Free Aces Wild by Erica S. Perl Page A

but instead of a keyboard or touch screen, it had a grid of huge buttons with numbers on them. Ace held it out like he had just discovered a new specimen of giant beetle.
    “They got
you
a cell phone?” I asked incredulously. Would I have to wait until I was eighty to get one?
    Ace shrugged. “I TOLD HER I HAVE NO USE FOR THIS FACACTA THING, BUT SHE INSISTED.”
    “Zelly, Ace? You ready?” Mrs. Wright had her coat on and was standing next to the door, with Rosie by her side. I had seen Ace talking to her during the bathroom break, but I assumed he was just rattling on about some article he had read. My dad called this “bending your ear,” but Mrs. Wright seemed to enjoy having her ear bent. Now she was staring at us expectantly, holding her keys. Rosie looked from Mrs. Wright to Ace-the-dog. Clearly, Rosie had not been consulted when the offer of a ride home was extended.
    “Rufff!”
said Ace-the-dog, fidgeting excitedly. If anyone was not a worrier, it was Ace. He was always thrilled about what might happen next, even if he didn’t have the foggiest idea of what it might be. I kind of wished I could be Ace, just for a few minutes, to know what
that
might feel like.
    We walked outside to the parking lot and found Mrs. Wright’s car. It was a blue Honda, a lot like the one Ace hadfender-bended. Come to think of it, Ace had bent a lot of things lately. A fender. People’s ears. The truth. Rosie hopped in the backseat first and headed straight for her crate, where she spun once, then lay down on her mat. Mrs. Wright latched the crate, then turned to me.
    “I’m sorry, dear, but I don’t have an extra crate with me. Can you just hold Ace on your lap?” she suggested.
    “IF IT’S ALL THE SAME TO YOU, I’LL SIT UP FRONT,” said Ace, climbing into the passenger seat.
    Mrs. Wright looked confused. Then she started to laugh. And laugh. “Oh, Ace,” she said. “You are a hoot!” Ace laughed too, and Ace-the-dog’s tail thumped and thumped. I looked at Rosie. She and I were the only ones who were not amused.
    “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Wright to me. “That must happen to you a lot. How on earth did you end up naming your dog after your grandfather?”
    “It’s a long story,” I said.
    “THE TRUTH IS, I’M NAMED AFTER HIM,” said Ace.
    Mrs. Wright started laughing again. “Zelly,” she said, “your grandfather is a sketch.”
    I wanted to tell her that everyone seemed to think my grandpa was a hoot and a sketch. Except me.
    “It’s very nice of you to be helping Zelly out with her training,” added Mrs. Wright. “Does your wife mind you being out every Thursday evening?”
    There was a pause.
    Then Ace said, “I LOST MY WIFE. EARLIER THIS YEAR.”
    Lost
her? I felt like I was going to throw up. The way he said it, he made Bubbles sound like an old sweater he had left on the bus by mistake. But Mrs. Wright clearly knew what he meant because she said, “Oh!” and then, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
    “FEBRUARY,” added Ace. “WE WOULD’VE BEEN MARRIED FORTY-SEVEN YEARS IN JUNE.”
    “Oh, what a loss,” said Mrs. Wright. She added, “My husband passed away two years ago.” She said it kind of cheerfully, like she had discovered that she and Ace both collected stamps or liked to scuba dive or something.
    “MY CONDOLENCES,” said Ace.
    “Thank you,” said Mrs. Wright. “It never really goes away, of course. But, well, there it is.”
    I couldn’t see Ace’s face because he had his back to me. But since Mrs. Wright was driving, I could see her eyes in the rearview mirror. I felt very strange. First, because Ace didn’t usually talk about Bubbles dying, or about being alone. Second, because Mrs. Wright didn’t sound sad. She sounded kind of, well, maybe not happy. But definitely not miserable. Which didn’t make any sense. Having someone you loved die felt awful.
    When we got to our house, I hopped out of the car first. Actually, Ace-the-dog did—bouncing out the minute I pushed the car