Joe heard his name in a good way. Lowered his proud body to the cool floor and fell asleep.
Joe lay in the back of the Delgado Heating and Air van, with Dad at the wheel and Teddy talking loudly and excitedly. This was the best day of his life.
He listened hard to his people, as always:
“And then in twelve seconds, Joe found the oregano!”
The shelves of parts and tools rattled and clanked all around Joe, and he was extremely happy.
At Home he slept on the Team Bed for three straight hours, dreaming of what he’d found, hearing the praise and excitement, smelling in his dream the specific, discrete, wonderful scents.
That evening Joe’s dad and mom would be going out to dinner to celebrate their twelve-year anniversary. Teddy thought they looked happy. Tony and Alicia all dressed up. His dad said they’d be with Uncle Art and Aunt Nancy, at Mister A’s in San Diego. Shelly from down the street would be here with him.
“There’s leftovers in the fridge,” he said as they were walking out the door. “And a new tub of ice cream. Shelly, help yourself to dinner and that ice cream if you want.”
“Thank you, Mr. Delgado.”
“Good, Dad.”
“Teddy, you and Joe were fantastic today, just fantastic.”
“Joe was.”
“You, too, son. We won’t be late.”
Joe took all of this in but didn’t understand much. He linked “ice cream” to the sweet Food that Teddy gave him sometimes after dinner.
When Teddy gave him a spoonful of the sweet Food, Joe wolfed it down and took off after his tail in a frantic, cyclonic whir.
He fell asleep that night alongside Teddy, who was watching TV on the living room couch with the Girl.
A big day, and Joe out cold.
He dreamed of all the things he’d found that day.
The best day of his life, again.
Much later the doorbell blasted Joe into an ear-shattering bark, and he was at the door growling before his Boy could get off the couch.
“No, Joe! Come! Down! Stay!”
Joe stopped growling and came and hit the floor by the couch, as ordered. Shelly took him by his collar.
He watched Teddy look through the small hole in the door, then open it.
Joe saw people in the porchlight. A man who looked like Dad and a woman Joe remembered. Also, a man and a woman wearing dark shirts and pants, with tools and guns and things wrapped around them like some of the people where he played today.
But what Joe saw and heard most clearly was their sad faces and the very sad voice of the man that looked like Dad.
“May we come in, Teddy?” he asked.
“Come in,” said his Boy.
Teddy’s voice was afraid. Joe felt the fear and was ready to fight. You can’t hurt him, Joe thought. He’s mine.
They came in and the woman with the man who looked like Dad rushed in and threw her arms around Teddy and held him like wrestling in the grass.
Joe growled but Teddy wrestled himself away from the woman and looked at the Dad-like man.
“Teddy, please sit down. We need to talk.”
“No,” Teddy said to him.
“I think I should drive myself home now,” said the girl.
The man who looked like Dad gave her something from his pocket and the girl went outside.
The wrestling woman’s face was wet and the man like Dad’s voice trembled.
“It’s your father and mother,” he said.
“No,” Teddy said again. “No.”
The man and the woman with the matching shirts and guns stared at Teddy but said nothing.
Joe had never heard such sadness in Teddy. Growling almost silently, he leaned against his Boy’s legs, using all his weight to protect him.
Joe looked at all these sad, ugly faces and growled louder. He understood that they had hurt his Boy and were hurting him now.
Teddy ordered him to down and stay, then knelt beside Joe.
“Something terrible has happened to Mom and Dad,” he said. Joe only understood the words Mom and Dad, but he got the meaning of the rest of them, thunderously loud and frighteningly clear.
His growl became a whimper.
16
Teddy spent the twenty-three hours waiting to be “placed” with Art and Nancy Delgado.
Most of those hours he was in a room in a cottage in San Diego’s Polinsky Children’s Center, attended by a doctor and several child Welfare Services workers.
He cried himself to sleep but woke up after a few hours, then did it again. He ate once and vomited. He agreed to a medication that would make him calm. Most of the time he stared at the TV screen, eyes closed, trying to will away what had happened, like he would sometimes will himself out of a bad dream. He wanted to be over all of this, or dead, but he didn’t want to kill himself. Wasn’t sure how.
The only shred of good news was Joe, who was at Art and Nancy’s home in La Jolla while Child Welfare Services made sure that Teddy would be well cared for and happy with his aunt and uncle. They sent pictures of Joe to one of Teddy’s caretakers’ cell phone.
Teddy didn’t know how much had died inside him but it felt like almost everything but Joe.
