“She’s a kid, Ed. An adolescent. They invented angst.” Another hot flash is beginning to rise up out of her core, flushing her cheeks and making her want to throw off her clothes and run out into the chill March air.

“This is different and you know it.” This is classic Ed, the authority, the knower of all things. The insister.

*   *   *

“See, here it is.” Jen has booted up their PC and signed into her YouTube account.

Alice watches herself and Buddy dance right there on the little screen. He looks so happy, and his soft grey-and-white coat with its wash of black sparkles in the floodlights of their deck. Derek had even gotten a good shot of Buddy’s odd blue and brown eyes. The dog pirouettes, dips, and bows. Alice is charmed, and pleased that she doesn’t look entirely foolish. She actually looks fairly good. The clip lasts little more than a minute, so they play it again.

“Let’s get you set up with your own account and then you can look at this anytime. We posted it so anyone can see it. Just search for ‘dancing dog.’ There are a lot of them—you wouldn’t believe it—but his is popping up almost at the top. You can save it to your account.”

“Ed will love this.” Alice sips at her glass of wine and replays the video one more time. The Beatles music is going to be stuck in her head for hours, but it’s such fun watching the dog’s antics. Jen is right; there is a whole strip of thumbnails offering dog-dancing videos. The still photo in one of them even looks like Buddy, except that he’s wearing a little black bow tie.

Alice lets Jen set up the account. Maybe tonight, if Ed doesn’t get home too late, she’ll play it for him.

Chapter 38

38

It’s almost like a noir movie. There’s been an accident, and two miles from the Westboro plaza the cars are stopped dead in the water. Or maybe it’s road construction. Whatever it is, I crawl along the center lane like a wounded ant. My heart is pumping as if I’m running a half marathon, but the speedometer reads fifteen miles per hour/ten miles/five miles/fifteen miles per hour. I begin to worry that Adele’s car might overheat. God only knows the last time it was serviced.