Clay showed up a little before three on Saturday. I was about to get a beer out of the fridge when I heard his car pull into the driveway and my beagle, Popcorn, barking from the backyard. I opened the side door just as Clay was getting out of his Passat. He looked good dressed in dark jeans and a gray polo shirt. His dark hair was a little longer than it had been the last time I’d seen him. If he was sick, he sure didn’t look it.
“Quiet, Popcorn!” I snapped at the dog, barking his head off from behind the fence as Clay walked up the driveway. The beagle let out a whimper before heading to the chew toy he’d abandoned across the yard.
“I didn’t know you had a dog,” Clay said.
“Eric and I got him from a shelter.”
Clay gave me a funny look. “Why are your arms folded?”
I hadn’t even reali
