by Ann Minnett
Kirk's window rolled down. "C'mon. I’ve got to go." The window started up, then down again. "Dude, you want to talk to her, she'll be at McCord's. C'mon, girl. Ho-ho-ho."
The man nodded, his eyes on Lark as she crowded into the truck’s back seat.
"Who’s he?" Lulu's question got lost in Nora's and Dee's demands for heat.
Lark’s cold, numbed fingers drifted over the exposed skin on her left leg. She traced the red and blue larkspur blossom—Larkspur for her name—and then up and around the lark's body, wings extended in flight.
This guy had seen a similar tattoo in Columbia, Missouri where she and her two friends had spent their freshman year at the university? She shrugged. A large tattoo had been rare back then, so anything was possible.
Dee stomped her go-go boots on the floorboard. White patent leather hid a hummingbird hovering over an orchid that Dee rarely displayed. Beyond Dee, Lulu's unmarked legs showed goosebumps only. Lark visualized Nora's large left calf, snuggled in black sweatpants near the heater in the front seat. She too carried a version of the tattoo—a four-colored parrot over a peace lily. They had all lived together in Columbia. Only one of the three friends arrived at Mizzou with the exotic tattoo, but the other two got theirs the week before they packed up and left Columbia for good.
Someone whimpered, "I'm dying."
"I need a drink." Lulu bumped Dee's knee. "Hot chocolate and Kahlua."
Ah, Lark remembered where she’d seen the bearded man before—the eagle watcher blocking the driveway. He didn't recognize her without the sunglasses and warm hat which she was about to jam onto her head over the long wig.
Kirk dropped the women off at McCord’s. Nora kissed him goodbye and rushed inside after Dee. Lark lingered outside for a quick smoke. Kirk pulled away for the one-block drive to the Lone Wolf where he dealt poker on Friday and Saturday nights. Families and clumps of rowdy friends crowded the wide sidewalk between her and the train depot, where the bonfire ceremony wound down.
Why would this stranger remember a tattoo from so long ago?
CHAPTER 4
Rob drove home after the parade in a daze. He got drunk on peppermint schnapps while contemplating the flames dance inside the wood stove’s open grate. What were the chances of meeting up with that woman after all these years? He never did learn the girl’s name back at Mizzou. Not that he tried. He had no idea who she was or where she lived. He shook off the thought of her and those tattoos. The town was full of winter tourists, and she was probably one of them. She’d likely go home after a week of partying at night and skiing all day.
He fell into bed fully clothed but slept fitfully, waking up with cotton mouth long after first light. Peppermint phlegm formed between his thick tongue and the roof of his mouth as he lay in the cool room. He staggered into the bathroom and cupped water into his mouth to quell mild nausea. Without thinking, he grabbed his toothbrush and pressed Crest onto the bristles. He reconsidered its peppermint flavor and opted for strong mouthwash instead. In the mirror, he examined the unfamiliar face of the recluse he’d become. Stroking his chin, he thought hairy. He ran water over his hands and smoothed the longish hair off his forehead.
Two cups of coffee cut the peppermint taste in his mouth. He wasn’t hungry but forced down oatmeal just because. He took a shower and only then glanced at the clock. Eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning. The quiet cabin’s walls closed in on him.
He had to sweat out that peppermint crap, and nothing worked his body like snow shoeing cross country.
Later that afternoon, he met two cross country skiers on an isolated logging road. He encountered their golden retriever first, long fur flying, tongue hanging out and running full bore around the corner where Rob usually turned for home. Shock made him crouch, believing a mountain lion had run at him. He hadn’t seen another living creature (save for Axel in his truck) on their road in days.
“Whoa!” he hollered, relieved yet sideswiped by the large dog. He or she ran past Rob, circled in a comical spin in which the front half planted and the back half swerved around. Then it came for him, smiling. By God, the dog was smiling, tail wagging, and frisky in the cold.
The golden retriever leaned into Rob’s knee. He rubbed her (he could now see) up and down. “Aren’t you a beauty,” he said.
Two skiers rounded the bend.
The man said, “I see you’ve met Maggie.” The woman in tights, a short jacket and ski cap coasted to a stop alongside her partner. She slid her goggles up on her forehead.
