by Susan Wilson
“Would you like to sit outside for a bit? I can make coffee.”
“That would be very nice.”
Bull opens his back door and the Hitchhiker runs out to greet Ruby and Doug as if she doesn’t have royalty in her background but is just your average mutt. Ruby scoops her up in her arms, nuzzles her and gets the strong vibe of feelings of relief. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t come back, did you?”
“I didn’t know. I like them, but I love you.”
“I love you. But I do get to do things without you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Doug busies himself pulling the lawn chairs closer to the van, pretending he doesn’t hear an apparently one-sided conversation between woman and dog. Ruby still doesn’t know if he considers her profession legitimate or just a charming quirk of hers.
PART III
30
There had been a time in Ruby’s life when she fantasized about her mother appearing incognito in her fortune-teller’s tent. The fantasy woman would hold out her palm for reading and Ruby would be filled with the knowledge that this was her mother, she was holding her mother’s hand. She would reveal herself to the woman, who was, of course, beautiful and exotic. One of two things happened in this waking dream: either the woman ran away screaming or she embraced Ruby and begged her forgiveness. Ruby had no control over which way the daydream went. It was a childish thing, this delusional hope. Magical thinking. After Sabine’s birth, Ruby stopped doing it. Fantasy was crowded out by reality.
In the days since her discovery of what was likely her mother’s story, Ruby had the old fantasy running free in her imagination. This time it wasn’t her mother visiting the tent, it was her finding her mother sitting on a park bench in a town called Easter Village. With a name like that, Ruby was certain it would be a tiny place with a lovely park, maybe even a bandstand. Her mother would be there, maybe feeding pigeons, and there would be something so familiar about her that Ruby would sit down and reach for her hand. And there the fantasy stalled. Ruby cleared the idea out of her head. What she was doing was envisioning Harmony Farms.
Because the animal shelter is a bit out of town and there is limited parking, the planners have decided to hold the fund-raising event in the park on Labor Day. Ruby thinks this isn’t the best idea, not about the park, but the day. If parents consider Labor Day a high holy day of summer—that is, the end of summer vacation, the kids back to school tomorrow—then they aren’t likely to be interested in dragging their dogs to the park. Most need to still get school supplies. Besides, if people believed in her abilities and had problem dogs, hadn’t they already consulted her?
Turns out that there are any number of folks willing to slap down ten bucks for a reading for Fido, even when they don’t believe in it. They are out there to support Polly. Ruby is amazed, and humbled. The organizers quickly arrange a queue in front of Ruby’s tent. A number of pet supply stores from the surrounding area have set up booths of their own, as have the Etsy crowd with handmade dog coats and blinged-out collars and leashes; others are shilling all-natural flea remedies and shampoos. Others are offering doggie Halloween costumes because it’s never too soon to plan your dog’s Halloween party. It’s a bit like the Makers Faire except that the entire thing is devoted to animals. Polly Schaeffer will have her new washer … and maybe even a dryer.
The Hitchhiker sits on Ruby’s left. She greets each of the dogs with an appropriate hello, then returns to Ruby. Dog after dog allows Ruby to spread her palms against its head, stroke the length of its back. But it is the Hitchhiker who is communicating, her chin firmly pressed against Ruby’s knee. “She doesn’t like being alone.” “He is hoping for better treats.” “No complaints.” “Entering her first heat. Confused.” Ruby relays the report, keeping it to herself that she isn’t reading their dogs so much as she’s listening to her own. She’s getting the vibes from each canine, but the rapidity with which her little dog comes up with the other dogs’ thoughts speeds things up considerably.
There are all manner of dogs, and several are repeat customers. Their people are enthusiastic about letting Ruby know she’s helped them out with the behaviors they had wanted changed. Ruby thinks that it really is more about getting better training advice, but hey, who is she to discount her own usefulness? She is particularly delighted to catch sight of a massive fawn-colored Great Dane. Gulliver is attached to a very different person than the haughty Mrs. Jane Turcott. The dog is accompanied by a family. His ears are up, his tail is wagging, and he has a goofy Scooby-Doo look on his face. Rather than wait for the family to reach her, Ruby asks the next customer to take a seat, she’ll be right back.
