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I’ll just die here quietly. I hear a whine as Hazelnut pushes past the Colonel. She licks some of the sweat off my face. I hate that the Pack is so stressed out. They should be going on their walk now. There’s gonna be so much pee in this house.

The Colonel lifts his head, and the next second, I hear the doorbell ring. My heart lifts. Maybe it’s Miriam, coming to gossip. I’ve never been so grateful for her nosiness.

I sit up and the bathroom spins. I take a few deep fortifying breaths. I try to stand, but I’m too dizzy, so I resort to crawling. I can do this. I crawl past the enormous poop Charleston left on the living room rug, and down the hall, past the kitchen. My arms are shaking as I reach the door just as the bell rings again.

I’m coming, Miriam.

I reach up and turn the knob, barely managing to crack the door open before slumping back against the wall, my head spinning, the nausea resurfacing.

“Oh my god,” a voice says from above me. “Are you okay?”

Several things click together at once. This is not Miriam’s voice. But it is a voice I recognize. A voice that has been haunting me for a week.

I look up into Agustín Martinez’s wide, kind face, and for a moment I wonder if I’m hallucinating.

He pushes the door open and kneels down in front of me.

“Eloise? Eloise. Are you all right?”

He touches me gently, pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. So he’s real.

I want to say something—why are you here and how did you get my address come to mind—but I’m pretty sure if I open my mouth, I’ll throw up on him.

“You’re burning up,” he says.

I shake my head. Go away! I want to shout. But the movement makes my stomach lurch. I clap my hand over my mouth. It’s like I can feel my skin turning green.

“Hold on,” Agustín says, and then he disappears into my kitchen.

He’s in my house. Oh my god, he’s in my house! The Wheel just spins hopelessly, my anxiety nameless because there is no pie slice for this kind of situation. Not even AHHHHHHH! covers it. Then he’s back with a trash can, lined with a fresh bag, and he hands it to me just in time for me to retch into it.

If only the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I can think of nothing more mortifying than this—plus there’s no way my house doesn’t smell like dog pee and poop. Agustín crouches down next to me again, seemingly unperturbed by the vomit. He touches my forehead again, and the feel of his hand leaves faint sparkles along my hairline.

“I’m going to help you to bed,” he says. “You need rest. And medicine. Do you have anything? Pepto Bismol or Advil or …”

He snatches the trash can and puts it in front of me just as my stomach gives another lurch, and I vomit again. He has excellent reflexes. At least there’s nothing much coming up anymore. But still.

I need Miriam. Miriam can help.

“I … need …” But that’s as far as I can get without retching.

“Okay, I will help you up,” he says. He glances down the hall. “Oh,” he says, his face brightening. “You have dogs!”

I manage to turn my head and see the Colonel and Hazelnut watching him suspiciously. Just then, Charleston barrels down the hallway and runs right into Agustín’s thigh. He chuckles and scratches his ear.

“Hey there,” he says softly.

“Who … told …” I croak.

“Rachel sent me,” he says.

Rachel did this? I feel a flash of betrayal but then it occurs to me that I haven’t talked to her all day and that’s extremely unusual for us. She was probably so worried.

“Up you go,” Agustín says and before I can protest, he’s slid one arm around my back, then another under my knees and suddenly, I’m airborne. He cradles me against his chest, his cardamom-leather scent surrounding me, and in any normal situation I would be panicking but right now it just feels so … good. Safe. I don’t even have the energy to be ashamed that he’s seeing me in a sweat-dampened Aimee Mann tee and terrycloth sleep shorts. I just want to close my eyes and live in his arms forever.

I feel a waft of cool air as Agustín nudges open the door to my bedroom with his foot. Then he lays me down on the bed, gently rolling me onto my side. He vanishes and reappears with the trash can in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sets the can beneath me on the floor and the water on my nightstand.

“I didn’t see anything in your medicine cabinet,” he admits. “It looks like it’s all for dogs.”