Chapter Thirteen—Repose

Jim kept hold of Christie's arm. Part of his penance was to leave Hank behind. He'd be totally reliant on her all evening, but it was her birthday, and if she wanted the responsibility, he wouldn't argue. He'd found himself avoiding a lot of arguments recently, ever since the big blow-out with Christie. Something petty like how he was going to get around all evening, it didn't seem worth arguing about.

"Are you sure you should have left Hank behind?" Christie asked.

The streets were crowded and Jim ducked his head to hear her. "Yeah. It's your night, remember?"

"I just don't want you to resent me for it—"

"I wouldn't." It felt a little odd without Hank, but he let Karen guide him enough at work that it really didn't matter much. It was just that he and Christie got out so rarely anymore, just the two of them, he'd thought it would mean a lot to her.

"And I know how important it is for you to be independent."

"Relying on Hank isn't exactly independent…" Jim said slowly. "I don't like to rely on him, either, you know. It's just a little easier on my conscience to impose on his goodwill than on anyone else's."

Christie was quiet and Jim tried to relax as she led him into the restaurant. He immediately heard the fountain, water rushing over the rocks. He remembered small marble figurines that had been stuck in the nooks and crannies, like a village in the mountains. Christie stopped a moment and turned toward the water.

"Two?" a female voice asked.

Jim looked up. No one else said anything and he felt Christie turning, so he nodded. "Reservations for Dunbar."

There was a pause, then she said, "It'll be a few minutes. Why don't you have a seat?"

Jim followed Christie to some chairs next to the fountain. He felt a seat in front of his knees and let go of her arm, turned, sat. He listened to the water falling and relaxed. It was a nice sound. He resituated on the chair, not so stiff, and his left knee bumped something. He reached down and felt the low wall around the fountain pool. He pushed his hand further, to the edge of the wall, then down to the water, letting the coolness play through his fingers, feeling tiny drops spray him from the rocks.

"What are you doing?" Christie asked. She sounded amused, so he left his hand there in the water.

"I'm playing in the fountain," he said.

She laughed.

A moment later he felt her pressing something onto the back of his right hand. He turned his hand and she pressed a small object into his palm. He closed his hand, feeling a small coin with ridges, a quarter.

"Make a wish," she said.

He pulled his hand out of the water, wiped it dry on his pants, turned the coin over and over in his hands, thinking. He put a hand on her arm and leaned over carefully, kissing her on the cheek. Then he turned back and tossed the coin lightly. He heard it plop a few feet away.

"What'd you wish for?" she asked.

"It's a secret." He put his hand on her leg and squeezed.

"Dunbar?" the hostess asked.

Jim stood up, taking Christie's arm. They followed the hostess and Jim stayed close to Christie, unsure how close the tables were to each other. Christie didn't seem at all tense, maneuvering around the restaurant, he had to give her credit for that. She stopped and put his hand on the back of a chair. He caught her arm before she could get away and pulled the chair out for her, waiting until she sat, then helping scoot her in. He reached out for the table, using that as a guide. It was a small table, square, and the next chair was directly across the table. He listened as the hostess set down two menus.

"Do you have a menu in Braille?" Christie asked.

"Uh, no," the hostess said. "Sorry."

"That's okay," Jim said, pulling out his chair, then shrugging off his coat and setting it across the back. He sat.

The hostess moved away, leaving them.

"I didn't even think to ask," Jim said. He gingerly touched the table, running his hands across the menu, moving it down to his lap so he could explore the rest of his space.

"We'll have to go out to dinner more often," she said. "We'll find a few places—"

"And I'll have to practice, huh?"

"You'll have to do it eventually."

Jim felt heat coming from a candle in the center of the table and kept his hands back. "I've been busy," he said. His hands found a glass thing that turned out to be a vase full of silk flowers. He moved it to the side of the table.

"I'll move the candle there, too," Christie said.

He nodded. His hand knocked something over and he froze.

"Wine menu," she said.

He heard her move that, also.

"I won't prop it up like they had it."

"Good." He felt the cloth napkin and the metal ring around it that enclosed the silverware. "What's on the menu?"

