“You should have seen him. Arabella thinks that he can get his therapy dog certification in four weeks. He’s a natural.” Alice is gushing and she knows it, but this half hour of dog training has pumped her up. She drapes the leash over the peg beside the back door.

“Well, we know he’s a smart boy.” Ed is scrambling Buddy’s fur with both hands, all the way up and down the dog’s body. Loose hair floats into the air, but Alice doesn’t mind.

“Once he has that, we can take him to the nursing home a couple of times a week. The residents love having animals come because it makes them feel at home and not so alone.”

“You can practice on your mother.” Ed has finished mussing up the dog’s coat. Buddy has flopped onto the floor beside Ed’s chair. “She’ll love that.” He suddenly realizes that Alice has said “we.”

“Not a bad idea.” Alice drops into a kitchen chair, runs a hand along a spray of loose hair, and tucks it into her twist. “How about a cup of tea?”

“Sounds good.” He’s still pondering her use of the plural pronoun. Alice hasn’t included him in anything more than obligatory family gatherings in years. Slip or significant?

Alice leans across the table. “I think that this is going to be a good thing. Having Buddy is a good thing.”

Ed reaches across the table and extracts one of Alice’s hands. “I’m glad we decided to keep him.”

Alice keeps her hand in Ed’s, squeezing his fingers a little. Significant.

Buddy slowly rolls over onto his back, stretching his forelegs and hind legs in opposite directions, so that he looks elongated. He doesn’t wriggle, but lies still, flat on his back. He lifts his head, looks at them, as if to make sure they notice, and then flops back, all crocodile sunbathing in the Nile.

“I think he wants a belly rub.” Alice takes her hand away from Ed.

Ed slides off his worn slipper and starts rubbing the dog’s exposed belly with his toes. The dog wriggles with pleasure. “So, do you want to walk him over to your mother’s in a bit, let him practice his therapy?” He is warm from the experience of holding Alice’s hand, an action so out of character that he is nearly embarrassed. His wanting to take it, and the equally surprising fact that she let him, has infused Ed like a tea bag in hot water. Not a sexual response, but a thawing. Ed keeps rubbing Buddy’s belly, keeps his eyes on the dog, but he is acutely aware of Alice in the room, the soft squeak of her sneakers on the kitchen floor, the opening of the refrigerator door. It’s almost like someone from his past is visiting. Ed shakes off the notion. It’s just Alice.