Friday, 23 September
6:40 a.m.
Johnny pushed the basement door open, stepped up, exhaled forcefully. He’d just spent an hour working out: 30 minutes on his exercise cycle; 15 with his free weights; 15 in long, slow yoga stretching. Jason was with the dog on the floor before the TV. Johnny looked at him but did not speak.
Without turning, Jason said, “Dog Corleone says he’s sorry.”
Johnny grunted.
“He didn’t mean to knock Grandpa down last night.” Jason massaged the dog at the base of his ears.
“He’s okay,” Johnny said. “I gotta take him to the doctor’s anyway.”
“Did he find the heating pad?” Jason asked.
“It was in his room.”
“It wasn’t Dog’s fault.”
“I know. Did you check on him?”
“He’s asleep. I think.”
Instantly Johnny’s irritation flared. “What do you mean, ‘I think’?”
“Yo
