by Sandi Ward
But now Dad was talking about bringing a large, adult dog into the house. Mom was so upset that I started to get anxious too. I listened carefully when Dad talked about the dog.
Dad reassured Mom over and over that this dog was not usually asked to attack or hurt people. Most of the time, she was used to search for drugs. And she didn’t even know she was searching for drugs—no, she had been trained to find her toy, which had the scent of drugs on it. He told Mom that Gretel was a smart dog, and there was no reason to worry. Once in a while she disarmed a threatening person, but she was overall very loving.
Once I heard Dad explain all this, I started to relax. After all, Dad had been there when Charlie picked me out. He was the one who drove Charlie to the animal shelter, and he knows how much Charlie loves me. I had to believe Dad wouldn’t take any risks with my life.
Mom looked at me. I blinked back at her.
Let’s give this dog a chance. She was hurt, and she needs a home. I understand. I was in that position once myself.
I have heard Dad say that Gretel is a hero. Dad admires her, and I think he is drawn to her because he has done great things himself. I have seen two medals hanging from the dresser in his bedroom. They are gold, like my fur. Kevin and his best friend Phil once went into Dad’s room and tried on the medals. They handled them with great care, so I know they are special.
Sure enough, Gretel has turned out to be a fine dog for our family. Big? Yes. Strong? Yes. Smart? Well . . . I’m not sure. But she is not vicious. We get along fine. She will bark at and chase outsiders, but she does not bite them. Usually.
She has snapped at one or two people, perhaps, in the past year.
No one should expect perfect behavior all the time. Even I accidentally scratch Charlie once in a while.
Gretel sits very still and watches Mom take a bite of the muffin. I can tell Mom thinks her treat is very good from the way her eyes close slightly as she tastes it. She glances back at Gretel.
“Oh, all right.” She breaks off a chunk and tosses it on the floor.
Gretel has lapped it up and gulped it down in two seconds. For goodness sake. Ridiculous. She doesn’t even take the time to taste her food.
Mark enters the kitchen. “Okay if I use the sink?”
Mom nods. She watches him walk over to the sink and wash his hands. He is careful not to get the bandage on his hand wet. It’s funny, but Mom’s whole face lights up when he turns.
She raises an eyebrow. “How did you know blueberry was my favorite?”
“I didn’t. But now I know.” He dries his hands on a white towel. “I’ll bring you one next time too.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she protests.
“It’s no problem.”
Mark just stands there, drying his hands on that towel for a long time. Certainly his hands must be dry, but he keeps running the towel over one hand and then the other. Mom gazes at him and he smiles back.
Mom is acting a little strange, it seems to me.
“Please don’t feel you need to always bring me food or something. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than bring me snacks.”
“Not really.” He laughs. “I work at a restaurant on the breakfast and lunch shift. So that was free. I can take whatever I want.” He nods at the muffin. “I bake everything myself. Using organic ingredients. I’ve been trying to cut down on the sugar, and use healthier foods, like applesauce.”
“Oh.” Mom squints at the muffin, as if suddenly suspicious about it.
“Besides, I do feel bad about leaving such a mess in your garage. The truth is, I cut myself on the saw.” He holds up his hand and shows her the bandage. “The gloves were right in the toolbox, but . . . I forgot to put them on. And I didn’t want to bleed all over your garage. So I went home to wrap up my hand. But I should have come right back to clean up.”
Mom is alarmed. “Oh my goodness.” She stands up. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Fine.”
“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” She stands and walks right up to him and takes a closer look at his hand, as if he still needs tending to. “I’m so sorry that happened.”
When Mom looks up and they are face-to-face, she seems to realize how close she is standing to him, because she quickly takes a step back.
“It’s okay,” he says, glancing down at the floor a moment. “I’m fine.”
At that moment, Vincent walks into the kitchen and taps Mark on the elbow. “Where’d you go?” he asks Mark. “C’mon, buddy. We’ve got things to do.”
