‘My favourite part of this adorably smart story is the wealth of

insight we get into the minds and behaviours of our most darling
companions—not dudes, but dogs. One of America’s foremost
pet trainers and a sparkling writer, in Life On the Leash, Victoria
Schade proves herself as a bright new voice in fiction.’—Kristine
Gasbarre, author of How to Love an American Man

‘A bighearted and witty debut from a writer with remarkable insight

into the minds of dogs and those who love them. The winsome
cast of characters will have you hooked on Life on the Leash from
the first page.’—Meg Donohue, USA Today bestselling author of
Dog Crazy

‘Playful, lovable and heartwarming, Life on the Leash is the

definition of feel-good fiction. Victoria Schade’s irresistible debut
will have you cheering for dog trainer Cora, and the cast of charis-
matic characters, furry and non-furry. Add this to your to-read pile
immediately!’—Amy E. Reichert, author of The Optimist’s Guide
to Letting Go

‘Even cat lovers will get wrapped up in this delightful story of girl,
girl’s best friend, girl’s best girlfriends and a couple of guys. Cora’s
canines in training will steal your heart. I couldn’t wait to see
what happened next!’—Shelley Noble, New York Times bestselling
author of Lighthouse Beach

‘Charming and heartfelt, Life on the Leash will delight readers.

The perfect book for dog lovers!’—Chanel Cleton, author of
Next Year In Havana

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 ‘A light, warm-hearted romp . . . with an earnest, i­nfectiously
funny tone that dog lovers, especially, will find delightful.’
—Publishers Weekly

‘Life on the Leash is the novel you’ve been waiting for all year—
a strong, funny, big-hearted heroine to cheer for in life and in
love, plenty of “I’ve-been-there” dating moments, and adorable,
endearing, sometimes mischievous dogs to love on every page.’
—Nicolle Wallace, author of Madam President

‘Life on the Leash is a witty celebration of dogs, romance and

taking chances. Cora is a heroine to root for even in her most
complicated moments, and, whether you have a dog or just
appreciate them from afar, this book will make you want to head
to the nearest shelter, either to adopt or ­volunteer. You’ll want to
curl up with your favourite furry bundle and devour the whole
thing in one cuddly sitting.’—Stacey Ballis, author of How to
Change a Life and Wedding Girl

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 This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real
places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products
of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First published in Australia and New Zealand by Allen & Unwin in 2018
First published in the United States in 2018 by Gallery Books,
an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Copyright © Victoria Schade 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior
permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever
is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational
purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has
given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com

A catalogue record for this

book is available from the
National Library of Australia


ISBN 978 1 76052 984 0

Design by Bryden Spevak

Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

The paper in this book is FSC® certified.

FSC® promotes environmentally responsible,
socially beneficial and economically viable
management of the world’s forests.

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 ONE

C
ora waved sheepishly at the car she’d just cut off and
mouthed “Sorry!” to the driver. She had three minutes to
make it two blocks, find parking, and dash to her client’s
house. In DC, on the wrong side of rush hour, two blocks could
take hours. On this day the traffic gods were on her side.
She’d told Madison Perry she’d arrive at her home at eleven
thirty, and her phone read eleven twenty-nine as she snagged a ser-
endipitous parking spot in front of the brownstone. Military pre-
cise, she thought as she speed-walked to the front door. She hoped
her new client would notice. Though she was chronically late for
every other part of her life, Cora always managed to make it to her
clients’ homes on time, even if it meant breaking a few traffic laws
along the way. The illegal U-turn she’d made in the middle of the
street to snag the prime parking spot? Just part of the job.
The Perry brownstone was in a beautiful section of George-
town. Close to Montrose Park, a few streets up from the shopping
on M Street, and storybook charming on the outside. The low
wrought iron fence opened to a courtyard filled with precision-

