec.” This is unreal. I tap the couch, but the dog won’t climb, so I pick up the heavy thing and plop him next to me. Ears down, head lowered and lying gently on my lap, the dog’s trying to make himself small and unobtrusive. My heart fucking bleeds for him. And when my heart bleeds, someone’s gonna bleed alongside it. I dial my driver.
“Welcome back, Mr. Hellway.”
“Hi, Jerry. How’s it going?”
“All smooth. No problems.”
“Good to hear. Listen, do you remember where you picked up the dog from?”
“Which dog, sir?”
“My dog. The gray mastiff.”
“I didn’t, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
A pause. “Sir, I never picked up a dog of any sort. Mastiff or otherwise. I worked at the office with Karen.”
I don’t know what to say, but I’ll come up with something. “My wife has not left the property since she came?”
“She has, sir. Just not with me.”
I lean back on the couch, and the dog jumps off but doesn’t run. He must sense the shift in my mood. I’m seeing red. “Who did she leave with?”
“She has a security team, sir. Run by her cousin, a man named Brando. She keeps him close, and frankly, sir, he’s acting like her enforcer. Most of our regulars have been recalled off the property.”
“Is Gerald aware of this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why hasn’t anybody told me this?”
