Page 65 of The Love Dose

The floodgates open and she bawls, a gut-deep cry. We sit like that for several minutes until her chest stops heaving. I picture Rezy gone, knowing I would fall apart.

I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to say but it comes out. “I have a dog.”

Her eyes widen. “You?”

I want to ask why that's so hard to believe but I don’t.

Mrs. Reinhold says, “You don’t come across as an animal lover.”

It takes all my restraint not to get into it with her but something tells me that Mrs. Reinhold doesn’t have a lot of friends. She’s alone. And her only friend just crossed the rainbow bridge.

I see Larry is back at his desk, his attention on me.

“I found a sweet puppy in a snowstorm in Vermont. We couldn’t locate his owners.”

She blinks away her tears. “No chip?”

I shake my head.

She looks past me. “Where is he now?”

“Upstairs. His name is Rezy.”

I wait for her to make a snide comment. Instead, she says to herself, “Fine name.”

For some odd reason, I'm pleased by her approval. “Would you like to meet him?”

She pauses. “Well, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

I take in her expectant demeanor. She looks different, vulnerable. Like a lonely old woman.

“I’ll be happy to bring him by.”

The corners of her mouth lift upward. It’s the first smile I’ve ever seen from this woman. Turns out, she does have a full set of teeth.

“I’m in 8D,” she says.

“Yes I know. You’re on my floor.”

“Didn’t think you noticed.”

Once again, I hold my tongue.

She stands. “Okay, then. Come by at seven. Punctually.”

“I—”

“I better go up and make some of my famous sweet potato puree. Rezy will never want to eat your food again.”

Without a word goodbye, eyes dry as a bone, she shuffles to the elevator, leaving me behind.

Larry approaches me. “You’re a kind soul, Mrs. Page.”

I offer a flat smile. I’m not so sure everyone would agree. Apparently, I’m satisfactory when it comes to grieving old ladies and stray dogs, but not with a friend, looking to me for support. A friend who did nothing but supportmewhen I needed it.

Here in the lobby of the Dakota, Larry praising me, I feel sick. Like a load of bricks falling off a high-rise onto my thick head, I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of shame.

I need to apologize to Calvin. Not by text or voicemail. I excuse myself and hurry outside. There’s no time to waste.