JAKE WAS STILL asleep when I got home with Pete. (I’d quickly changed the pup’s name from Justin Bieber to Pete, after Pete’s Candy Store, the Brooklyn bar where Jake and I had shared our first beers.) Camilla and the girls stood at our doorway with their hands at their mouths, and I set my little guy down and watched him approach my big guy. Pete sniffed the floor. I am embarrassed to say I wondered, in that moment, if he could smell the longing that had permeated our house, perhaps the last traces of the bottle of baby formula that Jake had mixed in the middle of the night, spilling a bit on the floor. I wondered if Pete would want to stay with us on Mildred Street, if anyone ever would stay. But he lifted his head and ran to the couch, springing up and jamming his snout under Jake’s wrist, looking for a scratch.
Jake jerked awake. “What?” he said.
“Surprise!” I cried, and Ella and Bella chimed in, “Surprise!”
“Am I dreaming?” asked Jake.
I shook my head, stupidly bursting into tears. “It’s Pete,” I managed. “He’s ours. Pete, after Pete’s Candy Store.”
“Oh my God,” said Jake, pulling the dog onto his lap and leaning down. Cradling the dog, it must be said, like a child. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Hey, buddy!” Pete barked and licked Jake’s face. “Where did you come from?” asked Jake.
“I adopted him,” I said.
“At the no-kill shelter!” cried Ella (or maybe Bella).
“Congratulations on your new arrival,” said Camilla. “It’s time for us to go have supper now. Ciao, Pete. Say ciao, girls.”
The girls said goodbye and waved, complaining as their mother dragged them away.
Jake was beaming. “He’s so awesome,” he said. “I mean, come on! He’s perfect. Part Bernese mountain dog, right? And part …?”
“Who knows?” I said.
“He’s ours,” said Jake, but it sounded like a question.
“Yes.”
“Oh my God,” said Jake again. “We’ve got to take him for a walk! We’ve got to buy dog food! We need a bowl, and a dog bed, honey! Where’s he going to sleep?”
I shook my head, laughter spilling from my mouth.
Pete jumped to the floor, and Jake picked me up, spun me around. “I love you!” he said. “I love my dog!”
I held on to Jake. He was so warm and so alive. And then we headed (with Pete) to the pet store.
That night, as Jake paged through The Art of Raising a Puppy by the monks of New Skete (recommended by the clerk at Book People as the best guide around) and Pete sniffed out his new crate, I checked my messages. Principal Markson had called, telling me that she’d stopped by the Claiborne Street trailer and Evian’s mom had raved about the wonderful afternoon Evian and I had shared. I thought this was odd, as I’d never even met Evian’s mother—she’d been asleep when I picked Evian up and asleep when I dropped her off at home. Principal Markson said she hoped my afternoon outings with Evian could continue. Did next week at the same time work for me?
“Ugh,” I said to Jake. “I’m just not sure about this. Evian’s headed for trouble.”
“You know,” said Jake, who was lying on the floor next to the crate, rubbing Pete’s ears through the bars, “I think I always wanted a dog more than a kid, in the end. I mean, this is fucking awesome.”
“I think the crate is supposed to be his space,” I said. “In other words, don’t go poking your hands in.”
“Oh,” he said, looking chagrined.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” I said.
“You’re right,” he said, leafing through our book. “The monks do say not to stick your fingers in the crate.”
“Jake,” I said.
He looked up.
“I …,” I said. “I …”
“You what?”
I swallowed my sadness, my feeling that something was missing. After all, we had so much.
“Please, Alice,” said Jake. He stood, then wrapped me in his arms. I started to cry, for the loss of Mitchell, for the baby no dog could ever replace. I didn’t mean to be selfish, to ask for more than anyone deserved. But I had a hole in me, and worse: a persistent feeling that someone was looking for me, someone who needed me desperately.
“Please,” whispered Jake, holding me so tight I could feel his heart thumping. “Please, honey,” asked my husband, “can’t this be enough?”
My cell phone rang early in the morning, yanking me from sleep. Jake had already gone to work; he’d fed and walked Pete beforehand, and Pete was napping in his crate. I fumbled with the phone, stammering, “Hello?”
“Um, Alice?” said a young voice.
“Evian? This is Evian?” I said.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I narrowed my eyes and checked the clock: 8:03.
“I was wondering …” Her voice trailed off.
“What?” I said, somewhat impatiently.
“I am at school,” she said. “Don’t be mad. I’m here, I just … my mom was kind of wonked out this morning. I wondered if you could maybe … check on her. Just make sure she gets up and goes to work?”
I bit my tongue, not sure how to respond. Clearly, this whole Big Sister situation was going to be more than I had bargained for. “I don’t know what to say,” was all I could manage to say.
“Never mind,” said Evian. “Just forget it. I’ll go home and check on her myself.”
“No …,” I said. There was silence on the line; she waited.
“Did you say something?” said Evian, when I didn’t finish.
“I’ll run by,” I said.
“Oh my God, thank you!” said Evian. “You’re totally awesome. Awesome sauce, as Sam says. I have, um … PE, and I don’t want to miss it. You can just text me and let me know? Thanks so much, Alice!” She cut the line before I could reply.
My awkward stammerings had waked Pete. He yipped and pawed at the crate. I let him outside and sat on the porch swing to consider my next move. Coffee, I decided, then Evian’s trailer park. I’d pretend I was stopping by to say hello, to meet Evian’s mom in person, and then I’d leave. I would text with the news that Evian’s mother was fine and dandy and get on with my day. Pete peed in the yard and then crumpled next to me. He peered up, as if to say, Come on. This heat—it’s too much.
“You’re right,” I said, grabbing the brand-new leather leash Jake had picked out and clipping it onto Pete’s matching collar. I led him to the truck, opened the hatchback, and laughed as he jumped inside the car and made his way to the front, settling himself on the passenger seat. Again, he glanced back at me with his haughty expression.