Love Is the Best Medicine Read Free

lacquer of engine oil. He jiggled a sizable love handle on the dog’s hips.
    “Well, whoever owns her makes sure she is well fed. No shortage of insulation here.”
    “Thank God,” said Eileen, a little defensively, surprised by her husband’s lack of chivalry and decorum. “It’s freezing out here.”
    She glanced over at Ben.
    “Go see if she belongs to the restaurant.”
    Ben eased back into a standing position.
    “What, now?” He sensed that the whine in his voice was not helping his cause. He opted for a different tack. “Look,” he said, “she has to be a smart dog. She knew what she was doing when she found you. She’ll find her way home, no problem.”
    Eileen ignored him and scooped the dog up and into her arms.
    “Hand me the keys. I’ll warm the truck up while you’re gone. If she hangs out in this parking lot chances are someone who works here will know who she is.”
    She was smiling, enjoying this little drama, this chance to do good, knowing he would capitulate as she opened her hand, took the keys, and watched him head off the way they had come.
    “Lock up until I get back,” he said over his shoulder, without expecting a reply.
    B EN saw that the lights inside the main entrance had been dimmed, warding off late arrivals, even before he pulled on the front door and found it locked. Mario’s closed at ten, according to the white stenciled lettering behind the glass; his wristwatch said 9:57—justification enough for knocking, a sturdy rap that might summon the maitre d’. Then he heard a woman’s laughter emanating from somewhere out back and headed toward the sound. Maybe the spaniel belonged to the owner or someone renting a room over the restaurant, someone who knew their dog would be smart enough to stay within the confines of the lot.
    At the back of the restaurant Ben saw the stark outlines of two individuals in white cotton jackets. They were standing off to the side of a large Dumpster, in conversation—a goofy comedic male and a receptive giggly female—the red glow of their cigarettes bobbing in the darkness, arcing from mouth to waist and back to mouth again, and just before he reached them he had a bizarre flashback to a childhood memory. For a split second, on his mind’s big screen, he could clearly see a performance of Disney’s
Lady and the Tramp
, the scene with the two dogs sucking on the same strand of spaghetti, chewing their way toward their first awkward kiss, a swarthy heavily accented waiter serenading them with a booming rendition of “Bella Notte.” Suddenly Ben was struck by the improbable notion of tracking down a wandering cocker spaniel at an Italian restaurant.
    As Ben approached he saw the woman in a slash of light spilling from an open kitchen door. In addition to her chef outfit she wore a red bandanna to cover her hair. She punched her friend in the shoulder affectionately.
    “Excuse me, I don’t suppose you’ve lost a dog or know if one’s gone missing.”
    The man was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, working on his goatee like it was his first, enjoying the novelty of its feel on his face, stroking its outline to make sure it was still there. He squeezed in another quick puff before asking, “What sort of a dog?”
    “Cocker spaniel,” said Ben. “Black. Female.”
    The kid appeared to ponder the question before taking his last drag like it was a joint, grimacing, holding on before flicking the butt into the night.
    “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve not seen a single dog in all the time I’ve worked here.”
    “And how long have you been working here?” said Ben, thinking weeks, maybe months, but knowing the kid wasn’t old enough for years.
    “Since six o’clock this evening,” said the kid, swatting his accomplice, who cracked up on command. “It’s my first night on the job.”
    Ben managed a fey smile, wearily letting his head fall to one side.
    “Maybe there’s someone else in the restaurant I can ask.”
    Miss