by Jim Kraus
“Hey, Lewis. Pizzaland in Towanda is looking for a delivery person. It says ‘retired people with a dependable car OK.’ It’s something I could do. Feel useful, you know.”
It feels like a long time since I felt useful.
At this, Lewis looked up from his bowl and eyed George carefully. Then he snorted. And then returned to his food.
“You wolf down a hamburger, but you spend all morning on two cups of kibble.”
Lewis did not look up but wuffed into his bowl. His wuff sounded a bit offended.
George folded the newspaper into a neat rectangle, smoothed the edges, and took Lewis’s leash from a hook by the door.
“Ready?”
Lewis shook his head, as if clearing his breakfast thoughts, and stood, showing an almost grin, a half grin, or grinette, as it were.
He looks better this morning. More chipper.
George fastened the leash.
And no one says chipper anymore, do they? I am a dinosaur.
The two of them walked along the narrow lane, away from the river. Lewis was not the sort of dog to take an inordinate amount of time in settling nature’s demands. George had expected worse.
Mitzi would take what seemed like forever to find just the right spot. I hated this aspect of owning a dog. Standing there, looking like a fool, watching. Maybe it’s why she took so long—because I was watching.
Lewis wuffed loudly, breaking George’s drift into an old memory. The dog pushed against George’s side, against the pocket holding the handful of dog treats.
“Give me a minute, Lewis. I’ll get you one.”
Lewis bounced a bit, rocking from left to right, nodding his head enthusiastically. He gobbled the treat down in one happy bite and then looked up, as if expecting more.
“Mrs. Burden said one, Lewis. It’s all you get.”
Lewis looked dismayed. Then he shook his head and wuffed loudly, as if calling Mrs. Burden a pernicious liar, a prevaricator of the first order.
“Okay, just one more,” George said, acquiescing to the plaintive look on the dog’s face.
I bet she gave him two or three each time.
Back at the RV, he gathered up his supplies and bag and chair once more and waited for the blue and white bus to wheeze down the road.
He said 9 o’clock.
George looked at his watch.
8:55.
“It’s good to be early, Lewis. A few minutes early to everything. No one is kept waiting, then.”
Lewis did not pay attention. He was looking back toward the VW van. He sniffed loudly, then rocked back and forth, as he did whenever he was excited.
“Hey, George, Lewis. What are you doing—waiting for a bus?” Irene kept a straight face for only a moment, then began laughing at her own remark. “He did say 9:00, right? The bus driver, I mean.”
And as if answering her, the bus rattled around the corner.
“Speak of the devil,” Irene said. “You going on a picnic, or what, George? Hardly enough food in your bag for the both of you.”
George and Lewis stood to the side as Irene hopped up the steps, as if in a hurry to get moving. Lewis lumbered up, taking each step carefully, as if he still did not trust the road-worthiness of this rattling machine. George followed, a little slower than Irene.
Okay, a lot slower. But I have a bad knee. And hip. And another knee.
Lewis backed himself into the opening between the seats, the only thing missing from him looking like a truck was the “beep-beep-beep” of the warning sound when a large, cumbersome vehicle backed up.
George took the seat opposite. Irene sat one seat behind them. George explained, briefly, he intended to sketch a few of the old, historic structures he’d seen the day before. He was going to show her the sketch he’d made the day before but thought it might feel like he was fishing for a compliment, so he kept the sketchpad hidden in his bag.
“Sketching, huh? My second husband was sort of an artist. He said he was, and at first, I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t so good. Then I did. But it’s what love does to you, George. Love makes you tell lies sometimes.”
Lewis watched carefully as Irene spoke, nodding as she did.
She stared back.
“Lewis, I am telling the truth. Sometimes telling a lie is a kind thing to do.”
Lewis snorted and shook his head.
“Well, I think it is,” Irene said firmly. “Lewis doesn’t believe me, George. You tell him. You lied to your wife, I bet. Once or twice. Told her she looked good when she didn’t. Or that the meatloaf was good when it tasted like cardboard. You tell him, George. It’s what marriage is sometimes.”
Lewis looked over at George with a confused look on his face, as if he was not liking, or believing, what Irene was saying.
George tried to think of a time when he’d done so—tell his wife a lie about clothes or food. The bus turned sharply onto the main road. George held onto the seat back, and Lewis leaned into the seat behind him.
“Irene, I can’t think of a time.”
Lewis wuffed happily and turned back to Irene with a smug look on his face.
Irene laughed. Her laugh was loud and cheery and unforced, and her whole face turned into a broad smile. “Okay, I give. I can tell when I’m outnumbered.”
She scooched over on her seat and took Lewis’s face in her two hands and pretended to give him a kiss, although she stopped a few inches from the tip of his snout. Lewis appeared relieved.
“Sorry, Lewis. I admit I didn’t tell lies often. But it was wrong of me, okay?”
Wuff.
“You ought to rent him out as a lie detector, George. I don’t often admit to such things.”
The bus crossed the bridge over the river with a metallic hum on the grated roadway and headed into town. Lewis kept an eye on Irene the rest of the short trip, as if making sure her truth and honor were not compromised again.
