The Man, The Dog, His Owner & Her Lover, a Witting Woman novella

by Candace Carrabus

The light dimmed and the air stilled. Even William held his breath. Gabe’s figure swam and danced before me with the image of Rafe—young Gabe—next to it. Behind. In front.

  Gabe. Rafe. Gabriel Michael Raphael. How had I not known this? The error—the total lack of awareness, wholly insignificant and enormous—couldn’t fit in my head. It slid down the back of my neck and shoved into my body cavity like a fat lady elbowing space at an already full pie-eating contest. Gabe and Rafe merged; I felt my balance slip, the room tilt.

  ——

  Gabe had been fairly certain Stephanie hadn’t figured out who he was, but he hadn’t expected this reaction. She looked like she’d swallowed a whole tomato patch, and when her eyelids fluttered and she listed to one side, he jumped to catch her before she landed on the floor. But the big dog beat him to it, bracing his paws against the table edge and gently pressing against her.

  She slung a noodley arm around his body and rested against him for a moment. Where had this savior dog been hiding, and how had he managed to edge out Gabe just as he finally had a chance to be the one for Steph to lean on?

  “Are you okay?” he asked. At least he could talk to her. So far, William hadn’t shown any talent for that.

  She patted the dog and stood. “Need a cold drink.”

  This time, Gabe did reach her. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back down. “I’ll get it.”

  He brought her a glass of water. She downed it all in one gulp. Some leaked over her chin and she swiped at it with her arm.

  “You must think I’m a complete and utter idiot.”

  Gabe found his chair, fighting the urge to gather her in his arms and use his body to reassure her. So much easier than talking. Maybe the dog had the right idea after all.

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged, decided to stick with the truth this time. “Remember I said there was a girl who didn’t know I was alive?”

  She smiled. “The one I said had to have been dead?” Then her eyelids snapped open. “Oh dear God.”

  He nodded.

  “Oh dear God,” she repeated. “That was me.” She covered her face with her hands. “But I wasn’t. I did know you were alive. I was just too scared to talk to you.”

  Gabe wouldn’t lament time lost in the past. They had the present. She said she’d been in love with him, or thought so. But he was getting ahead of himself.

  “And I was too scared to talk to you, then.” He hadn’t made a whole lot of progress on that front, either. He became aware of how hard his heart beat, an almost painful throb that made it hard to breathe.

  “Oh, but you’ve been working here all this time and I never knew. How could I be so stupid? My mother never said anything. Why didn’t she ever say anything?”

  “She believed in letting life take its own course. And I didn’t want her to.”

  Stephanie went to refill her water glass. He left her to it wishing he had a chore to busy his hands at that moment, like a cord of wood to split. His palms itched and his shoulders felt tight. Maybe he should leave. Let her rest. He made eye contact with William. The dog gave him a look that clearly communicated he could take care of her. The man’s presence was neither wanted nor needed. Gabe frowned. The dog’s actions when Stephanie had been attacked were one thing, but there was something strange about how attentive he was. He didn’t know too many dogs that were so tuned in to their humans, even after being with them from puppy hood. His own mutt would throw him over in a hot New York second for a juicy bone.

  That was it. He’d bring Lucy over to meet William. That should get the dog’s mind off Stephanie and leave a little room for Gabe to get close to her.

  Steph turned from where she’d been staring through the kitchen window.

  “I think—”

  “I think—”

  They both laughed.

  “You need some rest,” Gabe said.

  ——

  He left without fuss or ceremony after a too brief and awkward hug. I could scarcely look at him, I felt so senseless. I corked what remained of the wine, let the dishes rest in the sink, and sat on the edge of the couch. William jumped up, licked my ear, and curled next to me, laying his head on my leg. But he didn’t close his eyes or doze. Exhaustion curled against my other side, and a nervous current ran through me. Beneath my hand, William hummed with the same force, like a tuning fork resonating with one clear note. I could feel his eyebrows lifting, first one, then the other. My insides vibrated like electrified Jell-O, jumbling my thoughts. I wanted to be numb, to sleep, but couldn’t make myself sit back or lie down.