“What a beauty,” Rob said to them both. He meant the dog, but it could have been said for the woman, too. Maggie circled the couple, tail wagging, and hopping to get going.
The woman said, “Yep, Maggie keeps us in shape.”
The woman’s teeth sparkled whiter than the snow. Rob hadn’t noticed people’s teeth in the past. Most everyone he knew or ran into had teeth, brushed and often whitened. You don’t notice them after a while. But her teeth were pretty and straight, and a little too big for her mouth.
The man pushed off, saying, “Have a great day then.” Maggie ran ahead, and the woman replaced her goggles on rosy cheeks.
“Lulu,” she said. “See you around.”
Lulu pushed off, gliding faster than her partner. A short skirt barely covered her ass over the tights. It swayed with each long, powerful stroke of her skis—like skating on strong legs with developed muscles.
Rob turned in their direction, toward his home, happy to watch the rhythm of her body. He snapped a photo from on his phone of the three of them. Okay, who was he kidding? He captured Lulu, left leg extended gracefully, ski lifted, as she raced to catch up. He lost sight of them before he reached his gate.
“Tough skiing past there,” he said to himself, blowing into bare hands. He had forgotten to put his gloves back on after taking the picture.
* * *
He downloaded and blew up the photo of Lulu on his computer screen that night. High resolution allowed him to enlarge her dark form, less visible than he remembered against the dark forest that hugged the road. He cropped out the guy and enlarged it again, and there was Maggie, leaping at the tail end of Lulu’s lifted ski. He had photographed an elegant ballet of girl and dog.
Rob rubbed his knee through jeans—where the dog had favored him with a lean in. He smoothed his thumbs across fingertips, recalling the warmth of Maggie’s body under soft, thick fur. Ice crystals had clung to her paws and leg hair, to the hairs under her belly. He had found her to be female, brushing ice crystals clumped there.
Rob counted backwards, Thursday to previous Thursday and back and... It had been over a month, forty-three days, since he left his old life.
Forty-three days since he had been touched. He missed it, and he cried.
“Jesus, what’s happening,” he said, taking a Blackstar from the fridge and popping the top. “Man up!” Maybe isolation didn’t suit him after all. He opened his laptop to its new screen saver, Lulu and Maggie and the shadow of some guy ahead of them. Maggie suspended in time on two hind legs.
“I need a dog, because I sure as hell don’t need a woman right now.” Such were the tough words from a man who clearly needed a woman. Just not the one he’d marked time with in Minneapolis.
He googled dog shelter Flathead County. He clicked on Flathead County Animal Shelter, and up popped bright photos of the building south of Kalispell and a headshot of an old Pitbull. He hated what they stood for and the terrible news reports about kids getting attacked, even killed by Pitbulls. Here, gray chin whiskers on an otherwise black face with sad rheumy eyes stared from the photo.
“Snap out of it,” he said to himself. His sentimentality was getting to be a problem. “Glad no one had to witness this.” He referred to his emotions, which he had always hidden under an air of competence, if not swagger. His new life required little brain power, yet the hard physical labor proved to be satisfying, if emotionally revealing.
Seeing that woman last night must have broken th
rough every emotional barrier he had built.
The long caption under the online photo identified “Thor” and told the story of his stay at the Flathead Animal Shelter—the longest of any animal ever. Staff had stopped looking for Thor to be adopted and made him the shelter’s mascot. In a sense, all volunteers had adopted him.
Thor’s headshot graced the Home page of Flathead Animal Shelter, along with several smiling women with matching blue vests with the shelter logo at the shoulder. Rob clicked on Adoptable Dogs in the menu and gazed into the faces of Samson, Teddy, Big Girl, Weezy, and on and on. He scrolled back to Weezy, a golden-chow mix or so said the description. Weezy has lots of energy for playing in the snow. Translation: Weezy’s hyper.
But get a load of that face.
Rob drove into Kalispell Sunday afternoon to meet Weezy. A heavyset woman, blue vest tightly buttoned over a fleece jacket met him at the door. “Hey there,” she said and walked right past him. Several leashes hung loose around her neck. “You come to see our friends?” She opened the massive door behind the counter. Cold air rushed into the outer room, and barking grew louder.
