Best Friends was a well-oiled machine. As soon as we explained who we were and what our mission was, we were welcomed, informed, and transported. Peanut, we were told, was in the veterinarian clinic at the top of the canyon. We were ushered into a van for a tour of the premises that would drop us off at the clinic. All I wanted to do was get a look at Peanut. FaceTime Katie. Examine the color of her skin, judge for myself how she was doing.

If we needed a reminder of the trivial nature of our disagreements, here we had it. In the center of the majesty of the Utah hills and valleys, we learned that the founders of the sanctuary had started with a handful of people, cash, and a mission. They had wanted to save animals.

“Michael Vick’s scandalous fight-dogs came to find peace and rehabilitation,” said the tour guide, and I wondered how I’d never heard of this place before now. The sweeping vistas of canyon and sky were stunning for this Wisconsinite used to flat green farmland and red barns. I breathed in the dry air and felt the world get bigger with every tire rotation.

I was determined to enjoy the victory of finding Peanut, and, as far as I was concerned, I vowed not to let Holly, who was in full check-her-watch fidget mode, get under my skin at least for the next hour. As we bumped over the unpaved road to the top of the canyon, I decided I was going to practice a technique my grief social worker had taught me to use when dealing with well-meaning parents at Maddie’s school who wanted to fix me up. “Try repeating a phrase that doesn’t explain, defend, or justify,” she’d said. “If someone presses your buttons with judgment or aggression, try saying thanks.”

“Just plain thanks?” I’d said doubtfully.

“Try it—it works.” My social worker had short hair with a small swipe of gray in the bangs. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and a knowledgeable expression. Her name was Louise, and she spoke carefully. “There are a few phrases or words that can be helpful in several ways. Here.” She handed me a notepad with a dangerously sharp pencil and said, “Write them down, and then we’ll test them. Ready? As I said, thanks is one. Also try, We’re different; Good to know; Hmmmm, I’ll think about that; and if they say something offensive, just say, Go Badgers and don’t follow up with anything.”

“Go Badgers?”

“Look, an inappropriately aggressive or intentionally wacky question or statement deserves an equally wacky response.”

I wrote each phrase on the pad, feeling the scratch of the pencil on the white paper, always a favorite tactile feeling for me.

“Okay, ready?”

I nodded.

“So, Sam. You should try running. It’s great for losing weight.”

I sat up straight and pulled in my stomach. “Thanks,” I said uncertainly. I tried to stop myself, but I continued. “I used to run, but after a few miles my hip hurts. I went to the doctor, and he told me to rest it. I never got back into the habit, and my hip—”

Louise wagged her finger at me, and I stopped speaking.

“You are justifying.”

I nodded. “Okay, hit me with another one. I can do this.”

Louise dropped into character and said, “You don’t go out much, do you? I try to go someplace at least once a week.”

I looked at my list. “Well, we’re different.” I bit the side of my tongue to keep from elaborating.

Louise smiled. “You know, you would look better without bangs.”

I touched my forehead and blushed.

Louise gave her head a tiny shake and pointed to the pad of paper.

“Oh! Thanks,” I said. I wanted to explain why I had bangs, to cover up a scar from my childhood, but that would be a justification. I sealed my lips.

“You should sleep with more people before you die.”

“Go Badgers,” I blurted, and Louise leaned forward and high-fived me.

Then she said, “But you should. We all should.”

And I, sticking with the program, said, “Hmmmm.”

These were my thoughts as we wound our way up the canyon. From now on, when Holly said, You drive me crazy, Sam. I’d say, Well, we’re different. When she said, Get with the program, Sammie, I’d counter with Hmmmm. When Holly said, You were a shitty friend, I’d say, Whatever I did, I’m so, so sorry. I miss you. Or, Go Badgers, whichever didn’t make me feel like crawling into a hole.

When you were a child and you were taught to avoid fighting at all costs, you never got to see the rewards of having the hard conversation. If this continued as you aged, you got the message that the spoils must be so terrible, so ungodly horrible, that nothing was worth an argument. When you were an adult, you could reason yourself out of that, see evidence everywhere that wasn’t true, but your child hid and whispered, But what if the result is worse than the fight?

