co.”“What bizarro magazine were you reading?”“National Geographic. It was such an uplifting story about the human-dog bond, the empowerment of the disabled.”“I’ll bet my left foot it wasn’t National Geographic.”“I’m opposed to gambling,” she said.“But not to blind men driving.”“Well, they need to be responsible blind men.”“No place in the world,” he insisted, “allows the blind to drive.”“Not anymore,” she agreed.Brian did not want to ask, could not prevent himself from asking: “Marco isn’t allowed to drive anymore?”“He kept banging into things.”“Imagine that.”“But you can’t blame Antoine.”“Antoine who?”“Antoine the dog. I’m sure he did his best. Dogs always do. Marco just second-guessed him once too often.”“Watch where you’re going. Left curve ahead.”Smiling at him, she said, “You’re my own Antoine. You’ll never let me bang into things.”In the salt-pale moonlight, an older middle-class neighborhood of one-story ranch houses seemed to effloresce out of the darkness.No streetlamps brightened the night, but the moon silvered the leaves and the creamy trunks of eucalyptuses. Here and there, stucco walls had a faint ectoplasmic glow, as if this were a ghost town of phantom buildings inhabited by spirits.In the second block, lights brightened windows at one house.Amy braked to a full stop in the street, and the headlights flared off the reflective numbers on the curbside mailbox.She shifted the Expedition into reverse. Backing into the driveway, she said, “In an iffy situation, you want to be aimed out for the fastest exit.”As she killed the headlights and the engine, Brian said, “Iffy? Iffy like how?”Getting out of the SUV, she said, “With a crazy drunk guy, you just never know.”Joining her at the back of the vehicle, where s
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