John didn’t particularly like video games or arcades. He didn’t like shopping malls, preferring to order what he needed by mail, and he didn’t really care for animated films either.

The video game ended, and John turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “It’s about time to go.”

“Did I win, John?” Lexie asked as she pointed to her score on the big screen. She wore the silver filigree ring he’d bought her from a jewelry vendor at Pike Place Market on her middle finger, and on the seat next to her sat the little hand-blown glass cat he’d purchased at another stall. The back of his Range Rover was loaded with toys, and he was just killing time before he and Lexie headed up the street to the movie theater so she could see The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

He was trying to buy his daughter’s love. He was unrepentant. He didn’t care. He would buy her anything, spend his time in dozens of loud arcades, or sit through hours of Disney if he could hear his child call him “Daddy” just once. “You almost won,” he lied, and reached for her hand. “Get your cat,” he said, then the two of them wove their way out of the arcade. He’d do just about anything to have the old Lexie back.

When he’d picked her up at home earlier that afternoon, she’d met him at the door without a trace of eye shadow or rouge. It was Saturday, and even though he preferred to see her sans hooker makeup, he was so desperate to see the girl he’d met in June that he’d suggested she wear a little light lip gloss. She’d declined with a shake of her head.

He might have tried to talked to Georgeanne again about Lexie’s unusual behavior, but she hadn’t been home when he’d picked her up. According to the teenage sitter who wore a ring through her right nostril, Georgeanne was working but was due home before he returned with Lexie.

Maybe he’d talk to Georgeanne later, he thought as he and Lexie headed toward the movie theater. Maybe they could both behave like reasonable adults and resolve what was best for their daughter. Yeah, maybe. But there was just something about Georgeanne that tweaked his nerves and made him want to provoke her.

“Look!” Lexie came to an abrupt stop and stared into a shopfront window. Behind the glass, several striped kittens rolled in a furry ball and chased each other up a carpeted scratching post. About six baby cats were kept in a large wire pen, and as she watched in awed wonder, John was treated to a glimpse of the little girl who’d stolen his heart in Marymoor Park.

“Do you want to go inside and take a quick look?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him as if he’d just suggested a felony. “My mommy says that I…” She paused and a slow smile lifted her lips. “Okay. I’ll go inside with you.”

John opened the door to Patty’s Pets and let his daughter into the store. The shop was empty except for a saleswoman who stood behind the counter writing something in a notebook.

Lexie handed him the glass cat he’d bought for her, then she walked to the pen and reached over the top. She stuck her hand inside and wiggled her fingers. Immediately, a yellow tabby pounced and wrapped its furry little body around her wrist. She giggled and lifted the kitten to her chest.

John shoved the glass figurine into the breast pocket of his blue and green polo shirt then knelt down beside Lexie. He scratched the kitten between the ears, and his knuckles brushed his daughter’s chin. He didn’t know which felt softer.

Lexie looked at him, so excited she could hardly hold it all in. “I like her, John.”

He touched the little cat’s ear and brushed the back of his hand across Lexie’s jaw. “You can call me Daddy,” he said, holding his breath.

Her big blue eyes blinked once, twice, then she buried a smile in the top of the kitten’s head. A dimple dented her pale cheek, but she didn’t say a word.

“All of those kittens have had their shots,” the saleswoman announced from behind John.

John looked down at the toe of his running shoe, disappointment tugging at his heart. “We’re just looking today,” he said as he stood.

“I could let you have that little tabby for fifty dollars. Now, that’s a real steal.”

John figured that with Lexie’s obsession for animals, if Georgeanne wanted her to have one, she would. “Her mother would probably kill me if I took her home with a kitten.”

“How about a puppy? I just got in a little dalmatian.”

“A dalmatian?” Lexie’s ears perked. “You gots a dalmatian?”

“Right over there.” The saleswoman pointed to a wall of glass kennels.

Lexie gently put the kitten back into the pen and moved toward the kennels. The glass cubicles were empty except for the dalmatian, a fat little husky asleep on its back, and a big rat curled up in a food bowl.

“What’s that?” Lexie asked as she pointed to the almost hairless rat with the enormous ears.

“That’s a Chihuahua. He’s a very sweet little dog.”

John didn’t think it should be allowed to be called a dog. It shook all over, looked pathetic, and gave dogs in general a bad name.