"Do you want an appetizer?"

He shook his head. "Steak, I think." He listened to her turn a couple pages. "Long menu?"

"A bit. There's a whole steak section." She read through different kinds of steak.

"Hello, my name's Angie, I'll be your waitress," a chipper voice said. She sounded about seventeen. "Let me tell you our specials." She rattled them off.

Christie ordered them each a glass of wine.

The waitress ran off and Christie resumed reading the menu to him with descriptions of the dinners and what they came with. The waitress came back and took Christie's order first, then Jim's. She brought back the bottle of wine and poured them each a drink, then hurried off again. She'd taken their menus and Jim found himself playing with the napkin instead of the menu, just for something to keep his hands occupied. The silence stretched a moment.

Jim looked up finally. "We did the small talk thing yesterday, huh?" he asked, afraid they'd already discussed everything they could think of.

"We don't get out very often, Jim. It'll get easier," she said.

He kept his gaze straight across the table. No more just sitting around the apartment, that's what Christie had wanted, something normal. This was normal, dinner in a restaurant with his wife. He listened to other diners around him for a moment before deciding he'd rather just imagine they were alone. He tuned everyone else out, imagined the place dim with soft candlelight. Christie, sitting across from him—but she was in shadow, he couldn't quite picture her, not her features, not the look on her face. He sighed and looked down.

"It'll get easier, huh?" he asked. He nodded. "Yeah…"

He heard her move something and felt her hand on his, squeezing over the back of his hand.

"Yeah."

He let his head drop to the side a little as he looked over at her. "It's been getting easier at work, you know. All the stuff with Marty and the other detectives. Everything's working out."

"You've always been good at your job."

He nodded. "I got chewed out about going out the other night…"

"I thought you had fun."

"I did. We sort of didn't tell the boss before we went out, though."

"And you're the only one he yelled at?"

"He sort of yelled at us all, but I'm the only one he pulled aside."

She made a little noise that he knew meant she thought it was unfair.

He shrugged it off. "It's okay."

"You're going to just let it stew?"

"No, we talked it out. It's okay."

"Good."

"Detective?" a young female voice asked. "Detective Dunbar?"

Jim looked up.

"I just wanted to thank you—Kim. Kim Chenowith—"

Jim smiled at her. "Yeah. I'm not going to forget you anytime soon," he said. "How'd the ash spreading go?"

"I still have my job," she said brightly.

"Good, good."

"And I just wanted to thank you. I had a second urn full of incinerator ashes like you suggested. For back-up, just in case. I was definitely not going to let anything happen after all that. But again, thank you."

"No problem."

"Have a good night."

Jim waved a hand and listened to her quickly walk away. He turned back to Christie and picked up his wine glass.

"Well?"

Jim felt his face turn a little red. "My, uh, first case when I got back. Didn't quite go a planned."

"But you said—"

Jim waved her off. "After fighting you for months about going back to work, I wasn't about to tell you what really happened that day."

"Are you going to tell me now?" Christie asked after a pause.

Jim looked over at her and cocked his head to the side. "If you promise to laugh." He wouldn't go into all the implications, how Karen had been pulled off the homicide, how Fisk kept giving them assignments a rookie would have been offended by, whatever his reasoning had been. He just hoped Christie didn't read too much into his story and figure it out herself.

It was rare to see Jimmy embarrassed. Christie'd seen it more since the shooting, but usually it was tinged with anger and frustration he could barely control. But there in the restaurant it was pure and sweet. She smiled with him as he explained about going out for a stolen car and needing to find some priceless dog ashes to save the young woman who'd just left. Christie laughed and held his hand while he talked. He seemed to like having that contact with her now that he couldn't see. He'd never admitted it, but she could tell just by the difference in the way he talked to her when they were touching.

These were the kinds of crimes she actually preferred to think about Jimmy solving, saving people from insignificant little things that were barely life-altering. It made her feel good, made her think of him as heroic. He'd solved so many murders, but really, who benefited from that? Someone got punished, but the crime was so final. She couldn't imagine how hopeless she'd feel all the time if it was her, doing all that work for someone who couldn't be saved.

