An Unexpected Grace

by Kristin von Kreisler

  Lila’s disappointment tasted like unsweetened lemonade sucked through a charcoal straw. “Do you know any nice person who might want Grace?”

  “Not offhand.”

  Lila gave him one of the index cards she’d written her phone number on, in case he thought of somebody. As she and Grace walked away, Lila said, “She’s such a wonderful dog!” She wanted to leave him with a final, positive thought to spur his search for Grace’s new home—but Lila wasn’t hopeful he’d bother.

  Slowly, she and Grace worked their way down the street. Looking sulky, Grace sat at Lila’s feet while she talked with an elderly woman planting pansies in her window box, a man with slumped shoulders emptying the trash, and a woman in a pantsuit lifting groceries from the trunk of her burnt-orange Alfa Romeo. Lila stopped a pair of sweaty joggers who ran in place while she asked if they might want Grace, and a UPS delivery-woman who pulled her truck to the curb with a metallic squawk of brakes.

  Lila’s offer was always the same, delivered with as much enthusiasm as she could rake out of her put-upon heart. But Grace kept acting grumpy and withdrawn, like her only friend was Prozac. And everyone had a polite excuse for not taking on a misanthrope:

  “I’m allergic to dogs.”

  “I’m a cat person.”

  “I’m never home. It wouldn’t be fair to a dog.”

  “My wife’s pregnant. A baby’s all we’re going to be able to handle.”

  Lila’s campaign was a bust. By evening, all the index cards she’d handed out would be wadded up next to sour cream containers and wilted spinach leaves at the bottom of everybody’s garbage can.

  On the way home, Lila wrestled with discouragement, made blacker by knowing she could have spent the afternoon painting or searching the Internet for more going-postal cases. And Grace’s sudden attitude reversal added to the frustration. Instead of acting like a crank, she apparently concluded that Lila had given up the search for an adopter and Grace was safe. She hobbled along, acting beatific, flashing Lila worshipful glances, and turning up the ends of her mouth in what looked like a smile. Was it possible dogs smiled?

  In her head, Lila replayed her failed sales pitches. She wished she’d bowled everybody over with red-letter zeal. “I’m trying to find a home for this gorgeous, fabulous, friendly golden retriever !” Lila could have said in the beginning. When someone asked why Grace needed a home, Lila could have stretched the truth to something compelling, such as, “Her owner fell off a ladder in his backyard and had to go to a nursing home, the poor, poor man. He’s beside himself that he can’t keep his beloved dog.”

  When anyone resisted, Lila could have iced more drama on her duplicitous cake with a Grace-as-hero tale. “Grace went absolutely wild when her owner fell off the ladder,” she might have said. “She yowled till a neighbor came over to see what the commotion was about, and he called an ambulance. This smart, sensitive, loyal dog saved her owner’s life. Isn’t that amazing? She’s sure golden in more ways than one.”

  Cristina and Lila used to have lying contests when they were bored studying for finals. For instance, they once described to each other trips to places they had never gone. Lila quickly mentioned a bus ride in Kazakhstan and a campout in Mali, but Cristina went on and on when it was her turn. She related chilling images of the yak who almost gored her on a trek in Nepal—his ferocious horns, the iron muscles in his legs, his breath that could wilt cactus. When Cristina described the sunburn that had turned her skin cranberry red on the Costa Brava—and the hotel owner’s wife who rubbed vinegar on her back and arms to soothe the pain—Lila’s own skin hurt. That was how good Cristina was at lying.

  “If you want someone to believe a lie, you have to throw in feeling and detail,” Cristina said. For fun, she embellished Lila’s Mali campout with bandits who had yellow teeth and spears with poisoned metal tips—so Lila never wanted to travel there for real.

  Maybe today Lila could have given a pitch as emotional as Cristina’s lies, but, then, just as effective as a lie for finding Grace a home might have been the sympathy-yanking truth: She was desperate for someone on whom to shower her devotion. If she loved you, she glommed onto you like she had a barnacle in her genetic heritage. It wasn’t fair for even a brush-chewing delinquent like her to be sad when she had so much love to give.

  Still, those weren’t reasons for Lila to keep her.

