“We already have one,” I said, my voice firm, before even Elise could speak. I was as mad as I’d been at the steak house, right before I’d gotten up and walked out. He was putting us all into boxes. I was with my mother and Elise, nothing like the bright and hardworking Susan O’Dell.
“Sorry,” my father said, palms raised. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
I didn’t believe him. I knew what he’d meant. But I’d spoken, and he’d apologized.
Elise gave Susan a sympathetic smile. “Coming back next year?” She picked up her mug and stood, stretching on her tiptoes, and as she arched back, her shirt lifted, and I saw that her jeans were only zipped halfway, and a rubber band stretched between the button and the eye of them. “He has some good qualities, as I’m sure you know.” She walked around the table to where he stood, leaning in against his crossed arms to kiss him on the cheek. “You just have to know when to ignore him.”
By the time she shuffled into the kitchen, I wasn’t mad anymore. I was just impressed with the advice. I looked up at my father and smiled, raising my mug in Elise’s direction. If he wanted to put me in the same box as my sister, well, that was fine with me.
Christmas morning, while I was still asleep, my mother called and left a message. Bowzer had had a bad night. He’d been okay when she went to bed, but at two a.m., she woke to his quiet whimpers. He was having trouble breathing. He’d messed on the bed. He’d always been such a clean, fussy dog; but he either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stand up.
“The vet said he’d come in and meet me at his office. He said he’d be there by nine.” She sounded tired, though she was speaking very quickly. “So I won’t be here if you come over this morning.” She sniffed and exhaled. “I’ll call later, in the afternoon.”
I closed my phone and woke Elise. She swatted me away at first, but as soon as she understood, she opened her eyes and sat up straight.
“I’ll come, too,” she said.
We dressed quickly. While she was in the bathroom, I heard footsteps downstairs and the jingle of keys. I pulled on my boots and ran down the stairs.
“We need to borrow your car,” I said.
My father looked at me over the rim of a mug of coffee. He was wearing nylon running pants and a matching jacket. His car keys were cupped in his free hand. Either the gym was open on Christmas morning, or Susan O’Dell still believed that he had some good qualities, too.
He frowned. “I was just about to go—”
“Bowzer’s dying,” I said. “He’s dying right now. We need to get over there. We need to borrow your car.”
He squinted. He tilted his head. Later, I would consider that he was perhaps truly confused. Bowzer, in a different era, had meant something to him. You didn’t let an animal sit tummy-up on your lap every evening for over a decade and not grow at least a little attached. But he hadn’t seen Bowzer in over a year, and after he moved out of the house and into this neat condominium, he must have assumed that he would never see the dog again. So in a sense, for my father, Bowzer had already been dead for a year.
But if he was confused, he was also worried about me driving. He glanced out the window, at the morning sun shining on a fresh layer of snow in the driveway. He might have been thinking of my accident in Jimmy’s car.
I took a step toward him. “I’m a good driver,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with my driving. This is important, Dad. Please.”
I kept my eyes on his. I could have offered to let Elise drive. He could have suggested it. But both of us thought better.
He handed over the keys.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be in the garage, warming it up.” I moved past him, into the kitchen. “Tell Elise when she comes down?” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he’d heard. The expression on his face stopped me. He looked sad. He was looking at the floor, frowning, his heavy brows pushed low.
“Dad? Do you…” I shifted my weight. It was a bad idea. It wouldn’t work. And yet, Bowzer was the family dog. “Do you want to come, too? It would probably be