For an awful moment,Brian thought the
puppy had died.
He glanced at his niece,sitting on the passenger side of his
1964 orange ford pickup truck.Her hair-dyed an unlikely
shade of black-fell in a limp veil,shielding her profile from
his probing gaze.Beneath the thin straps of a tank top-also
black-her bony shoulders were hunched foward as if she
was protecting herself from a blow.
Even after six months of sharing a house with one,Brian
Kemp-a bachelor-was no expert on the mysteries of
teenage girls.He had been told they were remarkably re-
resilient,and yet his niece,bent over that puppy with her
hands quiet and tense in the golden fur,did not seem re-
silient.In fact,he was not sure if he had ever seen a more
fragile sight.
He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until the
dog drew in a long ragged gulp of air,and then he did,too.
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