  18

  Because Lila believed that Adam Spencer was avoiding her on purpose, she was hesitant to contact him again. Yet even if he didn’t want to talk with her, he was responsible for Grace still living with her, and he owed her his help. One last time Lila swallowed her pride and phoned him, though she did not expect him to answer. Like whistling for a dog, she called her determination.

  She told herself that if Adam had cared enough to rescue Grace, he’d want to make sure she found a good home. Lila would appeal to his concern for Grace and count on her Pleaser to make her cordial and her Crazy Aunt to help her stand her ground. Since she was miffed that Adam was taking advantage of her, however, she’d sprinkle into the conversation a few references to virtues Adam clearly lacked, such as reliability, trustworthiness, and compassion. He probably wouldn’t get the hint, but she’d give it anyway just to enhance her self-respect and get back her power.

  As Lila picked up the phone in the den, Grace leaned against her ankle and panted, like she was talking to herself. Lila called Adam’s home number. He didn’t answer, wouldn’t you know? She hung up, imagining him slinking around in Timbuktu so she couldn’t find him to ask for help. She tried his cell.

  “Hello?” he said.

  After all the failed attempts to reach him, she was shocked to hear his voice. Noise in the background told her that he was in a public place; she quickly wished it were a meeting hall whose floor joists were sagging under the weight of dog adopters.

  “Errr . . .” She was off to a robust start. She identified herself. “I’ve left you six messages.” Since you like dogs better than people, maybe I’d have heard back from you if I were a dachshund.

  “Sorry. I haven’t called my voice mail. I’ve been at a conference in Chicago. I’m at O’Hare, about to fly home,” he said.

  What sounded like a CNN newscaster mumbled stock quotes in the background. Grace’s damp breath warmed Lila’s foot.

  “I’m sure you’ll be glad to get back. The weather’s great here,” Lila’s Pleaser made her say.

  “Nothing’s wrong with Grace, is there?” Adam asked.

  “As a matter of fact . . .” Lila cleared her throat. “I need you to come and get her. I’ve had her over a month.”

  “We’ve been through this before.” He sounded irritable and tired. “Can’t you hold on a little longer?”

  “I’ve held on for too long. It’s not right. I just walked Grace around the neighborhood and asked people if they wanted her, and . . .”

  “You did what?”

  Lila’s hackles rose. “I took her around the neighborhood . . .”

  “That was absolutely irresponsible.”

  “I hate to say this, but I think you’re the irresponsible one here. Since you wouldn’t help, I had to do something. Somebody has to find Grace a home.”

  “You might have handed her over to a dog torturer,” Adam said. “I told you Marshall doesn’t live that far away. If he found out you had her, it would be a nightmare.”

  “Okay, so do you want me to put an ad in the paper? Free dog to good home?”

  “That would be worse.” When Adam exhaled, his breath contained scorn. “Crazy people search the ads for dogs every day. You wouldn’t know how to screen callers.”

  Lila rankled at the put-down. “I can tell a sicko if I talk with one.” But, then, she hadn’t recognized how disturbed Yuri Makov was.

  “You have to protect Grace. She’s already gone through more than any dog should. It would be criminal if something bad happened to her again.” Without pausing long enough to blink, Adam launched the same kind of emotional
appeal that Lila had wished she’d used on the neighbors for Grace: Marshall bragged he’d locked Grace for months in a dark garage as a pup to teach her that he was her master, Adam said. One night as he watched from his bedroom window, Marshall dragged Grace to an oak tree in his backyard and wrapped one end of a ten-foot chain around its trunk and the other around her neck. In a week she wore a small circle of dirt around the tree, which on freezing winter nights showered acorns on her, and she curled into a ball to protect herself or stood for hours to keep her body off the icy, muddy ground. And Marshall practically starved her. She’d have died if Adam hadn’t thrown food over the fence to her when Marshall was at work. He beat Grace too, and that’s when Adam broke into Marshall’s yard and stole her.

  “Imagine a wonderful dog like her living such a horrible life. Sometimes she cried all afternoon because she was so lonely. Look at how loving she is despite that jerk,” Adam said. “Grace didn’t deserve any of it. Through no fault of her own, she got put in the hands of a sadist. She’s like you. You both suffered from a random act of fate.”

