The Silence of the Chihuahuas Read Free Page A

more and more rural the farther we went. As soon as we dropped down into the valley, it was nothing but farmland as far as you could see: fields and pastures, all glowing a lush green on a grey day. I am always amazed that such pastoral settings still exist so close to Seattle and its urban sprawl.
    Just before I crossed the Snoqualmie River, I saw a large wooden sign that read: F OREST G LEN S PA AND C LINIC —N EXT R IGHT . I turned and followed a narrow road that ran along the river, until it took a big bend to the right and my destination came into view. The buildings were hidden from the road by a long row of tall poplar trees that had probably been planted as a windbreak many years ago. Now the grounds had been landscaped with leafy, deciduous trees, rolling hills of closely mown grass, and flagstone paths that meandered between the main building and some smaller satellite buildings, all of them done in white stucco with red-tiled rooftops.
    I parked in Visitor Parking, next to a large and graceful weeping willow tree. “This place is just gorgeous,” I told Pepe. “It looks more like a luxury resort than a treatment center.”
    He didn’t respond. That was beginning to seem normal to me. Sort of like my ex-husband right before our divorce.
    I put Pepe’s leash on him. He usually protests, but because he wasn’t talking all he could do was give me a baleful look. Then we headed toward the main entrance at a slow pace as Pepe had to stop to put his mark on various tree trunks and shrubs. The big Spanish-styled main building had baskets of fuchsias hanging on either side of its rounded, oak entry door, their splash of vibrant scarlet-pink flowers contrasting nicely with the white stucco.
    The foyer was dramatic with oak beam ceilings crossing high overhead and tiled stairs sweeping up to the upper floors on either side of a reception area, which was dominated by an ornately carved oak desk. The young man seated at the reception desk was in his mid-twenties at most. He had closely cropped blond hair that seemed ultra-blond set off as it was against his deeply tanned face and vivid blue polo shirt. He smiled as I approached, his perfect teeth almost blindingly white.
    â€œHello! I’m Justin,” he said, rising from his seat. “How can I assist you?” His crisply pressed slacks were also white. He looked like he’d be more at home at a tennis club than at a clinic.
    I hesitated. I had not come up with a story yet. I looked at Pepe, wishing he would help me. The receptionist saw my gaze.
    â€œUnfortunately, we don’t allow dogs in our facility,” he said.
    â€œBut this is my therapy dog,” I said. “I need him because of my”—I lowered my voice—“disability.” I knew that according to law they could not ask the nature of my disability. But they could ask to see the dog’s certification. And he did.
    â€œCan I see your paperwork, then?” Justin’s voice was cool.
    â€œI left it in the car,” I said. But that gave me an idea. “I just came out here to check out the facility because my therapist recommended it. She thought if I saw it for myself, I would be more likely to check myself in. But I can’t deal with any more stress. I guess I’ll just leave . . .” I turned as if to go.
    I thought I saw Pepe give me an approving nod. Perhaps I had learned a little bit about acting from watching Pepe’s favorite telenovela, Paraiso Perdido . Although his favorite actress would have pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead while uttering those words.
    â€œOh no, that’s not necessary,” Justin said quickly. “We can arrange a brief tour. I’ll just keep your little dog back here behind the desk with me.”
    â€œOr maybe we could just walk around by ourselves?” I suggested hopefully.
    â€œOh, no,” Justin said. “We don’t want to disturb our clients. Their