Lost Dog
Dennis Donoghue

A minute ago the dog had
been right behind him. Somehow the
fourteen year old mutt--deaf, almost blind—disappeared from the trail not fifty
feet from where Ted had parked his car in the small gravel lot. He called her name again—Regina! Regina!—then anticipated hearing rustling in
the undergrowth. July was already into
its second heat wave, the temperature still close to ninety with no rain all
month. He wrung the empty leash in his
hands, remembering how he’d had to lift the dog out of the car and give it a
nudge to get it going. Now, with less
than an hour of daylight left, he expected the animal to return from whatever
carcass it was rolling in so he could hurry back to Annette.
Stupidly he’d volunteered to walk the dog while she prepared dinner. He wanted to be helpful so he’d left a glass of Heineken beading on a coaster. With a new recipe from her sister--seared scallops with something or other---she was treating him after he’d paid for dinner last week on their second date. That was when she told him she’d had cancer. Of the breast, she’d added. In remission. She’d put it out there, not calling it a gift exactly, as much as a turn of events from which she’d been able to learn a few things. He wondered what it would be like to fall in love with someone only to have her die on him. But it was how she managed her illness on a daily basis that startled him.
“Believe it or not sometimes I forget,” she’d said.
“I bet I think more about getting cancer than you do about having it.”
“Once I learned to rely to instinct, that set off the healing process,” she’d explained. “I had to figure out a way to shake off all that conditioning.”
He nodded, as if he understood what she was talking about.
The conversation replayed in his head now as he hurried along, expecting mosquitoes but not the nasty flies with striped wings that tore a bit of skin before he could swat them. What was instinct anyway? He had no clue, other than a mechanism that kept animals alive from one day to the next. As far as he could determine, instinct hadn’t done a thing for him.
With dusk falling, coyotes would prowl for something easy. Regina had been with Annette through the course of her marriage and illness. Her ex-husband hadn’t fought for custody once the dog began having stress-related accidents in the house. Ted didn’t care much for dogs but he cared for Annette, anxious to have a woman—any woman-- in his life after the misery of his own divorce. From what he could tell, he and Patrice had been going along fine until he discovered the letters stuffed into her journal which prompted him to check her phone messages. They’d been going along like any married couple who been together as long as they had, not so much living together as living side-by-side. Some days they hardly exchanged more than a handful of words. He stilled loved her, even after she’d taken their son Cody and rented a townhouse she couldn’t afford, abandoning Ted to wander unheated rooms wrapped in a quilt, a refugee in his own home. At night he busied himself painting walls and ceilings of the dingy ranch so he could sell it. Hollowed out, he guessed crying would help, except he hadn’t cried since the day when he was ten and lit a small but contained fire on the cellar floor drain. His father overreacted anyway, beating him until he stopped, which took a while. What set his father off more than whatever he’d done wrong was the crying. Eventually Ted learned to stay dry-eyed no matter how hard he was belted.
Soon after he sold the house and found an apartment, he went for a crown at his new dentist on the other side of town. Annette, assisting Dr. Wesson, wiped his chin after a third shot of Novocain. Reflexively, he’d clutched her arm as Dr. Wesson probed his molar before the medication had taken hold. A few hours later, his speech nearly back to normal, Ted called with a question about aftercare and managed to get Annette on the line.
His throat hurt from shouting for a dog who couldn’t hear him. Breaking from the trail he headed downhill through ferns and briars, gambling that the dog had made for the coolness of the boggy lowland. Thorns from looping vines snagged the rayon shirt he’d bought at the mall that morning. By now any trace of the expensive cologne he’d purchased with the shirt had evaporated from his skin. He glanced behind him, attempting to visually locate the trail before he went any further. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up like Regina.
The dog might have pushed into the skunk cabbage, if that’s what it was called, or deeper into what looked like a cedar swamp. Here and there he noticed animal tracks in the black spongy ground. He’d never been good at reading signs. He’d laugh about all this later, telling the story to Annette. Whatever was under her blouse was fine with him. It didn’t matter one way or the other. While other men might consider breasts a commodity they couldn’t live without, he was beyond that. For one thing, he was older now and thought of women differently. Annette’s bright green eyes and dry wit, the way she studied him as he spoke, waiting to turn something he said into a joke, made him forget about her body, at least temporarily. But unless he found the dog whatever he had going with her wouldn’t matter. She coddled the animal as if it were a child, spending $60 for a bag of organic dog food, a herring and sweet potato concoction she’d tried herself, testing a nugget off a tea saucer in the high-end shop that catered exclusively to canines. Ted acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world, eating dog food. He would have approved of anything she’d said.
