I saw the blond woman the second time I walked Grendel through the neighborhood by the park.

It was a warm night in late June. Lightning bugs were just appearing. Everything blooming.

Grendel trudged along two steps ahead of me, the leash slack between us. He wasn’t in a hurry. He was just happy to be away from everything else—dogs and people alike. I watched the houses we passed on Iroquois Street. Some were open and lighted. Some were quiet and dark. The houses were smaller over here, boxier, but just like in my neighborhood, the residents maintained their yards well. They cut the grass, planted flowers, picked up the kids’ toys instead of leaving them scattered across the lawns.

Halfway up the block, a woman with blond hair, wearing a baseball cap pulled low, sat on her porch reading a book. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and wore denim shorts and white sneakers. A bottle of craft beer sat on the stoop next to her, and as I came closer, she sipped from the bottle and then turned a page. She looked up and caught my eye.

If we had lived in a big city, we would have been able to ignore each other. In Gatewood, strangers generally said hello to each other. Or at least waved. It wasn’t about whether you would have an interaction. The question was always how much of one you would have.

The woman on the porch waved.

And I waved back.

And that might have been that. But as I passed her house, a car came along and pulled into the driveway. A guy about the same age as the blond woman climbed out, and when he did, the woman on the porch jumped up and put her book aside. Neither of them seemed to care that Grendel and I were walking by.

The guy dashed up the sidewalk, and the blond woman bounded over to him. They kissed and hugged. I have no idea how long it had been since they’d seen each other. It was possible it had only been hours. But they acted like only the two of them existed in the entire world.

I took the scene in subtly, trying not to be noticed. But the truth was, they had no idea Grendel or I existed. I went on with my walk, and the couple receded behind me. Grendel and I looped through the neighborhood as darkness fell, and we finally made it back to the car and started for home.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about that couple.

How young they were. How attractive.

How joyous to see each other.

I knew—I knew—I’d be walking there again. Looking for them.

Seeing them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

For weeks and weeks, I watched for them. That whole summer.