“Jesse? Jesse, is that you?”

Pam was heaving, her voice panicky and uneven. I dumped my backpack by the door and tucked my cell phone into my back pocket, heading over to the kitchen. Had she broken a nail or something?

“Nope. It’s the pope.”

“You need to come here, sweetie!” she called.

Sweetie? That was new. And worrying. The knot in my stomach tightened, and the need to turn around and run took hold of my legs, but I fought it. I rounded the corner into the kitchen and found Pam standing above the kitchen sink, sniffing. I arched an eyebrow.

“Are you sick? Do you need Tylenol?” Ever since Pam had twisted my arm into having an abortion, I tried very hard to generally ignore her existence. It was almost going against my nature to offer her help, but it was stronger than me.

Some part of me, albeit small and quiet, still wanted us to be close.

“I already took two and washed them down with water. You need to see something.” She grabbed my hand, and I nearly jolted. Another bad sign. Pam never touched me if she could help it. She slid the glass door leading to the patio open and nearly dragged me outside to the backyard with the oak tree, lush grass, and Olympic-sized pool.

“I found him like that this morning, a little after you left.” She rounded a red Moroccan-style sunbed and pointed at the grass. Shadow lay there, his eyes open, staring at the sun unnaturally. He was still, so very still.

I cupped my mouth, trying not to throw up. It looked all wrong. Him, staring at the scalding sun instead of squinting. A fly trailed along his unmoving ribs, and it occurred to me that he would try to bite it if he were alive.

But he wasn’t.

My dog wasn’t alive.

My dog was very, very dead.

I crouched down and gathered him in my arms, feeling the tears streaming down like a broken fountain. It took me time. Years, to be exact, but it had finally happened. After everything I’d been through—I cried.

“Goddammit, Old Sport,” I snuffled, pressing his head to my thighs. He felt heavier than usual. Slack, but stiff. Pam was standing behind me, motionless, and I wanted to turn around and throw something sharp at her.

“You said he was like this since this morning.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Pam? Why didn’t you call?” I jumped up to my feet, my grief suddenly interrupted by sudden anger. Anger was easier to digest. Easier to pour out. Loss was crippling, breathtaking, chaining. Pam ran a hand over her bleached hair, her acrylic pink nails making an unbearable sound along her scalp. “I’ve been throwing up all morning. You know I liked that dog, too. But he was old, Jesse. Besides, he had cancer. There was nothing we could do.”

“Wait,” I lifted my palm up. “What cancer? What are you talking about?”

As far as my knowledge went, the blood work never came back, and last time I’d asked about it, Pam had said Dr. Wiese had never called. I’d been meaning to drop by his clinic today after lunch, but…

Pam scrunched her nose, like I was being unreasonable. Tiresome, even. I wanted to push her into the pool and watch her flail helplessly. More than that, I knew that I could. That I had it in me. I was no longer lethargic and sad. I was burning with rage, the kind of flame that sparked fast, consuming everything around it in seconds.

She threw her arms in the air. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re a mess, okay? We didn’t want to tell you because we knew you’d make a scene. Guess what? Here you are, making a scene. I don’t need this in my life. My life coach says you’re messing up my Zen.”

“We? Darren knew, too?” I advanced toward her. She took a step back. I realized that I didn’t have to throw her into the pool. She was going to fall into it all on her own.

“Fine. It was me. Sue me, Jesse! You’re a weird, unpredictable girl. I don’t want to deal with you if I can help it.”

“I’m the girl you forced into having an abortion after you made me pretend I hadn’t been gang raped. What do you expect, cocktails at The Ivy?” I snapped. “I’m messing with your Zen? You messed up my life!”

“Really? This again?” She stumbled back another step, waving a dismissive hand in my face. “You were a kid! You’d have popped out that baby and left it for me to take care of. All I’ve ever wanted was to do my thing.”

I plunged forward, recognizing, perhaps for the first time, that maybe I wasn’t totally sane, but Pam wasn’t, either. She still couldn’t admit the simple fact that I’d been raped, and she was self-absorbed to a point of madness.