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 2 VICTORIA SCHADE

trimmed boxwoods, so perfect that they looked like the gardener

had used a laser to sculpt them. Blossom-heavy window boxes an-
chored the four large front windows. Looks like a House Beautiful
centerfold, Cora thought.
As she rang the doorbell she wondered who she was about to
meet. Cora always tried to imagine her clients prior to seeing them
face-to-face as a way to prepare for the all-important first session.
Context cues, from the way the client’s voice sounded, to the syn-
tax of their e-mails, to the type of dogs they owned, all helped
Cora paint a picture that was, more often than not, dead-on. Pre-
dicting canine behavior was her specialty, but predicting human
behavior was a close second.
Madison’s e-mail had detailed the challenges she was having
with her new boxer puppy (“The nipping! The peeing! You need
to fix this dog!”). Cora was always hesitant when a potential client
asked her to “fix” their dog, because a dog is more than a piece of
malfunctioning household equipment. Obedience training wasn’t
a business of quick fixes, despite what Doggy Dictator Boris Er-
shovich preached on his TV show.
Madison’s e-mail signature had included her title at a presti-
gious DC law firm, so Cora assumed that she was an established
attorney with a similarly well-connected husband, perfect chil-
dren, and a new puppy to round out this year’s Christmas photo.
But the name Madison gave her pause. She’d never met a woman
over the age of thirty with the name. Cora heard footsteps ap-
proaching and envisioned the polished woman she was about to
meet.
The door opened. “Look at you—right on time.”

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 LIFE ON THE LEASH 3

Cora stood dumbfounded for a moment. The square-jawed

Hillary-coiffed power broker she was expecting was actually a
gorgeous late-twenty-something blonde in black yoga pants and a
slouchy cashmere cardigan. The woman looked only a year or two
older than twenty-eight-year-old Cora. Perhaps this was Madison
Perry’s daughter?
The woman extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Madison. Thank you
for fitting me in so quickly. I swear, Oliver is the devil. He’s really
driving me crazy.” Cora saw Madison’s eyes flit up and down her
body, taking in her frayed sneakers, work bag, and coat.
Cora swallowed her disbelief. This was Madison? This model-
like creature was lady of the Georgetown manor and chief legal
officer at Crandall, Quinn & Hawkins?
“Hi, hi.” Cora was caught off guard by her miscalculation.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Please come in.” Madison took two steps backward and then
clasped her hands under her chin. “I hate to do this, but could you
take off your shoes?”
“Of course. Murphy’s Law.” Cora laughed. “Today’s the day
I’m wearing old socks.” She loved her neon unicorn socks and
wasn’t ready to toss them, despite the holes blooming on both toes.
She kicked off her shoes, worried that her feet smelled.
“You know how it goes—white carpets,” Madison said, gestur-
ing like a spokesmodel toward the immaculate cream and white
damask-print rug.
Cora nodded. White carpets indeed. She tucked a stray tendril
back into her thick caramel-colored braid, a nervous habit that did
no good because the strand always popped right back out. There

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 4 VICTORIA SCHADE

were times, like when she met a successful, put-together career

woman, that Cora doubted her decision to give up a fast-track
corporate job to become a dog trainer. But, no matter that the
salary wasn’t cushy and the stock options were nonexistent, Cora
was making good on her promise to Cooper.
She glanced in the mirror as they walked down the hallway
and admitted to herself that she looked more like a homeless per-
son than someone whose name and impressive job title used to
appear on a weighty business card. She still kept one in the folds
of her wallet as a reminder of the corporate drone she used to
be. Holey socks and all, Top Dog was a dream manifested into
reality.
Cora’s button-down logo shirt was wrinkled and stained with
dog slobber. A belt loop on the back of her three-year-old jeans
had torn off because she was constantly using it to hike them up.
Her old black jacket was flecked with a rainbow of dog fur. Disor-
der verging on frump had become a way of life.
But the truth was Cora could get away with the squirrel’s nest
of dark blond waves and makeup-free face. She looked like she be-
longed in a vintage soap ad promising velvety suds and a schoolgirl
complexion.
“Did you have any trouble finding us?” Madison asked, sound-
ing as if she was talking to a child.
“Uh, no. I’ve had quite a few clients in your neighborhood.
Georgetown is sort of my backyard,” Cora replied.
“Oh! You live in Georgetown?” Madison sounded surprised.
“No, I live in DuPont, but I have tons of clients in George-
town. I get a lot of referrals around here, particularly—”

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 LIFE ON THE LEASH 5

“Anyone I might know?” Madison interrupted.

