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She shook that thought off too, wondering why her mind was wandering down so many back alleys to the past lately. "I would love to sit down and talk over a nice lunch. There is a nice place here in Morristown that serves excellent Italian." Oh, you know how to get to a girl's heart! I love Italian!" she exclaimed with obvious relish. Then there was a long pause in which Maeve could only her Shameera's breathing and the low hum of the airplane in the background. "I have to warn you, I plan to talk to you about a couple of fairly serious subjects."That sobered Maeve a bit. While she liked Shameera a lot, she still did not really know her that well. This sounded vaguely ominous. "I see. Well, Pazzo Pazzo has a few out of the way tables and I am sure the hostess will give us one of those. I am a regular there, so they tend to try to accommodate me when I ask for something special." Good. Then that is settled. I will get myself situated at the hotel and-" Oh, no you won't, Ms. Afghani!. The phone rang when I reached for it. Marcy sobbed in the background.“Hey, lover boy? It's me. You wanna come here for the party, or should I bring it to you? Nah, you know what? Fuck that. I can't drive impaired. I'd have to arrest myself. Marcy's been crying all evening, so she's in no shape to drive either. We really shouldn't have guests tonight. The place is kinda messy. Sorry to bother you. I'll see you in the morning, okay?” He hung up.Now, what the fuck? Was he was coming for me? It was time for a decision. I could call the cops. If the whole thing was a hoax, they'd deal with it. If some drunk cop really was beating up his girlfriend, they'd deal with that too, quietly dry him out, do a ton of paperwork, and get everyone counseling. But what if he was serious? Marcy said he was dirty. Should I run? Or should I go to her house to help her?That was a ridiculous idea. I was as recovered as I was going to get from my last heart attack, and I was no ninja.
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My world changed forever in that second. Despite the cold tears and the sick lump in my stomach, I prayed, hoped, and prayed against hope, that somehow, someway, God would let me find my precious puppy alive as I approached the corner. But there, lying in the slushy street was the battered form of my little September Snow. Kneeling in the wet, dirty sludge, I lifted her gently from the road, lowered my face and wailed. The walls of my heart were demolished into tiny pieces that cut fiercely as they poured out from every opening onto her still warm body. When Scrappy’s whines finally reached my ears, I saw him pacing back and forth on the corner. By the look on his face, I could see that he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. ‘She’s gone boy,’ I choked through my sobs. A small crowd of people had begun to gather around us expressing their shock and sympathies, the couple that I had rushed past earlier among them. ‘Tough luck son,’ the old man said. Placing a gentle hand.

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