All Shots

peculiar attachment patterns or sexual oddities or whatever you want to call them, I liked and admired him and wanted him for a friend. As it turns out, Steve and I have had dinner with him a few times, not at our dog-saturated, asthma-triggering house, but once at his place and once in a restaurant. Holly Winter has not accompanied us; Zach has no interest in her. I have been thinking about introducing Zach and Rita to each other, but I haven’t done it yet, mainly because I can’t decide whether to try fixing them up or whether to send him to her for therapy.
    “Zach, please stop blaming yourself,” I said and added somewhat mendaciously, “If you think about it, it’s really the city that’s responsible. If it weren’t for this draconian policy about towing and impounding cars, Grant wouldn’t have known where Holly was. And Mellie is doing okay. If she’d told the full truth to begin with, we’d all have known what was going on. Not that that’s a reasonable expectation. She did what she thought was right. She sees things in black and white. She promised Holly not to tell anything to anyone, and she kept her promise. Yes, she was terrified, but we all were.”
    “You less than others,” Holly Winter said.
    “I was petrified,” I said. “But Mellie is recovering. She has wonderful friends, and she has her religion. And I’m helping her to look for a new dog.”
    “The husky?” Zach Ho asked.
    “Malamute,” I said reflexively. “No, it’s the wrong breed for Mellie.”
    Maybe another Boston terrier, like Lily. Or a pug. A Border terrier? A mini poodle was an excellent possibility. Or a bichon, like Gabrielle’s Molly. Gabrielle might know a good breeder with a retired show dog in need of a pet home. Or possibly a mixed-breed dog, a medium-sized terrier cross? Or a sheltie! Yes, a sheltie or a sheltie mix with bright eyes and a lively personality. Mellie would enjoy the ritual of daily brushing, and she’d have fun with a dog who’d like learning tricks. My spirits rose. Until then, I’d found the debriefing informative but depressing. In particular, it was sad to realize that Zach was barred by asthma from the life-affirming experience of owning a dog and had to settle for tropical fish. As to his “eye for the ladies,” to use Francie’s phrase, I thought that his habit of picking up strange women in a health-food market placed him more in Rita’s territory than in mine; in other words, I thought he was crazy. Here he was, a gorgeous, intelligent doctor who devoted himself to helping desperately needy people in third world countries. And his sex life consisted of one-night stands with sushi eaters? And then there was Holly Winter, whose efforts to attract him consisted of softening her appearance without... well, I’m doomed to sound like Rita, here: Holly had softened her appearance while leaving the inner person frozen and sharp. But the prospect of finding just the right dog for Mellie? I was elated. Francie had told me that Mellie had special needs. Francie had been right. Mellie’s special needs included the best special need of all: the urgent need for the right dog. For someone else with that need, Streak was waiting. Interested? Visit www.malamuterescue.org . That’s the Web site of the Alaskan Malamute Assistance League. It has links to our affiliates all over the United States. Maybe one of them has a dog who is waiting for you.
    “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I’d better be going. There are some phone calls I have to make. Things I have to do. Zach, thank you for having us here. This actually has been a healing experience.”
     

CHAPTER 36
     
    On Saturday afternoon at three thirty, Steve called me on his cell phone. This time, he had no trouble reaching me. He was on the Mass. Pike, only a half hour from home. I felt like a teenager waiting for a boy she has a crush on. I’d cleaned the house, filled the cupboards and refrigerator with food, moved the van so that the ruined window faced away from our house, brushed the dogs, taken a shower, dried my hair, applied a little makeup, and put on good clothes—not a dress and certainly not high heels, but clean jeans that fit well and a heavy cotton sweater with happy colors and a pattern that suited me. As a matter of fact, it had come from L.L.Bean. Actually, from the Bean’s outlet in Ellsworth, Maine. So, I did have a few things in common with the Holly who’d been murdered. L.L.Bean. The love of dogs.