Then again, I couldn’t imagine either without Amelia.
Mostly I’m happy that Miguel’s excited aboutsomething.Hesets his bowl on the floor for me, and he’s even left a few marshmallows floating in the milk! I wag what’s left of my tail in gratitude and slurp down his leftovers.
“Don’t overdo it,” he warns, squatting to wipe my splatter with a paper towel. Then he pats my back and says the same thing he tells me nearly every day: “I need you, Harold. You’re all I have now.”
Listen, I’m no dolphin. But evenIknow this isn’t the kind of dog person Amelia wanted Miguel tobe.
I wish I could believe Lakeside will keep him going once I’m gone. After all, it wasn’t just his dream; it was theirs. But a bookstore, no matter how splendid, is not a companion.
“Help Miguel find someone to love,” Amelia murmured to me at the end. She was the only one who understood what was happening; I couldn’t comprehend it myself, and everyone says that dogs can sense these things. She was too weak to scratch my ears, so she stroked the top of my head gently. “He won’t want to, but love’s the only thing that can heal a broken heart. You’re such a good dog, Harold, and while I’ve asked the impossible of you, I know you’ll find a way. I love you.”
I look at Miguel, who’s heading for the stairs. But in my mind, I only see Amelia.I love you, too,I think, just as I did on that terrible morning.And I will do everything I possibly can to help your person find another person.
I just hope I figure out how—and soon. Because forget new tricks.
What this old dog’s really worried about is time.
Two
We’re at the store—we’re at the store! No wonder Miguel woke me up. He knows this is my very favorite place other than his and Amelia’s bed, except I’m actually allowed here. I go round and round the aisles and their miles of books. People sit. They stay. Sometimes they even bring their dogs. It smells like adventure.
The front doors are deep green, or so everyone says; I can only really see blue and yellow. And Dane painted a rainbow across the picture window facing the street, right below theLakeside Bookssign. I’ve just barely bounded inside when Riley greets me. “Good morning, Harold! How are we feeling?” she asks.
Her long braids make a curtain around us as she bends to scratch behind my ears. If Miguel and Amelia had ever had a daughter, she’d have been just like Riley, whose nose is always in a novel. She’s a walking card catalog, says Miguel, though I don’t actually know what that means. I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that you can tell Riley “grieving travel writer” and “dog trainer” and she’ll think for a moment,then exclaim, “TheAccidental Tourist!” and fetch you a copy. Customers love her. So do I, and not just because she slips me bites of her donuts, knowing full well they’ll turn me into a stink bomb. Riley’s the best.
I push my head into her hand to show her that although I did feel a tad stiff in the hips after the car ride over, I’m better already.
“Excellent,” she says. “Me, too. I’m going to try to sell a lot of books today.”
Yes, I’d like that. Amelia would be so pleased to know the bookstore’s holding on. It was more important to her than anything aside from me and Miguel and her own books. Amelia wrote romance novels, one after another; I heard Dane tell Riley that she sold a series about a bunch of sexy siblings and used that money to start the store. Her parents called her books “smut,” and even some of our customers think romance is cheesy. But Amelia’s readers adored her stories—and like she used to say, what kind of monster doesn’t love love?
“Harold, come get some water,” says Miguel, trying to guide me to the back of the store. “You’ve got to stay hydrated.” When I push my paws against the tile, trying to resist, he frowns and examines me. “¿Qué te pasa? ¿Te sientes bien?”
I raise my head to indicate that I am feeling perfectly normal. Mildly wonderful, even!
It wasn’t always like this. We had a nice understanding, Miguel and I: We shared a person, and for her alone, we were content to coexist while staying out of each other’s way. Now he’s under the impression that I can’t make it down the block without his assistance when I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care ofhim.
Dane’s at the register. Unlike Riley, who’s been at Lakesideonly a few years, he was one of the first people Amelia hired. He’s got hair like a molting dandelion and a summer-day smile. Miguel may claim I’m his only friend, but Dane’s determined to prove him wrong, especially now that Amelia’s gone. “Hey, chief,” he says to Miguel. “Looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today! You get my message about Kathy?” Kathy owns our building. She’s also Riley’s aunt, which is how Riley ended up working here. “She’s been trying to get in touch with you.”
Miguel sighs. “I’d have to listen to my answering machine to get the message. But I already paid the rent, and the plumbing seems to be working, at least for now. Whatever she needs can wait until after I’m done checking our JMB inventory.”
“I already did that.”
“You trying to take my job?”
“I’m trying to be helpful. Also, you’re welcome.”
“Thank you. Also, you’re fired.”
Dane smirks. “Nice try. You can’t fire me—customers like me too much. Or at least I like them, which is basically the same thing.”
“I assure you it’s not.”
“You want Jeannie back here? Suit yourself.”
Jeannie was always wagging her finger at kids and telling them that Lakeside’s a bookstore, not a library. Amelia rehomed her at a gift shop the next town over. “Books are replaceable,” she explained to Miguel when he protested because finding year-round employees in a tourist town isn’t easy. “Our customers aren’t.”
“The longer you keep talking, the more I’m considering selling Jeannie this business so she can manage you,” Miguel tells Dane, but he’s looking at a couple of teens near the comicbook racks. Then he glances at me and frowns. “I’m aware that you don’t want to do inventory with me, Harold. How about you hang out here?”