“Gully!”
“Wow, you are a psychic. How’d you know his name?” The apparent father of the group looks bemused, and a little suspicious.
“Gully was one of my first clients.” She gives Gully a kiss on the head and is rewarded with a quick message. “I love my people. I have games.”
“He’s very happy with you. He loves playing with you. Thank you for making him a part of your lives.”
“We were so sad to have to give him back to his owner. We knew he was well cared for, but we all had the feeling he wasn’t happy. He didn’t wag his tail when he was reunited. How sad is that?” The mom of the group has joined the conversation. She keeps one hand on Gully’s head, resting it there like it was a tabletop.
“Very. Did Mrs. Turcott realize it?”
“Not right away. Took about a week and then we got a call from Polly. Yada yada, did we want him?”
Ruby grins. “I’m so happy. I felt terrible leaving him in that lonely place.”
The dad recalls his manners. “We’re Mo and Jess Shute. These rug rats here are Caden and Delilah. We’ll wait our turn for a reading.”
“Nonsense. I’ve already read him and he’s beyond happy. Nothing else to add. Go make a contribution to the shelter and thank you.”
The event is only supposed to go from ten to noon, but the vendors and Ruby are so busy that no one remarks on the fact it’s long past noon. The food trucks that were serving breakfast suddenly start turning out sandwiches. Not willing to break momentum, Ruby doesn’t leave her tent and is starving. As if he could read her mind, Doug shows up with lunch. She hasn’t seen him in a week or so, what with school about to begin and freshmen to orient. She hasn’t told him that she’s leaving today after the event. She’s already missed this weekend with the Benini Brothers Carnival; she can’t really afford to miss another.
* * *
It feels like I’m back in the show ring. One dog after another to greet and converse with. The difference is that we are not being made to compete against one another. And no one is aggressive, all are enjoying quality time with their people. As am I. Although Ruby and I have been in communication since the beginning, today it feels like I’m faster at it. Or maybe she is. I’m not all that happy with her touching all these others, but I am happy to tell her their concerns. What she isn’t aware of is that I can hear her concerns as well. Loud and clear, she is determined that today is the day we depart from this place. I know that I should consider any place where Ruby is, and I am, home. But my instincts are telling me that happiness isn’t found in going; it is in staying.
* * *
The crowd has suddenly dispersed, as if by magic. Ruby lets Doug help her fold up the tent, notes how carefully he packs it into its canvas sheath, ties the ribbons—not too tightly—to hold the whole package together. She hasn’t set up the table, of course, just the two folding chairs—one for herself and the other for the owner, so that’s that. Doug puts the tent over his shoulder and grabs both chairs in one big hand. They walk to the van, and Ruby is struck with nerves, her mouth gone dry. Her usual departures are done without anyone to see her off. She doesn’t know if she can just drive off with Doug thinking that she’s simply going to the grocery store. He’s been too nice to ditch like a bad date. Neither can she tell him she’s leaving and hav
e him expect, or hope, that she’ll be back. She’s not sure that he understands her shark-like need to move. She says nothing, wishes she could take off her caftan because she’s desperately hot. She can’t; beneath it she’s only in her underwear. Her plan was to blast out of town, pull off for one last look at Lake Harmony, and quickly change into shorts and a tee. Doug has complicated things, for sure.
Ruby shows him where to stow the tent case and the folding chairs in the rear of the van, moves around to the front. Doug joins her. “Well, it looks like you’re not going anywhere.”
The left front tire of the Westfalia is sporting a wheel clamp, a parking boot. Ruby’s unpaid parking tickets have caught up with her. To add insult to injury, another ticket graces her windshield. There is nothing she can do but laugh.
