Read Online Coming Apart (9780545356152) by Ann M Martin - Free Book Online

joined Mr. Pennington on the couch as usual, but he didn’t sit at attention. He lay in the crack between two cushions, his head drooping over the edge.
    â€œJacques?” said Rudy. “Not feeling very well today?”
    Jacques rolled his eyes toward Rudy.
    â€œDo you want a belly rub?”
    Jacques glanced away.
    Mr. Pennington rested his hand on Jacques’s head. “All right. We’ll have a quiet day, then. Let’s see if you want any breakfast.”
    In the kitchen, Mr. Pennington spooned Turkey ’n’ Sweet Potato Feast from a can and stirred in some kibble. He set the bowl on the floor and then refilled Jacques’s water dish.
    â€œJacques!” he called. “Breakfast!” He remembered the days when Jacques would hop up and down at his feet, snuffling and woofing, while Rudy prepared the food. How long since he had done that? How long since he had eaten his meals with such speed that Mr. Pennington would say to him, “My word, did you inhale that?”
    â€œJacques?” called Mr. Pennington again. He picked up the dish, intending to carry it into the living room and allow Jacques to eat on the couch, but suddenly there was the old dog making his way into the kitchen. Mr. Pennington set the bowl on the floor again and stood above Jacques, watching. “Do you think you can eat?” he asked.
    Jacques looked up at Rudy as if to say, “I’ll try,” and then sniffed cautiously at his dish. At last he sat on his haunches, his left leg sliding to the side, and took a delicate mouthful.
    â€œGood boy,” whispered Mr. Pennington.
    Jacques tried another mouthful.
    Ten minutes later, the dish still half full, Jacques sat back from his laborious chewing.
    â€œIs that it?” asked Ruby. “You don’t want any more? You did pretty well, old boy. We’ll save the rest. Maybe you’ll want it later.”
    Ten days, the vet had said. Jacques had two weeks, maybe three, left. He was old, and he was giving out, pure and simple.
    Jacques hobbled back to the living room, gathered himself to jump onto the couch again, slipped, and fell on his rump. He turned wounded eyes to Mr. Pennington. In an instant, Rudy had gathered him in his arms and lifted him onto the cushion.
    â€œYou sit here,” Rudy told Jacques. “I’m going to make some coffee and read with you for a while.”
    Mr. Pennington had read several chapters in
The Peterkin Papers
, by Lucretia P. Hale (which Min had told him was her favorite book when she was a little girl, and if it had been Min’s favorite, then Rudy wanted to experience it), when Jacques suddenly awakened, looking perkier, and jumped to the floor on his own.
    â€œFeeling better?” asked Mr. Pennington.
    Jacques headed for the kitchen, moving at a noticeably faster clip. Mr. Pennington followed him. When Jacques stopped at the back door, tail wagging in a tentative manner, and looked up at the man who had been his friend for so long, Rudy opened the door and Jacques ambled outside.
    â€œWhat a nice day,” remarked Mr. Pennington. “Hardly feels like January. This could be a morning in October. Or March.” He tipped his head back to feel the sun on his skin, thinking that dogs like to be sun-warmed as much as people do.
    When Jacques had made his way down the steps and into the yard, Mr. Pennington said, “Let me get my jacket and we’ll take a little walk.”
    For the next half an hour, Rudy and Jacques toured the backyard of the Row House. Jacques stopped in all his favorite places, and Rudy joined him. They sat on the bench and Rudy said, “Remember when there were three of us sitting here? Old man, old woman, and you? You were a pup then. Those were nice days.”
    Jacques stopped under an oak tree and Mr. Pennington peered up into its stark branches. “You almost caught a squirrel one day,” he said, “but it escaped up this tree. You were