Protecting Marie by Kevin Henkes Page B

he nor his father was very attached to Dinner.”
    That was difficult for Fanny to believe, but nonetheless her father’s comment put her at ease.
    When Henry was settled again, he talked in great detail about Dinner’s retrieving ability. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I threw the tennis ball as high as I could, and she’d catch it nearly every time.” The manner in which Henry spoke was round and bright, and if his words could be seen as well as heard, Fanny thought that they would be oranges, tumblingfrom his mouth and rolling across the floor in loops. “The best was when I’d lob the ball high and far, and she’d race to catch it on the first bounce. Her legs would lift off the ground, and she’d lunge for the ball with incredible grace. I could see the muscles rippling through her body. It was absolutely amazing to watch.”
    They talked—mostly about Dinner—and sat quietly until the fire had died down again and Ellen said, “I’m exhausted.” She yawned and rose.
    â€œLikewise,” said Henry.
    â€œAre you going to bed?” Fanny asked.
    â€œ I am,” Ellen answered dully, her eyes half-closed. She headed for the staircase.
    Henry nodded and rose too, first on one knee, then up slowly with a creak.
    Fanny felt strange—a combination of excitement and fatigue, but then it had been an unusual day. Two days. Two days in which time seemed to have been measured in a haphazard fashion; two days in which unreal and unpredictable things had become common.She swallowed a yawn. “May Dinner sleep in my room?” Fanny asked her father.
    â€œIf she wants to,” Henry replied. “At the cabin she wandered throughout the night and ended up sleeping by the front door.”
    While Henry locked the doors, Fanny gathered some of Dinner’s things to take up to her room—a rawhide bone, a rubber snowman, a dilapidated dove-colored afghan with holes as big as quarters—and waited at the foot of the stairs. She could hear Dinner in the kitchen, and she’d forgotten how she loved the sound of a dog drinking: lap, lap, lap, lap, lup, lup, lup, lup, lip, lip, lip, lip . . .
    Dinner and Henry joined Fanny, and together they ascended the stairs.
    Ellen, who was coming out of the bathroom, nearly collided with Fanny. “Night, Fan,” she said.
    â€œNight, Mom.”
    â€œWe made it,” Ellen whispered into Fanny’s ear. Then she kissed it tenderly.
    Henry walked Fanny to her door. “Good night, Dinner,” he said. “And good night, MissFancy, my sweet one-of-a-kind snowflake.”
    â€œNight, Dad.” Fanny wanted to add, “I’m glad you’re home,” but she didn’t. And she thought that Henry wanted to say something else, too.
    He winked at her and vanished down the hallway.
    While Dinner sniffed around the bedroom, Fanny prepared a space for her between the dresser and the radiator, folding Dinner’s afghan into a rectangle as best she could, given the afghan’s shabby state. “There,” she said, patting the afghan. “This is your bed.”
    Dinner slunk over to Fanny, turned a circle, then dropped heavily with a sigh. She became compact as a suitcase, with her legs pulled in, her tail tucked under her legs, and her head curled snugly against her chest. She batted her eyes and sighed again.
    â€œPlease, sleep here,” Fanny said. “This is your room, too, you know.” She was on her knees peering directly into Dinner’s eyes. It was difficult for Fanny to turn her gaze away.
    But that’s exactly what she managed to do. She was tired. Her own familiar bed had never looked so soft and thick and good. Fanny switched her fan on, and she left the door ajar in case Dinner wanted to leave. As she wrapped her puffy comforter around her and jiggled her legs to warm the sheets, she concentrated intensely and