“Are you out of your mind?” she whispered to O’Keefe. He laughed, a big, throaty laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”
Gabe said, “My mom says you’re ‘certifiable.’ ”
“Aggie’s always had a way of putting things,” O’Keefe muttered, finally letting her go. Alvarez peered around him to find Gabe leaning over, playing with Roscoe, who was jumping up and down, then bolting across the front yard only to come back yipping excitedly.
“It’s a good thing you’re here,” she said to the boy who was a stranger as much as her son. “Roscoe’s been cooped up because I’ve been working so much.”
“All day?” the boy asked.
“I have someone walk him, but it’s not the same as this.”
As if to prove her point, Roscoe bolted off across the yard again, snow flying from his big paws as he disappeared around the corner, only to spin out somewhere near the hedgerow and show up again, running in crazy circles.
“He’s possessed,” Gabe observed. “Maybe you should name him something like Crazy Devil or something.”
“Diablo loco?” She laughed and Gabe looked at her as if she were the crazy one. “I think I’ll stick with Roscoe. Come on in, it’s freezing out here!” To the dog, she yelled, “Roscoe! Come!” With a yip of pure joy, the puppy bounded over the threshold, but she caught him midleap. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“You called him,” Gabe said.
“That I did, but Roscoe knows the drill, don’t you, boy?” Carrying the whining, wiggling dog into the bathroom, she snagged a towel from a hook near the door, then began drying each of Roscoe’s big paws. He shifted and squirmed and tried to get away, but Alvarez, used to his escape tactics, prevailed. Once his paws, legs, and belly were wiped down, she let him onto the floor. “There ya go.”
Never missing a beat, he took off, toenails clicking as he raced into the front room, noticed Jane Doe lying under the couch, and, ears up, tail raised, lunged in her direction. He was rewarded with a hiss and a quick view of pink tongue surrounded by long, white, needle-sharp teeth.
“She hates him,” Gabe said as Alvarez, after washing her hands, returned to the living room.
“Trust me, she loves him but doesn’t want anyone to know. Sometimes if I get up early and neither of them wakes up, I’ll find her curled up in his bed, next to him, back to back, happy as can be. This”—Alvarez pointed at the cat cowering in her hiding spot—“is all for show.”
Gabe appeared unconvinced but continued to play with the dog, roughhousing in the living room as if he hadn’t been in a hospital bed so recently. Still hyped on adrenaline, Roscoe barked and leaped. His tail nearly cleared the coffee table of magazines and he bumped into a nearby lamp, sending it teetering precariously.
“Enough!” she said to the dog.
Pulling a face, Gabe said, “Sorry.”
Alvarez steadied the lamp. “It’s okay. Look, if you want to take him out in the back, where it’s fenced, go ahead. He really does need to get rid of some energy, but take the towel and keep it by the door for when you come in.”
Gabe didn’t have to be asked twice. He grabbed the same towel she’d used, whistled, and opened the sliding door to the small backyard. Roscoe bounded through, Gabriel flipped the towel onto the back of a nearby chair, and they were off.
“What do you do when a teenaged boy isn’t around?” O’Keefe watched the boy shut the door behind him.
“I used to jog with Roscoe. Every day. Until I was injured.”
His face darkened as he, too, remembered the attack that nearly took her life. “About that—”
“No need to go there again. Not tonight.” She hazarded a glance toward the closed slider where, just beyond the glass, she spied her son standing under the porch light. He’s not your son. Remember that. “I’m okay. Really. Getting better every day. Roscoe will have trouble keeping up with me soon.” Before he could argue, she added, “Come on, you can help in the kitchen. Make yourself useful.”
“How?”
“Stir the soup.”
“You actually made—?”
“I ordered and picked up clam chowder from Wild Wills, bought salad in a bag, and got the last three loaves of sourdough bread at the bakery.” She switched on the oven, then reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of “Holiday Blend” greens—spinach, lettuce, and chard—along with a packet of dried cranberries and hazelnuts, and proceeded to pour the contents into a glass bowl. “This isn’t what I had envisioned for my first meal with Gabe,” she admitted, “but work’s nuts, so it’ll have to do. You know, originally, when I found out about Gabe and realized I’d have this chance to get to know him, I thought about introducing him to his culture. Maybe it’s weird, considering the circumstances, but I wanted to make something traditionally Mexican, like my grandmother used to do for us kids, especially at the holidays. I figured Gabe probably doesn’t get much of his Latino heritage from Aggie and Dave.”
“Zero.”
“Right. So once Aggie and Dave agreed that I could be a part of Gabe’s life, I thought that maybe we could connect on a level that might not be as threatening to his parents.”
“Possibly.” O’Keefe wasn’t convinced.