Page 2 of Full Contact

Trier: I wonder how they found this?

His answer arrived almost immediately.

Russ: She looks great.

Useless man.

Most of the comments on the wedding video asked where I’d bought the harness or announced a willingness to die for her. A few people wanted to know if she liked going places. She did like some places, more than she liked most people. I thought that was reasonable.

Then there were the comments about Mark.

Who is the hot man in the hot suit?

There were variations, some considerably less polite, but that was the question people kept asking. Somebody had made it a hashtag. #hotsuitweddingman

I’d known that man for eleven years. His name and photo were on the team website, although the photo didn’t quite do him justice. He looked pleasant and capable in it. In person, I had a hard time looking away.

I enlarged the video. There was a moment near the end when Mark turned toward me, still smiling, his hand resting on the back of my chair.

Beside me on the couch, Peaches reached over and put a paw on my wrist.

I glanced at her. “What?”

She pushed her head under my hand.

“Your turn?”

I put the phone down and scratched behind her ears. She leaned into my fingers until her cheek squashed sideways and her eyes closed.

We stayed like that for a while. When it was time for her medication, I got up and walked to the kitchen.

Peaches knew the sound of the treat jar from anywhere in the condo. She could also hear me open the drawer that held her medication. I set the gel and a glove on the counter, then went back for her.

She hadn’t moved from the couch.

“Come on. You know what we have to do.”

She watched me approach, then stood and stretched. I waited while she finished, then held out a hand for her to sniff.

“Up you go.”

She was fourteen, turning fifteen in October, and she liked a little warning before anyone picked her up. I scooped her into my arms and carried her to the kitchen, where I set her on the counter. Once she was settled, I rubbed her cheek with my knuckle before putting on the glove.

Her thyroid medication came as a gel for the inside of her ear. She tolerated it better than pills, which was a low bar. She flattened the ear I needed and turned to examine something fascinating behind her.

“Peaches.”

Anna was back at the kitchen table, going through the fall schedule on her tablet. “Would you like help?”

“We have it under control.”

I steadied Peaches, applied the gel, and let her go. She walked straight to the treat jar and sat beside it.

“See?” I told Anna.

“Very smooth.”

I took off the glove, retrieved a salmon treat, and gave Peaches the payment for her good behavior.