Page 59 of Into the Fire

“He’s better trained than you.”

“That’s hysterical. And inaccurate.”

“You should name him.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“If I name it, it could get attached to me.”

“Joey.”

“Fine. Didn’t you have a dog way back when? With Jack? What was its name?”

“Strider.”

“Like the knife company?”

“Yes. But that was before there was—”

“You’re such a guy.” She crossed her arms, displeased. “Fine. I’ll name it ‘Dog.’”

“Careful you don’t spoil him with too much affection.”

Dog sat, wagging his tail, staring up at her. She tugged off her sweatshirt and coiled it in the corner beneath a pull-up bar bolted to the wall. A makeshift bed. “Here. Come over here, Dog. Dog, come!”

The dog furrowed his brow, regarding her intently.

She glared at Evan. “Why’s it tilting its head at me?”

“Dogs are incredibly attuned to their owners. They want to know your mood at all times.”

“I’m not its owner.”

“They watch their owners’ mouths—their teeth—to see if they’re bared. Or smiling. His muzzle blocks his view of the lower half of your face so he’s cocking his head to clear his field of vision.”

For the first time, she didn’t have a ready answer. “It cares that much how I’m feeling?”

“He does.”

She crouched and patted the sweatshirt. The dog padded over, circled the puddled fabric a few times, and lay down, licking at the raw skin where the duct tape had stripped off his fur.

Joey rose, cracked her knuckles. “Okay. Did you need something, or were you just dropping by to complicate my life?”

“Without complications life is sterile.”

“Who said that?”

“Confucius.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Who then?”

“Me.”