Still, Lila couldn’t muffle her anger. Grace had earned it. “You did this while I was talking with Agnes, didn’t you? You were seeking revenge because I put you in the kitchen.”
Grace pressed herself against the wall. Her eyes begged, Please, don’t be mad! I couldn’t help myself. When you banished me from the living room, I was very upset.
“I was upset too. You were being rude to Agnes.”
In my heart I meant no harm, Grace’s sad eyes said.
If dogs could speak, Lila was sure Grace would say she’d thought the brush was a stick, and all dogs chewed sticks, especially when the dogs were stressed. What was she supposed to do when a tempting piece of wood lay on the counter, asking for teeth? Couldn’t the person who left the stick where a dog could reach it be to blame, at least a little?
Please, please, won’t you love me? Grace’s sad eyes pleaded.
Lila dropped the bed skirt. She did not believe she was to blame; the demolished brush was Grace’s fault. Lila had been responsible in caring for her, and look how she’d repaid the patience and goodwill. It wasn’t fair that a dog forced on Lila had caused so much trouble.
“I’ve tried to get along with you, but it’s not working,” Lila said.
Leaving Grace to stew in her transgression, Lila went back to the kitchen. She told herself that she had a right not to mollycoddle the dog orphans of the world. Adam was being maddeningly unreliable, and Lila had a long way to go to be healthy and strong. She had no time for Grace when she was trying to get her work and life in order.
Lila had to find a way to be dog-free. If her Pleaser objected, Lila would call on her Crazy Aunt, who would push the Pleaser off a ship with her hands tied behind her back, or banish her to Tokelau, or strangle her with Grace’s red bandana.
When Lila woke the next morning, Grace had wriggled out from under the bed, but she wasn’t waiting for Lila in the kitchen as usual. Lila didn’t bother looking for her because she was still upset about her brush, though her annoyance at Grace had been tempered overnight. Now Lila’s feelings leaned more toward hurt at Grace for betraying their temporary friendship and toward resentment at Adam for taking advantage.
Wrapping her resolve around her, Lila found Cristina’s contact list in the kitchen drawer and phoned Adam’s house.
After four rings, he greeted Lila on his answering machine. “You’ve reached Adam Spencer,” the recording said, as if she needed to be told. “Leave a message, and I’ll call you back. Or try my cell.” Sounding more solicitous than he’d ever been with her, he gave the number.
At the beep, she said, “This is Lila Elliot,” then added, in case he’d forgotten, “I’m Cristina’s friend . . . the one with Grace.” Lila’s Pleaser made her sugarcoat her pill of resentment with a friendly tone of voice. “Would you call me? It’s a little urgent, actually. I need for you to get serious about finding Grace a home.” She gave Cristina’s number in case Adam didn’t have it handy. For good measure, Lila called his cell phone and left the same message.
At the latest, she expected to hear from Adam by noon. If Cristina had been right that he was a good person, he would call Lila back quickly and show his good side. Trying to be positive, she pictured him stopping by in the late afternoon, eager to help her, and leading Grace to his pickup, where his Irish wolfhounds would be waiting. They’d all drive off together, slobbering and happy.
When Lila hung up the phone, Grace padded into the kitchen like a vandal returning to the scene of the crime. She sniffed the tile floor, sat down next to the table, under which she’d committed her atrocity, and gazed out the French door as if she were meditating on the backyard’s Gravenstein apple tree. She must have hoped Lila’s annoyance had cooled and they could make up and hang around together, a peaceable kingdom of two. By Grace’s quiet presence, she let Lila know she was waiting to reconnect.
But Lila didn’t feel like doing that. She steeled herself. It was time for Grace to go.
Lila’s missing brush was like a pulled tooth that the tongue keeps going back to look for. All morning as she painted, she kept reaching for the brush and remembering with sadness that it was gone. She was working on a door from Architectural Digest , with a brass handle shaped like a dolphin and a window framed with scallops, like waves. When the phone never rang, she kept getting up and making sure it was securely in its cradle—and her frustration at not hearing from Adam slowly mushroomed into huffiness.