One night my mother sent me to bed. I’d heard my father turn on her. His ferocious anger evident in his tone of voice, a bark filled with hatred. “Shut up!”

If she hadn’t said, “Okay. You’re right,” in that small voice, what would have come next?

What if?

If you were me? You listened and kept your piehole closed.

The van stopped at a low, sleek building, and the tour guide hopped out. The thought that we were about to see Peanut and lay our hands on him made my palms sweaty with anticipation. I had to acknowledge that some of my anxiety about this trip came from not believing we would succeed. That Tom would stop us or we wouldn’t find Peanut and return him to Katie. That she would only have fragmented Holly and Samantha to comfort her. An unhealed duo, a broken Band-Aid.

Inside the state-of-the-art vet clinic at the very top of the canyon, I realized what this place was. It was a safe house for vulnerable animals. A woman escorted us into the center of the clinic and said, “The veterinarian will be with you shortly. Peanut is in quarantine, so you can’t pet him yet. But you can see that he is safe and well cared for.” She directed us to an area where a Plexiglas window surrounded a private space, and in the center of that space, on quilted blankets, lay a sleeping Peanut.

Relief and warmth washed over me. My eyes filled with tears, and I placed my open palm on the cool Plexiglas like I’d seen in movies when wives visited their husbands in prison. There was no phone to pick up, so I couldn’t tell Peanut we’d made it, we were here, we would bring him home.

“That’s him?” Holly said from behind me. “Are you sure? He looks terrible.”

I had to admit he didn’t look like the luxurious Peanut I remembered. His fur had been clipped, and there were patches all over his body where pink skin showed through. His nose had the mottled heart-shaped birthmark that was Peanut’s most distinguishing characteristic visible only to Peanut enthusiasts.

I nodded. “He doesn’t look that great. I could kill Tom. What an asshole.” I wiped my eyes just as a man strolled into the room.

“So, I hear you’re Peanut’s family. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Griff. I’m one of the veterinarians on staff.”

Holly shook his hand first and said, “Not really his family. We are taking him to his owner.”

“Oh, you’re the transport, then?”

I stepped forward, irritated at Holly and her precise ways, making sure everyone knew everyone’s roles in the world. “I’m Samantha.” I offered my hand. “The owner is our best friend, but she’s too ill to come herself.” Griff was, I guessed, my age and had the warmest way about him. He wasn’t a heartthrob like Drew, but if Summer were here, she’d accuse my aura of brightening. I couldn’t help it. When I meet people who exude warmth, I perk up. I’m like a daisy in need: when the sun shines, I bloom.

“Why is he in this room?” Holly said. “And when can we take him?”

Griff smiled at the sleeping Peanut and said, “Peanut came to us in some distress. We put him in a private room to minimize stimulation and figure out what was happening with his skin. We are very careful and don’t socialize dogs until we know they don’t have anything communicable.”

Alarmed, I said, “Contagious? What was happening with his skin?”

“He came in with mange, but I don’t think that was entirely the issue. We’re still figuring it out. Animals deal with stress in lots of ways. Hair loss is one of them.”

“The Mange? Isn’t that like a plague or something?” Holly said, taking a step back from the window.

I gave Holly a look. “It’s not the Mange. It’s mange. And it’s not the plague. It’s mites that burrow in a dog’s skin.” I’d had dogs my whole life until Maddie came along. I wasn’t sure if I was equipped to keep myself and a child alive, let alone a dog. I always thought, after Maddie left for college, I’d get another.

“Burrow?” Holly shivered.

“It’s not that big a deal when you figure it out. Right?” I looked at the veterinarian like a star student hoping my answer was on target.

“You’re right. It takes a skin scraping, and you can treat it with a scabicide.”

“Scabicide?” Holly echoed, and Griff smiled.

Peanut’s tail moved and out from under it emerged a sleek black ball of a dog. The dog looked like a living, breathing toy.

“Oh, he’s not alone!” Holly shouted. Her reaction was so over the top, as if a zombie had reared up and darted at the window.