But it seemed to be the opposite that was driving Jimmy crazy with the new case. He was so sure someone else was going to die, someone he'd met personally, yet he felt powerless to stop it.

Jimmy turned his head and she found herself following his gaze. There was a group of women over there, well-dressed and laughing. Immediately she felt sick before she remembered he couldn't see them, before she glanced back and saw his eyes were actually focused over the heads of the women.

"You're quiet," he said.

She realized suddenly he'd turned his head to listen for her and she felt her face turning red, but the sick feeling didn't go away. She would never be satisfied, no matter how many times they fought it out. That was why she'd never made an appointment with the couples' therapist, knowing that no matter what, she'd lost that blind trust she'd had before. Even if he couldn't see, that didn't mean he'd never do it again. Even though she only knew of the one woman, that didn't mean there'd only been one. It wasn't likely he'd admit to anything she wasn't aware of, dig himself in deeper.

She threw her napkin on the table and stood up, pulling her hand away before he'd know anything was wrong. "I'll be right back," she said.

"Christie?" Jim was pulling his hand back across the table. He'd lost track of her when she moved; he was looking a couple feet to her right, then turning his head, searching for her. He looked worried.

"Restroom," she said, already moving away. She needed a breath of fresh air. She couldn't get mad; she'd promised.

Jim just sat there, one hand to either side of his plate. The waitress had come, startling him. He hadn't heard her walk up carrying a tray with their dinners on it. She'd apologized and reached in front of him, probably moving his napkin and silverware. He felt the warmth of the plate next to his hand, followed her movements as she set down Christie's plate. He gestured at his wine glass and asked for a refill.

"Sure," she'd said, sounding nervous.

Jim could only imagine maybe she hadn't realized he was blind. He heard her rush off and sat there until she brought back the wine.

"Is everything all right?" she'd asked, maybe wondering where Christie was, or why he hadn't touched his food.

"Yeah."

He heard her set down the wine glass on the table cloth, then she rushed off again. He felt around slowly. With the tablecloth and the plate in the way, the sound had been muffled, leaving him unsure of the whereabouts of the glass. He wrapped his hand around it and took a long drink, wondering himself where Christie was.

He sat there. He'd finished telling her the story, the censored version, of his first day back on the job. It had been hard to get out at first, all the little implications of that first day back, trying to prove to everyone he could do the job. Trying to keep everyone straight, all these new people he'd never seen, match a voice with a desk, add tidbits to their personality, not really feeling that he knew any of them. Until he'd been in the car with Karen, asking her if he'd done something wrong, trying to read the silence between them. He'd gotten a feel for her then, everything from her resenting him interrupting her job, feeling belittled having to drive him around, to the whole thing with her being Anne's friend. That had said a lot, the fact that she'd actually cornered him about Anne. He hadn't blown her off exactly, but he hadn't been about to tell her everything that had happened in his marriage and with her friend, all he could tell her was it had been a mistake. She'd seemed to accept that, something neither Christie nor Anne had ever been able to do.

That first day back, he hadn't told her how Fisk had practically ordered him to stay back in the squad. How he'd sat there, in the office, listening to Fisk move around. The slammed drawer of the filing cabinet, metal, how it echoed in the small room, startling him momentarily from trying to read Fisk's mood. He hadn't told Christie the whole bit about being asked to stay back for the safety of everyone else, like he was a liability, and how no one would want him as a partner. Those were things he'd known deep down before he even went in there, things he'd been afraid of himself. But he knew he had to try.

He hadn't told her a bit about how damn hard it had been, following Karen around, leaning on her, having her tell him when to stay back. Trying to get his feet back under him that first day. He'd been a detective for ten years, then suddenly he'd wondered how he'd be able to find his way around a crime scene. He'd been a detective for ten years and everyone was worried he would be a danger to himself, to others. He'd been a detective for ten years, but he had to admit he'd been scared.