“Yeah. Dogs?” he said, trying to appear skeptical and not at all lonely.
“Follow me.” She threw the door open, letting Rob catch it behind her.
“Look around in here, and some are being walked in the exercise yard. Let me know if you want to take one for a spin.” She smiled and opened the pen of a Dachshund. She clipped on a leash and was pulled toward the outside door by the spunky animal. She spoke to every occupied pen as she passed. “You’re next, kiddo,” she said and pointed to one. “Then you, Bucky. And then you Lady.” She left.
Rob kept his hands in his pockets, strolled the cement hallway. He hoped it wouldn’t smell like dog, but it did. No Weezy. Thinking she was out being exercised, he peered through the high window onto the yard where two elderly men each walked two dogs along with the woman walking a tiny Dachshund. Who abandons a Dachshund for God’s sake?
An anxious woman and two small children burst into the area, the little girl crying for Daisy.
He backed away from the door, watching the worried mom check each cage without luck. She bumped the door open to the outside and shouted, “Daisy!” and the kids shrieked “Daisy!” and suddenly Daisy the Dachshund was pummeled by caressing hand pats and squeezes.
When they left, the other dogs calmed. Rob looked outside at the remaining dog walkers. One man’s legs tangled in the extended ropes attached to Thor(!) and another Pitbull. Thor strained at his leash to return to the warmth inside, but the other nosed around. The second man walker was drawn around the perimeter of the fence, led by two midsized pointy-nosed dogs. Both tan and short-haired, not Weezy. Rob returned to the pens in search of long-haired Weezy with the soulful eyes, but she wasn’t there.
“Who are you looking for?” the woman said, returning with only two leashes this time and no Daisy.
“There was a dog, Weezy, on your website.”
“Weezy,” she said. “Oh, dammit. We have to update that site.” She opened a pen. “C’mon, Lady. No, Weezy was adopted last week. Sorry.”
He wanted to cry like a little girl. He composed himself and said, “That’s too bad.” He seriously worried about his sanity.
An animal pushed through Rob’s legs, circled, and pushed through again, wrapping the leash around his leg.
“Lady! No, no.” The woman bent to unwind the leash from between his legs. She goosed Rob accidentally, and he hopped.
“Here, let me,” he said quickly. When he bent over, Lady stuck her black snout into his face, his ear, and into the warm soft space under his beard. Rob grabbed her collar to hold her off.
“Lady’s glad to see you,” the oblivious woman said. “Here, hold this.” She forced the leash loop into his hand and made for another pen. “Lucas! Your lucky day!” Lucas, a Pitbull with curly white hair running down his spine, bolted for the door and pushed it open with his snout. “Lucas!”
Meanwhile, Lady nuzzled Rob’s leg. Black on black in black, he thought. Border Collie, shepherd and what? Black alert eyes, watched him. Assessed him. “You aren’t Weezy,” he said. Black Lady spun in a three-sixty and sat on Rob’s boot.
“Cute one, yes?” the woman said, carrying the rambunctious Lucas back inside. “She’s been here just a couple of days.”
He rubbed Lady’s ears. He hadn’t seen her picture on the website. Luckily no one had, or they’d have snapped her right up.
“The vet thinks she’s about five months old.”
“Any idea of the breed?” he asked although he didn’t care.
“Shepherd—too big to be Aussie or Border Collie—and probably some Lab in her. Let’s take a walk.” Once Lucas was leashed, she led the way outside.
How could Rob leave that face in the shelter to learn Lucas’ rude habits?
Pages of paperwork later, the animal shelter worker, Linda, recommended Rob crate Lady. He’d never crated a dog and thought it had to be the cruelest welcome to a new life that any dog could suffer. Still, he stopped off at Murdoch’s Farm Supply down the road from the shelter, with trepidation left Lady in his truck’s cab, and hurried to buy a large crate, feeding bowls, and food in record time. He loaded everything in the truck bed under Lady’s watchful stare. She hadn’t mussed a thing in the truck.
