“Time!”

Spent, the boys lay flat in the grass, red-f aced and still giggling, while Sam undid the knots around their wrists.

“Too bad, nice try, but now I, the Great Sambini, shall demonstrate, before your wondering eyes, the mystery of Magic Handcuffs. For this difficult trick I will need a mmm partner. A magic partner, it goes without mmm saying. Anyone?” All hands shot up. Sam covered his eyes and pointed to, surprise, surprise, Monica. “Monica the Marvelous!”

“Me?” Such pretty modesty. The kids weren’t even disappointed at not being chosen. They loved Mrs. Carr. And they sensed this trick, the Great Sambini’s last, required an assistant in the know.

It certainly did. Sam had never asked outright, but once or twice, years ago, he’d hinted that he would love it if I’d assist him in his act. Of course I’d said no. Without a second thought. How absurd. Ridiculous and unthinkable, like asking him to hold a real estate closing for me. Still, just for fun, sometimes he enlisted me to help with tricks that needed two people, tricks he couldn’t do onstage-no assistant-but that he just liked and wanted to try out. Like Magic Handcuffs.

So I knew how to do it. You let people from the audience tie the knots, as many or as complicated as they want-just not too tight. “Don’t cut off my blood!” you say (if you’re the assistant), because it’s vital that one wrist rope have a little slack in it. Just a little. So the magician can slip his cord under it and then over the top of your hand. Ta-da, you’re free.

The rest is acting. Overacting, as you both writhe and wrestle and struggle and contort, accomplishing the magic part on the ground and out of view-underneath yourselves, ideally. So it’s like Twister, only more intimate. The one or two times Sam talked me into trying it with him, we enjoyed it very much. Very much.

No way was he going to play Magic Handcuffs with Monica Carr.

Maybe if she’d had on more clothes, not a sleeveless sundress and strappy sandals. Maybe if she hadn’t looked so cute, or smelled so sweet. Maybe if she’d been a little less perfect. Maybe if she was in this country on a visa about to run out. Then I might’ve behaved myself.

Eager volunteers got one of Monica’s wrists tied before I made my move. I was still trying to be good. But my best intentions were undermined by the persistent vision of Sam and Monica locked in an indecent embrace. And then when it hit me-my God!-they must have practiced this trick before, I lost all restraint.

Rowrrr!

Not all restraint; I didn’t bite anybody. But I was in the grip of the most primitive anger I’d ever felt, and Monica wasn’t the only target. Sam infuriated me, too. I wanted to, but I didn’t bite them, only because of the proximity of so many children. One stray fang-it didn’t bear thinking about. I jumped between Sam and Monica and did everything else, though-I growled, threatened, herded, head-butted. Monica I body-slammed to the ground on her behind.

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. “ Sonoma!” he kept shouting, lunging time after time for my collar. “What the hell? No! Sonoma, no!” He still had one end of his rope in his hand. I let him get close, closer-then I sprang, snatched the rope in my teeth, and whirled away.

Now what? Another damn fenced yard, the bane of my life. I ran around and around the perimeter pursued by two adults and eight children. When it looked like they had me cornered, I dashed into Benny’s playhouse. Hide the rope, hide the rope. Where? In his toy chest?

Too late, no time. I hadn’t escaped. I was trapped. At least the trick was ruined-the Great Sambini could hardly start over after all this mayhem. I’d broken the spell. Mission accomplished.

“Great party, Sam.”

“It was. Goes without saying, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, sure you could’ve. Wow, the magic show was fantastic.”

“Until it went to hell.” Sam and Monica made the same disgusted face as they glanced through the kitchen door at me. Benny and the twins were upstairs playing with Benny’s new rainbow-making machine; Sam and Monica were finishing the cleanup. I was trying for a low profile in the safest place I could think of: under the dining room table.

“What do you think set her off?” Sam took a handful of washed glasses from Monica and set them on the top cabinet shelf-too high for her to reach.

“I can’t imagine.”

Did he hear the same note in her voice I did? Was it my imagination, or did Monica just send me a look? No, ridiculous; she didn’t know anything. She couldn’t. Except that I didn’t like her-that had to be pretty clear by now.

“I had no idea you were so good,” she told Sam. “I should have. I mean, you do it professionally-”

“Did.”

“But I just never realized. You’d never say, and from what I’ve always gathered from Laurie…”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just-assumed it was more of a hobby, is all. But, Sam, you’re good. Really good.”

Oh, shut up. She wasn’t flattering him, though; she meant it. And Sam beamed with pleasure. So unfair-I wanted to say it to him. I wanted to make him smile and blush and look tickled.

Why hadn’t I ever told Sam he was good?

They finished in the kitchen and moved past me-I watched their legs-into the hall. “Ustin and Jethan!” Monica called; a family joke. “Time to go home!”

Sam started thanking her again. She cut him off to ask, “How are you doing, Sam? I haven’t had a chance with all the birthday business to really talk to you, not in days.”

Days, big deal.

“We’re all right,” Sam said. “We’re fine. Day at a time.”

“But you. How are you doing?”

He hadn’t combed out his Great Sambini hair yet. Back-lit in the open door, he looked like a punk angel. “Starting the new job will be good,” he said, with no enthusiasm. “Get my mind off things.”

“Is anything new with Laurie?” Monica asked gently. Speaking of things.

“Not really. We’ll go see her tomorrow night. I usually take Benny on Sundays, but…”

Since it was his birthday, he got a reprieve. I put my paws over my eyes, wishing I could disappear. Cease to exist. Think how much better off everybody would be.

When I looked up, Monica had her hand on Sam’s arm, rubbing it in a comforting way while her melty eyes shone with sympathy. Instantly I was on my feet, snarling, slinking forward, low to the ground like a wolf.

Who knows what might’ve happened if Benny and the twins hadn’t come bouncing down the steps just then, quar reling and overstimulated, minutes away from a meltdown. Everybody’s attention shifted to them, including mine. Good thing, because at that moment Monica’s pert little butt had never looked more, how shall I say, toothsome.

I was allowed to go, too, when everyone went outside to the car-Monica had driven over instead of walking. Piling the twins and the birthday paraphernalia in took a while. When it was done, she cupped the back of Benny’s head and kissed his forehead. “Happy birthday, mister.”

He reached his arms around her waist-she squatted down in front of him. “Tell Monica-” Sam began, but Benny didn’t need reminding. “Thank you,” he said, and she said, “You are so welcome,” and pulled him into a close hug. I took two steps toward them, stiff-l egged, hair standing on end. My mouth watered.

Monica patted Benny’s shoulders and started to sit back on her heels, but he hung on. He hung on. I saw his tight-shut eyes, his wrinkled lips. The need and the blank satisfaction on his face.

I could’ve eaten a whole family-I could’ve mauled a playground full of children. God! I wanted something between my teeth to grind and shake until it was dead. But I couldn’t lift a paw to interrupt a few seconds of happiness for Benny, even if it came in the arms of my mortal enemy.

I walked around to the side of the house and threw up.