Two Good Dogs Read online

  A slight breeze touches her bare back, cooler air pushed into the small room by a cold, wet Adam March.

  CHAPTER 14

  A wash of headlights blares through the picture window of the LakeView Hotel office. I can finally unclench my knotted fingers, relax my jaw from the tension. I have been self-flagellating with thoughts of my parental failures, administering the mental cat-o’-nine-tails in an hour of agitated worry, pretty much certain that bad judgment on my part has ended in tragedy. I should have gone to collect Cody myself, even though I’m the first one to admit that my winter driving skills are less than optimal. I should have insisted—an hour and a half ago!—that I pick up Cody from that stupid art studio and have her home here safe, if angry. It would be a small price to pay, Cody’s outrage versus this certainty of disaster. Besides that, what kind of a mother lets a near stranger take responsibility for her only child? Have I fallen into the assumption that a man is a better, safer driver in a snowstorm, just because he’s a man? The comforting thunk of two car doors being slammed finally calls a halt to the self-punishment. I’ve left nail marks in the skin of my forearms.

  The office door opens to admit Adam and his dog. Cody, no surprise, has gone to the cabin, no doubt to sulk at having been made to come home. I fix a smile on my face and square my shoulders into a proper posture for a welcoming hotelier, a woman in control of her circumstances. “Adam. Thank you for bringing Cody home.”

  “Sorry it took so long.” He stamps a little snow off his boots.

  I am too inculcated in the hospitality industry to give in to the impulse to upbraid him for putting the life of that miserable dog ahead of my daughter’s and have to wait a beat before bringing myself to ask, “Did you find the dog?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow. When the roads are clear.”

  “They’re actually not in bad shape. The plows and sanders have it under control. The parking lot at the AC was the worst problem.” Adam reaches into his jacket pocket for his wallet. “But I’m wet and cold, and looking forward to a shower. So, if you don’t mind…”

  “Right.” I hand him his key. “Go warm up. I’ll check you in later.”

  Adam hesitates at the door. “Look, it’s none of my business, but…”

  He has my attention.

  * * *

  Cody is in her room with the door closed, as usual. The muffled thump of a bass line filters through the space beneath the poorly hung door, the treble so low that there’s no identifying the tune. I pause long enough to take off my jacket and neatly hang it up on the hook that serves as the coat closet in this made-over summer cottage. I turn up the thermostat. I pull open the refrigerator door, examine the contents, and shut it without taking anything out. All the time, I am fully aware of the thumping of my own heart, beating against the rage that is slowly elevating from the shock of Adam’s story that Cody is modeling for this artist, not just doing odd jobs. All of the variations are being ticked off—anger, hurt at being lied to, exasperation at Cody’s naïveté; my own failure as a trusted confidante for her—then back to fury. And, not surprisingly, being a little pissed off with Adam as the revelator.

  I jerk open the freezer, pull out frozen spaghetti sauce, bang the freezer door shut, wrench open the microwave, drop in the plastic block, and slam the door. I crank the defrost dial as if it’s someone’s nose. Take a deep breath.

  Stop. I have learned that a furious confrontation never succeeds.

  Adam was as close to nonjudgmental as possible when he, with apparent and sincere reluctance, told me that he’d come upon Cody and that man in a basement room, Cody dressed only in a makeshift toga. “No improper skin showing, certainly,” he said. “But I thought you should know.”

  What a tough place we parents put one another in. We want to know what our kids are doing, but we also don’t want to be the bearer of bad news. It takes a village, indeed. I hadn’t really known how to respond, and thinking back, I’m a little embarrassed to think that I might have been rude. I’d wanted more detail, but all Adam would say was, “Why don’t you ask Cody?” As if that was going to make anything clearer.

  “What’s for dinner?” Cody has emerged. She looks impossibly cuddly in her flannel jammies, big bunny slippers on her feet. Her hair is knotted up into a waterfall of strands and she looks sleepy.

  “Spaghetti. Chocolate pie for dessert.”

  I am rewarded with a smile. But of course Cody is hoping that I’m not in on her secret, that Adam hasn’t spilled the beans. She’s going to play the cheerful child.