  “Well, I . . .” Till then, Lila hadn’t been sure that Yuri’s shooting her had penetrated Adam’s mind. “I didn’t know about Grace’s life. It’s terrible. But it’s not fair you haven’t come to get her. You said you would.”

  “You ought to understand better than anybody that Grace needs to be protected. Can you imagine how bad it would be if some cruel person got hold of her again? Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not. It would be awful . . .”

  “United Flight 197 is now boarding at Gate 9.” On the intercom, the woman’s voice sounded scratchy.

  “I have to go,” Adam said. “If you’ll just be patient for another month, I’ll take Grace myself.”

  “I can’t keep Grace another month!”

  At hearing her name, though Lila’s voice was shrill, Grace looked up at her expectantly and said with her eyes, I love you!

  “A month is not long,” Adam argued.

  “It’s twenty-nine days too long. I have to get back my life. Grace is siphoning my energy. I need to get well . . .”

  “Just listen, okay?” Adam interrupted. “I bought a house. It’s in escrow. I’ll be moving in soon. The house doesn’t have a fenced yard, so it might take me a while to get ready for Grace, but I’ll do it as fast as I can.”

  As Lila was about to cave and agree to keep Grace longer, her Crazy Aunt, who’d just dyed her hair green, stomped into Lila’s mind. Keep your trap shut, she snarled at Lila. That oaf may have made you pity that dog, but he’s steamrollering you. You’re not the only dog sitter in the world. Don’t let him push you around.

  “If you’ll wait for me to come and get Grace, you’ll never have to see her again,” Adam pressed. “I’m counting on you to keep her for me just a little longer. I’m asking you to have some heart.”

  As far as Lila was concerned, he’d fed his own heart to his wolfhounds for breakfast. Her heart was fine. She’d shown plenty of it taking care of a dog who’d been pushed on her by an insensitive man as untrustworthy as Reed.

  When Adam hung up, he hadn’t seemed to notice that she’d not agreed to anything. The fence was just another of his ploys to stall—and she’d never hear from him. If he ever did contact her, he’d say that he’d gotten a consulting job in Antarctica, and after the work was finished, he had to visit his consumptive cousin for a few months on the Yangtze River. And by the way, he’d ask, couldn’t Lila keep Grace just a tiny bit longer, like another year? By then he’d be back in town, happy to take her off Lila’s hands.

  Grace rested her chin on her paws and sighed with contentment. Apparently sensing no potential change in her living arrangements, she closed her eyes and began to snore.

  19

  Lila clicked on the Safari icon at the bottom of the computer screen and Googled the white pages directory. As she held her breath, she typed, “Yuri Makov, San Francisco, California.” She wanted his phone number so she could call his roommate, who’d been on the TV news two months before and might help her understand why Yuri had been angry. But Yuri wasn’t listed. As that door closed in Lila’s face, her heart drooped, like it wasn’t wild about beating anymore.

  Certainly, she wasn’t as angry as Yuri had been, but she was mad. Resentment had been nesting in her soul since she’d met Reed’s lover at the PhotoMat. When Yuri shot her, the resentment had multiplied like cancer cells and turned into anger. Her last conversation with Adam had added anger’s cousin, annoyance. Staring at the computer screen, Lila brooded about his taking advantage and not caring if Grace disrupted her life. What was she supposed to do? Keep a dog she didn’t want until it died a natural death? The more Lila thought about her phone conversation with Adam, the more hostile she felt.

  Anyone could understand emotions sometimes piling up and taking you hostage. As Lila’s anger filled her mind, it elbowed aside her decency, compassion, and pity for Grace. Lila’s Crazy Aunt boomed into her thoughts, stomped on her Pleaser’s toes, and took over. For God’s sake, cut the wimp act. Get rid of the dog. Do what you have to do. Lila’s Crazy Aunt curled her lip.

  As Lila swallowed pomegranate green tea, she glanced out the window at a dead bay tree branch’s jagged twigs. She told herself, I will not be used. Not for another minute.

  She got up, called the Humane Society, and wrote down directions to their shelter. She folded the paper and stuffed it in her pocket. The staff vetted anyone who wanted to adopt an animal. Grace would be safe. They’d find her a good home. Let someone besides Lila solve the problem.