  At some point, though, a deep-seated instinct for survival must have taken over for morning found me uncomfortably twisted into the deep cushions with one foot still on the floor.

  I hear birds singing, faintly. We have been in the dark cellar with our freshly stored roots and grains all the night, but the birds wake with the sun. So, it is morning. Muffled voices above. The invaders. They have returned from defiling our holy site. The old beams creak under their weight. Shouting. Then, crackling like winter’s warm hearth. The others begin to scream or whimper. Smoke whispers through the floorboards from above. Coughing and choking.

  He will come. My love. My own warrior. This is not our fate.

  I raise my voice in supplication to the goddess. The crones join me.

  I can no longer hear the birds.

  Barking. In my face. It pulled me out of sleep, sputtering, into the day’s light. The hair on William’s back had turned into a mohawk, and he barked and howled at me. I sat up quickly.

  “What? What’s wrong?” I sniffed the air. No smoke.

  With relief, I sank back to the couch, breathing deeply to root myself in reality. My dog licked my hand. Always reassuring me with his presence. I must have been making noises in my sleep. Again, the dream. The same but different. And not quite a dream because I was half awake. Who could this woman be who was frightened but strong and so sure of her love? It was as if I had felt everything she experienced, but of course I hadn’t. I’d never been that sure of anything, let alone the affection of a man.

  I’d stopped feeling long ago when my father left. Which is why my therapist spent so much time trying to tease emotions out of me. She’s sure they’re buried inside me somewhere. Despite the number of tears I’d shed in the last day and a half, I’ve never really been afraid or sad or happy. I’d made sure of that by working. All. The. Time. Look where that’d gotten me. Well, now I had a working knowledge of anger and maybe something else, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, yet. Jean would be proud, though. William sat and wagged his tail, and I petted his head. I could be sure of him.

  “Good boy.”

  I decided to go see Mrs. Spangler, and after tidying myself up and walking William, I knocked on her door. The welcome smell of coffee greeted me when she opened it.

  “Stephanie, how nice to see you so early.” She beamed at me.

  Early? I didn’t even know what time it was.

  “Come in, come in. How are you? Thank God you weren’t hurt.” She took my hand and pulled me in. “And a good thing dear Mr. Fagen was here when that nice lady policeman brought you home. Where is that lovely new doggie of yours? I bought some treats to keep here for him. You know I’d be happy to look after him when you’re working. Would you like some coffee?”

  She pulled out a chair, and I sat, and in front of me she put a delicate china cup filled with coffee, and a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar.

  “You stay right there and I’ll get him. Isn’t he part of the family?”

  She went out but continued talking. Our back doors were right next to each other just like our front doors, so she didn’t have far to go.

  “The angel saved your life, after all. Nice doggie, there you are. Is that yummy? What was Stephie thinking leaving you here all by your lonesome. Come on, Biggun. Good boy.”

  She returned with William in tow, licking his chop
s. He proceeded to ignore me and shadow her around the sparkling kitchen. Unlike mine, Mrs. Spangler’s had been updated with a new floor and countertops. I should consider remodeling while I was off work. A good excuse to keep Gabe handy. A good way to stay busy.

  “I think I have posttraumatic stress disorder,” I blurted.

  I felt the woman of the dream hovering nearby, still and watchful. Something about her made it clear she wouldn’t complain of PTSD. Probably no such thing wherever she was, nor any tolerance for whining. Oh, I was losing my mind. Mrs. Spangler finally settled across from me with a cup of coffee to which she added three teaspoons of sugar.

  “Excuse me, dear?”

  “I said I think I have PTSD.”

  “Is that something you got from the attack?”

  Like the woman from the dream, PTSD probably had no place in Mrs. Spangler’s vocabulary, either. “Actually, I think it’s from getting fired.”

  “They fired you?” Her hand splayed over her chest. “What’s your boss’s name? I’ll call him first thing in the morning. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You are the hardest working person I know. Furthermore—”

  “Her name is Janet Siegal, but you don’t have to call her. Technically, they laid me off, and I think she maybe did me a favor. But I haven’t figured that part out yet.” I did feel some relief, but Monday morning loomed in the very near future, and my anxiety grew the closer it came.