Cora felt like she was in an interview for the Junior League.
“Um, Ted Sullivan? He’s over on P Street. Marjorie and James
Klein? Uh, let me think . . . the Dunn family?”
Madison shook her head at each name but appeared comforted
by the fact that Cora could rattle off a list of folks in her tony
neighborhood.
Cora stole glimpses of the rest of the beautiful house as they
moved toward the kitchen, averting her eyes from her reflection
when they passed another oversize shabby-chic mirror.
“Well, here’s the little monster,” Madison said with a flourish.
Oliver the twelve-week-old fawn boxer puppy was curled up in
a tiny ball, fast asleep in the corner of his faux rattan crate.
“Oh. My. Goodness,” Cora exclaimed. “He’s perfect. I’m in
love!”
Oliver stirred, stretched, and then realized that he had an au-
dience. He went from slumbering puppy to entertainer in an in-
stant, leaping in circles and barking excitedly.
“Should I take him out of his crate?” Madison asked.
“Please! I have to kiss that little face right now.” Cora saw
Madison wrinkle her nose.
“It’s gross, I know, but j’embrasse mon chien sur la bouche!”
Cora said, unable to control the stream of French. She often broke
into her second language when she was feeling uncomfortable.
“Vous parlez français?” Madison asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, j’essaye de parler français,” Cora replied with false mod-
esty. Her minor in French guaranteed that she did more than try
to speak the language, but it wouldn’t do to brag in front of Madi-

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 6 VICTORIA SCHADE

son. “Let’s head outside for a potty break right away since he’s just
waking up from a nap.”
“Really? He needs to go out after he wakes up? That’s probably
why he pees all the time after I take him out of the crate. I just
thought he was mad at me for leaving him in there.”
Cora switched to autopilot and began her standard disser-
tation about the misunderstood world of canine elimination as
they walked Oliver through the kitchen toward the backyard.
She surveyed her surroundings while well-rehearsed words tum-
bled from her mouth. The kitchen was large and formal, painted
a warm Tuscan orange, with soft Vermeer light pouring in from
the many windows. The giant circular table seated eight, and Cora
envisioned the chummy dinner parties Madison probably hosted
there.
Madison and who else? Cora could see rows of silver-framed
photographs on the shelf above the fireplace behind the table, but
she couldn’t get close enough to them to make out the faces. Was
Madison a second wife to some cigar-smoking DC backslapper?
The yard, once they exited through the French doors, was as
impressive as the rest of the house, surprisingly large for George-
town, and ringed on all sides with a tall privet hedge. Cora won-
dered how the burned-out urine spots to come would go over with
Madison.
“Charlie’s on the way,” Madison volunteered. “He called and
apologized for being late—he really wants to help with Oliver’s
training. I mean, he better help. Oliver was his idea. I’ve never even
had a dog before . . . Charlie doesn’t know it, but I’m really more
of a cat person.”

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 LIFE ON THE LEASH 7

“Maybe Oliver will help you be both,” Cora replied, starting

to understand the scope of what she would be dealing with. She
fretted that she’d eventually have to snake charm the woman into
liking her in order for them to successfully complete the program.
But for now, she focused on the dog, knowing that a puppy could
blur the hard edges of even the most disagreeable clients.
So his name is Charlie. Cora checked Madison’s left hand. Bare.
Pretending to be a puppy person to lock down old Charlie?
Oliver stopped jumping on Cora long enough to find just the
right spot to pee, and Cora chanted “Hurry up, hurry up,” to him.
She turned to Madison. “I like ‘hurry up,’ but do you already have
a potty phrase?”
“A what?”
Cora started to explain how a simple phrase can become a Pav-
lovian trigger to get a dog to eliminate but was interrupted by the
French doors opening to reveal the most gorgeous man she’d ever
seen. Cora suddenly understood why Madison would lie about
being a dog person.
He was Cora’s kryptonite: tall, broad shouldered, with short
sandy hair that swooped in a way that looked styled but not fussy.
He radiated the kind of kick-in-the-gut good looks that made
both women and men stare. He wasn’t “pretty” but arresting.
Manly, like he’d be at home chopping wood in a flannel shirt,
even though he was wearing an expensive-looking suit.
There’s got to be something wrong with him, Cora thought, steel-
ing herself to remain professional. Aside from the fact that he’s dat-
ing someone who doesn’t like dogs.
He strode over toward Cora with his hand outstretched. “Hi,