  Lila called Grace. Again she proved that dogs read minds, and she refused to come. She might not have known Lila’s plan, but she must have sensed a new impetus in Lila’s resolve to be dog-free and recognized that something unsavory was about to happen to her.

  Lila went to the kitchen and jingled the keys to Cristina’s station wagon to hint at the joys of riding in a car. Grace didn’t move. By the door Lila rattled the dog biscuit box to lure her to the garage. Finally, she hauled herself to her feet, then slumped back to the floor and closed her eyes, which said, What a drag. Car rides are not my thing. I want to stay right here.

  Ignoring the ennui, Lila said with feigned enthusiasm, “Grace! Let’s go!”

  Their find-a-home walk around the neighborhood the week before must have alerted Grace that Lila could act as if pleasure lay ahead when it didn’t, and Grace had honed her dishonesty radar. She got up, limped to her pillow in the living room, and curled up in her pumpkin position, ready to launch another production of The Napping Dog.

  Lila followed. “Come on, Grace! Let’s go have fun!” Jingle. Jingle.

  Grace’s look was as dark as a Yankee dog’s trying to make a go of it at Andersonville. The smile that had lately curved up at the outer edges of her mouth now dropped to a bleak, straight, you-can’t-fool-me line.

  “Don’t you want to go for a ride?” Lila raised her voice at “ride” as if it were the pinnacle of dreams at the Dog’s Make-A-Wish Foundation.

  Grace told her unambiguously and forthrightly that she did not want to go for a ride: She got to her feet and hobbled toward her hiding place under the bed. As she passed Lila, Grace’s scowl informed her that she suspected Lila’s motives. Her scowl back told Grace that her patience was frayed and she wanted this difficult trip behind her.

  If Lila couldn’t persuade Grace to come willingly, she would drag her to the car. “Come on.” Lila blocked her in the hall, forced her to turn around, and pushed her from behind toward the door. “You can’t blame me. This is Adam Spencer’s fault, not mine.”

  Grace seemed not to care whose fault it was. Lila had to nag her into the garage. When Lila opened the back of the station wagon, Grace stared at the license plate and made no move to jump in.

  Lila patted the carpeting to encourage her. “Here, Grace.”

  Breath wasted. Deaf ears.

  Thinking perhaps Grace’s injured leg prevented her from jumping,
Lila led her to the door behind the driver’s seat, where she could step into the car. “Get in.”

  Grace did not budge. She seemed to be infused with the spirit of Gandhi, and “passive resistance” was inscribed between the toes of her intransigent paws. When Lila pulled her bandana toward the backseat, she must have concluded that she had no choice but to comply. Nevertheless, she made it clear that she was not amused by the coercion. Giving Lila the cool, steady look of Queen Elizabeth sizing up a peon, Grace climbed into the backseat. With regal dignity, she might have set her scepter on her lap and smoothed her paw over her brocade train’s seed pearls.

  When Lila got behind the steering wheel and looked at Grace in the rearview mirror, she was watching the garage wall. Lila could tell Grace sensed misfortune coming. Guilt tapped Lila on the shoulder and said “ahem,” but her built-up anger—and her Crazy Aunt—knocked him to the garage floor. Lila started down the mountain.

  Lila had not driven after breaking up with Reed because she didn’t have a car, and she’d not driven after coming to Cristina’s because of her cast. Now she could use her left arm well enough to get behind the wheel, but she had not factored in how stressful driving for the first time in many months would be. On the freeway, her forehead was damp, and perspiration trickled between her breasts.

  Focused on a bus painted like a loaf of bread, Grace ignored Lila. Grace made clear that until her suspicions were proven unfounded, she was pulling up her drawbridge and withdrawing to her throne room.

  If Lila hadn’t been eager to deliver Grace to the Humane Society, she’d never have been willing to drive so soon. She owed Grace for indirectly nudging her to get behind the wheel and jump another hurdle toward a normal life. To be honest, Grace had helped her sometimes, Lila thought with an unexpected pang of regret at what she was about to do. But her Crazy Aunt pushed the regret out of the car. Keep driving, she growled.