Free An Unexpected Grace by Kristin von Kreisler Page A

got a brief attack of the shivers.
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    Adam called when Lila was shivering. If he’d been sensitive, he’d have known she was anxious about Grace, and phoned to dispel her fears.
    â€œJust checking on our dog,” he said.
    Our dog?! No lukewarm “how are you?” or a verbal nod of recognition that I exist? “Grace is fine,” Lila said.
    â€œHave you fed her yet?”
    â€œCristina did before she left.”
    â€œDid Grace eat okay?”
    â€œHer bowl’s still full.”
    â€œYou’ve got to encourage her to eat. Does she seem upset because Cristina’s gone?”
    â€œGrace is always sad unless you’re here.”
    Adam chuckled. “A walk would make her feel better. She shouldn’t be cooped up.”
    Before Lila could remind him of her inability to walk the dog with just one hand, Adam ordered, “Get her to eat. That’s the most important thing.” He said he was late for a meeting.
    Feeling used, Lila hung up the phone.
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    With her foot, Lila nudged the kibble bowl across the kitchen floor and stopped at the open doorway to the entry, where Grace was lying on her stomach with her head raised and her front legs stretched out like a sphinx. Extra pounds would make her more appealing to adopters and remove her more quickly from the house.
    â€œEat your kibble and chicken!” Lila commanded in the tone of lion tamers ordering their charges to leap through burning hoops.
    She may as well have mentioned the Dow Jones to a being from Uranus. When Grace yawned and looked out on the front porch, she said clearly that obedience was a foreign concept, and, further, she was not eager for breakfast. She studied oak grains in the threshold.
    â€œGrace,” Lila said.
    The dog continued observing the wood.
    â€œAdam wants you to eat. We’re talking about the Great Divide here. You gain some weight or you’ll never get a home.”
    Grace seemed to find the warning tedious. She hobbled to the living room, flopped down, and toward the wall pointed her nose, which looked like a licorice gumdrop colored pink on top.
    â€œIf you don’t eat, no one will adopt you,” Lila warned again.
    Grace stuck to her guns as a Uranian. She glanced at her food as if it were a personal affront.
    Had Grace been more receptive, Lila might have encouraged her to eat by pointing out the starving dogs in Bangladesh and the dangers of anorexia. But Lila saved her breath. “All right. Whatever you want. I was trying to help.” She walked through the living room to Google Yuri Makov in the den.
    Grace averted her eyes.
    â€œHave it your way,” Lila said. “I’m not too thrilled about you, either.”

10
    A s Lila typed with only the fingers on her right hand, her wrist stiffened. Her left hand’s fingers itched to jump in and help Google Yuri Makov, but they sat on the desk chair’s armrest weighed down by her cast. As she hunted and pecked, she blamed Yuri for another limitation—until 347 citations for him popped up on Greg’s computer screen and a current of excitement ran through her.
    As Lila scrolled down, however, she saw that the citations were for the newspaper articles that had flurried like a blizzard after Yuri had gone postal. They mentioned “rampage” and “carnage” and the same facts she already knew, such as Yuri’s occupation and Russian origin. Occasional articles questioned why he might have gone on a rampage, but the newspaper reporters provided no answers. The dead ends frustrated her as much as her typing limitations, and she exhaled a discouraged breath.
    Then a different citation leapt out at her. Yuri had posted a message on NICOclub.com, a site for Nissan car owners. Lila clicked on the link and found his forum name: Goodlife. It suggested that he must have longed for one, but so did everyone else on the planet.
    In a small window at the left of the screen was