Covenant

by Ann McMan

  Avi noticed Dorothy staring at the big painting.

  “Do you like that one?”

  Dorothy nodded.

  “Me, too. I don’t really understand what it is, but I know I like how it makes me feel.”

  “How is that?” Dorothy hadn’t meant to ask any questions, and she was a little embarrassed by her outburst.

  Avi was looking at the picture now. “Safe, maybe? Like it’s kind of a reminder that things in the world that seem really different can still exist in harmony?” She looked at Dorothy. “How about you? What do you see in it?”

  “It looks happy to me. The colors are bright . . . like warm days in the summer before it gets too hot.”

  “I never thought about it that way, Dorothy. But you know? I think you’re right.”

  Avi sat down on the sofa and waited for Dorothy to take a seat. She sat gingerly on the edge of the upholstered chair on the other side of a small coffee table.

  “I grew up in Minnesota,” Avi explained. “So our summers lasted about twelve seconds. You get a lot more hot weather here in Virginia.”

  “That’s really true this year. Buddy says the fall is going to be late.”

  “Who is Buddy?”

  Dorothy had no idea why she was rambling so much.

  “Buddy is a man who does a lot of different kinds of work for people. Yard work and gardening, mostly. He’s at Dr. Heller’s a lot. And he used to work at our house, too.”

  “The house you shared with your father, you mean?”

  Dorothy nodded, but didn’t share any more details.

  “Have you spent any time back at your house since the 4th of July?”

  “Just to get clothes and things. I can’t stay there by myself now. And we don’t know what’s going to happen to the house now that . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence.

  “Now that your father has died?”

  Dorothy stole a look at Avi, but the doctor’s expression looked pretty normal. “Yes.”

  “Do you miss being there? At your own home?”

  “I guess not really. I miss not having my mother’s things. But I don’t . . . I don’t mind not staying there anymore.”

  “When did you lose your mother?”

  “I was little when she died, so it’s been a long time ago. My father didn’t talk about her ever, so being able to go to the attic and look at her things was the only way I got to know anything about her.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Eva. She liked to sew and bake. I have a lot of her books, too.”

  “I understand that you like to read, too. And bake.”

  Dorothy nodded.

  “It sounds like maybe you’re a lot like your mother, then.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Dr. Heller told me you’re quite an exceptional piano player. Did your mother like music, too?”

  “I don’t know. I never knew much about music until I met Dr. Heller—and David. Buddy likes music a lot, too. But he talks about it in ways that are hard to understand. Everything with him is always tied up with math and numbers, so I don’t always follow what he describes. Dr. Heller says he’s a kind of musical . . . servant?”

  “Um, do you mean savant?”

  “Yes. That’s the word she used. I’m sorry I got it wrong.”

  “That’s okay. I get words wrong all the time, too.”

  Dorothy was pretty sure that wasn’t true. Avi had too many diplomas leaning against her desk not to know the meanings of most words. She was probably a lot like Dr. Heller and Dr. Stevenson.

  Roma Jean called them brainiacs . . .

  “I get a lot of things wrong all the time,” Dorothy said. “Even though I try really hard not to.”

  “I suppose that’s something we can talk about, Dorothy. The things you think you get wrong.”

  “Is that why I’m here?”

  “I hope you’re here because you want to be. More importantly, I hope maybe you’ll discover that sharing some of your feelings can help you make sense of them—kind of like looking at that Rothko painting over there. Maybe together, we can connect all those squares into something that feels better—like one of those summer days, before it gets too hot. Does that sound like something you’d be willing to try, Dorothy?”

  Was it? She really didn’t know.

  But she’d come here today because she’d told Dr. Heller she would try. She knew it was going to be a lot like trying to make those key change transitions in the Beethoven sonata they’d been working on. Dr. Heller called it “articulation.” But whatever it was called, Dorothy couldn’t get it right—no matter how hard she tried. The notes were always changing. Her fingers were too clumsy. The sounds were too broken. Never smooth or connected like they were supposed to be—like they were when Dr. Heller played them first.