  “How was your day?” Maybe, with luck, Cody will give me something to springboard off into the line of query that will, inevitably, ruin this evening. Too bad. A snowy night, chocolate pie, and The Voice. Could have been a perfect mother-daughter evening.

  “It was okay. We got out early.” Cody wanders over to the refrigerator, pulling the door open so that I can’t see her face.

  “I know. I was pretty surprised when you didn’t get off the bus.” I fill the pasta pot with cold water. Heft it to the stove. Just an ordinary evening.

  “I told you about the Open Studio. Told you that I would be there.”

  I know no such thing. Know for certain that Cody is making this up. Gaslighting me. “Cody. I would have been fine with you going, but you really need to start letting me know where you are. I could have given you a ride. I wasn’t busy.”

  “You don’t have to; I can get there.” Empty-handed, she slams the fridge door.

  “Well, I’m glad that Mr. March was there and could give you a ride home.”

  “Mosley would have. We weren’t done.”

  “From what I hear, it was time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I bite my lip. Change tack. “It’s not fair to ask someone to go out of his way when someone else is available to bring you home.”

  “I guess.” Cody’s perambulations take her to the cupboard, which she opens and contemplates with a scowl. “We took a little side trip to look for that dog.”

  “Mr. March said that you had no luck.” I adjust the flame beneath the pasta pot.

  “No. But I bet that dog found his person; I bet he’s back home.”

  “I don’t think that boy has a home, Cody. The dog is probably out on the street again.”

  “Don’t say that.” Still empty-handed, Cody closes the cupboard doors. “There’s nothing to eat in this house.”

  “Dinner’s in twenty. Have a banana.”

  Eye roll. Sigh. Disdain. It’s such a familiar place.

  I drop the pasta into the boiling water. “Crazy idea, but how about setting the table?”

  The spaghetti is done, the sauce bubbling gently; the chocolate pudding is cooling. Cody has haphazardly put two plates on the table, flatware beside them, with no attempt to put them in proper alignment. A glass of water at each place. No napkins. She pulls the can of Parmesan cheese out of the fridge, plunks it down in the middle of the small table. Plunks herself down opposite me. “I don’t want any sausage, and did you cook the sausage in the sauce? You know I’m not eating meat; it’s gross to put the meat in the sauce if I’m not eating meat.”

  I struggle a moment before getting the point of her sentence. “No. I don’t have any sausage or hamburger, so this really is a meatless meal. Okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Everything is just fine. In a way, it’s almost good to have something new to worry about, something to press the actual problems back a little, like today’s news that my furnace is on life support.

  Cody shakes Parmesan over her pasta, scrolls a lock of hair behind her ear. Without her glasses, she looks even younger than she is, if that’s even possible. It would be so easy to say nothing, to avoid the confrontation sparked by Adam’s parent-to-parent revelation. Certainly too young to be sitting wrapped in a bedsheet in front of a grown man. I take the can of cheese, shake it over my spaghetti, push my own hair behind my ears. No, the confrontation isn’t wit
h Cody; it’s going to be with that artist, Mosley Finch. That’s who needs to have his reins yanked. Cody has kept me away from the AC long enough. Tomorrow, right after the rooms are done, I’ll head over the hill and give this creep a piece of my mind. If he wants to barter lessons for chores, that’s fine. But no more modeling.

  “Is there any more?” Cody swipes a slice of white bread along the rim of her plate.

  “A little.”

  I’m finished, so I collect the plates and head to the sink. The little made-over cabin has no amenities; these cabins were built for old-fashioned roughing it, so no dishwasher. Which, given it’s just the two of us, is no big deal. But on a night like this, when it would be great to load and go, I long for the Kenmore dishwasher I left behind in the house I sold for the down payment on this place. And for the back deck, which might not have looked out on anything more scenic than the neighboring backyards but was a place I could sit and relax and not contemplate the next disaster in the making. Sit and not have to pray that my cell phone won’t go off and call me back to the front office. Which it is doing right now. Oh, for a night off.