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 8 VICTORIA SCHADE

you must be Cora. I’m Charlie Gill. Sorry I’m late. Can you be-
lieve that I hit traffic at lunchtime?” His ruddy cheeks and quick
smile unnerved Cora.
Cora met his grip with a firm handshake and did her best to
hide her immediate and unprofessional attraction to her new client.
“Nice to meet you, and I totally understand the traffic. It runs
my life—I could tell you stories!” Cora said, smiling her biggest
“I’ll blind you with my teeth so you don’t notice that I’m not wear-
ing makeup” smile. She hoped that he hadn’t heard the tremor in
her voice or noticed the bright red splotches she could feel bloom-
ing on her cheeks.
Oliver rushed over and jumped up on Charlie. “There’s my
little guy!” He laughed and leaned over to pet his puppy. Charlie’s
voice went up. “Are you the best puppy in the world? Yes you are!
Why, yes you are, little Ollie-by-golly!”
“I know this is going to sound totally bitchy, but can we get
started?” Madison asked. “I have a one o’clock meeting.”
“Of course! Sorry about that,” Cora replied, embarrassed that
she wasn’t more on top of the lesson and avoiding looking directly
at Charlie. She usually controlled the progression of the hour with
a conductor’s fluidity, but she had a feeling that the Perry-Gill
household wasn’t going to be business as usual.
“Let’s start off with some Q and A.”
They headed back inside and settled in the kitchen, Charlie
and Madison sitting at the table and Cora taking up her usual
position on the floor next to the dog.
“I just have a few questions that’ll help me get to know Oliver
better and help me understand what you want from training.”

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 LIFE ON THE LEASH 9

Cora launched into her standard questionnaire—Where did

you get your dog? Who’s your vet? What type of food is your
dog eating?—and studied Charlie and Madison as they took turns
answering. People revealed more than they realized during that
simple twelve-question interview. Cora usually divided her time
during Q&A interacting with the dog and gauging the people,
so that when they stood up to begin the session she could predict
how each party would react. The interview process was a holdover
from her project management days, a part of her corporate arsenal
that she used to set her apart from her dog training peers.
Madison was the easier to read. She’d almost come out and ad-
mitted that she didn’t really like Oliver, and during the interview
Cora began to realize just how deep that dislike actually was.
“There’s so much wrong with this dog, right, hon? He’s like,
pawtistic I think.” Madison put her hand on Charlie’s thigh and
laughed at her own joke. “But we’ve got our very own Doggie Dic-
tator now. There’s a ton of stuff to fix, but that’s why we’re paying
you the big bucks!”
The corners of Cora’s mouth turned down before she could
help it. Equating the success of her program with the cost was a
close second to the “fix my dog” request on her list of red flags.
(Which was tied with people likening her to Boris Ershovich.)
Sure, private training was expensive, but so was having a plumber
show up when you’ve got an overflowing toilet.
Charlie sighed, as if heading into a frequent battle. “Mads,
there’s not a ‘ton’ of stuff wrong with Oliver. He’s a typical puppy.
It’s all normal.” He reached down to pet Oliver, who was chewing
on his shoelace.