  She wasn’t very hopeful about any of these conversations—and she had no idea where they would go. But she was here because she said she’d do this. So she supposed she needed to at least try.

  “Dorothy? It’s also important that you know nothing you share with me in here will ever be discussed with anyone else. Not Dr. Heller. Not anyone.”

  She looked at Dr. Zakariya and tried to sound more confident than she felt.

  “Okay. I guess I can try.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Sonny had been able to talk Bert and Buddy into eating dinner at Aunt Bea’s, instead of making Salisbury steak at his house. He knew the hardest part would be getting Buddy to agree to skip working on projects that night, but when Sonny explained that Amazon hadn’t delivered the carton of new rolls of car tape they’d ordered on time, he agreed—after rambling on for nearly ten minutes about broken ratios and how things weren’t right. It wadn’t like Sonny disagreed with Buddy about any of that. After all, a delivery date was a delivery date, and businesses should do right by their customers. But he supposed Amazon was so dern big it could pretty much do whatever it wanted to—golden ratios or no.

  Sonny could tell Bert was relieved, too. They’d ended up having to spend another whole afternoon out at the cemetery weeding and running the zero turn, and only just finished up a little before six o’clock. They were both tired from working outside in the sun for so long. It was really hot today and there’d been nary a breeze up there.

  They sat down with their plates of country steak and creamed potatoes and had just started to eat when Bert saw Rita Chriscoe come in. They hadn’t seen her since the 4th, so Bert waved her over to say hello.

  “How you been, Rita? Hot enough for you today?” Bert asked.

  “I wouldn’t make a dog stay outside in this heat, and that’s for sure,” Rita agreed. “How you boys been doing?”

  “Fair to middlin’,” Sonny said. “We just finished up out at the cemetery. Them weeds is out of control from all the rain. You eatin’ in or gettin’ takeout?”

  “I thought I’d grab something quick and just eat here.”

  “Well, go on and get it and come back here. You can eat with us.” Bert looked at Sonny to second his invitation.

  “Yeah, Rita,” Sonny chimed in. “I can slide right over. We got plenty of room in our booth.”

  They were sitting in their usual booth—the big one near the front window. It had the best view of the parking lot, and any action going on across the town square at the sheriff’s department.

  So far, it had been a slow night on both counts.

  “Sure,” Rita said. “Why not? Be right back.”

  Sonny watched her head for the front counter, where they dished up the food. He thought she looked tired, and wondered if maybe she’d just got back from one of them long hauls Cougar’s was now into. She walked like her back hurt. He shifted on the vinyl bench seat. He knew what that was like . . .

  “She looks tired, don’t she?” Bert asked.

  It was always that way. People said they pretty much could finish each other’s sentences.

  “Yeah. I think it’s been hard on her since James Lawrence l
eft to go back in the army.”

  Bert agreed. “Them two was gettin’ to be pretty good friends, wasn’t they?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Slow down inhalin’ that supper, Buddy.” Bert laid a hand on his son’s arm. “Try to wait up on Miss Rita.”

  Buddy looked over at his father with those clear, round eyes of his. “It’s Wednesday. Car tape was supposed to come. No car tape on Wednesday isn’t right.”

  Bert sighed. “You wanna take this one, Sonny?”

  “Maybe we can fix things another night, Buddy—after the shipment gets here?” Sonny did his best to sound upbeat. “I can make us some Salisbury steak then.”

  “Salisbury steak is on Wednesday. No car tape isn’t right.” Buddy continued eating his generous serving of stew beef.

  Rita rejoined them and sat down next to Sonny. She had two pieces of fried chicken, some slaw and a biscuit.

  “I don’t normally come in here after six,” she explained. “The food’s been sittin’ too long in that steam table, and the gravy gets too gooey for my taste.”

  “I don’t mind it.” Bert sopped up some of the gooey gravy with a piece of his biscuit. “It’s still better’n what I could make at home.”

  “Heck. Sakrete mix tastes better’n what you could make.” Sonny nudged Rita. “He can’t cook for nothin’. It’s a wonder he ain’t poisoned Buddy.”

