Sebastian looked around. “Is there an echo in here?”

“No. But I just . . . It seems like a better use of our training time might be spent teaching Marmaduke some basic commands. Not something so . . . advanced.”

“Are you not capable of teaching him an advanced trick?”

Uh . . . no . . . I hadn’t gotten that far on YouTube yet. “Of course I am.”

Sebastian flashed a cynical smile and sat down on the couch. He stretched both of his arms out across the top and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him. “Good. Now down on all fours, Ms. Schmidt.”

“Schmidt?”

“Oh, is that not your real last name? Your website said Gretchen Schmidt. But yet you told my daughter your real name is Sadie? So what is it now? Are you Sadie Schmidt, or is there yet another name?”

I started to feel my cheeks heat. “Umm. No, it’s Schmidt. Like I told your daughter, I just use Gretchen for work purposes.”

“Right. Because it sounds more German.”

“That’s right.”

“Alright then, Ms. Schmidt. Why don’t you get started? What’s the German word for ‘jump’?”

Oh God. I totally panicked and said the first jumbled syllables that I could force out of my mouth. “Flunkerbsht.”

Sebastian’s brows jumped. “Flunkerbsht.”

“That’s right.”

I could have sworn I detected a hint of a smile at the edges of his lips. But then it quickly disappeared. “Ready whenever you are . . . flunkerbsht.”

CHAPTER 10

SADIE

It was the longest ten minutes of my life. Seriously. Every second that passed was excruciating as Sebastian just watched with his arms crossed as I made a fool of myself.

I tried in vain to get this horse of a dog to jump over my back with a made-up command that meant absolutely nothing. It was looking like I’d have a greater chance of turning water into wine.

How the hell do you teach a dog to jump over your back anyway? I tried everything, from demonstrating the act myself while jumping over an end table shouting “flunkerbsht” repeatedly . . . to grabbing another one of the stuffed animals from Birdie’s room and jumping over that. He ended up going after the toy and humping it.

I’m a flunkerbsht, alright. A huge flunker shit.

In a last act of desperation, I tried getting down on all fours and yelling “flunkerbsht” while nudging my head, hoping that by some miracle, Marmaduke would take that as a sign to jump over me. He’d either lie down with his chin on the floor or, worse, climb up on my back and try to stay there. At one point, I became pinned under him. Then, after I flipped around, he started licking my face as I struggled to get up.

How had I gone from getting ready to tell Sebastian the truth just this morning . . . to this?

I needed to end it.

Now.

I needed to tell Sebastian everything.

When I finally got Marmaduke off me, I stood up.

Brushing off my pants, I said, “Sebastian, we need to—”

“Stop it, Sadie. Just stop.” His tone was jarring and his eyes—they became filled with so much anger as he said, “Don’t say another word. It won’t matter. Because it’ll just be another lie.”

My heart pounded, and the room started to feel like it was spinning.

What’s happening?

He unfolded the paper he’d been holding and faced it toward me. It was a photo of a woman and some words. It looked like a bio maybe. The woman had long, curly red hair.

“Who is that?” I swallowed.

“It’s the real dog trainer Gretchen Schmidt. She contacted me recently to apologize for not showing up a few weeks ago due to a family emergency. Gave me the link to her new website, where I found her bio.”

Oh no.

I knew I should’ve said something at that point, but the words wouldn’t come.

He continued. “And what do you know . . . she trained in Munich while spending a year abroad, not at the . . . what was it you said? The Key Training School? Apparently, all they teach at the latter is how to lie through your teeth!”

I was seriously going to throw up.

“I can explain—”

“That’s good to know, but unfortunately, there’s nothing you could say at this point that I would believe. So, what I need you to do right now is to get out of my house and never come back.”

This is so bad.

So very bad.

“I’ll leave. But can I please just explain first?”

“Not unless you want to explain to the police.”

The police? He had to be kidding me. Was impersonating a dog trainer even a crime? I didn’t have enough legal background to figure out if I was in any kind of serious trouble here. So, rather than take a chance and make things worse, I decided to do as he said and headed for the door.

He might as well have told me not to let the door hit me on the way out, because I swore I felt it hit my ass as he slammed it shut behind me.

The New York air never felt colder, the skies never looked grayer as I made my way down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, feeling like a piece of tossed-out trash that had been fucked worse than Birdie’s stuffed turtle.

A mix of emotions pummeled through me. It wasn’t just the shock of having been outed but also an inexplicable sense of loss—not only the loss of Birdie but losing a sense of belonging that had come along with this experience. I hadn’t even realized it had been missing in my life until it was ripped away.

Two weeks after that horrible day at the Maxwells’, I still hadn’t gotten over it. The one thing I was grateful for was that Birdie hadn’t been there to witness any of it. I certainly hoped Sebastian never told her what really happened with me. It would break my heart if I thought Birdie saw me as a malicious person.

My heart was truly broken, and I’d spent many sleepless nights weighing whether or not I should try to find a way to explain myself to Sebastian again. He’d specifically said that he wouldn’t believe anything I had to say. Telling him the truth could also make things worse. Then again, how much worse could things get?

Dr. Emery was out of the country for a few months, so I couldn’t even run this situation by her. It didn’t matter how many times I went back and forth over it, I would always come to the conclusion that it was better to just leave well enough alone.

But of course, life has a way of sometimes coming around and making decisions for you.

One afternoon, I checked the mail to find that Birdie had sent “Santa” another letter. It had been a long time since she’d written, and I truly hadn’t been expecting her to write back ever again.

Given the circumstances, nothing could have kept me from ripping that envelope open.

Dear Santa,

I wasn’t going to write to you anymore, but now that it’s getting closer to Christmas, this can be like my one Christmas letter.

I have a dog named Marmaduke now. He’s a Great Dane like I’ve always wanted. I love him so much. Mommy brought him. Well, not Mommy herself, but Daddy said that she sent him a message to bring Marmaduke to me. That’s how I knew she wasn’t mad at me for stealing cookies. (I still steal cookies. You know that, right?)

Mommy hasn’t sent me any more signs. But that’s okay. I know she’s busy being an angel.