As soon as Vincent turns to head back to the garage, Mark steals one last glance at Mom. And then he’s off, hustling to catch up to Vincent.
Gretel walks over to the entrance to the garage, listening to the men work through the door. She sits, and I know she is waiting for them to come back in so she can follow Mark around.
I trust Gretel. We are friends. And if she has decided that the new man is okay, it’s fine for me to think he is okay too.
Of course, it also occurs to me to wonder what Dad thinks of these people working in our house. The project sounds like a big one, and I heard Vincent say it may take a while.
Dad didn’t like the mess Mark left in the garage, and he didn’t remember who Vincent was when Kevin mentioned his name. A small churning in my stomach warns me that Dad may not approve of these men being here for so long. If Dad feels there are too many outsiders here, then he might get upset, because he is always suspicious of strangers. Or he might decide not to visit us so much, if he feels unneeded. And if that happens, who will catch and punish Charlie’s bully?
Chapter 9
The Clever Fox
You wouldn’t know it if you saw him lately, but Dad loves to laugh. He has a big smile and an infectious laugh, and once he starts he cannot stop. I would not generally describe him as a silly person, but sometimes when he bursts into a grin, you can see the fun-loving child he probably was. I imagine him pulling pranks on his mother and laughing even while she yelled at him.
His mother is dead now. There are old photos of her around the house. No one talks much about her. But I’ll bet Dad drove her crazy.
Dad laughs when Victoria puts on silly accents, or crosses her eyes.
He laughs when Kevin makes fun of how Grandpa hates to spend money. The two of them tell stories about Grandpa until Kevin is laughing so hard he has to put his head down on the table, and Dad doubles over and hides his face with his hands because he has tears in his eyes.
Grandpa doesn’t come over much anymore, even though he lives close by. He and Dad had a tremendous argument in the driveway, right around the winter holidays, which I witnessed from the picture window. They stood in the snow and there was yelling. It was about Dad’s medicine. Dad needed to drink a lot around that time, and Grandpa didn’t like Dad’s drinking any more than Mom did. But Dad could be fierce when defending himself and the need to have his special water.
Dad does love to laugh. He used to smile at Mom’s sly comments, the ones she would say under her breath, as if only to him. Dad would laugh even when the children couldn’t follow the joke. He would pat Mom’s knee or grab her hand under the kitchen table, and she would smile.
I haven’t seen Dad laugh in a while though.
There was one time Dad cried too.
It wasn’t in front of the other humans. But one night when he was still living here and the family was out, he wept. His whole body shook as he lay on the couch, and he yelled and he cried and shivered all over. He had to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of his shirt. He had his bottle of medicine with him, and he pushed it away but then grabbed it back. I think perhaps he did want to stop drinking, but he just could not do it. Once he quieted down, Gretel lay on the floor next to him, and I snuggled up behind his knees.
We helped him get to sleep. Sometimes, for humans and for animals, sleep is the best thing.
* * *
Dad stops by the house early one evening to dro
p something off for Mom. I know she is expecting him from the way she cleans the kitchen over and over, moving little things from counter to shelf, and then back again.
When the doorbell rings, I chase Gretel to the front door. Sightings of Dad interest me enormously. I heard Dad when he asked if he should “come home.” I wonder if there is anything I could do to help him make this happen.
I believe he must now not only stop drinking, but also win Mom over, as he did when they first met. He has lost her trust.
Dad always took good care of this family. He was productive, working long hours. There were flowers for Mom. Gifts on everyone’s birthday. Ice cream every Friday night, in two flavors. And bacon for Gretel and I, handed right to our mouths under the table where no one could see it.
I never doubted his love for Mom. His devotion may have wavered on the surface sometimes, the way the river gets choppy to the eye on a windy day, but deep down there are reserves of concern and commitment.
But I worry that Mom has given up on him. She realizes that she cannot help him. He will not allow it.
