Sit! Stay! Speak!

by Annie England Noblin

  “I’m sure you’d have no problem giving Harper a ride.” Addie glared at him from across the room. “I should have known better than to believe there was nothing going on between the two of you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Addie.” Jasper reached out for her. “I wasn’t lying to you. This has nothing to do with Harper.”

  “I can’t believe I told you everything,” Addie said, more to herself than to Jasper. “Get out of my house.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of nothing.”

  “That’s what this is. Nothing.”

  “Addie, stop it.”

  “Get out.”

  Addie followed behind him to the front door. She watched as the Bronco sped away from the curb. She tore her eyes away from the empty street and found that Augustus Smoot was watching her from his porch. He stood shirtless, peeping through the crack in the door like a child. One hand was pressed into the screen. The flimsy aluminum had begun to bow beneath the weight until his hand burst through. Augustus pulled his hand out of the screen and turned to walk back inside his house. And with that, Addie’s rage melted into a puddle at her feet, leaving behind nothing but an all-too-familiar numbness.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE SUMMER STORMS DID NOTHING FOR THE DELTA HEAT except make everything sticky. There was a film over skin, cars, door handles. People seemed to be leaving pieces of themselves behind with every touch.

  Those sticky days melted into one another, and Addie found herself dividing her time between her job at the clinic and fixing up the house. She liked the routine of seeing people all day at the clinic and coming home to Felix on the days that she didn’t take him with her. In Chicago, there had always been someone at the apartment she shared with Jonah. There were always clients calling for updates about the pieces they’d left to be refinished or clients calling about pieces they wanted to buy. People talk, there always seemed to be people talking. She didn’t mind Felix needing her. His language was one she understood even better than her own. For the first time in her life, Addie was content to keep to herself. Besides, the shed out back kept her busy enough for three people.

  One evening she ventured out to the backyard, pockets full of dryer sheets, to take a look in the shed. There was a dresser in the back that she’d been eyeing, but it was so heavy that she wasn’t confident that she could carry it into the house without help. The dresser was old, even by Addie’s standards. It was, as Jonah would have described it, provincial. French, probably, she mused, because of the cabriole legs and scalloped carvings on the drawers. See, Jonah, I remember things, Addie thought. I listened to you. Years of paint and dust mingled together to make the dresser the color of chalk. She took her finger and grazed the top. She laid her palm flat against it. Even in the twilight, Addie could tell that it would be a lot of work to restore this one. It wouldn’t be fun like her repurposed treasures; she’d need to go back to the hardware store for more supplies, and she’d need to bribe Wanda to come help her haul it inside the house. But maybe, she thought, maybe it’s still alive under there. Maybe I can find its heartbeat.

  At the clinic, Addie had managed to organize all the clinic’s clients and vet records into two electronic files that were easy to locate and use. And for that, Addie had earned the everlasting gratitude of Dr. Dixon. She even found herself at the clinic on her days off, teaching the rest of the staff how to use the system she’d put into place.

  Life was altogether slow.

  “What do you reckon it’d take for the editor of the Eunice Daily to publish an article that isn’t about the heat?” Wanda asked. She crinkled the newspaper between her fists. “Does he think we don’t know that it’s hot outside? Like we need someone to be telling us?”

  “Doc is going to get you if you rumple that newspaper.”

  “He can afford to buy another one.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “Besides, this isn’t 1980. What kind of business doesn’t have Internet? This place is a dead zone!”

  “People like you are the reason newspapers are going out of business.” Addie yawned and stretched back in her chair, accidentally kicking Felix. “Why don’t you at least read something interesting like the arrest record or the personal ads?”

  “The personals depress me,” Wanda replied. “And so does the arrest record. I know too many of the people.”

  “There’s got to be something more interesting than another editorial about the damn heat.”

  “Let’s look at the for sale section. I need a new refrigerator.” Wanda skimmed through the page. “Slim pickin’s today. Somebody sellin’ a tractor motor, somebody sellin’ some hogs, somebody wantin’ to trade puppies for guns, somebody lookin’ to buy a mattress . . .”

  “Wait, go back,” Addie said.

  “To which one?”

  “The one about guns and puppies.”

  “It says, ‘For sale or trade: American pit bull terrier pups. Twelve weeks. No papers. Several good prospects, all show gameness. Black and white. Good markings. Will come with one month of supplements. Trade for guns or a few nice springpoles. Will sell for $300 cash.’”

  “What’s a springpole?” Addie asked. She’d heard the other words before. They’d been in the papers inside Redd Jones’s nightstand. She’d meant to look them up, but she’d gotten so distracted by Jasper. She’d forgotten about everything but him for a while.

  “Beats me.”

  “Doesn’t that seem a little crude?” Addie asked. “To trade dogs for guns?”

  “You can trade anything for anything.”

  “Is there a number to call?”

  Wanda looked up at Addie from behind the newspaper. “Are you going to call it?”

  “It sounds like they look like Felix.”

  “Who looks like Felix?” Dr. Dixon asked, walking into the reception area. He smiled over at them. “Wanda, don’t wrinkle my newspaper. You do it every darn day.”