Back in the apartment, needing a beer, feeling the only one who'd helped him that day was a dog. Everyone else had questioned everything, from how he was going to get to the precinct to how he was going to conduct interviews. And Terry showing up… He'd needed to be home. He'd been tired, amazed at how much energy he'd lost. At first, everything seemed so right, Christie running to greet him, asking him how his day was. He'd been busy. When he realized that, he'd smiled. He'd missed being busy. Even fighting everyone for position, maybe that didn't matter so much, if he could be busy again. He'd prove himself eventually and everything would be fine and he'd come home every night to Christie and she'd be happy to see him and ask him how his day was—and she wouldn't question him.

He hadn't told her any of that. Just the bit about the dog ashes. He hadn't gone into the nitty gritty of the case with the serial killer and the clues they'd found. All he'd told her was the bit with the car, standing outside Kim Chenowith's apartment, and going through the car. He'd told her the bit where the officer thought he was crazy for coming back on the job. The bit about being accosted by news reporters on his way there, though she'd already known; she'd seen the news before he got home from work that first day. She'd told him she'd been so excited about his first day back, she'd come home early just to be there as soon as he got home.

The chair slid back. He'd kept his foot on the leg after she left, so he'd be sure to know the second she got back. He pulled his leg back to his side of the table, keeping his hands relaxed on either side of his plate, looking straight ahead. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," she said. "Looks good."

He heard her silverware clink. One of his hands clenched into a fist. "So…"

"You didn't have to wait for me."

"Christie—"

"Mmm, you want a bite? Delicious."

Jim swallowed hard and shook his head, knowing the conversation was done before it had even started.

Jim's hand slid down into hers as they slowly walked through Central Park. She'd told him it was dark already and a lot of people had gone home, so it wasn't as crowded. She shivered and Jim stopped her.

"Cold?" he asked and pulled her close.

She shivered again.

He buttoned up her coat. "Better?"

She nodded, then forced an affirmative noise. She let him take her hand again.

"Maybe we should go back," he said.

"No, I'll be fine. We just have to keep moving."

He bent down to kiss her, but she didn't help him find her mouth, couldn't respond.

"Either everything's fine, or it's not," he said, starting to walk, faster than before.

"Everything's fine," she assured him, her voice shaking. "I'm just cold."

His hand stiffened in hers. Christie looked up at him. His mouth was pressed in a line. He didn't say anything else. She turned away, watching other people walk through the park, hand in hand. Jimmy was there, with her, just the two of them. It was cold, it was romantic, they'd had a nice dinner. This was for her birthday. She should be happy. She finally had him all to herself. Nothing was going to take that away. All she had to do was enjoy it. She owed him that, at least, didn't she?

"Come on," she said, forcing herself to sound more chipper. She took a different path, following a warm smell to a sidewalk vendor.

"Dessert?" Jimmy asked, trying to smile down at her as she stopped.

She ordered a funnel cake and they took it to a bench. She watched him sit, then settled in next to him. He put an arm around her, but when she looked up into his face, he looked… worried, concerned, confused. He had to have noticed she hadn't enjoyed the rest of their dinner. She moved closer, shivering again, and broke off a piece of the hot fried bread. "Open," she ordered, her voice almost steady. Jimmy's eyes closed and his mouth opened and she fed him, then kissed him. She licked the powdered sugar off her fingers. In between bites and feeding him, she described the people around them, finally relaxing. This was Jimmy, he'd promised never to cheat on her again, he was with her, he was trying. She had to give him credit, she couldn't just ignore him. She had to try, too.

"I'm going to get some hot chocolate," she said and jumped up, hurrying off. She turned back and saw Jimmy'd stood, his arm outstretched as if to grab her elbow and come with, but she was too far away and didn't want him to know she'd seen, so she hurried on without slackening her pace.

She was only gone a minute, but when she came back, his head was down, he was frowning, staring at the sidewalk. He shifted on the bench, but lifted his head when he heard her footsteps on the concrete. She hurried over, two cups in hand and slid back against him into place on the bench. Her spot had grown cold while she'd been gone. "Here," she said, nudging him with the other cup. She blew on her own as his hand found the paper cup. He wrapped his hands around it.

Christie breathed in the smell of the chocolate and smiled. She looked over at her husband and wrapped an ankle around his, since her hands were toasty around the cup. "It smells like Christmas, doesn't it?"

