Cinnamon observed every step he took, his eyes following him as if he were measuring whether humans could be trusted again.
When Miguel returned, Lupita had wrapped the pale puppy inside the corner of his sweater.
She was breathing gently, over and over again, with the patience of someone afraid to move too fast.
The other puppies made weak sounds inside the box, their bodies pressed together like socks folded into the dirty rags.
Cinnamon lowered his snout over them, but his eyes kept returning to the bracelet on the floor.
Miguel realized that every time Lupita looked at him, the dog’s ears flattened against his head.
“He came from somewhere,” Miguel said. “Someone put it in that box, or someone lost it near her.”
“Or Cinnamon took it,” Lupita said quietly.
Miguel the
He looked.
“She dragged six newborn puppies across the highway,” Lupita continues. “Maybe she dragged that bracelet for a reason too.”