He is a hero, someone who has received gold medals for good works! Yet now he seems lost, and can’t find his way back.
It is clear Gretel is suffering too. I see the way she is completely devoted to Dad. Following him around. Begging to be noticed at all times. She worries about him even more than I do, and she doesn’t know how to help him.
Dad lets himself in. After he wipes his feet on the mat, I smell his boots. Gretel sniffs his hands. We are eager to see him. He bends down and gives Gretel a good rub around the neck with both hands, and then a hug. She licks his ear and he coos at her.
I get out of their way. I don’t want to get slobbered on. Gross.
Gretel and I know that Aidan is here in the house too, visiting Victoria. Usually he comes by after school and leaves at dinnertime. But today he came late, and he is still here.
Dad doesn’t see Aidan at first. The living room to the left of the hallway is dark, and Dad doesn’t glance in that direction. Victoria and Aidan were talking on the couch, but at the moment Dad enters, Victoria is upstairs fetching a notebook. So Aidan stands by the window, alone. He does not say anything to alert Dad to his presence.
Dad has been oddly preoccupied lately. He does not seem to be aware of his surroundings. He was always that type of person, prone to daydreaming, and it is one of the things he and Charlie have in common. But lately he has seemed even more sluggish than usual.
Dad pats down his pockets. He has a tool he carries in a belt under his jacket, and it is called a gun. I don’t know what it does exactly, as I have never seen him use it. He takes the tool out, examines it, and puts it away again.
Aidan stands in the corner, watching Dad. He reminds me of the red fox that stalks the marsh. He has sharp eyes, and the ability to stay perfectly still.
Clever, that fox.
Clever, this young human.
Dad is just lifting his head when he notices Aidan, and jumps slightly.
“Christ, you scared me, Aidan,” he growls. “What the hell are you doing lurking in the corner?”
Aidan doesn’t move any part of his body, although he studies Dad while running his tongue over his teeth. Aidan clears his throat and stands up straighter.
Dad squints, as if he can’t fathom how Aidan got into the house, as if he’s a squirrel who fell down the chimney. Aidan is not his favorite person.
“Going hunting?” Aidan finally asks.
“What?” Dad’s eyes furrow. Sometimes it’s as if the other humans are speaking a language he doesn’t recognize.
“With the Scouts. You going hunting?” Aidan shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He hesitates, but then plunges ahead: “Kevin told me about the rifle shooting competition or whatever. Fun and games.” The way Aidan says this, it’s clear that he thinks this is neither fun, nor a game. He shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “Cool gun. My dad used to have a gun.”
Dad’s face clouds over. “No, I’m not going hunting, for Chrissake. Does this look like a rifle to you? I carry a gun for work. And tell your dad he shouldn’t have a gun in a house with kids. It’s not safe.”
Aidan folds his arms. “Yep. You’re probably right. It’s not safe.”
Dad runs his hands over his pants, as if drying them. “I know what you’re thinking. This is for work. And I live alone now. It’s different.”
Just then, Mom’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Jeremy. Jeremy, come on in.”
Dad heads down the hall without another glance at Aidan.
“Yep. It’s different,” Aidan mutters when Dad is out of sight. “You’re different, all right.”
Victoria comes bouncing down the stairs carrying the notebook, and approaches Aidan. She squeezes his hand. But he barely seems to feel it. He looks upset.
“Your dad hates me,” he says quietly, “And he’s carrying a freaking gun.”
Victoria shakes her head. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“He’s wound up so tight. You ever notice that your dad talks like a robot?”
“What?” Victoria’s head jerks back. “No. Just the opposite. He feels things too deeply, and then has anxiety about it. That’s why he’s taking Valium. You just don’t know him.”
Aidan winces. “Nope. I think I do know him. I’ve talked to him a few times now. And I say: robot. He has no empathy. That’s why they hired him to bust drug dealers. You ever think about how funny it is that he works for the DEA? I mean, think about it.” He squeezes her elbow. “The Drug Enforcement Agency.”