  “There’s an ad in the newspaper. Somebody’s got a bunch of pit bull puppies,” Wanda replied.

  “They want to trade them for guns,” Addie said. She wrinkled her nose. “Or a . . . what’s it called?”

  “A springpole,” Wanda finished.

  “Yeah, a springpole. What is that?”

  “It’s a pole that has a spring hanging down that’s tied to a rope. It allows the dogs to jump for long periods of time,” Dr. Dixon said.

  “Why would you want to do that?” Addie asked.

  “It strengthens the jaw muscles and back legs. Let me see that ad.”

  Wanda handed the newspaper over to Dr. Dixon. By the time he finished reading, his facial muscles were tense. He wasn’t smiling. “I don’t think you’re going to want to buy one of these puppies.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just promise me you won’t call any numbers for now.” He folded the newspaper under his arm.

  “Hey,” Wanda said. “I wasn’t done reading that.”

  “You’re done for today,” Dr. Dixon replied. “Now, both of you—promise me.”

  “Fine, fine.” Wanda threw up her hands in defeat. “I promise.”

  “Addie?”

  Addie stared down at her feet. At Felix. She didn’t want to promise anything. She had a hunch who those puppies belonged to, and she had a hunch Dr. Dixon knew it, too. There was a reason nobody wanted her on that side of town, and that reason was Redd Jones. “I promise not to call any numbers.”

  “Now you two girls get back to work.”

  “What in tarnation do you think that was all about?” Wanda asked as soon as Dr. Dixon was out of earshot. “Sometimes I wonder who that man thinks he is ordering me around like that.”

  “He’s our boss right now,” Addie replied. “But he’s not our boss when we leave this clinic.”

  “We both promised him we wouldn’t pry,” Wanda said.

  “No, I promised him I wouldn’t be calling any numbers,” Addie reminded her friend. “I didn’t say I promised not to pr
y.”

  It seemed to Addie that the best way to make sure that she never ran into Jasper was to never go out in public. However, as the days counted down to the end of the summer, she began to wonder if he’d picked up and moved back to Memphis. No trip to the store or walks with Felix or even a lunch with Wanda down at Jennie’s Joint produced the slightest hint of Jasper Floyd. Addie’s anger was beginning to fade into a kind of curiosity that she couldn’t shake.

  “Just twenty-two more days until fall,” her mother chirped into the phone. “Have you started pulling out your sweaters yet?”

  “Mom, it’s hardly September,” Addie said, twirling a strand of blond hair through her fingers. “We’re just lucky nobody has died of heatstroke this week.”

  “We?” her mother asked. “Sounds like you’re feeling pretty familiar down there. Didn’t you say you’d be home by the end of August?”

  “The house isn’t ready yet.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Addie’s mother sighed into the receiver. “I just thought cooler weather put you in a better mood.”

  “I’m in a fine mood.”

  “Obviously,” her mother replied sarcastically. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Does it have anything to do with that farmer you told me about?”

  “It didn’t work out, Mom.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Adelaide, why don’t you come home for a few weeks? We’d love to see you. Jerry and I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” Addie said. “But I need to stay here, at least for a little while.”

  Addie sat down on the couch and absently rubbed Felix’s head, thinking about her mother’s excitement that Addie might have met someone, even if that meant staying in the Delta longer than either of them had anticipated. It reminded her of the last summer she spent with her aunt. It was the longest she’d ever been away from Chicago—a whole month. She had been twelve that visit and hadn’t been particularly interested in leaving the buzz of the city for the pastures of Eunice. That visit her aunt had seemed older—less excited about things and more willing to let Addie be on her own during the heat of the day.

  One morning Aunt Tilda woke Addie early, before it was even light outside. “Adelaide, my love,” her aunt had cooed. “Get up, angel. I need your help.”

  Addie sat up in bed. “What? Why are you waking me up so early?”

  “You know Ms. Rubina down the street, don’t you?” Aunt Tilda said, pulling back the covers of Addie’s bed. “Well, her brother is in town for a week. And Ms. Rubina is very old—much older than me.” Her aunt paused to chuckle at her own remark. “I’m going to cook enough dinners for them to have for the whole time her brother is here. And I need your help.”

  “But I don’t know how to cook,” Addie protested.

  “You won’t have to do anything but be my assistant for the day,” Aunt Tilda promised her. “Now get up. There is no time to dawdle.”

  Addie spent the rest of the day doing her aunt’s bidding as her aunt slaved away over the kitchen stove. Addie remembered the entire kitchen table full of casseroles and, of course, her aunt Tilda’s famous fried pies. By the time they finished, the last minutes of daylight were fading from the sky as Addie and her aunt loaded up Addie’s red Radio Flyer wagon with a week’s worth of food.

  Addie remembered the way her aunt had smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her dress before she rang the doorbell at Ms. Rubina’s house. “You just smile and be sweet,” her aunt whispered to her. “We won’t be here long.”

  A man answered the door instead of Ms. Rubina. He was well-dressed and older than her aunt. When he spoke, his voice was thick as molasses and drowning in a southern accent. “Why, Tilda Andrews!” he exclaimed. When he said her name, it came out more like Tilduh. “I haven’t seen you in forevuh.”