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 10 VICTORIA SCHADE

“What are the main challenges? I want to make sure we get

to all of it.” Cora focused on Madison, as unpleasant as she was,
because her cheeks got hot every time she looked at Charlie.
“Where do I start?” Madison held out her hand and ticked off
the problems on her manicured fingers. “The peeing, the drooling,
the poop in my closet, the hair, the muddy paws, the smell, the
nipping, the jumping, the destruction of my shoes, and the non-
stop spazziness. I’m over it.”
Charlie sighed again, crossed his arms, and leaned ever so
slightly away from Madison.
“Wow, that’s quite a list!” Cora said. “I’ve got good news and
bad news. The good news is that I can help you with most of
it.” She paused. “The bad news is that muddy paws, drool, and
hair are all a part of the deal when it comes to dogs. Maybe you
should’ve stuck with cats?” It slipped out before Cora could stop
herself, and it sounded unkind. She kicked herself for insulting the
person who was about to write her a check.
“Sometimes I wish I had,” Madison said, narrowing her eyes
at Cora.
“I think we’re going to be fine, Mads,” Charlie said, defusing
the mounting tension and finally reaching out to his girlfriend,
giving her hand a squeeze. “I’m sure Cora knows how to help us,
and she’ll show you that Ollie-by-golly is a genius after all. Right?”
He looked at Cora with a hopeful expression.
“I promise. You’ll be embrasser votre chien before you know it!”
Cora’s French tripped her up yet again, making her think about
kissing. She turned pink, and wondered how she was going to nav-
igate the next five weeks without ever looking directly at Charlie.

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 TWO

O
n the drive home, Cora’s cell phone jangled her out
of her self-satisfaction for successfully navigating the
Perry-Gill lesson. She struggled to dig through her
overloaded work bag with one hand while managing the quirky
back streets of Georgetown with the other. Of course the phone
had to ring on the narrow cobblestoned street that was partially
blocked by a moving van. Phone located and earpiece inserted, she
answered, “Top Dog Training, may I help you?”
“Duuuude, where are you? Didn’t you get my texts?”
“Hey, Mags, I’m just leaving my final client of the day. Haven’t
even had a chance to look at my phone. What’s up?” Cora’s room-
mate, Maggie Zabek, had a knack for reporting inane but enter-
taining gossip, so Cora didn’t always rush to check when her name
popped up on-screen.
“I’m guessing you didn’t look at the Post this morning before
you left, right?” Maggie’s father was an editor of the local paper
in Richmond, and though she was thirty years younger than the
average newspaper reader, she defiantly subscribed to the paper

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 12 VICTORIA SCHADE

version of the Washington Post as an act of solidarity for a dying

medium.
“No, I was running late. Why?” Cora could tell by Maggie’s
voice that something was up.
“Um, when will you be home?”
“What’s going on? You’re freaking me out, just tell me what’s
up. What was in the Post? Is it something about my business? Is
there a new Boris Ershovich training center opening up in Ross-
lyn or something?” The idea that the powerhouse dog training
celebrity might franchise on her home turf was one of the many
unlikely but still stressful thoughts that kept her up at night. After
three years of struggle, she was finally established in her market,
but she knew she could never compete with Ershovich’s star power.
“No, it’s nothing about you . . . per se. Jesus, C, I don’t want
to tell you on the phone. You kinda need to see it to believe it any-
way. It’s not bad bad, it’s just . . . freaky.” Maggie paused.
“I’ll be home in five. This better be good.”
“It’s . . . something, all right.”
Cora snagged a parking spot right in front of her building and
raced up the stairs to their place. Her dog Fritz was waiting for her
at the door.
“Hi, Fritzie. Hello, my handsome boy. Where’s Auntie Mag-
gie?” She leaned down and kissed him on top of his square head.
Fritz did a little dance to welcome her home, and for a few sec-
onds as she massaged his shoulders, nothing else mattered. Greet-
ing complete, she stood up and shouted, “I’m here, now will you
please tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Maggie replied.

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 LIFE ON THE LEASH 13

Cora rounded the corner and saw Maggie sitting at the tiny
kitchen table with the newspaper spread in front of her and a
pitcher of orange juice nearby. She was still in her leopard print
flannel pajamas, her short white-blond hair sticking out from her
head in wild spikes. She looked adorable even when disheveled.
Maggie patted the pitcher and smiled. “It’s too early for wine, but
it’s never too early for mimosas.”
“You look awfully cheerful for someone delivering news that
requires alcohol. Let me see this.” Cora swooped down and tried
to grab the paper from the table, but Maggie threw her hands on
top of it.
“Can I at least point it out to you? Back off for a sec. I need to
make a speech first.”
Cora hopped up and down in frustration.
“Okay, Cora, my dearest friend. Here goes.” Maggie cleared
her throat and paused dramatically. “You’ve been through a lot
of crap in the past, and since I know you pretty much better than
anyone else, I think I’m qualified to say that you’ve finally put that
all behind you. Put him behind you.”
Cora’s stomach dropped. The bad news was somehow related
to Aaron, her ex-fiancé. “Oh no. Oh no. What is it? Is he getting
married?” By this time Fritz had pushed his head beneath Cora’s
hand, sensitive, as always, to the slightest shifts in her mood. She
touched it absentmindedly.
Maggie’s expression changed from concerned to pained.
“Please don’t get upset, C. He’s not getting married. Here, look.”
Maggie pushed the newspaper toward Cora and pointed to a
small photo near the TV listings. Cora leaned in and squinted at

