Chapter 51

Tanya Faulkner, twenty-five years old and a financial analyst at Bank of America, comes running into the hallway, apologizes profusely for her dog, and drags Julius back inside, quickly closing the door behind her before I can even say, “That’s all right.”

Usually her response wouldn’t faze me, and I would’ve walked on, grumbling to myself about spastic dogs and their owners. But tonight, for the first time in years, it does bother me.

Knocking on her door, I call out, “Tanya? It’s John, from next door.”

A few seconds later, the door opens and she stands there, looking at me with eyes wide open, slightly fearful.

“Umm, hi, John. Anything I can help you with?” she asks, timidly. Then she gasps with horror, placing her hands over her mouth. “Oh, no! Did Julius tear your shirt or something?” Panicking, she starts to offer payment.