  “Hello, Zeke.” There was a chill in her aunt’s voice. “Rubina told me you were visiting. She’s too old for you to be imposing on her like this.”

  “And I’m too old for you to be scolding,” Zeke replied. His voice was firm, but he was smiling. “Now who do we have he-uh?”

  “This is my great-niece, Adelaide,” Aunt Tilda said. “She’s visiting from up North.”

  “Your people in Chicago?” he asked Addie.

  “Yes.”

  “I have known your aunt since she wasn’t much older than you. You sure do carry after her.”

  “How come I’ve never met you before?” Addie asked.

  Before Zeke could answer, Addie’s aunt stepped in front of her and said, “Out front there’s a wagon loaded with food for the week. No reason for your sister to have to be on her feet cookin’ for you.”

  “I thought maybe I’d call on you one day this week.”

  “I don’t reckon that will be necessary. Don’t forget about the food. I’ll come back for my wagon.”

  Aunt Tilda held Addie’s hand more tightly on the way home. When they walked through the front door, her aunt said she was tired and went to her room. She didn’t come out even at suppertime, even after Addie knocked. She could have sworn she heard her aunt crying in her bedroom that night, but Addie had been too young then to understand. She had been too young to know that her aunt Tilda’s tears would be the start of something building up inside of her own soul that night, a pride passed down from generation to generation among Andrews women. And Addie would be left the lone survivor, the gatekeeper to this house, this pride, this ache, the night that her aunt was finally set free in death.

  CHAPTER 29

  ADDIE GROANED WHEN SHE SAW THE BEAT-UP RED TRUCK PULL into the parking lot at the clinic just as she was about to turn the sign to CLOSED. She stepped away from the door and moved back behind the counter.

  “I know it’s about closin’ time.”

  “It’s all right. What can we do for you?”

  The man pointed out to his truck. “One of my dogs is sick. Real sick. He won’t even get up to eat.”

  “How long’s he been that way?” Addie asked.

  “A couple of days.”

  “Did something happen to him?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Can you carry him in? I’ll go tell Doc. Just bring him on through those double doors behind me.”

  The man nodded and scurried outside.

  Dr. Dixon hovered over the dog in the examination room. “His breathing is shallow,” he said. “I’m concerned he might have a blockage.”

  “What kind of blockage?” the man asked.

  “Oh, it could be anything. Food, trash, a dog toy.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “We’ll need to do X-rays first,” Doc said. “Then if there is a blockage he’ll need surgery.”

  “I need him better tonight.”

  The veterinarian peered over at the man from above his glasses. “That simply isn’t going to happen.”

  Even lying listless on the table, the dog was menacing. Addie guessed he was some kind of mastiff mix. He had a slick red coat, wrinkled face, and weighed at least as much as she did. His face was deeply scarred in several places, including one large scar dragging across his eye.

  “Redd Jones said to come to you,” the man said. “Said you could fix him right up.”

  “I appreciate the endorsement,” Doc replied. “But there’s nothing I can do to fix him tonight except to do an X-ray.”

  “I ain’t got time for that.”

  “He’s not well, and he needs medical attention.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Addie glanced from Dr. Dixon to the man in front of her. “What, you’re just going to let him go? Couldn’t this dog die?”

  “He could,” Dr. Dixon said. He wasn’t looking at anyone. He was studying the cracks in the tile floor.

  “And you don’t care? Neither of
you care?”

  “I can’t force anyone to allow X-rays.”

  The man was already lumbering out the exam room door, his arms bulging beneath the weight, the dog’s massive head lolling from side to side with each step.

  Addie chased after him. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know that your dog could die?”

  The man ignored her. He sat the dog into the bed of his truck and slammed the tailgate shut.

  “I’m going to call the police!”

  He stopped. He turned around and walked back to the doorway of the clinic where Addie was standing. “You call anybody and it won’t be this dog that’ll need help.”

  Addie gripped the doorframe and dug her fingernails into the splintering wood. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said.

  The man curled his lips into a smile. Then he reached out to her with one hand and began to twirl a loose strand of Addie’s hair. “You should be.”

  Addie recoiled from his grasp and slammed the door in his face, locking it. Outside he laughed for a few seconds before turning around to walk back to his truck. He waved at her as he drove out of the parking lot.

  “Just what were you thinking talking to a customer that way?”

  Addie turned to glare at Doc. Her blood was boiling. “He was hardly a customer.”

  “You should have just let him go.”

  “You should have done your job.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are,” Doc began.

  “I’ll tell you who I am,” Addie cut him off. “I’m the only person here who acted like they gave a shit about the dog dying on your exam table!”

  “You’ve probably just signed that dog’s death warrant. He might have brought him back tomorrow. But now he’ll never come back here.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “It’s not your fault what happened to that dog,” Doc said. “But what happened here is your fault.”

  “I’ve got to get going.” Addie grabbed her purse from behind the counter. “Everything is clean and ready for the weekend except that last examination room.”

  “I’m just as frustrated as you are.”

  “How do you know Redd Jones?”