  It’s one of the guests, who cannot figure out how to get the television to work.

  I haul myself into my coat, shove my feet into Uggs, and throw Cody a pleading look. “Would you do up the dishes? I won’t be long, and we’ll have pie when I get back from solving the crisis.”

  Cody slides on her glasses, peers up at me. “Uh, I got homework to do.”

  “Have. You have homework.”

  “I have homework. I want to watch The Voice, so I want to get it done. If I do the dishes…”

  I surrender. It’s just not worth the fight.

  It’s stopped snowing and the wind has died down to an occasional gust. Stars sequin the growing patches of clear sky. I pause, take in a deep breath, let it out, and watch it bloom into the cold air. The handyman has cleared a path from my door to the front of the building, cleared off the upstairs gallery and then the downstairs so that the guests are safe. He’s an unreliable worker, but for some reason, when Carl is faced with snow, he’s a dynamo.

  I knock on the second-floor guest room door, smile at the middle-aged woman standing there in her purple velour sweatsuit, as if coming out on a frigid night is my absolute pleasure. “Let’s see what I can do.”

  The guest hands me the remote with a disgusted look. I point it at the flat screen, shoot, and the television comes on. With a quick tutorial on which buttons do what, I bid Ms. Electronically Challenged good evening.

  Adam March is sitting in one of the plastic Adirondack chairs outside his room, huddled in his handsome wool overcoat. He’s holding a plastic cup, and in the still air, the scent of sweet alcohol is obvious.

  “Kind of chilly for sitting outside, isn’t it?”

  “Tell that to Chance.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t find that other dog.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Cody is hopeful that he’s found his way home.”

  “And you don’t think that’s likely?”

  “Maybe. The bigger question is, What’s home? And how soon will he be put back in some basement, fighting for his life?”

  “Sounds dire.”

  “It is.” Adam pushes himself out of the chair, walks to the edge of the platform, and whistles.

  Chance jumps to the porch from the ground, bumps his head against Adam’s legs, then steps back to shake. He greets me politely, then goes back to breathing in the fresh night air. His skinny pointy-ended tail swings gently from side to side. The scars are obvious from this angle, and I suddenly realize what caused them.

  “Was he in fights?”

  “He was. And when he was no longer in fighting form, they used him as a bait dog.” Adam’s voice is even, but I can sense the lingering anger in the way his mouth grows hard. Chance returns to Adam’s side, licks his fingers until they unclench, acting to dispel the simmering, and I begin to figure out what Chance’s brand of therapy may be.

  “But he’s such a good pet. Doesn’t that make them, I don’t know, aggressive?”

  “That’s one of the myths.” He runs a bare hand over the dog’s blocky head. “This guy got a second chance at a new life. Who wouldn’t take it and be happy?”

  “Sometimes second chances don’t work out.”

  “Sometimes, it just takes time.”

  I don’t know if Adam is talking about the dog or my struggle with the LakeView. It really doesn’t matter. It’s just nice to have someone suggest that everything’s gonna be all right. “I should go.”

  “Stay a minute.”

  There’s a second plastic cup, and he offers it to me. My hands are cold, my nose beginning to drip, but I take it. He pours a little of the whiskey into the cup. “Salute.”

  “Salute.” I haven’t had a mouthful of whiskey since back in the day when Randy and I thought nothing of killing half a bottle and then jumping on his Triumph and barreling through city streets, the cacophony of the baffleless mufflers announcing our passage. Before I was of legal drinking age. I remember the burn a split second before I swallow. “Ooof.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “I know.” He must think I’m some kind of lady. If only he knew.

  We lean against the railing, elbow-to-elbow, tendrils of exhalation rising into the clear night sky. The stars in this dark corner of the mountain are freakin’ spectacular, and nothing needs to be said about it.

  “I could have made it home, I guess.”

  “The storm was moving in that direction; you’d have been driving in it all the way. You’re better off here.”

  “Yes. I think that I am.”

  He offers another drop, but I decline. There’s no second-string concierge to give me a night off, no other parent to give me an hour without responsibility. Of course I don’t say any of that, but Adam smiles as if he hears my thoughts.

