we still saw him a lot, because that’s what Dad wanted. He liked the concept of fatherhood, you know, the job description. He just didn’t want to do the actual work.”
“Was he abusive?”
“No, not physically, never. But he was a bit of a narcissist.” Becky grew more thoughtful, putting the greyhound down and watching the pack streak outside again. “You might have liked him of course; he was charming when he wanted to be, or when he’d had a few drinks. He loved to hold forth on his grand philosophies of life, you know, give romantic advice, for example, which is ironic for someone who couldn’t stay faithful for twenty minutes.”
The doorbell rang, and Becky stood up and nearly got knocked down by the pack as she went to open the door.
John and Peter looked at Nina, who was finding all the noise and activity a little overwhelming.
John smiled. “Like I said, chaos central.”
Becky came back with another woman who was carrying a black-and-white collie mix and a handful of papers. The new dog had his tail tucked and his eyes were grave.
The woman was talking. “His shelter name was Boris, but they gave it to him, so who knows, and he’s negative for heartworm and neutered and about three.” She looked over, “Oh, hey, John.”
“Where did they find him?” John asked. “He’s gorgeous.”
“Someone found him running on the street and brought him in. No chip, of course.”
Becky took the dog from her and plopped him on the kitchen counter, where she could look at him without being swarmed by the other dogs. He stood there patiently, his tail moving very slightly at the end. She looked at his ears, his teeth, his eyes, then moved her hands over his body, feeling for injuries. He waited, and his tail moved a little more when eventually she stopped and cupped his head, tipping it up. “You,” she said—and his tail wagged completely now—“are a good boy, and we shall be friends.” She kissed him on his nose, and he licked her chin politely. She lifted him down and opened the back door. All the younger dogs bashed their way out to run around and get acquainted. The humans watched, jealous of the ease with which they handled it.
Becky sat down and stroked the head of one of the older dogs, who’d laid his heavy chin on her knee and was gazing up at her. “The problem with dad was that he kept disappearing. He’d promise to do this or that, but there was always a last-minute reason not to show up. Eventually we all stopped expecting anything from him; if you bend something too much it breaks, right?” She looked up at Nina, and her kind eyes had grown cool in memory. “My first husband, Peter and Jennifer’s dad, was like that.”
Nina looked at Peter and John, who were listening and drinking their tea. They were clearly so comfortable together.
“How old were you when your dad left?” she asked Peter.
His mom answered. “He and Jenny were three and one. They don’t remember their dad.”
“He’s not around?”
“No.” There was a slight pause, but nothing further.
“Luckily for all concerned,” said John, stretching his arms above his head and then ruffling Peter’s hair as if he were still three years old. “I showed up about twenty minutes after he left and made everything better again.”
“It was a couple of years, but same difference,” said Becky, still petting the dog.
“John’s my dad,” said Peter, shrugging. “There’s never been a better one.”
John made a face at him, but Nina could tell he was touched. “It’s a lot easier to know you want to take care of a kid who’s so cute that old ladies faint in the street,” he said, gruffly. He looked at Nina. “The thing about being a stepfather is you know what you’re getting into. I saw a beautiful woman with two fantastic kids and a totally ridiculous number of animals. I guess Peter’s dad had a different dream in mind, but for me, it was everything I’d ever wanted.” He looked at his wife. “I feel sorry for him every day.” He paused. “Except when something throws up on me, then I feel sorry for myself.”
There was a scratching at the door, and they turned to see the new dog, Boris, standing there. Becky let him in, and the dog docked his smooth head with her hand as if they’d been engineered together. He looked up at her with melted chocolate eyes,