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 14 VICTORIA SCHADE

the group of smiling people in the picture. She picked out Aaron
immediately, tanned and grinning.
“ ‘Meet the cast of America’s Hottest Landscaper’?” she read the
caption aloud. “Are you kidding me? Aaron is going on a reality
show?”
It had taken her a year and a half, but Cora had put Aaron
Affini behind her. Now he was going to be back to haunt her via
the television. She’d finally lost the phantom ring sensation, when
her thumb would unconsciously slide to touch the spot on her left
hand where the delicate platinum engagement band had once sat.
Maggie studied Cora’s face. “You okay?”
Cora nodded and shrugged at the same time, her mouth a
tight line.
Maggie spoke quickly, as if to keep Cora from focusing on
the photo for too long. “Look, I know it sucks, but maybe he’ll
get kicked out or voted off or eliminated on the first show. He’ll
disappear again in a few days. Gone, purged, invisible, just like
before.”
“You know that won’t happen, Maggie. Aaron always wins. Al-
ways.” Cora pulled the newspaper from the table and held it close
to her eyes. “He’s the best-looking guy in the group.”
“But it’s not just a beauty competition! It’s also to see who
can weed best, or mow fastest, or do whatever landscapers do.
We both know he’s lazy as hell. Don’t worry, C, he’s not going to
make it far.”
But Cora knew better. She knew that when Aaron had his eyes
on a prize, nothing could stop him. And she knew that he was at
his best when he had an audience.

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 LIFE ON THE LEASH 15

Cora threw the paper on the table. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m
fine.”
Maggie eyed her skeptically.
“What? Who even watches the Garden Channel anyway?”
Cora paused. “I’m happy for him.” She raised her arms and gazed
heavenward. “Universe? I’m totally fine with this.”
“Look at you, all evolved and grown up! Namaste, y’all.” Mag-
gie placed her hands together and bowed at Cora. “Now, do you
want a large mimosa, or an extra-large mimosa?”
She hoped that Maggie couldn’t see through her tough-girl act.
Cora’s coping technique after the breakup was scrubbing every
trace of Aaron from her life, both electronically and in real life,
and then pushing any thought of him from her mind each time
he dared to creep into her consciousness. The rejection was too
painful to dwell on, so she’d erased him. Completely.
“I need to get out of here.” Cora called to her dog. “Hey, Fritz,
wanna hike?”
Fritz danced in front of her, then took a few steps toward the
door. The word hike meant one thing: Rock Creek Park.
Their long walks in Rock Creek Park were the highlight of the
week for both of them. The ritual gave Cora an opportunity to
connect with her own dog after spending the majority of the week
working with other people’s, and it gave Fritz a chance to lay claim
to the landscape by lifting his leg on everything vertical. On this
day, with the warm spring air bringing everything back to life, a
hike would be a hit of dopamine that could banish thoughts of
Aaron for at least a few hours.
Maggie scrunched up her face. “Want me to come?” Since this

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 16 VICTORIA SCHADE

was the first time in all the years they’d lived together Maggie’d
asked to come, Cora wasn’t about to make her best friend go
hiking.
“Nope, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
There was a catch in her throat. She didn’t have lingering
feelings for Aaron, at least none that she acknowledged, so she
couldn’t understand why she was so unnerved by the news he
might get famous. Perhaps because she could no longer control
the Aaron narrative, she feared he might loom larger than life in
her head once again, despite her best efforts to purge him forever.
Maybe she was just being petty and didn’t wish professional suc-
cess for the man who’d jilted her.
Fritz gave a muffled “harrumph” in his polite indoor voice to
speed Cora along, so she took the hint and grabbed his leash.

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