“Is it cold?” Lexie wondered, and pressed her forehead to the glass.

“I don’t think so. I try to keep him very warm.”

“He must be scared.” She placed her hand on the kennel and said, “He misses his mommy.”

“Oh no,” John said as the memory of wading out into the Pacific to rescue a little fish for her swam across his brain. There was no way he was going to pretend to save that stupid shivering dog. “No, he doesn’t miss his mommy. He likes living here alone. I bet he likes sleeping in his food dish. I bet he’s having a really good dream right now, and he’s shaking because he’s dreaming he’s in a strong wind.”

“Chihuahuas are a nervous breed,” the saleswoman informed him.

“Nervous?” John pointed to the dog. “He’s asleep.”

The woman smiled. “He just needs a little warmth and lovin‘.” Then she turned and walked through a set of swinging doors. A few seconds later the back of the glass kennel opened and a pair of hands reached for the dog curled up in the dish.

“We need to get going if we want to make the movie in time,” John said too late. The woman returned and shoved the dog into Lexie’s waiting arms.

“What’s his name?” Lexie asked as she looked down into the beady black eyes staring back at her.

“He doesn’t have a name,” the woman answered. “His owner gets to name him.”

The dog’s little pink tongue darted out and licked Lexie’s chin. “He likes me,” she laughed.

John looked at his watch, anxious to have Lexie and the dog part company. “The movie is going to start. We have to go now.”

“I’ve already seen it three times,” she said without taking her eyes from the dog. “You’re such a precious darlin‘,” she drawled, sounding amazingly like her mother. “Give me some sugar.”

“No.” John shook his head, suddenly feeling like a pilot trying to land an airplane on one engine. “Don’t exchange sugar.”

“He’s stopped shaking.” Lexie rubbed her cheek against the clog’s face and he licked her ear.

“You’ll have to give him back now.”

“But he loves me, and I love him. Can’t I keep him?”

“Oh, no. Your mother would kill me.”

“She won’t mind.”

John heard the catch in Lexie’s voice and knelt down beside her. He felt his other engine die with the ground rushing up at him. He had to think up something fast before he crashed. “Yes, she will, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you a turtle and you can keep him at my house, and every time you come over, you can play with him.”

With the dog curled up happily in her arms, Lexie leaned into John’s chest. “I don’t want a turtle. I want little Pongo.”

“Little Pongo? You can’t name him, Lexie. He’s not yours.”

Tears welled up in Lexie’s eyes and her chin trembled. “But I love him, and he loves me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a real dog? We can look at real dogs next weekend.”

She shook her head. “He is a real dog. He’s just really little. He doesn’t have a mommy, and if I leave him here, he’ll miss me really bad.” Her tears spilled over her bottom lashes and she sobbed, “Please, Daddy, let me keep Pongo.”

John’s heart collided with his ribs and surged up into his throat. He looked into his daughter’s pitifully sad face, and he crashed. He burned. No chance of a reprieve. He was a sucker. She’d called him “Daddy.” He reached for his wallet and surrendered his Visa to the happy saleslady.

“Okay,” he said, and put his arms around Lexie and pulled her closer. “But your mom is going to kill us.”

“Really? I can keep Pongo?”

“I guess so.”

Her tears increased and she buried her face in his neck. “You’re the best daddy in the whole world,” she wailed, and he felt moisture against his skin. “I’ll be a good girl forever and ever.” Her shoulders shook and the dog shook and John was afraid that he would start shaking, too. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

If he didn’t do something quick, he’d start bawling like Lexie. He’d start bawling like a girl right there in front of the saleswoman. “I love you, too,” he said, then cleared his throat. “We better buy some food.”

“And you’ll probably need a crate,” the saleslady informed him as she took off with his credit card. “And since he has very little hair, a sweater, too.”

By the time John loaded Lexie and Pongo and the dog’s accoutrements into the Range Rover, he was almost a thousand dollars lighter. On the way across town toward Bellevue, Lexie chattered up a blue streak and sang lullabies to her dog. But the closer they got to her street, the quieter she became. When John pulled to a stop beside the curb, silence filled the car.

John helped Lexie out of the vehicle, and neither spoke as they headed up the sidewalk. They stopped beneath the porch light, both staring at the closed door, postponing the moment when they would have to face Georgeanne with the shivering rat in Lexie’s arms.