"Almost," he agreed. "Not enough pine, but almost."

"We should start our Christmas shopping soon, avoid the crowds."

Jimmy smiled. "It's a little early, don't you think? Karen invited us to this Halloween party." He laughed and shook his head.

"What'd you say?"

"No. Definitely no."

"You never did care for Halloween much."

"I could go as a pirate now, get two eye patches…" He blew on his cup of cocoa.

"We could go, to the party, I mean."

Jimmy shook his head again. "I'm not that comfortable at parties yet."

Christie was quiet, thinking. She'd planned to ask him about hosting a party at their place for some clients and co-workers. Even though the party her boss had held was a disaster, she had thought, being on familiar ground, maybe Jimmy'd agree. Then again, maybe it would be worse, in his own home, being taken over by strangers, running into people and their things as he tried to move around. The unfamiliar in the familiar. "That's okay, it'll come."

"Dinner wasn't bad…" he said slowly, a question in his voice. He'd definitely noticed something was up with her, but she knew he wouldn't ask.

"No, dinner wasn't bad," she agreed.

"You want to go see a movie?" he asked suddenly.

"Jimmy…"

"What?" He smiled down at her. "It's dark, it's private…" He bent over and kissed the top of her head. "Are you telling me people actually go to movies to watch them?"

"I'll think about it," she said. "Maybe I'll see where the closest drive-in is."

He nodded. "That would be fun. I haven't been to a drive-in for…" he trailed off. "Last time I was at a drive-in, I drove. We actually smuggled a guy in in the trunk."

Christie laughed.

"I kept telling him I couldn't get the trunk open, we'd have to call a locksmith." He squeezed her close with his arm around her shoulder.

She took his empty cup. "Let's walk."

"So it was boys' night out and Karen was an accessory?" Anne asked about the undercover night Karen had just been telling her about.

They were back at the Swan Dive. Anne often requested to go there, said she had a soft spot for it in her heart, surrounded by heartbreak and romance. Karen wasn't so sure. A lot of weepy prima donnas weren't her idea of good company.

Karen shook her head. "It wasn't like that."

"They let you play, too?"

"Anne!"

"I'm just asking. You're always going on about how they don't respect you. Sounds to me like you were just there to make Dunbar look… normal."

Karen shot her a look.

"It's weird, thinking of him not being able to see."

Karen put her head down. It was kinda weird for her, thinking of Jim being able to see.

"Do you think he's handsome?" Anne asked.

"Excuse me?" Karen said and quickly downed the shot her friend had just bought her.

"Do you?"

"He's my partner."

"That doesn't make you immune. The world is full of people who fall in love with people they shouldn't."

"Yeah, Anne, and I'm not one of them."

"So do you think he's handsome?"

"I never really looked." Karen scrutinized her friend with the best of her detecting skills. "Are you trying to get me to say any girl would fall for him so you don't feel so bad?"

"Of course not!" Anne raised her hand to order another round of drinks. "I just want to make sure you don't get sucked in."

Karen didn't say that Jim Dunbar didn't seem quite as devious and womanizing as Anne had always made him out to be.

"Is it because he's blind? Because I know that if he could see, he'd be all over you. He'd always have his hands on you and he'd say nice things… But I bet if I met him now, I bet I'd be immune."

"He's just blind," Karen said, sinking down in her seat, exhausted from the conversation. Anne's obsession had had that effect on her lately. They never managed to pick up any guys when Anne was in serious mode, so it was going to be an early evening. "If a guy has roving hands, blindness would just be a good excuse to use them, you know? Oops, sorry, didn't mean to fondle you there, and all that."

"Does he hit on you?"

"Anne! Maybe he learned his lesson, you ever think of that? Maybe you were that one special person and he couldn't help himself and you should feel flattered."

Anne stared at the table, unable to answer for a while. "Is he doing okay? I mean, since the shooting—I never got to see him," she said quietly, still staring down and playing with a cocktail napkin.

Karen sighed. "He's fine."

"Is he still with his wife?" Anne asked, her voice suddenly icy.

"Yeah."

"She forgive him?"

"I guess so. I don't know."

