“Ah, Cody,” I said to her as I released her. I roughly tousled her head. “First things first.” I reached for my phone. It wasn’t in my pocket.
No, come on, I’d been fucked around enough today.
Brief moment of me frantically clutching at every pocketlike piece of my clothing and the car, until I found the fucking thing down in the console, where I never put it. I hurriedly called Sara.
“Hi—” she began, but I cut her off.
“I’ve got her! She’s here! She’s with me! We’re on our way to you!”
Silence.
“Sara? Can you hear me? Did you hear what I said? I’ve got her with me, she’s here in the car. She’s right here!”
“Really?” Sara asked in the tiniest of voices. She was crying.
“Yes. Yes. I promise. It’s over. She’s back.” I’m no fool, I knew this was the best moment for clemency. “And I’m sorry I was such a fuckup, I’m sorry I was stupid and too trusting and not honest enough, I’m so sorry, I’ll be better, but I got her back for you and isn’t that what matters? I’m bringing her to you and I’m going to put her right into your beautiful arms.”
She hadn’t even been listening to me, she was crying-laughing with relief on the other end of the line. “She’s okay? Really? Was she happy to see you?”
“Of course she was, she’s no fool,” I said. “And she knew she’d get to be with you if she was with me, and that’s what matters most of all.”
“Oh . . .” she was saying, “Oh . . . God . . . thank God . . . thank you . . . I can’t even tell you . . .”
“I know,” I said, “It’s okay. We’re grand. We’re better than grand. We’re going to grab a bite and then I’ll run her around a bit and we’ll get on the road. If you can give me a heads-up where I should try to get to tonight—”
“Chattanooga,” she said, already collecting herself. “I checked. The next best place heading west with a dog-friendly hotel is Chattanooga, I’ll call and make a reservation for tonight.”
“Do you know how much I love your hyperorganizational impulses?” I said.
“I bet you say that to all the girls whose dogs you lose.”
“No,” I said, “only to the girls whose dogs I get back.”
“Thank you,” she said quickly. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch.”
“You don’t sound like a bitch. I have a bitch right here with me in the car and you don’t sound a thing like her.”
“I love you,” she said. “I’m saying that because you can’t see how much I’m smiling.”
“I can feel it,” I said, relieved and grateful. That was the flavor of the day: relieved and grateful. With a plate of deferred vengeance on the side.
“What about Jonathan?”
“Right now he’s stuck in a clubhouse full of bikers who are getting drunk and throwing money at strippers.”
“What? Oh my God!” She laughed. “That’s so Alex.”
“He’s not allowed to leave for four hours. Alex seems to believe that, given an hour to shrug it off, he’ll enjoy himself.”
She burst out laughing again. God, it was a great relief and a joy to hear her laugh. “I could kiss Alex for that,” she said. “Okay, just head west for Asheville. That’s about four hours, and there should be signs, I think you’ll hit 40 eventually. By the time you get there, I’ll have a place in Chattanooga. Drive safe and give my puppy a big belly rub for me.”
“I will, of course, darlin’. Love you,” I said. “Hey, how’d your meeting go? Your interview?”
A pause in which I could imagine her nodding. “Pretty well, I think. I’ll hear next week. I guess it doesn’t make sense for me to fly home now.”
“True. The taxi fare to meet me in Chattanooga would break the bank.”
“Let me think what to do,” she said. “Talk soon. Love you.”
After we hung up, I called the newest addition to my speed dial.
“Hey, Rory,” said Alto, picking up after one ring.
“I’ve got her.”
“Awesome!” Alto shouted, the happiest I’ve ever heard—meaning, actually happy, like. “I’ll tell the crew!”
I grinned. “The crew?” I asked, keeping the grin out of my voice.
“Marie, Lena, Danny. I’m head of communications.”
“Alto,” I said. “You’re the man.”
“So to speak,” he said. His tone of voice cheered me up. This whole thing was almost worth it just to hear Alto happy. (Almost, I said. Not quite.)