  Buddy looked across the table at Rita. “Late is not right. Waiting too long is not right. Being late hurts the little things.”

  Sonny could tell Rita didn’t know how to respond to Buddy’s rambling. “He run out of car tape,” he explained. “The new stuff didn’t get here today like it was supposed to. That’s why we’re eatin’ in here tonight.”

  “Buddy’s a stickler about things bein’ on time,” Bert added. “It upsets him when they aren’t.”

  Buddy was still gazing at Rita. “Late things hurt Goldenrod.”

  “He means Dorothy,” Sonny explained. “He calls her Goldenrod. He has nicknames for everything. Sometimes, they get all mixed up in his mind.”

  “He doesn’t sound to me like he’s mixed up,” Rita muttered.

  “She shall know the truth,” Buddy quoted. “And the truth shall make her free.”

  “Buddy, stop pestering Miss Rita, so she can eat her supper.”

  Buddy shifted his gaze to his father. “The orange dog comes for her at night.”

  “You know what, fellas?” Rita pushed her plate away. “I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. Either of you want this chicken? I’m tired and I think I’m gonna shove off.”

  “You don’t have to run off, Rita.” Bert apologized. “Buddy don’t mean nothin’. He’s just been all het up about poor Dorothy and how upset she’s been about what happened to her daddy. He gets like this sometimes—and once he starts fixatin’ on somethin’, it’s hard to get him off it.”

  “That’s the truth,” Sonny chimed in. “He’s like a dog with a bone. He’ll just keep worryin’ it to death.”

  “Being late hurts the little things.” Buddy chanted. “The truth shall make her free.”

  “No offense taken.” Rita slid out of the booth and got to her feet. “You all take care.” She touched Buddy on the arm before advancing toward the door. “Don’t you worry about that dog, Buddy. I got a feeling it’ll be movin’ on real soon.”

  Sonny watched her leave.

  Yes. Miss Rita sure did look tired tonight . . .

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Maddie had a hard time concealing her excitement when Lizzy told her she’d decided to accept the partnership offer.

  They were sitting in Maddie’s office. Lizzy had asked for a few minutes to talk with her at the end of the day, after they’d each finished their final appointments.

  “As happy as I am, it matters more to me that you’re sure about this.” Maddie wanted to assure Lizzy that she could take as much time as she needed “The last thing I want to do is push you into making a decision you may not be ready for.”

  “You haven’t pushed me at all. And, yes. I’m very sure. It’s the outcome I always wanted, but never thought possible.”

  “To tell the truth, it’s what I always wanted, too. It just took some time to be sure the practice could sustain it. Once the Wilson Clinic closed and we inherited most of their patients, it was clear we had the revenue stream to comfortably add your position on a permanent basis.”

  “That I get,” Lizzy replied. “But you didn’t have to offer me a share of ownership in the practice.”

  “Of course I did. That part was a no-brainer.”

  “I appreciate it, just the same. It’s one hell of an opportunity for me.”

  “Well, don’t give me too much credit. I’d be an idiot not to do everything in my power to keep you here. You’re the best NP I’ve had the privilege to work with. I didn’t want to give you any escape route once I had a shot at ensnaring you.”

  “Too bad Tom never looked at me the same way.”

  Maddie detected the underlying sadness and resignation in her voice. “I wish I knew what to say to make that part easier.”

  “I know. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything anyone can say at this point—including Tom.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think he needs to have his head examined.”

  Lizzy laughed. “You’re a lot more delicate than Syd.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did she say?”

  “Well, she seemed to think examining his head wouldn’t really be possible since it was shoved so far up his . . . wiz wang.”

  “She actually said wiz wang?”

  “Well . . . not exactly.”

  Maddie rocked back in her chair. “I didn’t think so. Syd doesn’t tend to mince words.”

  The phone on Maddie’s desk buzzed. It was Peggy, telling her that Syd and Henry were in the waiting room. Maddie told Peggy to send them back.

  “Speak of the devil,” she told Lizzy. “Syd and Henry are here.”