"He'll never learn! You watch yourself, it's only a matter of time. He'll be out, playing up the pity card, getting all sorts of women, and you're going to be in the middle of it, even if you're immune."

"Karen! Who's this?"

Karen turned and saw Marty, wearing his usual dress shirt and tie. Karen sighed. "Marty Russo, Anne Donnelly. Marty works with me at the 8."

Anne groaned. "Don't tell me, another Dunbar lackey?"

Marty perked up, grinning and pulled up a chair across from Anne. "What is this, a bash on Dunbar party?" He ordered Anne another drink.

Anne was turning on the charm and flirting terribly. Karen rolled her eyes. "Anne, Marty's married," Karen said.

"Oh," Anne said, her smile fading like she'd found out he had leprosy. She put her nose in the air. "I don't date cops or married men," she said.

Marty nodded. "So, how do you know Dunbar?"

Karen put her head in her hands and tried not to listen.

Marty guessed it was just one of those things a person couldn't understand until they could experience it firsthand. Blindness and infidelity, two things Marty couldn't understand. He'd seen Dunbar's wife… And Jim had still been able to see his wife…

Not to say that a wife had to be ugly to cheat on her.

Maybe she was a total bitch or something.

Marty shook himself and sat down on a bench. The park was quiet this late. Homeless people and romantics tended to not make a lot of noise. The cold seeped through his jeans and he stuck his hands in his coat pockets, hunched over as the wind blew. He couldn't go home to his own wife right then—she was sweet, innocent, stayed home to take care of the kid. He'd take one look at her and all the animosity he'd ever felt for Dunbar would explode; he'd never be able to look at the man again, might even take him up on that offer for a scrap in the alley.

His eyes narrowed just thinking about his wife—he'd never cheat on her. But if Jim's wife was mean, or if she'd had affairs herself—no; he wasn't going to justify Jim's actions.

But if he didn't, how could he accept what happened and move on?

It wasn't like Jim had raped someone. He'd lied, he'd cheated—

He'd taken more than his fair share, like Marty was sometimes afraid he tried to do at work. Like he was trying to be Supercop and never let anyone else have a chance. It was like Jim was the kid in junior high who tried to score all the points for the basketball team and never backed off to let someone else show their stuff, even pushed his own teammates down and stole the ball. No, that wasn't jealousy. Jim just needed to grow up. Maybe someone needed to tell him to keep his hands to himself, learn to share and not steal everyone else's toys.

Just thinking of junior high made Marty's guts twist and his hands clench. He didn't want to imagine how spoiled Jim probably had been then, Mr. Perfect back when he could see, could do no wrong. Whatever could make a guy who had everything take more? Whatever had made Jim, with his gorgeous wife, go after another girl?

But if Marty couldn't accept it and couldn't justify it, how was he supposed to work with Jim day in and day out?

Marty stood up and pounded his numb feet on the sidewalk. Some people just screwed themselves, no matter what they did. Marty'd work with Jim, but he'd have to take it upon himself to make sure the other detective kept his hand out of the cookie jar, so to speak.

Good thing the man couldn't see the cookie jar anymore—take away the temptation. But damn, it didn't matter that Marty could see and Jim couldn't and he should have felt superior, or felt pity, or should have tried to be helpful—no matter what he should have felt, Dunbar had always rubbed him the wrong way. He had trouble feeling anything but anger toward Jim.

Jim flopped on the couch, TV remote in hand, then just sat there without turning it on.

"Jimmy?" Christie asked.

"Yeah?" he called back. It sounded like she was in the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not very good at just hanging around the house all afternoon." He turned the remote over in his hands. He could have been watching a game or something, though he preferred the ones on the radio. And he really didn't need background noise. He tossed the remote on the couch.

"You better pick that up," Christie said from right behind him.

He tilted his head back and smiled up at her. "Yes, ma'am." He reached over and his fingers grazed the back of her hand as she snatched up the remote. He cocked his head to the side as he turned to her.

She leaned against the back of the couch. "A man without a remote, what will he do now?"

"I should go down to the precinct and work. That's what I should do." He leaned back on the couch. "You want to go out and do something?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno. We could take the dog for a walk and play in the park. Stop and have coffee. It's New York, there's always something to do, right?"