On Tuesday morning, Dog had a vet’s appointment. The coarse-haired dog that gobbled her food in three bites was not a Lady, so Rob had taken to calling her Dog until the perfect name came to him. Dog paced from window to window in the back seat of the truck, stuck out her nose, sneezed, and repeated. She avoided the front. Like him, she preferred keeping her space and had claimed the back seat.
Rob said, “You don’t want to know where we’re going, D—.” He caught himself. He sweated, stressing over not having a name for her. No luck so far.
“It’s a fucking dog’s name,” he shouted and looked over his shoulder to see if she reacted. “I’m losing it. Pick a damn name.”
Eight miles out of Whitefish and traveling well under the speed limit, Rob rehashed a free association of names related to blackness. Studded snow tires thrummed on the mostly ice-free highway. Names of beautiful black women came to mind, celebrities, but none suited his dog. You couldn’t pay him to name his dog Beyoncé or Rihanna.
“Here, Beyoncé!” He laughed just thinking about calling for her.
Commotion on the side of the road ahead made Rob lift his foot off the accelerator. The carcass where he’d watched eagle feed last week now hosted edgy ravens. They scattered when he slowed his truck to take a better look. In just one week the deer had turned to bone and hair.
“The food chain in action,” he said and pulled to the shoulder for a closer view. Rob had snapped cell phone photos of the magnificent eagles last week, the vultures, ravens, and magpies all waited in the background then for their turns. Neither their size nor magnificence came through digitally. He zoomed in on a raven, hoping to capture the size of the bird. Its beady black eye stared, waiting for him to leave them in peace.
Rob had no one to share the photo with, so he showed it to Dog.
When Rob made the tight turn into the vet’s parking lot, he hadn’t yet picked a name for her. He turned off the engine. “Who are you, girl?” She put her hairy black paws on the console between the front seats and gazed into his eyes. Her long nails made scratching noises. He felt the breeze made by the fierce wagging of her scraggly tail. She leveled him with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Can’t call you that,” he said laughing. “How about Happy? Smiles? Joy? Giggles?” Dog kept smiling at him.
He hooked the leash onto her collar and led her inside the vet’s office. Dog spun in place, stimulated by the sounds of boarded animals behind closed doors and distinct pet food odors on display shelves. A muscled woman in scrubs greeted them. She seemed suspiciously joyful to see them.
He didn’t have a name for his dog.
“You must be Rob?” she said.
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br /> He nodded, tugging at the leash. Dog strained to explore the waiting room’s corners, the plastic chairs, the exotic orange and azure bird perched high behind the reception desk.
“Have a seat and we’ll be with you in a minute.” Her eyes squinted as she typed into her computer. She had a freckled face. Outdoorsy.
Rob said, “I just saw the coolest thing.” He intended to talk about the circle of life.
Her narrow-set blue eyes flicked to him and back to the screen. “What did you see?”
He explained about the deer carcass and the eagles and other birds waiting for their turn last week and the beady-eyed ravens taking over. He scrolled through the pictures on his phone.
She examined his screen. “Oh, that’s near Beaver Lake Road,” she said. “I drive past there to come to work. It’s amazing to watch them. The eagles get first pick. Nothing but ravens now.”
The girl bent to Dog and said, “Come on, Rob, we’ll get you all fixed up.”
“There’s a mistake,” he said. “I’m Rob. This is… Raven.”
The girl laughed. “Sorry about that. Come on back, Rob and Raven.”
“We’ve been together a couple of days,” he said, “so she doesn’t know her name yet.” But Raven smiled, leading the way into Exam Room B.
“Raven’s still a puppy,” Dr. Whitcombe said, running her hand down Raven’s chest, massaging the belly. “My guess is five months or so. They were right to not spay her yet. Let’s give it another month—until she comes into season. Okay?” She examined flopped ears. “Does Raven paw at her ears much?”
“As a matter of fact…”
“Julie, get me the Tresaderm drops.” The vet turned to Rob and said, “Mites. No biggie, but you’ll need drops for her. This will take care of the itching.”
“Can you tell what she is?” Rob asked, holding his squirming dog, Raven, still. “The people at the shelter said possibly Border Collie or German Shepherd. The coarse hair kind of throws me.”
The doc peered into Raven’s eyes. “What are you, sweet girl, besides adorable?”