After I hung up from Alto, I glanced over at the McDonald’s. It had a drive-through. I glanced back at Cody. Ah, what the hell. “It’s a special day!” I declared. “Want a treat?”
She stared at me, panting a little, happy and vapid. Her eyebrows lifted slightly at the word “treat.”
“All right, then,” I said. “Don’t you dare tell Sara we’re doing this.”
I pulled up to the speaker, ordered a chicken sandwich for myself. And for Cody, a cheeseburger and chips. (I mean french fries.) At the delivery window, I took the bag, set it down on the passenger seat. “Cheers,” I said to the snub-nosed, freckle-faced teenage boy who served me. (Sound track: some kind of squeaky-clean fifties medley. Really.) As I pulled away, I reached in and pitched the whole container of chips over my shoulder, onto the dog bed.
“Have at it, Cody!” I said. In the rearview mirror, I saw her stare in astonishment at the shower of forbidden goodies. She glanced up toward me almost guiltily.
“Okay,” I said encouragingly. “It’s okay, girl. Good girl!”
Loving me more than God (that’s to say, Sara), she nibbled, explored them, and then she went into a frenzy feed, wolfing them down. They were gone in seconds. Whatever that wanker Jay-hole had done to spoil her, I bet she forgot all about it now.
I headed west back into rural territory. The huge pines faded back, and the road opened up—two lanes in each direction, the tarmac laid directly down on Mother Earth, with a broad grass meridian and grass shoulders. It was a spectacular sunny day, the kind people write songs about and remember fondly from their childhood. About a mile past McDonald’s, I pulled way over onto the broad grass shoulder of the road. I rolled down Cody’s window and opened the sunroof, then gestured her to come up to the passenger seat. We sat there together, man and dog, enjoying our artery-clogging burgers as the sun-warmed field gleamed green beside us. “Well,” I said to her as I finished, “that promises some fantastic indigestion sometime soon. Let’s stretch our legs.”
I got out of the car, went round to the passenger door, and called Cody out away from the road. She glanced around the wide swath of green, taking it in, looked toward the shadows of the pines a hundred paces back from the highway. Then she looked at me, and bowed, and began hopping around in circles as if she had springs on all four paws, studying me for a response.
I cracked up laughing, but also felt my throat constrict. She was safe! She was here! She was cute! “Don’t tell Sara I said it, but you’re one supercute dog. Let’s go!” I took off running toward the pine forest. Cody reared into the air, hopped like a kangaroo, and then began to chase me. Her floppy ears blew back from her face, and the whites of her eyes showed, like she was a crazed Chinese dragon.
I ran as far as the start of the pines but then stopped, the hastily consumed chicken lurching around uncomfortably within. Cody darted past me into the forest. Ten yards in, she stopped abruptly, amazed by the otherworldliness in there—an overwhelming scent of pine, with no undergrowth, little more than russet needles carpeting the springy, shaded earth. She turned slowly in circles, looked round above herself, like a little kid entering a cathedral for the first time. Awed, but not really understanding why. She kept glancing at me in amazement, as if I had built it for her.
“Nice one, hah, Cody?” I said. “Get a good whiff, I don’t think they have this in L.A.”
With my voice, the spell was broken. She reared up again and dashed ecstatically toward me
, wanting to chase me again. I made a face and a raspberry sound—pthththt—in her direction, because I’m really mature like that, then I turned and legged it back toward the car.
Only, when I got there, I turned to see she hadn’t actually chased me. She’d stopped to eat grass. Like a hungry horse, she was chomping entire mouthfuls of the stuff. Sara once explained why dogs do that. (At some point or other, Sara had explained why dogs do everything.) For an upset stomach, was it? So that was my bad—the fried food must’ve made her queasy. After a dozen or so chomps, she stopped grazing. She looked up and around, searching for me. She didn’t seem as chipper as she had moments earlier.
“Hey, Cody,” I called out. “How you doing, pup?”
She gave me an accusatory look, then turned away, as if trying to be discreet, and her torso began to heave. On instinct, I turned away too. A moment later, I heard . . . well, you can guess.
