He’s squirming so much it’s hard to get a grip on his little doggy tag, but after several tries, I manage it.
“Señor Sausage II,” I say aloud, smiling. “Oh, that’s so cute!”
My smile freezes when I realize I’ve met a dachshund with that name before.
It was in Cozumel, when Naz and I were taking a stroll down the street after seeing a movie. The night I first told him about Dimitri, when he promised to keep me safe. We saw a dog being walked down the street by his owner and stopped for a chat. When we asked the owner what the dog’s name was, she replied, “Señor Sausage.”
Then she told Naz he should get his wife a dog.
My heart starts to throb. My hands start to shake. A tremor runs through me, fine at the start, but quickly growing into a cascade of uncontrollable shivers.
“Don’t tell
