Sera waited a good fifteen minutes after Jazz’s breathing became steady. Her little chest rising and falling in an even rhythm that soothed Sera’s frayed nerves. Then she gently removed Jazz’s arm off her waist and slid to the edge of the bed, setting the book on the night stand. With the tip of her foot, she nudged Hank in the side.
No surprise that the mongrel grunted in protest at having been interrupted from his sleep. He stretched, yawned, and then did no more than lift his head to look at her as if to say, “What?”
She jerked her head in the direction of the door, motioning for him to follow her. He heaved himself up and followed her reluctantly.
Once outside, Sera closed the door as quietly as she could and turned on Hank. “She has quite the imagination, that sister of ours. She sees our dead mother, thinks you are our brother who has been turned into a dog.” When the dog just continued to stare with a vacant look in his eyes, she added, “Of course, who am I to judge? I’m standing in the hall talking to a dog.”
His ears shot up. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. What I wouldn’t give to go on a date or not have to worry about fleas. And I swear to God if you buy me dry dog food I will pee and crap all over this house and rip your clothes, shoes, and rugs to shreds.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re my, ahem, brother living as a dog. One thing at a time.”