Page 69 of You Fall First

“Pearl! Her name is Pearl.”

Before I have time to inquire how a four-year-old came up with such a granny name for a dog, he tries to stand while holding her. The puppy wiggles free, dropping to the ground, fortunately not far enough to be injured. Still, Dutton lets out a frustrated yelp, and a pet shop employee with blonde braids wanders over.

She’s the one who let us into the back pen in the first place.

Asking her if we could play with the spaniel was probably my first mistake.

“It’s time to go, Dutton.”

“Nooooo,” he howls as the employee—Beatrice, according to her name tag—collects the puppy. She flashes me a sympathetic wince, then quickly flees toward the kennels.

“Uncle Noah’s on his way, bud.” I’m using my patient voice, which I’ve been working on all week. “I think he’s getting you McDonald’s.”

In truth, I have no idea what Noah’s picking up for dinner, but I’m pulling this trick out of the magician’s hat, hoping the siren song of a Happy Meal toy will tempt Dutton away from Pearl the puppy.

It doesn’t.

Unless temptation looks like Dutton throwing himself onto the ground.

You all saw this coming, right? Such a rookie move on my part. But let’s be honest. I’m not a parent. I’m a daughter, and a sister, and an aunt who thought she was headed toward being a wife and mother. Maybe the universe knew better.

Time for damage control.

I drop down beside Dutton, rubbing circles on his back and using my most soothing voice, while he sobs into the carpet. “I know you’re disappointed,” I say. “And we can come visit Pearl again if you want.”

This is my second little white lie, after the McDonald’s, because I’m never taking this kid to a pet store again. Still, anything I can tell him to put this moment in the rearview feels worth it. I’ll deal with his potential lack of trust in me later.

“I want to go hooooooome,” he wails.

“Yes, right, good,” I say, aiming for the brightest possible promise I can give him. “We can go home.” Finally a truth, not a white lie.

He hiccups over a sob. “We can?”

“Absolutely.”

At this, he finally calms, and I help him haul his tiny, sad body up off the floor. While he lets out a few wet coughs, I fish a tissue from my purse to wipe his tear-streaked face. “There. Better?”

He eyes me suspiciously. No nods from Dutton yet.

“We go now?” he chokes.

“Yes.” I crouch all the way down to his level so he knows I really mean it. “We’ll go right back to Uncle Noah’s house, right now. No stopping or anything.”

Dutton’s chin trembles. “Nooooo,” he whimpers, sounding even more brokenhearted at the lower volume.

“Come on, buddy.” I sigh, shoulders slumped. “You gotta work with me here. You were just begging to go home.”

His red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “Not Uncle Noah’s house.” He sniffles. “Mama’s.”

Chapter Eighteen

Noah

Something’s wrong.

I can tell the minute I pull into the driveway.

For the past several nights, Dutton’s run out to greet me, breathless and excited for a step-by-step debrief of his day with Jo.