"Don't you want to get some work done?"

"Not today. I said I should, that doesn't mean I have to. If you're not doing anything…"

"Wow," she said. "Three days in a row." She dropped the remote back on the couch and started moving away. "I'll go get my coat."

Jim stood up, but he felt uneasy. The way she said "three days in a row," it stabbed him in the heart. Not just the tone of her voice, bordering on sarcastic, but the truth behind it. They really didn't spend much time together.

It was also the same feeling he'd gotten on their date last night. That she was holding something back.

He shook his head and called Hank over to clip his leash on. Jim put a Frisbee and a ball in a plastic bag before he heard Christie come back. "Ready?" he said.

"No harness?"

"We're walking the dog. He's not walking me." Jim held out a hand to her. "Okay? Just a regular couple, taking their dog to the park."

"Okay. Our dog, huh?"

"Yeah, our dog." Really, Hank was just Jim's dog. When he got Hank, went through all the training, they'd ingrained that in him. If he was just Jim's dog, he would only obey Jim, look out for Jim, not be torn between two masters. But for the day, they could pretend. They could give Hank a day to just be a dog. He squeezed her hand, which was cold even in the apartment. "Are you going to be warm enough?" He stopped and grabbed his keys off the table.

"Are you going to button my coat up again?"

"Do you need me to?"

She laughed.

Jim followed her to the elevator. He knew their building well enough he didn't need a guide. It was strange, realizing he used to love to come home after work so he could just be in a place he knew the layout of. But now he was ready to get out into the world again, even if he didn't have it all mapped out, even if he couldn't control everything.

She slipped her arm through his. "This is nice," she said.

Jim pressed the elevator button.

"Hank looks confused," Christie whispered. "He's staring at you."

Jim untangled himself from Christie's arm and knelt on the floor of the elevator. He put a hand on Hank's head to make sure the dog was facing him. "We're taking you for a walk. You're going to play in the park." Hank made a strange noise that sounded like he was confused. "You're a dog," Jim explained. Hank laid his head on Jim's shoulder.

The elevator dinged and Jim stood back up. Hank stopped at the entrance of the building and looked both ways, even as Jim followed Christie. He tugged on the leash. Hank stopped at the curb at the end of the street and wouldn't get down when Jim stepped out. "Forward," Jim ordered. Hank looked both ways and stepped out.

Christie laughed.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Jim said.

"You're right, he needs a day off." She led him around the corner to a small park and Jim got out the ball. He unclipped Hank's leash.

"You remember how to fetch, right?" Jim asked. He tossed the ball, more up than out, always worried about other park-goers. Hank took off running, unable to resist.

Hank dropped to the ground as he attacked the ball. It had been a while since he'd gotten out to play. He rolled in the dirt really quickly before running back to Jim and dropping the ball at his feet. He waited patiently for Jim to find the rolling ball, covered in dirt and saliva, and toss it again. Hank took off before it landed, prepared to snatch it straight out of the air. Again he dropped to the ground and rolled. It was no fun playing if you were clean, he thought. And he was always cleaned, groomed, brushed. Every night. He was the prettiest dog in town, sure, but once in a while—he shook dirt from his fur and watched it flying in the air, then sneezed happily.

He'd been confused at first, leaving the building. He never left without the harness. It was his sworn duty to guide Jim and make sure no harm came to him. And the girl, he'd never trusted her much, not since she wouldn't have anything to do with him.

He dropped the ball at her feet, just to see what she'd do. Jim was kneeling in the mostly dead grass, but the wife was standing right behind him, watching, her hands in her pockets. Jim turned and picked up the ball. Hank gave an inward doggy shrug—no one could say he hadn't tried to be friends.

Hank lounged at their feet while they sat on a bench holding hands. He was panting and could feel the dust coating his fur. He leaned back, his head on Jim's foot, and yawned. He hoped they wouldn't go anywhere for a while, just sit there and soak up the late afternoon autumn sun. Christie was laughing and Jim was talking. Hank watched them a moment before his eyes closed, thinking they must look like a family.