27
George and Lewis and Irene departed the bus at the same corner, just on the southern edge of the old historic district.
“So where’s your first model, George?” Irene asked.
“Over there about four blocks. It’s a regular house.”
Lewis wuffed a few times, looking at George and then Irene, with a mostly plaintive expression.
“Hey, tell you what, George. You want me to take Lewis while you do your drawing? He and I can walk around. Good exercise. Then you don’t have to worry about him. Where can I meet you and when?”
George did not appear to quickly embrace the idea.
I hardly know this person. What if she kidnaps Lewis? What would I tell the Burdens?
But Lewis was gently bouncing on his front paws, looking between the two of them, happily expecting to go on an extended walk.
“You okay with this, Lewis? You don’t mind?”
Wuff. Snort. Wuff. Snort.
“Okay, then, I guess it will be okay. I’ll meet you in front of the newspaper building at between 11:30 and noon. It’s down this street three blocks. Or maybe four. On the west side of the street.”
Irene took hold of Lewis’s leash as if she had been walking dogs all her life.
“See you in a while, George. Have fun drawing.”
And the two of them took off, Lewis high stepping, like a drum major, at the start of his walk, Irene turning to speak to him, and him turning back to wuff in response, like an old couple accustomed to the intimate routines of each other.
George took a deep breath, then set off for the Little house.
I’m sure they don’t mind people drawing their house, George thought to himself. If they didn’t like it, I bet they wouldn’t have bought the house in the first place.
* * *
George looked at his wristwatch, a venerable Timex, at least three decades old, a gift from his wife and daughter for Father’s Day.
Old, but still reliable. A little tarnished, maybe, but so what.
11:25.
George looked up
and down the street, but there was no sight of a sprightly older woman being dragged along by a large, furry dog.
Should I pull out my chair? Would it look too pathetic?
He heard him before he saw him. A series of wuffs, each one louder than the one before, echoing down the street. Then he saw them, turning a corner two blocks away. Irene waved enthusiastically, and Lewis nearly jumped when he saw George waving back.
Almost jumped, but not quite. Jumping for joy was not a word, or action, often used in Lewis’s nonverbal vocabulary.
“We had the best time,” Irene gushed as Lewis did jump, a little, and placed his platter-sized front paws on George’s chest. “Everyone loves this dog. If I were running for office, I would have him beside me every day. People stop and talk. Even little children come up to him. Something about this dog, George. Something special.”
George gently took Lewis’s paws and returned them to the ground.
“Have you had lunch?” George asked. “I know a place two blocks away. Outdoor seating. Lewis likes their hamburgers.”
Irene eyed him with a moment’s hesitation.
“Well, sure. I’m hungry. I could eat. A hamburger sounds great. I haven’t had any meat since breakfast.”
George laughed and then quickly replaced his smile with a puzzled look.
“You were being funny, right? I mean, people in VW buses, they are supposed to be sort of . . . vegetarians, right?”
Irene kept hold of Lewis’s leash as they made their way to the Firehouse—following George’s directions.
“I suppose,” Irene replied. “But I’m not one of them.”
George had hoped Parker might be on duty, but he was not. The other waiter, the one who looked like Parker, was there, the one who had given Lewis the discarded hamburger.
“No, he’s at the library again,” the rumpled waiter explained. “Said he got some e-mail from the marines or something and had to send them some more information. I never figured him as one to join the marines, though.”
George thought of explaining it all but also figured Parker would be able to do so later.
Irene watched their interaction with curiosity.
“You come here often?”
“Nope. Just yesterday.”
Irene looked up from her menu.
“Didn’t take you for someone who gets to know people so quickly.”
George shrugged.
“I’m not. Lewis is, though.”
* * *
When the food came, George took his bag and moved it to the empty chair at the table. The flap fell open, revealing the organized interior: a copse of pens, snug in an accordion of tiny sleeves, two notebooks held shut with thick rubber bands, erasers, Wite-Out, all set just so in the interior pockets.
Irene glanced at it and smiled.
“An engineer, right? Did I guess correctly?”
George nodded.
“My first husband was an engineer. He was a methodical man. Precise. Liked everything just so. Loved to organize the kitchen pantry. To him, it was a day well spent. And my shoes . . . don’t get me started on how much he loved to organize shoes.”
George took a sip of his coffee. Lewis was smiling up at him, anticipating a repeat of yesterday’s lunch.
Talk to her, George. You might learn something.
George took another sip, trying not to react to this sudden, unexpected impulse.
If it’s a nudge from you, Lewis, you better stop. I can handle things on my own.
“And what are you, Irene?” George asked. “Not an engineer, I suppose.”
She stirred three packets of sugar into her iced tea.
“What am I? Me? I’m an old hippie, George. Ex-hippie, perhaps.”
“So where is home?” George asked.
“Home? Don’t have one anymore. I’ve never had kids. I’ve got three dead husbands. I’ve got a passel of relatives and ex-relative-in-laws and friends all over. I travel. I visit friends. Sometimes I rent a place for a month or two. Mostly in the winter, mostly down South. Three small pensions still add up to a small pension. But I’m frugal these days. I don’t need much. But I do get itchy staying still.”
