Page 68 of Reckless
Winter:Thank you for tonight.
Theo:I didn’t do anything special.
Winter:You did.
Theo:Want me to come over and do something truly special that will have you thanking me profusely?
Winter:Are you always this horny?
Theo:I was going to say clean your house. Get your mind out of the gutter, Dr. Hamilton.
* * *
“Out you go, Peter.”
If looks could kill, I’d be dead now. Peter glares up at me—back rounded and one front paw lifted—while his tiny body shakes. Some people might think he’s cold, but I know better. That’s his small-man rage.
“I know. How dare I make you get off the couch and go pee?”
He trembles again.
“I am officially the worst person in the world.”
The dog’s ears flatten and his usually buggy eyes narrow.
I sigh, tired after one of the weirdest fucking nights of my life, and bend down to scoop him up. “Let’s go, asshole. I won’t have you waking me up in the middle of the night.”
We head out the back door, and Peter makes unimpressed grunting noises. I place him on the grass and take a seat on the back porch step. He turns and shoots me a disapproving scowl over his shoulder.
“Is that what I get for rescuing you? I don’t even like small dogs. You’re an exception.”
He gingerly walks across the grass like its mere existence is a personal affront to his sensitive little legs. I decide I’ll mow the grass shorter tomorrow. I’ll do Winter’s lawn too.
That’s when I hear it.
Vivi’s angry cries filter into the night from next door. These older homes have a lot of character, but terrible soundproofing.
I’m torn about what to do. I hate that Winter does everything by herself.
I can’t believe I said something about not wanting my dog to wake me up at night when Winter has been doingthatfor months.
Alone.
Peter sniffs and spins like he’s going to pee. For whatever reason, he decides the patch of grass in the corner is trash and unworthy of his gift. So, he goes back to sniffing to find theperfectspot.
Vivi wails, and the more I hear her cries, the more agitated I feel. I stand and watch Peter glance around like he’s looking for the ideal location to build his dream home, not take a piss.
“Come on, Pete. You used to live in the street. You’re not this fancy. Pick a spot.” I snap my fingers before twirling them in an agitated “let’s go” motion. Because I can’t just sit here, or crawl into bed for a full night’s sleep, knowing they’re struggling a few feet away.
So, when Peter finally relieves himself, I march across the lawn and scoop him up to the chorus of more agitated grumbles. I take the narrow sidewalk between the houses, step over the low picket fence, and walk straight across the neighboring lawn to the front door. Based on the crying coming from inside, I will not be waking anyone up, so I knock three times. Hard.
It takes a bit, but the door opens. Winter’s still in her dress, and she’s washed her face, but only one side.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep it down.”
I stare at her. She has no idea how to ask for help.
And then it hits me. She’s had no one to ask.
