All the people were gone, and Jack was surrounded by casseroles.
Tuna noodle casserole. Chicken and rice casserole. Something called an enchilada casserole. There was also an entire frozen lasagna, quarts of soup ranging from broccoli and cheese to chicken noodle, a meatloaf, and enough banana bread to build a small fort. That was on top of what was already in the freezer, that people had brought when Bella had been sick.
Bella wasn’t sick anymore.
His phone rang. Jack answered it with relief. “Hello, Will.”
“I’m in the neighborhood,” said Will. “I was wondering if I could drop by.”
Jack strongly doubted Will was just “in the neighborhood.” Will had no reason to be “in the neighborhood.” He surveyed the landscape of foil-covered dishes and said, “I have a lot of casserole.”
Will gave a creaky, rusty chuckle. “Yeah, I remember that from when my dad died. Do you want some help?”
“Please.”
Will rang the doorbell in fifteen minutes. He said, “Which kind do you like the least?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t tried any of them yet.” Jack eyeballed the platoon of dishes spread over his dining room table and said, “Probably the tuna noodle casserole.”
Will ate three helpings. Jack thought that probably none of them deserved him; he’d used this man very ill, and here he was anyway, sitting in Jack’s house and not talking to him about his dead wife.
Afterward, Will said, “Actually, I have an ulterior motive.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack said. It came out sounding too casual.
“I’m going out of town this weekend and was wondering if you could help look after the dogs,” said Will. “I don’t think Alana’s up to it yet.”
Alana was still walking with a cane. Jack could concede that she probably wasn’t ready to take care of a pack of dogs.
“I can bring them here,” said Will. “If that’s more convenient.”
Bella would throw a fit, Jack almost said, and then he stopped. “Sure. They’re housebroken, right?”
Will gave him a fond, amused look. “Of course they are.”
He brought them by the next day; there were only six of them now–only!–but Jack was amazed that they all fit in the back of Will’s station wagon. Will told him their names and dropped off an enormous sack of kibble, along with a bag of toys and their leashes. Jack had no idea how he was going to walk six dogs on leashes. He would have to take them to the park.
“They’ll be fine in the yard, too,” said Will. “They’re good dogs.”
They were good dogs. Harvard, the big red one, looked ferocious but actually just loved to lie on Jack’s feet; Buster, the Jack Russell Terrier, was a clown who was always trying to get Jack’s attention. They were noisy, too: not loud, not like they barked all the time, but their nails clicking against the floors and the jingling of their collars filled what was otherwise a hollow and cavernous home.
Zoe, one of the little dogs that Jack had always privately thought was rather ugly, sat on his lap and licked his face when he cried. He wondered if Will knew that she did that, and then didn’t think about how or why Will might know about it.
Ulterior motives, Jack thought, as he hugged Zoe to his chest. I wonder if he’s even out of town at all.