Furthermore, Teddy Delgado claims that Felix was his Joe, so can they both be telling the truth?
The man leans forward, then sets his phone on one of the glass tables with the potted succulents and stacks of Coastal Eddy hard copies tastefully fanned out in reverse chronological order.
“I’m sorry,” he says as she picks up the phone and studies the pictures:
Strickland and Felix sit on the tailgate of a pickup, both facing the camera.
Strickland and Felix in a swimming pool.
Strickland and Felix, face-to-face, the dog smiling in that way dogs have, all tongue and teeth and joy.
Strickland and Felix in a good close-up portrait.
Felix asleep in a square of sunlight, ears relaxed, eyes slits — a picture taken with love.
It’s Felix, all right, Bettina knows, unless he has an identical twin. Which she also knows is possible, but extremely rare. Technically he and his siblings are fraternal twins, but there’s plenty of variety in litters. Especially in street dogs composed of varied ancestry.
“He has a scar inside his right ear, kind of raised and rectangular,” says Strickland. “You’ve probably noticed it. His manners are very good, both on-leash and off. He likes to lie on his stomach, put his head on his front feet, furrow his brow, and watch you. He’s thoughtful. He’s faster than greased lightning, chases his tail in a blur, and he’s a world-class napper.”
“You can’t just come in here and take him.”
“I didn’t ask to take him. I asked to see him.”
“Do you think that’s fair to him? To interrupt his new world?”
“I do. And I think you are ethically required to let me see a dog that I spent well over a year with, and you’ve had for less than four days. If our positions were reversed, I would let you see him. I would be happy to.”
“Don’t tell me what to be happy about.”
“Is he here with you now? I see a short white Joe-style hair on your sweater.”
“He’s with a friend today.”
Bettina sets the phone back on the table and Strickland takes it, glances at the screen, swipes up. A small nod and smile. No joy in him. The pain of memory? Longing? Being close to what you cannot have?
“If I were a writer,” he says, “I’d like my dog at my feet while I work. In fact, that would be my dream job — to write good stories with Joe nearby. Unfortunately, I have none of the talent you do. In my self-defense classes Joe hangs around and socializes but play-bites people’s toes sometimes.”
“Felix is a sweetheart,” says Bettina, her disappointment collapsing down into itself like a dynamited building.
“Would you consider money?” asks Dan Strickland.
“I will not sell that dog to you.”
“No, money to see him.”
“I’m not that cold.”
“I just want to see Joe.”
“I wish you had never walked in here.”
“Just wait till you get to know me.” Then, of course, the man-who-gets-everything-he-wants grin.
“I can wait.”
Strickland stands and pockets the phone. “I could be wrong, but I think Joe is just a few yards from here, in your office.”
“It’s a cubicle.”
Strickland walks away from Bettina and looks through the glass wall as if he’ll spot Joe in the interior bustle of Coastal Eddy.
Bettina is angry and refuses to check out his hindside. More than angry. She loves Felix and hates herself for being defeated. Hates having to do the right thing.
“Follow me, Mr. Strickland.”
“Just Dan.”
When Bettina opens the crate, Felix tears to Dan Strickland’s side and sits, looking up into his face with adoration, whimpering. Strickland kneels and pulls the dog’s face to his own. Lets Felix lick him while muttering “Joe” over and over. Felix stands and keeps licking, his entire body wagging.
“You still can’t have him,” says Bettina.
“I’ll pay you five thousand dollars for him.”
“I won’t sell him for any price.”
“Ten thousand. Think what you can do. Give it to the Assisi clinic and save hundreds of dogs. And get a puppy you can bond with in the eighth week of his life. You’ll never have that with Joe. Even I didn’t.”
What kind of man blows ten grand on a dog? she wonders. In love or just nuts?
“If you try to walk out of here with him, I’ll call the police.”
Strickland gives her a sharp look.
“I have papers to prove ownership, vaccines, everything,” she says.
“I understand that he’s legally yours, Ms. Blazak.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Felix, come.”
Felix hesitates, then goes over to Bettina, looks up at her with a doggy smile, still wagging his tail. Bettina sees that Felix adores his former owner, but he likes her, Bettina, too. She wants to kneel and let him lick her, but she doesn’t want Dan Strickland’s know-it-all manly fucking germs all over her face.
“Can I arrange a play date for him?” he asks. “With me, I mean.”
“You cannot be serious.”
Dan Strickland looks serious, though.
Bettina kneels to pet her dog’s head, gets her fingers behind those expressive button ears — or are they rose ears or semi-pricks? It all depends on what he’s feeling. Mood ears. Not even always symmetrical. But he loves getting petted there, Bettina knows. She’s hugely surprised and deeply thankful that Felix likes her, even with his previous master in the same room.
“I don’t joke,” says Strickland. “Life is too short for jokes. I want to see Joe again.”
“I don’t trust you to bring him back.”
“I won’t take him away in the first place. I mean you too. The three of us.”
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just a bad idea.”
“How am I not trustworthy?”
“I don’t know exactly. It’s just too...”
“Too what?”
“Much. It’s too much.”
“It’s not much at all. A simple walk on the beach. Or maybe at the park at Top of the World, or Heisler. It can be anytime you like. Any hour of any day. Joe, you, and me.”
“Felix. He’s mine.”
“But you have an ethical obligation to let him be mine again. At the very least to share him with me. You can’t just barrel in and take a man’s dog away.”
“Oh yes, I can.”
“Think about what you just said.”
“Do not. Tell me. What to do.”
He puts his hands on his hips and stares at her.
She sizes him up as best she can. He seems calm and maybe trustworthy and she senses no meanness in him. Nothing out of plumb, as her dad would say. He’s possibly intelligent, seeing the dog hair on her, and not falling for her fibs. His face is difficult to read and his gray eyes look hard as stones. He teaches people how to shoot and beat up other people. He looks like a guy in a pickup truck commercial but without the truck. Better dressed. Like her Nick again: something of the boy in him, but resolute and inadvertently likable.
However, Felix was in Strickland’s care when he got shot and almost killed. Strickland might have tried to find him, but how hard did he look?
Bettina won’t trust Felix alone with this guy for even one second, but that’s not really the question here, she reminds herself. The question is, could she tolerate Felix and her seeing this guy again, on his terms, under any circumstances?
“I’ll consider it. You can get me through the Coastal Eddy directory.”