It being a holiday, the office of the parking clerk is closed. It being a holiday, Ruby wonders how it is that she’s gotten a ticket. Monday through Saturday there’s a two-hour limit, Sundays and holidays are not restricted. What cop on a holiday beat is going to boot a car when the owner of that car is freaking doing a fund-raiser for a town department that works out of the police department? The only cop she has seen all day is the nice young fella who gives the Hitchhiker cookies when they run into him walking his Saturday beat at the Makers Faire. The only car with a ticket is hers. Ruby’s intuition is going into overdrive.
Ruby climbs into the Westie, closes the curtains, and changes into her street clothes. Doug waits outside, entertaining the dog by playing tug-o-war with her rope toy. Emerging from the van, Ruby shoulders her purse like a soldier shouldering his rifle and marches in the direction of the police station. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Doug comes alongside. Ruby stops. “You don’t have to come with me. This is my problem. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“No. I came to see you. So, I’ll see you to the police station.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I have a feeling I may have to bail you out.”
Ruby gives Doug a playful poke in the ribs. “Ain’t my first rodeo; I can handle myself.”
“I’m sure you can. I kind of want to watch.”
Lev Parker is the chief of police of Harmony Farms and, by extension, Polly Schaeffer’s boss. He and Ruby know each other a little, at least by sight. Ruby blasts right by the sergeant at the front desk and walks into Lev’s office. He, being raised well, gets to his feet and puts out a hand. “Ruby, thank you for what I’m hearing was a really good event. Polly tells me that you helped raise enough to cover—”
“That’s not why I’m here. What do you know about my vehicle, my home, being clamped?”
“Clamped?”
“You know, one of those boot things. Keeping me from driving away.”
Lev shakes his head. “Hold on a moment. Stay here.” He leaves the small office to speak with the duty officer, returns. Ruby is still standing, and the Hitchhiker, being ignored by the humans, is sniffing around the corners. She comes away with a dust bunny on her nose.
The chief picks up his phone and makes a call, asking someone to please see him. While they wait, he types something into the computer on his desk. “Okay, three unpaid parking tickets. No moving violations. Registration in order. I didn’t know you live in Moose River Junction. I have a cousin there.”
“I’m rarely there.” An understatement. One of the benefits of having a rooted daughter is being able to use her address for things that require a residency. Hence Ruby’s Massachusetts license and the Westie’s registration.
“I really don’t see any of this as problematic. It usually takes a year’s worth of tickets and a serious violation for us to get the boot out.”
“Will you see that it gets removed?”
At that moment a young woman knocks on the open door. She is dressed in plain clothes, but Ruby knows right away that she’s a traffic cop. There is a dent in her hairline to suggest the shape of her cap.
“Officer Milcharsky, do you want to explain to me why you felt the need to put a wheel clamp on the vehicle owned by Ms. Heartwood?” Lev’s tone is neutral, neither putting the officer on the defensive nor inviting a lie.
“Sir?”
“You were on traffic this morning, correct?”
“Yes, but I didn’t boot anybody’s vehicle. I directed traffic. No tickets. No violations.”
“All right, officer. Thank you.”
“One thing, though.” The young traffic cop looks at Ruby. “A couple of the guys have been a little inaccurate with chalk marking. Like, maybe it hasn’t been two hours since they marked that white VW. Very specific. They think it’s a joke.”
The chief dismisses Officer Milcharsky. Looks at Ruby. “I guess we got a rogue out there.”
“My guess is that selectperson Cynthia Mann is throwing her weight around. Bullying young police officers into harassing me.”
The chief doesn’t bite, and the look on his face suggests that he will be taking care of the in-house problem in his own quiet way. “I don’t suppose you noticed a tow company name on that boot?”
Ruby shakes her head. No. All she saw was an orange abomination.
“I did. Turner’s Towing.” Doug has leaned into the room. “Little gold sticker on the base.”
“Right. That’s our town towing company.” Lev grabs his phone and hits a speed dial button, rocks back in his swivel chair. “You folks head back to the vehicle. I’ll take care of this.”
