I sat up straight, stared down at him. “You’re serious?” I’d wanted a dog for years. We’d had one when I was little, a spaniel named Hurricane because he destroyed everything, but after he died my parents didn’t want another. I borrowed all the neighbors’ dogs and played with them. Andrew and I had talked a few times about getting a dog, but he wanted to wait until Sophie was older and we’d settled in one house and didn’t have to worry about damage.
“I just want you to be happy, Lindsey.” He stroked the side of my face, so much tenderness in his eyes I wanted to cry. “We’ll pick one out tomorrow.”
His name was Blaze, a roly-poly ball of black fluff with floppy ears and a white star on his forehead. We visited him a few times over the next couple of weeks—he wasn’t old enough to take home yet. Sophie and I usually went together, but sometimes Andrew would meet me while Sophie was at preschool and we’d have lunch in the barn with the puppies. I laughed, watching him throw small sticks for Blaze, talking about all the things they were going to do together. “We’ll go camping, buddy. You’ll like that. I bet you’re a good fishing partner.”
In the evenings, I read puppy books, researched the best food and training methods for border collies. Andrew bought the puppy a leather collar and leash, got him an engraved silver name tag. I was thrilled that Andrew had kept his word—I hadn’t seen him drink once.
The day we were supposed to pick up Blaze, Andrew didn’t come home at five like he promised. I called his cell. No answer. We waited until six. Then seven. Sophie was getting more upset, more impatient. “Why can’t we get the puppy, Mommy? Where is Daddy?”
Finally I loaded her in the car and we went and got Blaze by ourselves. When we came home, Andrew’s truck was in the driveway. Sophie, holding Blaze tightly in her arms, ran inside. “Daddy! Daddy!” I followed her into the house, started putting the dog food and treats into the cupboard. I was so angry at Andrew, I didn’t think I could talk to him without revealing my fury.
Sophie came into the kitchen. “He’s sleeping.” She sounded so confused, so disappointed. This was my fault. I should have known he’d do this. I’d been talking about the puppy too much. Not giving him enough attention. Why didn’t I see it building?
“That’s okay, honey. He’s probably having a nap. Why don’t you show Blaze the backyard?” While she went outside, I checked on Andrew. I could smell the whiskey as soon as I walked into the bedroom, saw the empty glass on the floor where it had slipped from his hand.
I cleaned up the mess, blotted the wet spot on the carpet, and went to make dinner. Andrew didn’t come out of the bedroom. I put a covered plate for him in the fridge.
Sophie wanted to sleep with Blaze in her room, but I told her it wasn’t a good idea. Andrew and I had agreed we would crate-train Blaze in the laundry room. Not my wishes.
After I set up the dog bed inside the metal pen, with newspaper all around, I tucked Blaze in with a teddy bear for comfort. Then I eased into bed with Andrew, listened to the rain outside. It was a miserable night, fall just around the corner. I was going to miss the long warm days. I closed my eyes, tried to go to sleep, but I could hear pitiful whimpers from Blaze.
I sat up, swung my legs around the side of the bed. Andrew’s arm latched around my middle. I gasped in surprise as he pulled me backward onto the bed.
“Leave him. He has to learn.” He rolled over, yawned. “Can you get me some water?”
Water. He wanted water? No explanation, no excuses even for coming home drunk. I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t a good time to get into it. I’d wait until tomorrow.
I filled up a glass in the bathroom, brought it to the side of the bed.
He took a sip, his watch flashing in the dim light. “This is warm. I want ice.”
Of course he did. I slipped out to the kitchen, the floor cold on my feet. Blaze was howling now, pitiful high-pitched whimpers. Sophie was going to wake up.
I left the glass on the counter, snuck down the hallway to the laundry room. “Shush,” I whispered. “It’s okay.” Blaze was wiggling and grunting, trying to get out of the pen.
“What are you doing?” Andrew, standing in the doorway. “I told you to let him be.”
“I was just checking on him.”
Blaze was barking now, clambering up on the side of the pen, rattling the metal.
“Fucking dog.” Andrew reached into the pen, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
I stood up, snatched at his arm, trying to pull Blaze back toward me, but Andrew was holding him up high in the air. “What are you doing?” I said.
He didn’t answer, just spun around and walked out of the laundry room. Blaze was crying, his legs kicking in the air. I followed them down the hall, hissing, “Andrew, stop!”
Andrew opened the back door. Wind and rain swept inside, blew my nightgown against my legs. “You can’t put him outside!”
Andrew looked over his shoulder at me—and dropped the puppy. Blaze landed with a small thud, a yelp, and rolled onto his side. I squeezed past Andrew, reached for the dog. My fingers were on his fur. Andrew grabbed me around the waist, yanked me back, and shut the door.