At noon, no matter if Lila seemed desperate, she left messages at both of Adam’s numbers again to remind him of the importance of her call. When he did not phone back by two, she was certain he was too arrogant to stoop to returning messages. By four, she imagined him out cold in a hospital bed after an auto accident—having lost the use of his arms and legs and become brain damaged and incapable of speech—and her huffiness morphed into despair. By five, she called his numbers again but got recordings, and still another time she left messages, which now edged toward hostility.
Cristina used her cell phone only for crises because, she said, it might give her a brain tumor, and she had to live to see Rosie married. Normally, Lila would not have called Cristina’s cell because she’d think there was an emergency and be alarmed. But she hadn’t answered at her D.C. apartment, and she was indirectly to blame for Grace’s brush atrocity. That warranted Lila calling her cell, alarm or not.
“What’s wrong?!” Cristina asked. She must have thought Lila was about to tell her that the house was sliding down the mountain.
“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. I just need to talk to you.”
“Are you okay?”
Lila sighed to introduce her despondence. “Adam’s never found Grace a home. I’ve left messages all day, but he hasn’t bothered getting back to me.”
“He must be busy.”
Lila doubted that. “What am I supposed to do with Grace? She’s been with me almost a month.”
“How’s the precious getting along?”
Through gritted teeth, Lila explained Grace’s criminal act.
“She didn’t mean to cause trouble. She was just being a dog,” Cristina said. “I’ll buy you a new brush.”
“It can’t be replaced. My mother gave it to me. I loved it.” Then Lila dug deeper to the root of the problem. “I can’t worry about my arm and try to paint again when I’m being forced to take care of Grace. I wanted to help you, but it’s not working. You’ve got to do something. I don’t see how you could have left her here with me.” Lila’s voice sounded shaky.
“I didn’t want to leave her with you. I swear we tried to find a place for her. I told you that.”
“I know, but out of the gazillion people in the world, I can’t believe I’m the only one who could take her.”
“We asked a gazillion people. Adam can tell you how hard we tried.”
“Maybe he could if he’d be decent enough to get back to me.”
“Call him again.”
“I’m willing to beg only so much for someone’s help.” Lila watched a woodpecker go after a redwood trunk outside the kitchen window.
“Don’t be mad at Adam. He’s either out of town or busy. He’s considerate.”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“You’d see it if you knew him better. Really . . .”
As if Lila were interested—which she wasn’t—Cristina described the care he’d taken when breaking up with his last girlfriend. On her freelance writer’s irregular income, she’d racked up huge bills for an iPad, a BlackBerry, and expensive clothes. Adam bailed her out, but she wouldn’t stop spending. “She was totally irresponsible. She didn’t care,” Cristina said. “Adam was upset when he broke up with her, but he didn’t pressure her about moving out of his house till she found a good place to live. He was thoughtful . . .”
“He’s not being thoughtful to me, and he’s being just as irresponsible as his girlfriend.” Lila pressed her hand over her eyes, the better to hide in some dark corner of herself, free of Adam and G
race.
At least Lila now knew he’d judged someone besides her, and he was an equal-opportunity spreader of his disapproval. If his ex-girlfriend told her side, she’d explain that she’d shopped believing she could pay but had run out of money. No compassionate person would end a relationship over a human mistake like that. As a miser, Adam probably spent days comparing prices for his wolfhounds’ kibble.
“Can I do anything to help you hang on till Adam figures something out?” Cristina asked.
“That could take years. I need you to help me find a place for Grace now.”
Again, Cristina urged Lila to call Adam, but how many messages did Cristina expect her to leave? Finally, spiraling down in what Lila vowed to herself would be only momentary defeat, she asked, “Where are you anyway?”
“On my way to the grocery store with Rosie. What I wouldn’t give for some California fruit right now. I want to come home.”
“You’ll be back before you know it,” Lila said. “Is Rosie okay?”
“Her PlayStation died a little while ago. I’m keeping her occupied with the alphabet game.”
“Tell Lila about the snakes,” Rosie chimed in.