Uncle Art’s and Nancy’s home in La Jolla was up in the hills. From his room, Teddy could see the Pacific below, blue water and white foam on black rocks. Seals and sea lions lolled in the choppy cove. To Teddy, Joe was just as solemn and unhappy as Art and Nancy seemed to be. His uncle and aunt argued. Nancy blew her nose a lot. Doors slammed.
These Delgados were very different people from his father and mother. Their house was gigantic compared to Teddy’s former home in Otay Mesa — three stories of old-looking furniture and paintings. A white grand piano. There was a four-car garage with a gleaming concrete floor.
His uncle Art had sold his air conditioner factory and chain of dealerships, and retired early. Kensington Air. Now he managed his “modest fortune” from his home office, and by frequent travel.
Teddy’s dad and uncle Art hardly ever got together. Teddy had been only faintly aware that his father and uncle were in the same business. Kind of — his dad installing and servicing air conditioners and heaters, some of which were made by Uncle Art. Uncle Art was sharp faced and high voiced and always in a hurry. Joe didn’t like him. Nancy was blond-haired and beautiful and always dressed up.
Three days after arriving here, Teddy was out in the backyard with Joe, throwing the tennis ball. He saw the big white SUV with the Excalibur K-9 Training Center emblem pulling into the Delgado driveway. When Teddy saw Wade Johnson get out of the SUV, he felt a warm feeling in his heavy heart; but it was followed by a cold one when Uncle Art came striding across the rose-lined driveway toward Mr. Johnson with a smile on his face and his hand out for shaking.
A moment later, Uncle Art led Mr. Johnson from the house into the backyard. Joe bolted for Mr. Johnson and immediately dropped to the grass at his trainer’s command, rolled over once, twice, then hopped up into a sit and looked up at him with that expression that Teddy knew and loved. Joe didn’t look at Uncle Art at all.
They sat in the shade and drank iced teas that Nancy brought on a tray. She sat beside her husband at the round table, and through the glass Teddy saw them take each other’s hand. Joe sat between Teddy and Mr. Johnson.
Uncle Art and Mr. Johnson talked about the Padres and Nationals coming up that night from Washington, then Uncle Art looked at Teddy and said:
“Teddy, I’m sending Joe away to live with Mr. Johnson out at the training center.”
“No.”
“It’s totally my fault,” said Nancy. “My allergies are really doing a number on me, and the meds make me drowsy. I’ve always been that way with dogs. I’ve never even been able to have one. I am so very sorry, Teddy. I tried. I thought I could do it.”
Teddy didn’t know whether to grab Joe and run for it, or scream at his uncle and aunt, or just go to that quiet place inside and accept this horrible thing.
“I’ll keep him in my room.”
“The hair, dander, and bacteria won’t stay in your room,” said Uncle Art. “And I agree with Nancy, the dog will have a much better life out at the center. You can go visit him anytime you like. Heck, stay all day if you want. Mr. Johnson told me on the phone that he’s serious about continuing Joe’s training. Right, Wade?”
Mr. Johnson looked pale and solemn. “You know I’ll take good care of Joe,” he said. Joe’s tail thumped at the sound of his name. “You’re always welcome at Excalibur. You can help me with the dogs. I can use a good assistant. And I think I can put Joe to work someday. For real. As a detection dog. I know a handler who wants a small dog with a big nose. I hope that cheers you up.”
“I’d be happy for Joe but not for me.”
“You can still see him until he’s ready for work,” said gray-faced Wade Johnson.
“No,” said Teddy, rallying his will, tears running down his face. “He’s mine. Uncle Art, Aunt Nancy, I’ll buy one of those air filters and keep my door closed and run it all day. None of Joe’s germs will—”
“That’s an awful lot of electricity,” said Uncle Art. “And those filters really don’t do anything a good air conditioner can’t. A Kensington, of course.”
“Excuse me just a minute,” said Teddy. There was a lump in his throat so big it hurt, and his eyes were blurring and burning.
He called Joe to heel and headed up the stairs to his room, leashed the dog, made sure he had his wallet and the twenty-six dollars in it, grabbed Joe’s half bag of kibble, and went out the front door.
Bag under his right arm, dog leash in his left hand, Teddy ran down long, steep Avenida de La Jolla all the way to Girard, downtown, to a sandwich place that allowed dogs on the patio.
He sat there, heart pounding, wanting to cry but sucking it up, an eleven-year-old boy in mute agony. The waitress brought water for him and for Joe.