Victoria’s face stays blank. “No, I don’t get it. It’s not funny. What’s funny about that?”
Aidan seems like he is on the verge of saying something, but then stops himself and sighs instead. “Vic. I’m just saying. He scares me a little bit.”
“I don’t dispute there’s something wrong with him lately. But robot? That’s so off. Way, way, way off.”
Aidan thinks it over. He pushes a strand of hair out of his face, and studies Victoria. Something in her face seems to help him relax. “Never mind. It’s okay.” He puts his hands on his hips. “I know you’ll protect me against the robot invasion.”
Victoria leans in. “I will,” she whispers. “Just stand behind me when the robots get here, and I’ll take care of you.”
He opens his eyes wide and nods vigorously, and she laughs.
My tail swishes back and forth. I’m not sure what they mean by “robot.” I don’t understand the joke.
When I arrive in the kitchen, Dad and Mom are looking over some papers that are spread out on the counter. Dad stands so that his shoulder touches hers. He talks and points to the papers. Something about bills and the total. His voice is low and patient, as he points here, and then there. And then also here again.
He watches her to make sure she is following, and when she glances at him, he gives her a small smile. She gives him a cautious smile back.
Then Mom explains something else to him, about the bank and the accounts. He nods and listens carefully.
They both turn when they hear footsteps going upstairs.
Mom asks Dad whether or not he thinks Aidan should be allowed upstairs. In the end, they agree the answer is definitely no. So together they walk over to the foot of the stairs and yell for the kids.
Victoria and Aidan listen from the top of the stairs, faces grim and sullen, as Mom and Dad explain the new rule. But they don’t argue, and come back down to the living room.
I’m not exactly sure what Mom is so worried about. But I’m glad Aidan is not allowed upstairs. Now there’s one less place where he can bother Charlie.
Mom and Dad end up having lemonade on the back deck. They sneak out while I’m getting a bite to eat at my bowl, so I miss my chance to slip outside. Although I sit and stare out the sliding glass door at them, Mom and Dad are deep in conversation and don’t notice me.
However, I see that Gretel has somehow managed to get outside. L
ucky! She sits proudly by Dad’s feet, head held high. Her giant ears stand alert, listening to the intonation of his voice.
I feel bad. She admires Dad so much. And she really misses him.
Since I’m stuck inside, I decide to go find Charlie. I pad my way past Victoria and Aidan, who have camped out again on the green couch. I see they have put down the blinds for privacy, so the adults on the deck can’t see them.
I watch as Aidan leans over Victoria’s shoulder to glance at what she is looking at on her phone. She smiles and moves farther away. “Stop spying on me.” Aidan slides closer to her, and reaches as if to grab her phone. Victoria squeaks like a field mouse, but she also has a wide grin on her face as she holds the phone too far away for him to reach. “Stop.”
He moves to reach out again, and in doing so, his hand brushes her arm and lands on her knee to steady himself. Victoria laughs.
Aidan knows how to play this game. She reels him in, and he obligingly gets closer—but not too close. He respects her space.
These young humans have the strangest mating rituals. It seems like torture. Why do they make it so complicated?
“I can’t believe your mom and dad are out on the deck,” Aidan says quietly to her. “Having a normal conversation.”
“Why?”
“Because.” Aidan takes a strand of her long hair in his hand, twirling it in his fingers. “She kicked him out. I thought she was mad. But she’s being really nice to him.”
Victoria frowns. “Yeah. Well. He’s still my dad. I think they’re just taking a break. She’s starting to cool down, so . . . Maybe he’ll be moving back in soon.”
Aidan snorts. “That’s not how it works, Vic. Once someone moves out, that’s usually it. They don’t come back. People don’t really change.”
I’m afraid I agree with Aidan, for once. It is hard to imagine Dad changing much. He is set in his ways.
I move along and down the hall, turning to spring my way upstairs. My claws sink into the carpeting to propel me along.
