“Where’s Isabella?”
“It’s beautiful, baby,” I told her, and my eyes were already sweeping the room.
Something was bothering me.
Frankie didn’t come out to greet me. He wasn’t sitting beside the children like he always did, and his bed was empty.
No click of nails on the tile. No slow, arthritic shuffle toward the door where he always waited for me. Sixteen years, and he’d never missed a homecoming.
“Frankie?” I called. “Buddy?”
Nothing.
Something was bothering me.
I walked through the living room, the hallway, and the laundry nook where my childhood pet sometimes napped when the sun hit just right. I checked behind the couch and in our bedrooms.
The back sliding door was cracked open. The gate at the far end of the yard stood wide open, swinging a little in the breeze.
My hands grew cold. I searched the yard. Nothing.
I walked back to the kitchen slowly, fighting the urge to scream.
The back sliding door was cracked open.
“Diane. Where is Frankie?”
My MIL stirred her coffee, calm as ever.
“Oh. He was underfoot while I was carrying my bag in. Whining and following me around. You know how dogs get at his age. So I put him outside the gate.”
Something flickered across her face, quick as a blink.
At his age.
The way she said it, careful and rehearsed, as if it were a line she’d been holding in her mouth all afternoon.
“You know how dogs get at his age.”
My knees actually softened under me. I caught myself on the counter.
“He’s 16, Diane. My dog can barely hear. He doesn’t go outside without someone being there with him.”
“Well, he did today.”
“Why did you have to let him loose?” I challenged.
“Mommy?” Laurence looked up, his crayon frozen. “Is Frankie lost?”
“No, baby,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm for him. “Mommy’s gonna find him. Color with your sister.”
“Well, he did today.”
I turned back to Diane, and something inside me that had been polite for six years finally snapped clean in half.
“You intentionally let him out! You’ve been telling my husband for years that you don’t want ‘that animal’ near your grandchildren. You show up uninvited, with a suitcase, and the first thing that happens is my dog disappears?”
“Oh, calm down, Andrea. Listen to yourself.” She set her mug down gently. “You sound hysterical. Over a dog. I came to see my grandchildren without him under my feet.”
“You show up uninvited.”
I was terrified!
“I don’t want you in my house! Get out!” I said.
My MIL’s eyebrows lifted, almost amused.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me! I don’t want you here. Not today. Not with that suitcase. Not with that key you were supposed to give back.”
“Kenny will hear about this tone, young lady!”
“Good. I hope he does!”
“I don’t want you here.”
I grabbed my car keys off the hook, my hand shaking so hard they rattled. I was going to drive every street in our neighborhood. I was going to knock on Mrs. Alvarez’s door. I was going to find him.
I was reaching for the doorknob.
Before I could touch it, the door swung inward on its own!
Kenny was standing there, breathing hard, with mud streaked across the knees of his work pants.
I grabbed my car keys off the hook.
In his hand, my husband held a small, folded stack of papers.
The moment Diane saw him, she got up, pushed her chair back, walked over, and launched right in.
“Kenny, thank God! Your wife has completely lost her mind over that dog! She’s screaming at me in front of the children and trying to throw me out of the house!”
Kenny looked from me to her. Then his eyes found mine, and he gave me the smallest nod.
“Your wife has completely lost her mind!”
“Frankie’s in the truck,” my husband said quietly. “He’s okay. Tired, but okay.”
My legs nearly gave out. I grabbed the wall to steady myself.
“How did you…,” I started.
Kenny finally turned to his mother. His voice dropped into something icy that I’d never heard from him before — low, steady, and cold.
“Mom, I prepared a little surprise for you.”
Diane blinked.
“He’s okay. Tired, but okay.”
“What are you talking about?” my MIL asked.
Kenny set the papers on the kitchen counter and spread them out like cards.
Doorbell camera stills.
A tracking log with timestamps.
A little map with a red line drawn through our neighborhood.
“What are you talking about?”
“After you shoved Frankie with your purse last year, I put a GPS unit on his collar,” Kenny said. “I never told you. I never told Andrea either. I just had a feeling.”
I gasped as I stared at the map.
My stomach turned over.
“You purposefully clipped a leash onto him,” Kenny said, tapping the first still. “You walked him out the front door. You went two blocks down Maple. You left him at the corner by the elementary school, right where the cars come off the boulevard. Then you walked back alone and put the leash in the garage.”
“I never told you. I never told Andrea either.”
Diane’s mouth opened. But she had no defense.
“The collar pinged my phone the second our dog crossed the property line,” my husband continued. “I was across town on the Henderson job. It took me 20 minutes just to get to him, and another 10 to get home. I found him standing at the curb, Mom. Cars were going past him at 40 miles an hour. He couldn’t hear them!”
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
She had no defense.
Jillian had stopped coloring. Laurence was looking up at his grandmother with wide, confused eyes.
“It wasn’t like that,” Diane finally sputtered. “I only meant to give him a little walk. He was underfoot, and I thought some fresh air…”
“Mrs. Alvarez was suspicious when Isabella told her you were here. She saw you leave with Frankie and called me,” Kenny said. “She had my number from the block directory. She was already halfway down the street when I pulled up.”