  Mrs. Spangler’s usually perfect posture faltered and she slumped to the back of her chair with a dramatic huff. “Did you a favor? How so? By giving you this PBJ thing? I don’t think I understand, dear.”

  “What?”

  “That P-whatever you said.”

  “Post-trau— Well, not exactly. More like a psychotic break.” I should call Jean. Jean would know. Might even welcome the opportunity to dig deeper into my psyche.

  How are you feeling, Stephanie?

  How, exactly, does crazy feel?

  “I got this dog and now I’m having strange dreams and visions and did you know that when Gabe was a kid he worked for my mother sometimes but she used to call him Rafe?”

  Mrs. Spangler’s eyes widened a little at that. Wasn’t sure if it was the abrupt change of subject, the run-on sentence, or the information it contained. I think it was because I was late to the party. She had the grace to smile kindly instead of looking at me like I rode the little school bus for not recognizing dear Mr. Fagen all along.

  Her coffee tasted good. I helped myself to more. When I returned to the table, she was talking to William again.

  “You know, I used to have a little doggie. His name was Blackie. He went with me everywhere and everyone loved him. Look…”

  She got up, went to a shelf near the window filled with knickknacks, spices, framed photos, and rooting plants, and brought back a small box.

  “This is Blackie. He hasn’t been gone that long. I miss him terribly. I know I should bury him or scatter his ashes…dear Mr. Fagen never complained when Blackie dug up the beds. I just can’t seem to let him go. I like having him near.”

  She stared at the box with a wistful smile for a moment, then held it out and William sniffed it and licked her hand. I hadn’t even noticed Blackie was gone. Poor Mrs. Spangler. Oh, I was a bad person. How had I found such a good dog? Oh, right, he’d found me. Which reminded me that I needed to call Heather and let her know how it was going with him. Maybe she could help with the dreams. She was my resident expert on weird stuff. Although I’m sure it was easily explained by my abrupt change of circumstances.

  “Now, I’m going to put this right here.” Mrs. Spangler put the box on a lower shelf. “That way, you can visit whenever you come over. Okay?”

  William noted where the box now sat and lay on the floor next to it.

  Mrs. Spangler turned and patted my hand. “What you need, dear, is to find your whetstone. That’s all.”

  “My what?”

  “Something or someone to hone yourself against. You think it’s your job, but that just makes you dull. You need to find the thing that makes you sharp.”

  I blinked. Was she saying work wasn’t important?

  “For me, it was dance.” She patted my hand again. “Still is.” She stood and cleared our dishes. “My, my, listen to me. Dispensing advice like Dear Abby. I’m sure you have enough on your mind without me muddying the water.”

  ——

  William and I went for a run in the park. If there were any bad guys around, they didn’t show themselves. For the first time, I considered moving out of the city. William would do better with a big yard. I could keep the house, no reason for Mrs. Spangler or Mr. Weinperth to move. First things first, I reminded myself as we got home. Must find new job before thinking about anything else.

  I gave William a bath outside. He stood stoically while I sudsed, rinsed, and toweled him off. I left him loose to dry off the rest of the way. He rolled and wormed in the grass, twisting this way and that before doing the big dog shake. He rubbed his whole body along the stockade fence and pushed through a row of dense bushes, sneezed a few times, then commenced to nosing the garden beds, digging here and there, as if Blackie had given him an idea, but he didn’t show real enthusiasm for it. He marked all four corners of the yard before coming to sit next to me on the steps.

  We sat together for a while, enjoying the sun before it got too hot, but I had to move, had to lengthen my to-do list, simply had to find something to do. The Sunday paper would be a good place to start looking for job openings.

  I asked Mrs. Spangler to keep an eye on him while I went in to shower. Afterwards, I called Heather, and she reminded me that my former lover’s energy inhabited William and suggested the dreams were from my previous life. She sounded very sure. Okay, then. Resident expert on weirdness and pretty darned weird herself. She’d always had a unique worldview.