George took the ketchup and made sure his hamburger was evenly covered with the condiment—more in the center, less on the edges—so there would be no unexpected drippage.
“So you’re on the road all the time? You enjoy it? In a VW bus? It’s pretty small.”
Irene seemed surprised by his question.
“George, I keep my possessions to a bare minimum. There’s no room for excess in the bus, for sure. Traveling this way is an enforced reduced diet of possessions.”
She took a bite and continued as she chewed.
“I call it my Ezer wagon.”
“Ezer? What’s that?” George asked, thinking he misheard through the remnants of a double bacon cheeseburger.
“It’s an Old Testament word. You know, like from the Bible. It means warrior. And it also means woman. Eve, you know, from the garden, the Bible calls her an ezer. A warrior and a woman. At least according to my third husband. He was a pastor. He knew Greek and all those other Bible languages like the back of his hand. But he could be a bit of a theological rebel at times.”
“So, do you enjoy what you’re doing?” George asked again. “Do you enjoy the journey?”
Irene appeared surprised by the question. Even Lewis snorted in response. They both looked at George, almost as if his question was impertinent.
“Well, George, if you don’t enjoy life right now—I mean, like right now—today—then when will you enjoy it? When will you find life to be joyful? It has to be now, George. There is no other time than right now. Life will never be perfect. You have to find the joy in this moment, George. Lewis knows. You can see it in his eyes.”
George took a bite of his burger, choosing to chew and stay silent.
Lewis, however, was not eating anything at the moment and agreed with Irene with a series of happy but restrained wuffs.
Irene responded by giving him almost a full slice of bacon she took out of her bacon cheeseburger. There was a thin veneer of golden yellow cheese on the bacon—just the perfect balance for a hungry and agreeable St. Bernard.
As he ate, Lewis looked over to George.
George thought he detected a smug, self-satisfied look on his face. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cheesy bacon or him finding a philosophy of life he agreed with.
28
The next morning, the “Morning Zoo Crew” at the Bridge radio station loudly bemoaned the fact it was raining.
These people are not farmers, for sure. Rain is a good thing.
George walked Lewis, quickly, because of the drizzle. He had three old beach towels reserved for just this situation, neatly stored in a cubby under the couch. He removed one, hurried back outside, and wiped Lewis down as best he could, making sure he got to each paw, hoping he would not track mud into the RV. Lewis growled as George did his feet—almost a good-natured growl, as if dogs were supposed to growl at this indignity, and Lewis was a dog, of course, and he was simply letting George know if Lewis were any other sort of dog, more mean-spirited, more normal and doglike, then the growls would be more intense and authentic.
“Settle down, Lewis,” George cautioned as he wiped his back paws. “You’re too big to let in wet and dirty. And I know the growls are just for show. You let little kids yank at your hair, as Irene said you did yesterday, so I know this doesn’t bother you.”
Once Lewis was mostly dry and mostly not muddy, the two of them hurried inside and George measured out Lewis’s breakfast. Lewis wuffed at the scent of it and settled into his long, delicate consumption of the two cups of kibbles. Heaping cups, actually.
George took out the current issue of the local paper, spread it out carefully on the table, smoothed the edges, and sat, reading and drinking his fourth cup of morning coffee. As Lewis finished his leisurely breakfast, they both nearly jumped at the sound of rapping at
the RV door.
Irene stood outside, holding a huge golf umbrella, nearly making her invisible.
“My second husband was a golfer. He would play in all sorts of weather. Sleet, hail, hurricanes, whatever. I kept his umbrella.”
She stepped inside.
“Do you have any half-and-half? I forgot to get some yesterday, and I hate coffee without it. I could drive into town, but begging off a new neighbor seemed so much easier.”
“Sure,” George answered.
Lewis listened and then moved to block the door. He sat down heavily, then lay down, sprawling across the entryway. The only way anyone inside could get out would be to crawl over the center console, not an easy or dignified way or egress.
“I think Lewis is trying to keep you here. I could offer you coffee. All I have is instant.”
Irene shrugged.
“Okay by me. I’m not a coffee snob. As long as it tastes vaguely like coffee, I’ll be okay,” she said, then quickly added, “It’s not decaf, is it?”
“No. Regular.”
“Good. Decaf is an abomination. I’ll join you for a cup.”
She sat on the other side of the table.
“Anything interesting in the news today?” she asked.
“The city council is asking for bids to repair the roof of city hall.”
“I can handle it. I don’t pay attention to most of the news. It gets me too frustrated and angry. Life is too short to be irate all the time.”
George nodded, feeling awkward and disconnected.
It has been years and years and years since there was a healthy woman opposite me at the breakfast table.
Irene’s curious expression made George think she was thinking the same thing.
Lewis looked up and wuffed loudly, breaking the momentary spell of discomfort.
“George, you said you had an itinerary for your trip. Can I see it? I want to be reminded how it feels to be organized and have a real schedule. I’m just a little envious.”