My gorge rose just from the noise. I can handle someone vomiting if I’m drunk, but sober, forget it. I’m useless. It’s as bad as dirty nappies or something. And Jesus, how long had I had her back in my care before I’d made her sick? In fairness, her rescue wasn’t really my doing. This, however, was. Bollocks! Put a little damper on my giddiness, and that in turn reminded me how hungover and wrecked I still was.
I waited about half a minute, then glanced over my shoulder. She had finished being sick, and was now trudging back toward me, shaking her head slightly from, I’m sure, the surprise of sudden sickness. When she reached me, she sat, very quietly, and looked up at me with a pleading expression. It made me feel crap, and irresponsible, which further undermined my victorious mood.
“You okay?” I asked.
She kept staring at me. She wanted comforting. My impulse to kneel down beside her was negated by my disgust at the thought of what had just come out of her mouth. “Nothing like a good barf to get over an upset stomach, eh, Cody?” I said with forced heartiness. “Works a charm for me, every time.”
She stretched her muzzle yearningly in my direction. On reflex I pulled back a step.
“C’mon. Back in the car with you,” I said suddenly, and gestured. She sat back on her haunches. “Back in the car,” I repeated, stern. She sighed, disappointed not to have wrangled more affection from me, then obediently climbed up onto the passenger seat, then back onto her bed. She began to lap at the water, and kept drinking until it was gone. I refilled it and she drank another half container. Being sick was thirsty work. I hoped it was enough that she’d purged herself. I wasn’t going to find a vet en route.
So finally we were on our way for real. Despite the comedown of the upchuck (so to speak), it was amazing to have another living being in the car with me. I was so aware of her specific personality, something I’d never thought of her, a dog, as having: a personality. But regardless of species, there was somebody else in the car with me, and that somebody was familiar. And I liked that feeling.
The road remained two lanes in either direction, grass meridian and shoulders, pine forests set back and interspersed with meadows. We drove and drove and drove and drove. And drove. I was feeling the toxic aftereffects of the drinking, which got worse, not better, as the day went on. Cody perked up, but then eventually got bored, circled on her bed, and lay down to nap. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. In all fairness, she was about the most endearing dog in the world, and seeing her sleeping safely in her bed, knowing I’d helped rescue her and was taking her safely back to Sara . . . there are no words to express how good that made my heart feel. “Love you, Cody,” said a man’s voice from somewhere in the car, in an affectionate tone.
Jesus, did I say that? At least I hadn’t called her snuggle bunny. Then I’d have to shoot myself. (Snuggle bunny! For fuck’s sake!)
After a few hours the terrain got hilly, then almost mountainous. Cody was bored, but perked up when my phone rang. I’d set it on speaker, cradled in one of the cup holders. “Hello?”
A booming voice filled the car, declaiming, “Rory, brother! Alex here.” There was a lot of ambient noise. He must be in the clubhouse. “Just wanted to let you know that I’ve fulfilled my duty. I kept Jonathan here for four hours as we agreed. Despite the raucous party we threw for him, he just left.”
A small andiron smashed into my gut. “Do you know where he was going?”
“Well, he said he was just going to hightail it back to Massachusetts, but I believe that about as much as I believe the Republican Party line. I’d guess he’s probably coming after you,” Alex said cheerily. “Too bad he didn’t stay. It’s a great party. Anyhow: good luck with whatever happens next. Godspeed, brother!”
“Thanks, Alex,” I said morosely. “Enjoy the strippers.”
He hung up. I groaned. If Jay were chasing after me, I had to keep that four-hour lead. I couldn’t really bring myself to believe that he’d chase me across the continent for a dog . . . but I still couldn’t really bring myself to believe he’d stolen her in the first place.
Almost immediately the phone rang again. Sara, this time. That woman had no off-duty setting.
“Hey, love,” I said, answering.
“It’s been four hours,” she said. “That means Alex just released him.”
“Yes, he just called giving me a heads-up,” I said in a reassuring voice. Then I realized I didn’t actually have anything reassuring to say.
“Jay knows you’re headed to Los Angeles.”
“Oh, please, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to follow me when I’m hundreds of miles ahead of him.”
