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alone in the dark. I guess she stuck close to this particular bottle because she and my father had kept it as an anniversary gift, never really intending to open it.
    I like to think her soul lives inside the bottle, like a genie who might get drunk on occasion, and this would explain her crying spells in the afterlife. She was never much of a complainer. But I wonder if all this afterlife drama is making up for her lackluster departure. She died so suddenly and silently, without warning or fanfare. No last words, no calling out to Jesus.
    When I was in middle school, one of the kids in my class died by drowning. I always thought this was a dull way to go, silent and futile, probably with nobody nearby for rescue, hence the drowning part. It sounded so lonely and anticlimactic. So I made a list of exciting ways to die. It went like this:
Avalanche
Massive Explosion
Lightning Strike
Plane Crash
Gang Warfare / Hand-to-Hand Combat
Shark Attack
Roller-Coaster Malfunction
Industrial Turbine Accident
Spontaneous Combustion
Death by Fear
    All of these involve lots of screaming and violence and terror, which seemed to be the best way to go at the time. But when Mom died, it was quick and quiet, like a lightbulb turned off. A flick of the switch. Personally, I would take the switch in a heartbeat now. But Mom was a mover. So maybe she’s getting out all her guilty pleasures now, and she’s going to cry and moan to me every morning at 6:15 a.m. until she gets it out of her cosmic system. I like the company, but it’s hard to explain to others.
    â€œShe told me if we saw the sun set enough times,” I tell Zero, “we would eventually forget about her and she would disappear forever.”
    Zero sits, staring up at me, seeming to accept and understand.
    â€œShe’s really worried about this, and she won’t be consoled,” I say. “You want some coffee?”
    Zero wags his tail. I pour us each a cup of black and sugar. He holds his nose over the coffee and drools through a smile. He’s clearly not worried about my ghost story.
    â€œYou knew about her before I did, didn’t you?” I ask.
    Zero lifts his eyebrows, then flattens them out, a little embarrassed.
    â€œSo why didn’t you tell me?”
    He laps up his coffee and sits back on his haunches.
    â€œDidn’t want to worry me, eh?” I nod. “Good ol’ Zero. Things are worse than they seem, though.”
    He’s not impressed with my dramatic statement. He walks in circles a few times and lies down, wrapping his tail around himself. He looks up at me with sad eyes and his whole body moves as he sighs.
    â€œI know worry doesn’t help anyone, and I also know that I shouldn’t be having conversations with you beyond asking you for a walk.”
    Zero’s tail betrays him with a sudden thumping.
    â€œCut it out,” I say. “I’m going to have to go away for a little while, do some research. So that means a short stay at Sunnyland Kennel for you.”
    Zero’s tail stops; he promptly stands on all fours, his body stiff with this unfortunate and unexpected turn of events.
    â€œUnless you want to go to Europe.”
    I spread the postcards out before him, picture-side down so he can see all the messages from Zoe. He gazes at them for a few moments, looks up at me, then circles himself again to lay down by the fire, and stares into the flames.
    I read once that the reason dogs circle around before they lie down is to trample all the snakes in their grass bed so they can sleep in peace. Zero doesn’t look particularly peaceful. I decide to have Natalie take care of him while I’m gone and spare him the tortures of the Sunnyland Kennel.

chapter 17
    I cup my hand over the phone and hope Nat can’t hear the wailing. But it’s too late, she’s already asking me what all the noise is about. It’s more difficult than you think to disguise the distinct rise-and-fall cry