“What?” the voice on the other end said.

“Oh, not you, Steven. The dogs. They’re raising Cain. Hang on just a minute.”

I opened the door a crack, intending to get them to settle down. They bowled me over and ran over to Frank’s mother, who was still remarkably calm about the whole situation. She petted the dogs, who were giving her a sniffing over and an enthusiastic greeting all at once.

“What are their names?” she asked.

“They don’t have names yet. I think we’re narrowing it down between Frick and Frack or Yes and No. If it’s Yes and No, we might rent them out to spiritualist parties.” She looked at me as if I might be serious.

“Who’s on the phone?” Frank called from our small spare bedroom.

“Steven,” I answered, going back to the receiver.

“I vote for Yes and No,” Steven said. “Otherwise, you’ll have Frick, Frack, and Frank, and that could get confusing.”

“So would saying, ‘No, Yes,’ if Yes misbehaved. Frank thought we should give them mixed-up Western names. Since Cody is a cross between Wild Bill Hickok and Buffalo Bill Cody, maybe we could have Buffalo Hickok and Calamity Annie Oakley.”

“You lost me. Besides, too hard to say. Although Calamity isn’t a bad name, from what you’ve told me about your dogs.”

“Hang on again, Steven. Now the doorbell’s ringing.”

The dogs were barking again and got to the front door before I did. “What’s wrong with you mutts?” I heard a voice call from the other side of the door. They immediately settled down into anxious whines. Not to be fooled by this, I grabbed on to their collars.

“Come on in, Jack,” I shouted.

He opened the door and stepped in. The dogs sat prettily and were quite well-behaved for him. “If I had known you could have this effect on them, I would have made sure you were here when we walked in tonight. They’ve been candidates for the banana ranch.”

Frank stepped out into the hallway and invited Jack back to meet his mom. I could tell that it took everything in her power to control her initial reaction to him, taking in his scarred face and shaved head, his earring and tattoos. But Jack has an ability to make almost anybody like him, so Frank and I no longer worry over people’s first reactions to his appearance. I headed back to the phone.

Steven Kincaid was apparently just feeling lonesome, and had no particular reason to call. I chatted with him for a moment, then covered the receiver and motioned to Frank. After a brief discussion, we ended up inviting Jack and Steven to join us for dinner. While we waited for Steven to make his way over, we fed the dogs and Cody. Jack had already won Bea over by the time Steven arrived. Bea wasn’t too old to appreciate Steven’s good looks, either, so we were happy campers when we headed out to Bernie’s All-Night Cafe.

It was just as we were finishing dinner that the trouble started. “Irene,” Bea said to me with a smile, “I have the loveliest place picked out for the wedding.”

Frank and I exchanged a look.

“Mom, Irene’s sister is already working on that.”

I tried not to laugh out loud as I added, “We’ll probably be picking something out ourselves when the time comes.”

The check arrived and we haggled over who would pay, Frank and I finally convincing everyone that we’d cover it this time. We piled back into the Volvo; I sat between Steven and Jack in the backseat.

Bea took up where she left off. “I’m sure your sister will adore this place. But you two need to set a date and set it now. I think June would be nice. Traditional, I suppose, but still – Irene, have you picked out your dress yet? We need to get going on invitations as well. And set up a florist, and a photographer, a caterer and – oh, of course, a minister.”

“Irene’s Catholic,” Frank said, the moment she stopped to draw a breath.

“What? Catholic? Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, Frank.” The disappointment level would have better matched an announcement like “Irene’s an ax murderer and cannibal, as well as a polygamist, but by golly I love her anyway.” “Well,” she said, bucking up admirably, “we’re Episcopalian, Irene, and I don’t think you’ll find it too much of a change.”

We had just pulled up in the driveway. Jack took my hand and gave it a squeeze of silent support, or I don’t think I could have kept my mouth shut. Steven was looking extremely uncomfortable. I suppose it was Frank’s tone of voice that made everyone in the car suddenly snap to attention. It was quiet, but chilled.

“Irene, why don’t you and Jack and Steven take the dogs for a walk on the beach?”

I nodded, and we got out of the car. Jack and Steven let the dogs out of the backyard. Frank opened the front door for his mom, who hadn’t said another word, then he came over to where I stood. He put his arms around me and bent to my ear and whispered, “Be careful, you unrepentant papist, and don’t let yourself wander out of sight of Jack and Steven, okay?” He kissed my forehead and went inside.

The dogs were overjoyed at the prospect of a walk, leaping in circles around us as if they were on springs, bouncing their front and back ends. Their enthusiasm somehow buoyed my own spirits.

We walked along the shore, watching the dogs chase each other. It was a cloudy night, threatening rain. There wasn’t much wind, but the air was cold. The moon was up; its bright face broke through the clouds now and again, but the night was dark enough to make me heed Frank’s warning – I stuck close to Jack and Steven. Jack was on my left. Steven on my right, as we approached the pier. Each put an arm through one of mine, and we huddled together, listening to Jack tell a story about a job he once had picking pears.

Suddenly there was hollow “thump” to my right, and I turned to see blood pouring down Steven Kincaid’s face. He stared at me with a dazed look, reached toward his forehead, and collapsed onto the sand. I cried out, and Jack and I quickly knelt down next to him. He was breathing, but out cold. Blood flowed from a deep gash in his forehead, just above his right eye. The dogs started barking ferociously and charging toward the pier, where I saw a thin man running away.

I looked back to Steven, who was pale and motionless.

“Get Frank, Jack. Hurry. Tell him about the man on the pier.” As I spoke I took Steven’s head in my lap. I reached beneath my jacket and tore off a wide strip of my cotton blouse and used it to try – gently – to stop the bleeding on his head. Jack whistled for the dogs, who turned and came back. “I’m not leaving you here without them,” he said. The man who had been on the pier was nowhere in sight.

Jack saw Frank’s dog sniffing at something, and he bent over and gingerly picked it up. He pocketed it, commanding the dogs to stay, then he ran back to the house.

I sat shivering on the sand, holding the cloth to Steven’s head, listening to the dogs making small whimpers of concern. Frank’s dog licked my face, and I became aware of the fact that tears were coursing down my cheeks.

Now and then the moon would clear the clouds, and I would see Steven’s pale, blood-covered face. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. The cloth was soaked and still he bled.

I held back, or thought I held back, a sound of fear and sadness, but I may have made the sound after all, because I heard the dogs echo it. I begged my papist God not to let Steven Kincaid die.

I DON’T KNOW how much time had passed before I saw the dogs prick their ears forward. I looked up to see Frank and Jack running toward us. Probably only a few minutes had gone by, though it felt like hours. Frank knelt down next to me and felt for Steven’s pulse. “He’s still alive,” I managed to say, “but he hasn’t moved or made a sound. There’s a lot of blood.”

“Foreheads bleed easily,” Frank said softly, and reached over to lift my hand from the wound. The strip of blouse was soaked red, and as it pulled away, the awful gash below it looked worse to me than it had before. Frank had a first-aid kit with him. He moved Steven’s head from my lap onto a sort of pillow. I heard a sound above us, and saw Jack unfurling a blanket. He put it over Steven while Frank made a pressure bandage for the wound.