  “I really love it here. The Berkshires. This place. It’s a great comfort to me to have a place where I can just relax.”

  “You can’t relax at home?” It comes out, my nosiness.

  He tips his cup to his mouth. “Not anymore.”

  “Are you separated?” The nosiness persists into borderline rudeness.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Widowed.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. “I am so sorry.”

  “Everyone is.” He adds some more liquid to his cup. “The thing is, it gets to me. The sympathy. I shouldn’t let it, but it does.”

  “The soft eyes?”

  Adam laughs. “Yeah, the puppy eyes, the absolute pap of greeting-card sayings posted to my Facebook page. With some, it’s the fear that if they make one remark about Gina, I’ll fall apart. And, the truth is, I feel like I might fall apart anyway. All by myself, without provocation.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Not quite half a year.”

  He was a new widower when he started coming to the LakeView. Still is. I figure this might be a good time to mention that my ex is also deceased. But I need no sympathy for that event; have no real common ground with a man who is in mourning. I’m sorry that Randy is dead, but he wasn’t really a part of my life, hadn’t been for a very long time. It would be almost a non sequitur to bring it up. “Early days.”

  “Not according to the various ladies who have made it their mission to get me back on my emotional feet.”

  “The fate of the widower. Catnip to single ladies of a certain age.” What the heck, I think, and hold out my cup, measuring a pinch between my fingers.

  “The thing is, when I’m here, I feel better. So much so, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just stay. At least for a little while.”

  “I’ll give you a discount rate.”

  “Thank you, but I probably would find a rental someplace. Can’t eat out three meals a day, your lovely continental breakfast notwithstanding.”

  A semi labors up the hill, raucous diesel engine hammering hard against the effort.

  “If Car
l would stick around long enough to get those cabins out back finished, you could rent one of those.”

  “Skye, that’s very kind, but I’m just in the fantasizing stage.” Adam throws back the last of his drink. Caps the bottle. “I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.”

  “And I’ve got a date to watch bad television with Cody.”

  He doesn’t move to open the door. “The thing is, I feel so defeated about this dog.” He pats his leg, and Chance sits beside him. “This is where I miss Gina the most. That was her name, my wife. Gina. I miss her guidance as much as anything. She was an animal advocate, but she was also blessed with a healthy dose of pragmatism. She would have put all of this into perspective; probably have counseled me that I can’t possibly save them all.”

  I have no guidance, no possible advice, so I pat his shoulder. “You’ll find him.” I quickly remove my hand lest he begin to think that I’ll become one of those well-meaning ladies who annoy him. “Well, thanks for the drink. And thanks for telling me about Cody, about the modeling.”

  “Did you talk to her about it?”

  “Not exactly.” I’m letting my poor parenting skills show. “I think it’s this Mosley character I need to deal with.”

  “You’re absolutely right. This isn’t her doing.” Adam pushes open the door to his room, letting the dog in ahead of him. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” Maybe it’s the little taste of whiskey, more likely just talking to another adult, but I feel better. Like maybe I’m handling Cody better than I think.

  CHAPTER 15

  We were now quite cozy and safe from the weather, but my thoughts kept going back to my missing friend, picturing him out there in that harsh cold. I knew that Adam was concerned as well, and that the business of driving around with the car windows down, despite the weather, was all in aid of finding him. Even the unexpected bonus of pizza for my dinner did nothing to assuage or distract me from noticing the absence. It isn’t common knowledge, but we of the canine persuasion do notice absences. I sniffed around our room, teasing out vestigial remnants of his scent from that other time we were together in this room, but too much time had passed to give me any satisfaction, and certainly no answers. At the same time, I was a bit put out with him for running off like that, away from the comfort and safety of my friendship. Okay, I’ll admit it: I was hurt. I don’t befriend easily. Unlike wolves, or some kinds of hounds, we dogs don’t pack, don’t become parts of a whole, so you might even say that he was my first true canine friend, the only one I’ve ever considered part of my family. Well, I hope he found his man—and that their bond is as satisfying to him as mine is with Adam.