Fireproof

be easier to just call me?” Patrick had asked the man.
    “Not much point after the third or fourth time. My solution keeps that bastard out of my yard permanently.”
    That’s when Patrick went back, put Harvey on a leash, and the two of them set out to canvas the entire neighborhood, again. He even checked the empty house that was for sale next door to Maggie’s. Canvassed the backyard. Peeked inside the windows after he saw a light on. Lamp on a timer. People hated leaving empty houses dark, but they didn’t think about lights being a fire hazard.
    Three hours later, it was dark and still no sign of Jake.
    The thought of telling Maggie nauseated Patrick. She had gone out of her way to let him into her home and he’d let her down. How could he have been so negligent? He’d let the meeting with Braxton rattle him too much. It was just a job. Could the man really destroy his entire career over one mistake?
    Harvey jerked to the left. The Lab wanted to cross the street. His nose was in the air.
    “You smell him, Harv?”
    He let the dog lead him, allowed him to tug hard on the leash and guide him. Harvey trotted up and over the sidewalk, continuing along a ridge of pine trees, dragging Patrick to the back corner lot of a huge colonial. Before they made it to the fence Patrick could smell what had piqued Harvey’s attention. It wasn’t Jake. Someone was grilling steaks.
    They trudged home as the moon peeked from behind that same ridge of pines. Maybe Jake had come back on his own. As a boy Patrick had always wanted a dog but his mother always said no. She said a dog was too much responsibility. He longed for the company, someone to greet him at the door when he came from school to an empty home. He hated to think his mom might still be right—that he couldn’t handle the responsibility of another living being.
    He saw Maggie’s Jeep Grand Cherokee parked in the circle drive and he hoped he’d find them together. No such luck. She was at the kitchen island checking the Crock-Pot he’d left simmering.
    “Did you take the boys for a long walk?” she asked when they came around the corner. She was in her robe, her hair still wet from a shower. As she turned to look at Patrick he saw her face fall when she saw he had only Harvey. “He got out, again,” she said. Not a question. She knew.
    “I’m really sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. “We looked everywhere. Twice.”
    She was trying to hide the panic he’d seen earlier, but he caught a glimpse in her eyes before she purposely turned away.
    “Maybe I should never have brought him here. So far away from everything he knew.”
    “He’s a smart dog. He’ll find his way back.”
    “That’s if he wants to.” She still avoided his eyes, but he heard the emotion in her voice. This was more than just concern for a lost dog. It cut deeper, and she didn’t want to share it. Besides that, she looked exhausted.
    She pointed to the oven, where he had left the scallops on warm. “This smells wonderful.”
    “I wanted to treat you. Are you hungry?”
    “I’m starved.”
    She bent down to take Harvey’s leash off and hugged the big dog. He sniffed the back of her neck and suddenly started a low whine.
    “Is he okay?” Patrick pulled the pan out of the oven, tipped the lid, then, satisfied, slid it back in.
    “The smell of blood makes him nervous.” She petted the dog, trying to calm him.
    “And why would he … Oh crap, are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. Just a few stitches.”
    “What happened?”
    “A second fire blew out some windows along with the front of the building.”
    “I hate when that happens,” he joked.
    “Yes, I suppose you are familiar with that sort of thing,” she said, as if she only now remembered that he was a firefighter.
    Patrick tried to shrug it off. He pulled a bottle of Shiraz from the fridge and held it up for Maggie.
    “Not an expensive vino, but very tasty. I thought you’d get a kick out of the label.”
    “Shoofly?”
    “It’s Australian.” He tipped the bottle for her to see the decal on the cork and on the label.
    “It looks like a blowfly.”
    “Aussies have an interesting sense of humor. So what do you say, mate,” he attempted his best Australian accent, “would you like a glass?”
    “Sure.”
    She watched him set out an antipasto plate with olives, cubes of cheese, and Genoa salami. Then he worked the corkscrew and poured two glasses of wine.
    “You went all out,” she said,