“He’s not giving up,” she said decisively. “He’s going to do something.”
“Well it’s a massive country,” I said. “I’m a needle in a haystack. If he’s got a plan, I’m fucked if I can guess it.”
“I wonder if he’ll guess you’re headed to Chattanooga tonight. Do you think he’ll guess that? Maybe you should detour somewhere?”
“Sara. My love. We’ll drive ourselves mad that way.”
A pause. “You’re right. Just get out here as quickly as you can. You know, safely, but—”
“I could drive straight through,” I said, leaping at the opportunity to extend my superhero status beyond my fabulous Indian cooking and intrepid dog rescuing. “What is it from here, thirty hours? Forty? I can do that.”
“There’s no need to make yourself miserable. Pace yourself. How’s Cody?”
“She’s grand,” I said. “Happiest dog in the world. She told me to tell you that I’m her god now, and you must thank me for her rescue by letting me undress you whenever I like.”
“You don’t say.”
“She’d also like some lamb chops.”
“We’ll work on that,” Sara said, a smile in her voice. “Call when you take a rest stop and I’ll give you the address for the Chattanooga hotel. And I guess I should stay in L.A., not fly back east, but maybe I could still come out and meet you in Flagstaff and we could go to the Grand Canyon. It’s so close and everyone says you’ve got to see it to believe it, and it’d be a great way to celebrate Cody’s rescue. I’d like to do something romantic with you.”
She wanted to do romantic things with me again!
I stopped on the far side of the city to grab a bite of prefabricated food consisting mostly of starch and fat, and to let the dog stretch her legs again and to take a poo. I looked at a wee map of the American Southeast on my phone, then I called Sara, who gave me the address for the dog-friendly Chattanooga hotel, which I fed into the GPS.
The GPS gave me several route options to Chattanooga. I thought between here and Chattanooga all the roads were essentially the same—just different ways to divert around the Great Smoky Mountains.
Several hours later, I had come to realize that wasn’t true. Bollocks.
Somehow, I had programmed the GPS to steer me through the mountains, rather than around them. While the Great Smoky Mountains Parkway turned out to be one of the most beautiful roads I’ve ever driven on in the entire world, it’s h
ard to appreciate much of it when you’re a white-knuckled and knackered driver staring at the tarmac right in front of you, anticipating the next curve, which is starting before you’ve finished the last curve, which you were already on before you finished the curve before that one. I’d take a year of Boston driving over one more hour on the fucking thing, even though I hardly saw another car. Every time we took a sharp curve Cody yawned, which (Sara had told me) might mean she was queasy.
“Please, please, don’t be sick again, please, I cannot deal with that now,” I said to her, glancing into the rearview mirror and then immediately focusing my gaze back to the road. Of course the notion of Cody being sick brought Jay to mind and my mind began to regurgitate—excuse the term—all the dread and angry thoughts about him. I wondered what he would do next. No way would he follow me. That would be mad. But what would he do instead, then? Was he simply on his way back to Boston? Hard to believe. So what was it?
After 7,258 more hairpin turns, with the car reeking of bacon and apple-pie moonshine, and the carcasses of eight million dead bugs splattered against the windscreen, the sun started to slant in the west, throwing a tangerine dust in broad stripes across the trees and the road. Despite the foul overstressed state I was now in, despite feeling more hungover than I had earlier that day, I have to admit it was gorgeous. I opened the windows to discover the air here smelled like honey. It would have been a lovely drive, if all three of us were here together—me, Sara, and Cody—and Mr. J. Baldy didn’t exist.
Finally we approached a major highway, the kind of road I’d intended to be on all along. We were losing the light, and I was driving almost directly into what little light was left, so I could not see details as the urban sprawl crept in again and the sun set pink and beautiful before me. Beautiful through the smear of dead bugs, I mean.
Then I saw, for just the briefest moment, a white Lexus SUV. It snaked up near my right flank, and then fell back. I couldn’t see it after that one moment, masked as it became in the glaring headlights behind me. I had not seen the license plate.
Stepdog Page 23