He started to pray. He prayed whenever he was desperate. Please God let me find Regina. He vowed to become a better person as he fought his way around a massive rhododendron. Just this once let my prayers be answered. Alive, too, he amended, not torn to shreds. Amen. He blessed himself. A plea for help—that’s all prayer was.
A dusty purple tinted the gap over his head. He stood in a bit of clearing, squinting in the fading sunlight to detect anything stirring. He straightened his shoulders and cocked his head, listening until his ears hurt.
He jumped when his phone rang. He fished for it and dropped it on the ground.
--On my way, he said. Took a wrong turn.
--How’s Regina?
--Good. Better than good. She loves the freedom.
--I shouldn’t have let you do this. You must be drenched. You can shower here. I have a bathrobe your size.
--Yeah okay. That would be great.
--Please hurry.
--We’re almost back at the car.
He loved the idea, strolling around her place with his clothes in the washer machine. He couldn’t ask for anything better, even if it was another man’s bathrobe. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d slept with a woman other than Patrice. In preparation he’d packed three condoms and half a tab of Viagra his brother had given him, the items secure in a plastic bag in his pocket. When he did find Regina, he’d have to wrestle her into the nylon safety harness which attached to a seatbelt. Annette had made it look easy when she slipped it over the dog’s torso and tightened the half dozen Velcro straps. The absurdity of it, a device that probably cost as much as a child’s car seat, though he did find himself conversing with his four legged passenger on the ride and wondered briefly why he’d never had a dog in his life.
The woods spooked him. He’d never taken Cody camping despite the boy’s pleading. In the few times he’d found himself in the wilderness he’d felt as insignificant as the pine sapling he’d crushed as he’d stepped off the trail. He’d stopped at the preserve only after he’d noticed the empty lot as he’d driven by. Tired of tugging Regina along behind him, he’d unclipped the leash and slowed his pace so she’d stay on his heels.
Twenty minutes later he called Annette back. He came right out with it.
--I’m sorry, but I lost Regina. She went off into the woods.
--She’s missing?
He exhaled.
--But I have to carry her downstairs into the yard.
--Somehow she got away from me.
-- You’re leaving her there?
--It’s too dark to see. We can drive the perimeter.
--She just couldn’t have run off like that. She can hardly move.
--That’s what I don’t get. It’s as if she fell through a seam in the ground.
Back at her condo, he drank a glass of water and set it on the table between the candles and flowers. He apologized again and stood there looking everywhere except at her.
--I just lit these, she said as she extinguished the flames. Knowing Regina, she’s probably waiting in the lot for us now.
Had it been his dog he wouldn’t have taken the news so calmly. He had that about him, quick to pin a wrong, even if it was an oversight or a mistake. Eventually he’d come around in an attempt to mop up the damage. Chronically defensive, Patrice had labeled him, not to mention unhappy and a worrywart. He’d tried to change, first with exercise, then with meditation and therapy. But after a month or so, when he didn’t get the results he expected, he quit all three.
While he drove through neighborhood adjacent to the preserve, Annette quizzed a couple pushing a stroller, a circle of men smoking cigars around a kettle grill, a cop in an idling cruiser.
--She’s 14 and basically helpless, Annette informed the cop.
--How’d you lose her then?
His look was unsympathetic, as if their negligence was beyond his understanding.
--She was there and then she wasn’t, if that makes any sense, Annette said.
When the cop glanced his way, Ted nodded in agreement.
Nobody they asked had seen Regina, or any loose dog for that matter. Ted squeezed the wheel while Annette aimed the flashlight at a black wall of trees. He reiterated the details, or lack of them, until he couldn’t stand the sound of his voice. He imagined Regina frozen in the sweep of headlights, a pair of red eyes staring at him in accusation. After another mile with nothing to show for it, Annette switched off the flashlight.
-- I lost Pixie when I was ten, she said. Somehow she dug her way out of our backyard. A week later I thought I spotted her at a park. My father circled it for hours. For years she haunted my dreams.
-- It’s the truth, he said. In case you’re wondering.
--I wasn’t. I believe you.
--I’m sick about it. Just so you know.
That night he slept in spurts in his basement apartment. Even with the AC on, he awoke wet with sweat, relieved that his dream about losing the dog had been just that, until he remembered reality. He changed clothes and lay awake until he decided he was done trying to sleep. At sunrise he drove back to her condo, stopping for coffee on the way. He wasn’t sure she even drank coffee. But he was sure Regina was dead. If the dog lived outside, like the two vicious German Shepherds that barked half the night in the chain link kennel behind his apartment building, maybe she’d stand half a chance. By now whatever was left of her had been dragged off by scavengers.