“Oh, yeah . . . We went to the zoo. This man was demonstrating how to milk venom. It was scary,” Cristina said. “Hold on, Lila . . . Look, there’s a P, Rosie! In the billboard. On the Pepsi can . . .”
Cristina seemed as far away in thoughts as in miles. The Pepsi’s P underscored in bold that Grace was Lila’s problem.
After Lila hung up the phone, Grace turned away from the apple tree and gave her a sad, heartrending glance. She limped over, wagging her feathery tail, and sat in front of Lila. As Grace ratcheted up her glance to a stare of longing, sweet, starry-eyed adoration flowed out of her. Though Lila had locked her in the kitchen yesterday, Grace seemed to view her as her personal potentate; Lila had hung the moon with her own hands and invented chicken skin and beef gravy.
“How can you be loving when I’m annoyed at you?” Lila was talking as if Grace’s illicit behavior were forgotten, though Lila remembered every splinter under the kitchen table.
Grace responded with a tail thump to the tile floor. She got up and rested her head in Lila’s lap.
No doubt Grace was trying to hug her again and make up for what she’d done. She was begging Lila to reassure her that she wasn’t upset and letting Lila know that she’d never stop pouring love on her. Forgiveness, like adoration, was an expression of Grace’s nature. Lila could rail at her, but she’d never hold a grudge.
Betsy would have said to take a lesson from Grace about forgiving, Lila thought as Grace nuzzled her hand with her wet nose and asked Lila to pet her. Though Lila didn’t want to, she broke down and obliged. Then she wondered if Grace’s lovebug behavior was a ploy to make her feel guilty for wanting her gone. Lila’s Crazy Aunt jumped in and cut off the guilt with a quick conk to its gizzard.
She curled her lip and hissed at Lila, Forget the Good Samaritan act. The Humane Society is just down the freeway!
It’s not that simple, Lila mentally replied. Grace is needy. She shouldn’t be cast away.
Yeah, sure. Are you a simpering coward, or what? Lila’s Crazy Aunt snarled. Who comes first? You or Grace? You’ve got to end her damned starring role in The Dog Who Came to Dinner.
You’re right, Lila conceded. She was. Really.
17
Lila’s mother often told her that necessity gave birth to invention, and she was stirring miso noodle soup at the stove when inspiration for an invention struck. It would be a promotional campaign, like those she’d helped devise at Weatherby to get publicity for products. But her objective would be a home, and the product would be Grace.
If Cristina and Adam wouldn’t help Lila, then she would find someone who needed a golden retriever. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be proactive. She wouldn’t hand Grace over to just anyone; the person would have to be decent and respectable. But Lila would know she’d stopped being exploited and she’d gotten back some power.
Though Lila had sworn she’d never groom Grace, she got out the dog brush and started on her fur, which was sticking out as if it had been starched. Lila took swipes at Grace’s head, skipped her neck, which was covered by the bandana, and worked her way down Grace’s haunches and back. As Lila brushed, Grace’s tongue hung from her mouth like a wet camellia petal. She half closed her eyes with a look of ecstasy, as if she were mentally zooming off to an opium den. When Lila got to her tail, she had to chase the wag. Grace accidentally thwacked her mouth. Repulsed, Lila picked fur off her lips as fervently as she’d picked it off her black jeans, and she added the thwack to Grace’s other transgressions, such as the vile tennis ball and demolished brush.
Lila fluffed up the pointed tip of Grace’s bandana to give her an extra-bright and fetching look. With her fingers, Lila pushed Grace’s fur over the bald patches above her tail and partly hid her skin condition. If Lila squinted just right, Grace looked almost kempt, and her long, wavy fur invited hands to pet her.
“You’re not ready for prime time, but you’re presentable,” Lila said.
Grace swished her tail fervently enough to blow the turban off the imaginary sultan she fanned on the floor.
Her wag made clear that she did not know that Lila was about to turn into Benedict Arnold with steps two and three of her campaign: taking Grace on a walk, and persuading some unsuspecting but acceptable passerby to adopt her.
