The dog stopped, its silky ears like flags at half mast. It turned, belly low to the ground, tail wagging as it approached the boys.
“You can pet her if you want,” the younger boy said. “We call her Babe, on account of she was the smallest one in the litter. She’s the only one left.”
“Babe like Babe Didrikson,” said Charlie, her voice low with portent.
“My God, do something,” Lily said to Sean. “It could be dangerous.”
“Nice dog, nice Babe,” said Charlie, her voice as soft and sweet as a song. The dog rolled over, chest and paws in the air and submitted to her. “Look,” she said as it licked her hand, “we’re best friends already.”
Lily shook her head. “No way,” she said. “We can’t keep a dog. We’ll take it to the next town and drop it off at the local animal shelter. That way she’ll go to a family that needs her and can care for her.”
The four of them stared at Lily. So did the two brothers.
“No dog,” she reiterated. “You have no idea what you’re taking on when you get a dog. Especially a strange one. It’s probably got worms.”
“She’s been wormed,” the older brother said.
Lily crossed her arms. “A dog will break your heart, you know that, right? A dog never outlives its owner.”
“Aw, Lily,” Charlie said, scratching its feathery chest.
“No dog,” Lily said, “and that’s final.”
“Hold still, Babe.” Lily glared at the newest member of the family. She’d joined them two days and five hundred miles ago. Lily’s plan to drop the dog off at a shelter in Elko, Nevada, had been shot down by four adamant protests.
“You don’t just ditch an animal because it’s inconvenient,” Sean had said.
“Yeah,” agreed Charlie.
Even Cameron spoke up. “Yeah.”
Lily had looked at Ashley. “Your turn,” she said.
“Yeah,” the baby said.
And now, of course, the adored mongrel had become Lily’s project. Sean had gone to the campground showers and Cameron had taken the girls to the playground, leaving her with the dog. Babe was filthy, and the only way to get her clean was in the shower. The campground bathrooms were clearly marked No Pets Allowed, so Lily had no choice. The two of them were crammed into the tiny closetlike space, wrestling for a good twenty-five minutes with the shower sprayer before the water ran clear. Then they both emerged wet and bedraggled and ill-tempered. Babe had sprayed the entire inside of the RV, rushing up and down the aisle, shaking and sneezing.
“Hold still,” Lily said again, advancing with the towel. It was a designer towel from Nordstrom’s, the kind usually reserved for company. Crystal would hate the idea of her good towels being used on a dog. Lily filled the fluffy white Egyptian cotton with wet dog and started rubbing vigorously. This immediately stopped her from racing around, because Babe’s favorite thing in the world was being rubbed. They had found that out about her instantly. The vet they’d taken her to in Tooele, Utah, had laughed and patted her belly while giving her a checkup and shots.
“She’s less than a year old,” he said, confirming what the boys had told them, “and in fine health.”
Lily scrubbed away with the towel, determined to have Babe clean and dry by the time they rolled into the next stop on their itinerary, a golf match in Park City. The dog collapsed in ecstasy, purring like a cat and moaning every now and then.
Sean came inside, looking infuriatingly fresh and relaxed from a shower at the campground. “Whoa,” he said, “smells like wet dog in here.”
Lily glared at him. “I wonder why.”
He bent down and scratched Babe under the chin. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing,” he said.
“She is now,” Lily agreed. “All it took was a spa treatment.”
“I think you have a new best friend.”
Lily sat back on her heels. “I still say it’s a mistake to keep her.”
“The kids are nuts about her and vice versa. How can that be a bad thing?”
“Being nuts about one another is no reason to stay together.” She found her fallen glasses and put them on. The lenses fogged, but she stubbornly left them in place.
He laughed. “Your logic slays me, Lily. It really does.”
“I’m just thinking of the kids,” she said. “They’ve already lost so much. If something happens to the dog—”
“Here’s what will happen to the dog,” he said with exaggerated patience. “She’ll be our pet for however long she’s meant to be our pet. Nobody knows