Chapter 8: The Rule

That night we ate frozen pizza on the deck, with the lake going dark and a blanket over our knees.

Terrence had burned the first one, and we'd agreed never to speak of it.

The dog lay across both our feet with his chin on the toe of my sock.

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Dog," said Terrence.

"That's what's on the vet's form."

"I meant to pick something better, and then eleven years went by."

"He answers to it."

"He answers to anything with cheese in it," I said.

"True."

I picked a piece of crust off my plate and the dog took it from my fingers with great delicacy.

Terrence watched, and I saw the corner of his mouth go up.

"He likes you," he said.

"He likes everyone."

"He doesn't," said Terrence.

"He bit a man from the county."

"The man deserved it."

I laughed, and then I stopped laughing, because I'd noticed something.

I had been sitting beside this man for three hours and I hadn't once watched my words.

I hadn't checked his face first, or wondered what he wanted.

I put my plate down.

"I'm going to tell you something," I said.

"It's going to sound crazy, and you can say so."

"I'm listening."

I looked at the water.

"It is not a figure of speech," I said.

I told him the rest fast.

I made myself look at him.

Terrence had gone completely still.

He wasn't smiling, and he wasn't staring at me.

He sat with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, thinking.

"Then Dad watched it happen," he said at last.

"He watched the paper change, and he knew what he was looking at."

"I think so," I said.

"And you told no one."

"Who would I tell?" I said.

"Who'd believe it?"

"I would," said Terrence.

I turned my head.

"That's the only version of that week that makes any sense," he said.

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