He returns to her apartment with his whole body vibrating at the joy of being a good boy, a clever boy, and finding his way home. His leash is still attached to his collar, though it is wet and discolored from dragging in the streets.
She thinks out loud—a mugging, a car accident, or maybe, maybe, Ivan tied the dog up outside of some cafe while he grabbed a cup of coffee and the dog pulled loose and now Ivan is out looking for the dog—yes, that has to be it. And she calls Ivan’s phone again, where it goes straight to voice mail, and she starts to leave a message but only gets out a breathy syllable, a hissed beginning of hello, before she hangs up.
She stands at the window and faces the lake. The dog whines. Good boy, clever boy, finding his way home. She always wanted a big dog. She always wanted a view of the lake.