Ruby really wants to wait around to hear the police chief lambaste his tow guy for being a dupe in a malicious game of revenge, but Doug gently takes her by the arm and guides her out of the office, out of the building.
“Why do you think this woman is doing this to you?”
“That’s what’s so frustrating; I have no idea why she has such animus toward me. I’m a hair across her ass, and I don’t really know why. I do know that if she’d just leave me alone, not hold me up with wheel clamps, I’d be out of her hair.”
“So, you are leaving?”
Ruby links her arm through Doug’s. “Yes.”
“Today?”
“If I can get the clamp removed.” She likes that he doesn’t protest. Doesn’t try to hold her back from her urge to go. He only holds her arm securely against his side and says nothing.
31
Ruby and Doug and the Hitchhiker sit on a park bench under a tree and stare at the hobbled Westfalia. Lev Parker called to say that, what with the big travel weekend, Turner’s Towing is very busy with breakdowns and won’t be able to fix their mistake for a couple of hours. Or more. It’s already almost four o’clock. The day has begun to cloud up and the day’s heat is cooling down with a lovely light breeze from the west. It would be pleasant to sit here and contemplate pleasant things, but Ruby is seething. Her getaway plans have been trashed. Her quiet and unheralded departure, her hope of slipping away, shot to hell.
“Will you be going to Easter Village?”
“I wish I was. No, I have to catch up to Joe Benini’s carnival. It’s a commitment I made and he’s giving me good terms.” A commitment that seems like a lifetime ago. “I’m just going to have to be patient. I’ll get to Easter Village in due time.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Doug swings an arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “Would you consider spending the night at my house? You could get a good start in the morning.”
In much the same way as she feels the vibrations from touching the dogs, Ruby gets a sense of Doug’s life from the touch of his hand against her. She leans in. He is uncomplicated. She envisions his life as moving from one benchmark to another: elementary school, Eagle Scout, high school athlete; of being disappointed by a forced change of hope, of becoming determined to pursue a new course and giving his all to it. She sees, too, an old pain. He’s asking her to sleep with him and she knows nothing about his history with women. So, she asks.
“I came close to marriage. Close enough to have rented the tux.” Ruby waits for h
im to continue without prompting. “Turns out she had a few wild oats left to sow. With my best friend. Trite, huh? It was like a twofer; in the course of one ten-minute conversation I have no fiancée and no best friend.”
Ruby takes his hand, flattens it, and runs a finger along his lines. “I see that having been in that situation has tainted you. You haven’t trusted anyone since.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“Am I wrong?”
“I have come close to trusting you.”
Ruby lets go of Doug’s hand. “I don’t think Turner’s Tow is ever going to come release my van, so how about you take me home with you.”
* * *
Ruby put some of her things in a bag, and some of my things in another. I watched, making sure that my favorite stuffed toy was among the things we brought with us to Doug’s house. This I wasn’t expecting, but Ruby explained it to me. We were going to den with him for the evening, and the next day, early, we would be back where we left our rolling house. But then, she said, we would be off. I didn’t understand what she meant. In my parlance, “off” means not “on.”
Before we reached Doug’s house, they left me in his car and went into a store and came out with food. Then, much to my delight, Ruby did something I had never seen her do … cook!
I was allowed a nice taste of the food she made and got to lick the plates. Heaven. The two people settled on the couch and I heard that word again: off. They eventually moved to where Doug sleeps and shut the door. I decided that I shouldn’t be offended. That couch was pretty comfy. I forgot about the “off” word and settled in for the night.
* * *
Doug had told Ruby that he had school in the morning, so they needed to scoot back to Harmony Farms really early so that he could be back and in the building by the seven-thirty bell. Wouldn’t do to have the school counselor be late on the first full day of school. So, it is with a degree of horror that they both wake to find it already six forty-five. No way can he get her back to Harmony Farms and be on time.
