“Just a vet. But the line between the two isn’t set in stone. I care about animals. I do what I can to make their lives better.”

He sounds genuine enough, but I struggle to reconcile the past with this. He hadn’t been the most social sort. What was on his mind was on his tongue, no filter in sight. Joy is like that too often for comfort. That said, there is a case to be made that Jack was my model of how not to raise an only child. Consideration of others was never his strong suit.

That he is now considerate of animals raises a curious point. “You didn’t have pets when we were kids.”

“Your memory sucks. I had rabbits. You don’t remember my hutch? But no. You wouldn’t. You were afraid of me. You wouldn’t come close.”

I half expect to see a mocking twitch at the corner of his mouth. But he is stating a fact. I do remember being afraid of him at first.

Unafraid now, I say, “I meant cat or dog.”

His mouth does twitch now, but with self-disdain. “My parents were overwhelmed with just me. They couldn’t have handled a house pet.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“I was that bad.”

“Mom!”

My eyes fly to the bluff. Joy is running down the steps.

“Walk, don’t run!” I shout and, given cause, jog down the dock and across the wet sand. I’m slightly breathless when we meet. “Everything okay?”

Her curls have grown ten-fold, but her dark green eyes are bright. “Well, Papa forgot I was there and got obsessed with a crossword puzzle, and Anne is racing around trying to clean up. I mean, Mom, like the place is a pigsty?” Her gaze shifts past me, voice guarded. “Who’s that?” When she sees the dog, she sidles closer to me, which says something about the look of this dog.

Jack approaches us, nothing shy about the man. I’m thinking that I need to formally introduce them—am thinking, actually, that this is the last situation I want to be in and that I need to return to the house now—when Joy asks in a none-too-friendly tone, “Are you the guy who called on the phone?”

He stares at her, then at me. I’m not sure if he’s wondering why she called me Mom, or, having moved beyond that, is asking, Do I need to answer this twerp?

“This is my daughter, Joy,” I tell him. “Joy, Jack. Yes, he’s the one who called.”

“Is that a pit bull?” she asks, even more accusatory than I had been minutes before.

“Yes.”

“They’re vicious.”