“Yes,” I say slowly. “I suppose I did say something like that.”
Yara beams. “Well, he’s all yours now. Happy wedding and everything.”
I stand up sharply. “What?”
“Oh, and it looks like he’s already been neutered, so I think he’s had a family before. You made a great choice. I’m not sure what kind of dog he is—he’s definitely some kind of mixed breed—but he’s not totally wild, and I think he’ll be a good—
“I’m afraid you’ve gravely misunderstood the situation. I don’t want a dog. I merely wanted you to wash the animal, and maybe feed it—”
Sam is laughing openly now, and I pivot to face her.
“You think this is funny? What am I supposed to do with a dog?”
“Um, I don’t know”—she shoots me an incredulous look—“give it a loving home?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Yara says, her eyes widening now with panic. “I thought he wasyourdog—I didn’t think he was— I mean he doesn’t obey anyone else, and he seems really attached to you—”
“Don’t worry, Yara,” Sam says gently. “You did great. Warner just wasn’t expecting you to be so generous, and he’s kind of, um, overwhelmed with gratitude right now. Isn’t that right, Warner?” She turns to me. “Yara was so kind to get...Doghere all washed and ready for your wedding day. Wasn’t she?”
“Very kind,” I say, my jaw tensing.
Yara looks nervously in my direction. “Really?”
Briefly, I meet her eyes. “Really.”
She flushes.
“Yara, why don’t you hold on to”—she fights back a smile—“Doguntil the end of the ceremony? Maybe make sure he gets something to eat.”
“Oh, sure.” Yara shoots me one last furtive look before tugging gently on the animal’s leash. The dog whines at that, then barks as she coaxes him, one foot at a time, back toward the house.
I turn my eyes skyward. “This is unforgivable.”
“Why?” I can hear practically hear Sam smile. “I bet Juliette would love to have a dog.”
I look at Sam. “Did you know, I once watched a dog vomit—and then proceed toeatits own vomit.”
“Okay, but—”
“And then vomit. Again.”
Sam crosses her arms. “That was one dog.”
“Another dog once defecated right in front of me while I was patrolling a compound.”
“That’s perfectly norm—”
“After which it promptly ate its own feces.”
Sam crosses her arms. “All right. Well. That’s still better than the awful things I’ve seen humans do.”
I’m prevented from responding by a sudden swell of commotion. People are starting to rush around, pushing past us to scatter wildflowers in the grassy aisle. Sonya and Sara, clad in identical green gowns, take positions adjacent to the wedding arch, their black suitcases gone. In their hands they hold matching violins and bows, the sight of which paralyzes me anew. I feel that familiar painin my chest, something like fear.
It’s beginning.
“You’re right, though,” I say quietly to Sam, wondering, for the hundredth time, what Ella might be doing inside the house. “She’d love to have a dog.”