When Lila herded Grace toward the front door instead of the back, where she usually went out, she looked up and bristled her eyebrows, as if she were confused. They asked, Why are you altering my routine when it’s been working fine? Where are we going?
“We’re going for a walk!” Lila lilted her voice with excitement at “walk,” so she sounded like she and Grace were about to romp across a yard where dog biscuits pushed through the grass like tulips.
Grace quickly taught Lila that dogs read minds.
Though Lila had not mentioned her campaign, Grace seemed to sense that something deceitful was going on, and she did not like it. She stared at Lila with a suspicious look in her eyes. When Lila opened the door, Grace refused to step onto the porch. She acted like she’d never been taken on a walk and disdained setting out on one now, especially with someone she’d begun to believe might not be trustworthy.
“Come on! Let’s go!”
Lila pushed Grace’s haunches over the threshold. Lila had expected her to bound outside and explore the forest, but she pressed against Lila’s legs. She couldn’t tell if Grace was being insecure or protective, but Lila urged her off the porch and they started up the path toward the street.
The sun filtered through redwood branches and dimly lit the forest. The air smelled of miner’s lettuce and acacia. Ahead of Lila and Grace, crows sat like Christmas ornaments in a bay tree but flew away, cawing, as dog and human encroached on their safety zone.
Wary, Lila checked blackberry thickets for another Trailside Killer. But, surprisingly, with Grace beside her, fear ruled her less than it had on trips alone to the store. Though another murderer could shoot Lila as easily as Yuri had, Grace’s company shored up her confidence and slightly dulled her anxious edge about being on the road.
Knowing that those pluses could never persuade her to adopt Grace herself, though, Lila stopped at the house next door, where Virginia, as fair and big-boned as a Viking, was sweeping her driveway. She was wearing a sari embroidered with tiny gold flowers, and humming something you’d hear plucked on a zither in a coffeehouse.
“Your yard’s looking great.” Lila tugged Grace close to Virginia so she could witness the gut-wrenching longing for love that was always in Grace’s eyes.
Virginia stopped midsweep but did not notice her. “Blasted redwood fronds. I’ve got to keep at them, or they clog the drain.” She stooped down and poured her dustpan’s contents into a green garbage bag.
“I need to find this dog a home,” Lila said.
Virginia gave G
race an evaluatory glance. “I’ve seen her at the window. She looks out on the road.”
“She always waits for me to come home.”
“The poor thing.” Virginia came over and patted Grace’s head.
Acting increasingly certain that something disadvantageous to her was going on, Grace distrustfully hooded her eyes and flashed Virginia her most hangdog, antisocial expression.
Virginia could not have missed Grace’s sullen face and bald spots. “It might be hard to get someone to take her. Makes you sad.”
Lila said good-bye and left without asking Virginia if she’d take Grace herself because she knew what Virginia would say. Grace and Lila headed down the road.
They came to a man in a fleece vest and hiking boots, depositing a Gatorade bottle in his green recycling bin. His Santa Claus beard made him seem like he’d be warm and friendly, the very qualities that Grace would respond to. Lila brought her to a halt, so he wouldn’t see her limp, and sat her at an angle, so he wouldn’t see her bald spots.
“Hi,” Lila said.
When the man looked over at her and Grace, his lips parted in a smile. “Morning.”
“Interested in adopting a great dog?”
As he peered down at Grace, she glowered even worse than she’d glowered at Agnes Spitzmeier. Nevertheless, he reached out his hand for her to sniff and get acquainted, but she got up and slunk away. Perverse was what she was being.
“Why are you giving her up?” he asked.
“I’m house-sitting for a friend who rescued her. She left Grace with me till we could find her a home.”
“You could keep her.”
“I’m too busy. I don’t know much about dogs anyway. I’ve never had one.”
“You ought to. They’re lots of fun.”
“Right!” Lila said to hint that maybe Grace would be great fun for him.
But he didn’t take the bait. “I’ve got a snippy Yorkie. She’d never tolerate another dog in the house.”
An Unexpected Grace Page 11
