A Cup Full of Midnight by Jaden Terrell Page A

your panties in a wad,” he said. “Jay knows why I kept it.”
    Jay and Fabulous Greg bundled Dylan into flannel pajamas and a down parka. Jay slid one arm around Dylan’s shoulders and another under his legs. Dylan was drawn and shrunken, but the strain of lifting him showed on Jay’s face.
    “Wait,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
    I carried Dylan out to the car and laid him gently across the backseat. Jay and Greg arranged pillows and an inflatable raft around him. As they jostled him, he pressed his lips together and clenched his fists.
    “I’m sorry,” Jay said. His breath steamed out of his mouth and hovered between them like a ghost. “We’ll be home soon. Then you can rest.”
    “Home?” gasped Dylan, between clenched teeth. “I don’t think so, Jay-o.”
    Jay paused and laid a hand on Dylan’s cheek. “It’s my home, honey. That’s going to have to do.”
    Greg shifted from one foot to the other. “There’s one more thing. Wait here.” He jogged into the house and returned a few moments later, a small bundle of white and sable fur tucked into the crook of his arm.
    “Good God,” Jay said. “What is that?”
    It was bigger than a squirrel and smaller than a rabbit, with a foxy face and a pair of oversized fringed ears that stood out from its head like wings. Greg held it out, and it licked his fingers and wagged a plumed tail.
    “This is Luca,” Greg said, pressing the puppy into Jay’s arms. It nestled against Jay’s chest and licked his chin. “A very dear friend thought he’d be good company for Dylan. God knows what she was thinking. I’ve been keeping him in the laundry room; it’s tiled.”
    Jay looked at me. I shrugged. There was hardly enough of the little guy to qualify as a dog, but he deserved better than a cramped life in a grudging owner’s laundry room.
    Greg said, “He’s a papillon. You’ll love him. I thought he’d be a yappy thing, but I’ve never even heard him bark.”
    “Well . . .” Jay said.
    “Wonderful!” Greg gave Dylan a quick, careful hug and scurried back into the house, rubbing his arms against the cold.
    Dylan held out his arms, and Jay tucked the puppy in beside him.
    “You’re too good to me,” Dylan said dryly, and even though I knew he was being sarcastic, I silently agreed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    W hen I left the house on Friday afternoon, Jay was sitting at the dining room table reading the comics and eating strawberry Pop-Tarts. Beside his plate were a half-empty glass of soy milk and a fistful of vitamins and prescription drugs. The sound of Dylan’s rattling breath came from a baby monitor on the edge of the counter.
    “Sleeping,” Jay whispered, gesturing toward the living room.
    “Probably good for him. You going to be all right?”
    “You’re the one who’s out chasing murderers.” He turned the page to the horoscopes. Pointed to mine. “The stars say it’s a bad time to take risks.”
    “It always is.”
    The forecast called for snow, and already the freezing wind cut through my fleece-lined jacket as if it were cotton. I pulled on a pair of gloves and a knit cap and drove to Josh’s high school. Found a parking spot near the front, where a wave of exuberant teens poured through the double doors and spewed out into the parking lot.
    In the front hall, I found Josh chatting with his English teacher, Elisha Casale. An attractive woman. Caramel skin. Hair the color of molasses in sunlight. We’d met the summer before, and I wondered if maybe the chance of seeing her was what had made me come inside instead of waiting for Josh in the truck.
    I said, “Hello, Elisha.”
    She smiled, but not before I saw the hurt on her face. “Jared. You look well.”
    “You too.”
    She tilted her head, searched my face with her eyes. “I thought you might call.”
    “I meant to. I’ve been—”
    She held up a hand. “I know. Busy.”
    “Confused.”
    “How about now?”
    “Getting there.”
    She scribbled something on a scrap of