“Fine.”

“So … what time you coming?”

“It’s too late for me to come today. But I’ll be back at the usual time tomorrow.”

“All right. You bringing Chip?”

“No, I am not.” I wave back at Sandy, who’s waving at me to tell me there’s a phone call. “I’ll see you tomorrow, DeWitt.”

“Hold on, one more thing. Did they send all white flowers?”

“Yes, they did.”

“Yeah, that be my idea. Fit in with the surrender theme.”

“Right.”

“You got that, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Yeah, that’s ’cause you smart, not like your friend, Kill.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, DeWitt.”

I pick up the other line and take an order from Mrs. Peters’s doctor for a change in eyedrops, starting tomorrow. Then I call Chip, to tell him I’ll be home soon and to ask if he needs anything, something I always do. No answer. I look at my watch. He should be back by now. I try the number again. No answer.

I walk quickly out the door, hear Sandy calling after me, “Hey, Myra! Your flowers!”

* * *

At home, I call Chip’s name, then Frank’s. Nothing. I go into all the rooms of the house. Empty. He might be with his parents. Oftentimes they come and get him for a while. I sit at my desk, start to reach for the phone, and it rings.

“Myra Lipinski?”

I feel a sense of dread wash over me. “Yes?”

“This is Dr. Libson, at Memorial Hospital. We’re calling at the request of Chip Reardon.”

“He’s there?”

“Yes, he’s fine, he’s in the emergency room—”

“What happened?”

“Well, he took a little tumble, and we had to put a couple of sutures in his chin. They’re just finishing with the dressing now.”

Tears come into my eyes, and I wipe them away angrily. When is enough enough?

“We think it might have been a seizure, although he swears it was the dog that pulled him off balance—is it your dog he has with him?”

“Yes. Frank. Where’s he?”

“Actually, he’s in the room with Mr. Reardon. He wouldn’t let us treat him without the dog being there. Of course, as I’m sure you know—”

“I’m on my way.”

I arrive at our tiny community hospital in under fifteen minutes, park in a doctor’s reserved spot, the hell with it. Chip is in the waiting room. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Somebody just took Frank out. They’ll be right back, and then we can get the hell out of here.”

“We can wait by the door.” I offer my arm to Chip.

“I’m fine.” He stands, starts walking out. He won’t look at me.

“Outside, I see an orderly coming toward us, with Frank. He hands the leash to me. “Great dog.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frank.”

“Great dog.”

“Thanks.”