  “He saved my life yesterday,” I told her. “He’s done his good deed, and I want the dreams to stop.” I didn’t like the whiney note in my voice and took a deep breath to get a hold of myself. I hadn’t thought the visions were that big a deal, but now that I was talking about them, I realized the powerful emotions they evoked made me feel out of control.

  Silence on the other end of the line. I waited while Heather consulted her guides as she liked to say.

  “No,” she said after a while. “No, that wasn’t it. He still has something to do. Sorry.”

  Me, too. Not that I mind William protecting me. That was a good thing.

  “Hey,” she said, “I have to go. My other phone is ringing and it’s the shelter. As far as the dreams, try meditating.”

  Meditating. Yeah, right.

  Outside, I heard William barking, insistent and worried. Not unlike the way he’d barked at me that morning when I’d been dreaming…about our former life. A shiver grabbed me and I shook like William did after his bath, but the sound of his voice inexplicably brought my heart into my throat so I went to investigate. He stood at the top of the stone steps leading down to the exterior entrance to the basement just below the rear deck, barking and whimpering at the open door. Mrs. Spangler was nowhere in sight. She must have gone down there. I went to William and ruffled the stiff hair on his back, trying to sooth both of us. I’d never liked the basement, either. He looked at me and whimpered again and continued barking.

  “Shush,” I said to him. “Mrs. Spangler?” I called toward the doorway. Mysterious smells wafted from the opening. No, just stale air, dust. I rubbed my nose.

  No answer. I went halfway down the steps but William nabbed the hem of my t-shirt before I could go any farther. I didn’t keep anything in the basement and allowed Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth to use it how they wished. I knew Mrs. Spangler had various things stored in boxes, and Mr. Weinperth had set up a workbench where he made birdhouses.

  I preferred the sunny attic, not that I had much to store. Most of what was up there was my mother’s stuff. Of course, the electrical service was in t
he basement, but Mr. Weinperth never minded flipping a breaker. He’d seen action in Korea and two tours of Viet Nam. Nothing in the dark crannies of a domestic basement could faze him. After telling me I needed to buck up and get over it, he always went down there anyway. Just one more reason to keep their rent cheap. For anything more complicated than a blown circuit, I called Mr. Fagen.

  Gabe.

  Had it been just the night before that I’d last seen him? After all these years of being oblivious to his nearness, I craved him like an addiction too long denied. The ache for him mingled with my growing anxiety, forming a physical presence of its own deep in my gut, a place as stale and torpid as the basement air. Maybe he’d been shut in the same place as my feelings. Had a doorway cracked open? What else might leak out? I had cried a couple of times on Friday, though quickly got it under control. And there was the anger. Did I want to feel?

  I gave all that a mental shove.

  “Mrs. Spangler?” I yelled.

  “Down here, dear. Just looking for something.”

  “Do you need any help?” Please say no.

  Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.

  I held on to William’s collar with one hand while the other crept to the neck of my shirt, pulling it away from my throat as though my airway were restricted.

  “No, no.” She poked her head out. “I’m fine. But William is upset about something. He started carrying on as soon as I came down here.”

  “I can see that.” A gusty sigh of relief escaped my lungs. Maybe he’d been locked in a basement by one of his former owners. There were those stories about what a bad dog he’d been. Some people would rather shut an animal away or give it up then try to figure out what made it tick. Not that I could claim to know what made him tick. But I was content to let him be.

  “It’s okay,” I said to him. “Mrs. Spangler is fine. See?”

  She waved and went back into the basement, and he started in more insistently than before. If he were my lover from a former life and my dreams were about that life and the woman—I—had been imprisoned in a cellar…ridiculous. He pulled on my shirt and I hopped to the top step before the fabric gave out. He wouldn’t budge until Mrs. Spangler came out and locked the door behind her. She petted him.

  “Nothing down there but a bunch of old boxes and stuff. Thank you for worrying. Blackie was a wonderful companion, but he wasn’t much of a watchdog. Looks like you know your job.” She gave him a final pat on the head. “Quite the warrior angel,” she said before going in to her apartment with the box she’d retrieved from the basement.

  Quite. The coffee I’d had on an empty stomach turned to acid in my throat. I looked at William. He wasn’t smiling.

  Chapter 7