  “Oh. Are you heading out now?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it. They must just be in town for some errand.”

  “Want me to give you some privacy?”

  “No. Stay put.” Maddie waved her back into her chair. “I’m sure they’d both love to see you.”

  Henry came barreling into Maddie’s office with Syd following at a more modest pace.

  “Maddie!” he cried. “You’ll never guess what we got at the . . .” He skidded to a halt when he saw Lizzy. “Oh.” His tone changed immediately. “Hi, Lizzy.”

  Maddie was surprised to see him blushing.

  Well I’ll be damned, she thought. Avi was right.

  Lizzy got to her feet and crossed the room to greet him.

  “Hello there, little man.” She hugged Henry warmly. “What a treat to get to see you today. Hi, Syd.”

  “Hi, Lizzy. I apologize for bursting in on you like this. Peggy didn’t tell me you two were in a meeting.”

  “Oh, we’re through.” Lizzy looked at Maddie. “Aren’t we, boss?”

  “I suppose so. Sport? You want to let go of Lizzy’s leg so we can all sit down?”

  “Don’t bother with that.” Lizzy tousled Henry’s mop of hair. “I need to get going. I have a stack of charts to plow through before I can get out of here.”

  Maddie noticed that Syd was watching Henry closely, too. They exchanged meaningful glances.

  “Are you coming for taco night, Lizzy?” Henry looked up at her with a hopeful expression.

  “Well . . .” Lizzy seemed uncertain how to respond.

  “Please do,” Syd urged her. “I was going to invite you, anyway. That’s partly why we stopped by.”

  “In that case, I’d love to join you. Thank you. Is there anything I can bring?”

  “You can bring Avi,” Henry declared. “Syd’s going to invite her, too.”

  It was Lizzy’s turn to blush.

  “So much for nuance.” Syd apologized. “We already invited her the other day.”
<
br />   Maddie cleared her throat. “How about we just accept we’re all in agreement about tacos, which, in and of themselves, are worthy of robust approbation?”

  “Maddie,” Syd asked, in a lilting voice, “do you ever get tired of lugging that briefcase around?”

  “What briefcase?”

  “The one between your ears.”

  Lizzy laughed. “I’d love to come eat tacos with all of you, regardless of any nuance.”

  “Knock, knock.” Avi appeared outside Maddie’s door. “I thought I heard friendly voices in here.”

  “Avi!” Henry finally dislodged himself from Lizzy to rush over and greet his new friend. “Lizzy is coming for taco night.”

  “Seriously?” Syd spread her hands in defeat. “Who needs the Internet with this kid around?”

  Avi smiled.

  “Tuesday night,” Maddie clarified. “It’s a thing.”

  “It’s great to see you two.” Avi beamed at Syd. “I’m so glad I resisted my better instincts not to butt in when I heard you two arrive. Rudeness tends to pay off sometimes.”

  Another thought occurred to Avi. “If you don’t mind my asking, will the usual family party be in attendance on Tuesday night?”

  “Probably,” Syd replied. “The three of us, David and Michael, and probably Dorothy.”

  “Sometimes Dorothy comes home with me on the bus,” Henry explained. “She likes taco night as much as I do.”

  “I don’t blame her a bit for that, Henry.” Avi faced Syd. “It appears I have a fly, in the shape of a conflict of interest, in the taco ointment. Since I’ve recently entered into a therapeutic relationship with one member of the dinner party, I’ll, sadly—very sadly—have to decline your generous invitation.”

  “Oh.” Enlightenment dawned for Maddie. “Of course. We hadn’t considered that.”

  “It’s my loss, believe me.” Maddie saw Avi steal a glance at Lizzy, who in Maddie’s view was looking pretty disappointed by the circumstances, too.

  “Well, we’ll be sure to reconnect for another occasion, soon,” Syd promised. “In the meantime, I think I may have a solution to your housing dilemma.”

  “You do? Your timing is perfect. I’ve nearly decided my only remaining option is to rent a thirty-year-old Winnebago.”