Darn it, it’s probably the vet.
And after my squirrel mauling and great escape, who could blame him? Dread seeps from my head to my heart to my gut. I try to pace in the place where feet go but there’s not enough room. So, I do what I’m not supposed to and hop up on the seat and press my face against the glass.
I’m still waiting for Miguel to yell for me to stop licking the window when he pulls into Lakeside’s parking lot.Notthe vet—we’re back at the store! Have Fiona and Amelia Mae returned? Oh, I hope so. This must be why Miguel’s been extra quiet. He’s excited, too, and it’s been so long since he’s felt that way that he doesn’t know what to do aboutit.
But once we park, Miguel grabs my leash and leads me away from the store, toward…the café? Listen, I like Spoon. After all, they allow dogs inside, which is more than I can say for most of the shops around here. I’ve never misbehaved there, though, so it’s weird that he felt the need to instructme.
Then it suddenly clicks, and I bound through the door so fast that Miguel nearly trips on his wayin.
“Easy, dog! Easy!” he says, but being old does have its advantages, because he’s not yanking on my leash hard enough to deter me. Dragging him behind me, I hightail it to the corner where Amelia Mae has already stooped down to hugme.
“Harry!” she cries.
Amelia Mae!I think, sticking my nose into her soft, scented hair. It’s not the same as being embraced by my Amelia. But in this moment, in her warm arms, it’s enough.
Fiona, who’s still seated at the table, clears her throat.
“Sheesh, Mom!” Amelia Mae chides without letting go of me. “Pretend he’s a cat or something!”
“I didn’t say a word, dear heart,” she says. To Miguel, she adds warmly, “Well, hello there. I’m happy to see you.”
“Hello,” he says stiffly.
Miguel, it seems like you’re the one who needs to be reminded to be on his best behavior.But I can’t be too mad at him—not when he’s making an effort to be with the person I’ve selected for him.
“I didn’t realize you were bringing the dog,” she says, casting a glance atme.
“I’m sorry,” he says, frowning. “I just thought…”
Fiona’s gaze shifts from me to Amelia Mae, who’s still kneeling. “Okay, I’m being silly. I know you said he doesn’t like to be alone.”
“I was thinking of your girl,” he says gruffly. “She seems to like him.”
“Harry doesn’t say I talk too much,” Amelia Mae says in a quiet voice. “And I can tell he likes me, too.”
He looks at her with surprise. “Haroldloveswhen people talk to him. And he definitely likes you.” To Fiona, he adds, “I promise, he’s harmless—he’s too old to hurt a fly.”
I’ll have you know that I ate a fly just yesterday,I think, narrowing my eyes.
“How old is he, exactly?” asks Fiona. Her expression looks calm—serene, some might even say. But I can smell lingering anxiety on her skin. It may take some work to persuade herthat I’m nothing like the mangy mutt that charged me and Amelia when we were out walking one winter night. I don’t know what triggered him—dogs and humans aren’t that different, in that our emotions sometimes come rushing out for no apparent reason—but I’ll never forget his enormous, frothing jaw snapping mere inches from my neck, and how Amelia managed to get us both behind a fence before he could hurtus.
“Almost fourteen, we think,” Miguel tells her.
He doesn’t realize that he’s speaking like our Amelia’s still here. I close my eyes for a minute, just to see if I can pretend like sheis.
It doesn’t work. But at least the other Amelia still has her arm aroundme.
“He does seem harmless,” says Fiona, widening her smile to try to prove she’s not afraid. Which tells me she absolutely is. “If you ask my daughter, I’m prone to overreacting. Please, sit,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her.
Miguel slides into the chair. “You said you had a bad experience as a child. Did you get bit?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.
“Don’t expect to get anything out of her,” Amelia Mae tells him as she finally leaves my side to sit down. “I know she seems chatty, but Fiona’s actually a vault with no combination.”
“Now, sweetheart, that’s not true at all,” Fiona chides cheerfully. “Your uncle is very private, and I simply try to respect that.”
Amelia Mae raises her eyebrows at me. “My uncle,” she says in an exaggerated whisper. “Riiight.”
Fiona sighs without breaking her smile. “I did get bit, infact. Neighbor’s dog, the one everyone said was so gentle. I still have a scar,” she says, instinctively touching a spot on her forehead where the skin rises slightly.
