Louise nodded stoically.
“Let’s watch that movie,” he suggested. “It will take your mind off your worries.”
“Oh, Martin, I don’t think I could enjoy the movie now.”
He nodded. “I guess not. Try not to worry though.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have kept a closer eye on him,” Zona said after Martin had left.
“It’s not your fault,” Louise said. “You’ve done everything you can to keep him in. Now I wish I’d given him something to sedate him,” she said miserably.
“He got out long before you would have,” Zona said.
It didn’t appear to make her mother feel any better. It didn’t make her feel any better, either.
“Text me a picture of Darling and I’ll make posters to put up first thing tomorrow,” she said.
Louise managed a wobbly smile. “What did I ever do to deserve such a good daughter?”
“Other than being the best mother in the world? I don’t know,” Zona said back, and that brought a slightly sturdier smile to her mother’s face.
“I realize that a lost dog isn’t exactly on par with a divorce or lost savings. Or a lost husband,” Louise began.
“But we all love our pets,” Zona said. “He’s a sweet dog and he’s your fur baby.”
“I do hate to think of anything bad happening to him,” said Louise.
“Nothing will,” Zona said, and hoped she was right.
THE NEXT MORNINGwas a Saturday, but instead of prowling garage sales, Zona was hanging lost dog posters with Darling’s black furry face on them.
She’d hung posters far and wide and was duct-taping the last one to a streetlight pole on Louise’s street when Alec James’s truck pulled up next to her. “Your dog’s missing,” he guessed.
This was the last man on the planet she wanted to talk to about their missing dog. Or anything. They were going to ignore Alec James and keep their distance.
“Yes,” she replied curtly, and turned to leave.
“Get in. I’ll help you look for him.”
Yes, grab ahold of that buzzing power line. “I can look for him on my own.”
“You can look better if someone else is driving,” he pointed out. “Come on, get in. Let me help you.” His tone of voice was polite. Civilized. Kind? No, that was going too far.
Go riding around in such tight quarters with this man? Bad idea.
“I won’t bite,” he said. “Come on, get in.”
It was broad daylight. What could he do to her?
Her mother would suggest all kinds of grisly possibilities.
He leaned across the seat and opened the cab door.
Polite woman syndrome won out and she got in.
Politeness kills, cried her nerves.