Annette was pale and distracted, dressed in hiking boots, a sleeveless tee shirt and cargo shorts. She cinched a fluid belt with four small plastic bottles in holsters. Inside the belt she’d tucked a canvas water bowl and a bag of dog treats. A pair of binoculars hung from her neck. The table had been cleared except for his flowers, the kitchen scrubbed and tidy. She’d been up all night too. He didn’t have to ask. She thanked him for the coffee, apologizing for what they were going through, as if she had something to do with it. He’d have felt better if she’d attacked him with a club as soon as he walked through the door.
--No one’s turned in a dog at the pound, she said. I called twice.
--Did you tell them what an idiot I am?
--That’s between you and me.
She smiled. Maybe she’d forgiven him already, understanding that things could go wrong with no one to blame for the outcome. But that wasn’t part of his makeup. He’d never get past what he’d done. As long as he stayed with Annette, he’d forever be the guy who’d lost her dog, one that by all accounts was impossible to lose. He might as well wear a tee shirt announcing the fact. When she locked the door behind them he was certain he’d never see the inside of her condo again.
Once back at the preserve they alternated calling for Regina. The morning was already warm and humid, the start of another scorcher. Sunlight filtered through oaks and maples. Birds, insects, chipmunks and squirrels moved about in a deliberate way that might have calmed Ted under different circumstances. Instead he felt edgy and exhausted. He swatted mosquitoes off the back of his neck while Annette marched ahead, her boots powdered gray from trail dust. She crouched to inspect prints, and plucked a few strands of hair snagged on a briar. She’d fought her cancer the same way, he guessed, calmly and methodically, staying within herself, gathering clues that would lead her back to health.
After an hour of hiking they climbed through a meadow. At the top an old graveyard was enclosed by a wall of flat stone. He hopped the wall for a better view. As he offered a hand to Annette, he glanced down at her breasts. He hadn’t meant to. He did and he didn’t. Under her moist tee shirt the edges of her bra pressed against her skin. He couldn’t tell one way or the other. But she’d caught him. A slight frown, a look of disappointment, though she said nothing. She’d gotten that look from other men, too, he guessed. Now he was one of them. When she turned away to scan the meadow with her binoculars, he nearly blurted an apology. But he chose to think her frown was simply a reaction to the stress of the climb.
--I never realized this place was so huge, she said.
--We’ve covered most of it.
--So she’s got to be right in front of us somewhere, right?
The meadow dipped and spread for a half a mile toward a ribbon of road where cars shimmered by in slow motion. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted the dog’s name. At the sound of his voice, midway across the meadow, two crows rose out of the grass. They’d found the carcass, he was sure of it, though he kept the news to himself. Annette would survive this too. She had that about her, a knack for getting from one crisis to the next and coming out better for it. If he himself measured up, he’d still be with Patrice. Annette hadn’t blamed herself for her own failed marriage, which had ended by mutual agreement with both parties civil and accommodating. It just wasn’t natural. Every time he and Patrice talked money or custody their discussions didn’t last five minutes before one of them got up and left the room.
As he shifted his weight, the capstone they stood on rocked gently. His elbow touched hers, sending a shiver up his arm.
A hundred yards below them a mowed path curved before disappearing into the high withered grass. For some reason a tractor had been through recently, though Ted had no idea what its purpose had been. He was eyeing the tracks when a smudge of white appeared and just as quickly vanished around the bend. Regina. He was sure of it. White smudged with black. Holy shit. She was there and then she wasn’t. But it was her. He was certain of it.
--I see her!
He leaped from the wall, wind milling his arms as he charged downhill. It was impossible, a miracle. When he reached the dog she was still moving, edging away from him with some plan in her ancient brain. He nearly stumbled over her as she hesitated before a brush pile to look over her shoulder, her milky eyes sizing up her rescuer.
He shoved his arms under her belly and pressed her flank to his face. Sticky burrs and patches of dried mud clung to her coat. Under a clump of matted hair, maggots squirmed in an open sore the size of a quarter. He gagged from the smell as he struggled back uphill, trying to remember this kind of joy. He hadn’t felt it when he’d married Patrice or held Cody for the first time—so he guessed he never had. The filthy mutt sagged in his arms, as listless as a forty pound bag of onions, her dead weight forcing him to adjust his grip. He’d go back to church. He’d been thinking about it anyway, even suggested it to Cody-- the kid could use some religious instruction—but his son had heard about church from his friends and wanted no part of it. So he’d go alone.
Annette stood on the wall making arrangements with someone from the veterinary clinic. By the time Ted reached her she was pouring water into the collapsible bowl which she held to Regina’s snout. The dog refused her offer.
--She’s probably in shock, Ted said.
--She knows us, don’t you baby?
Annette pulled Regina onto her lap. She stroked her fur while he stood there, impatient to get back to the parking lot and on with the rest of the day.
--It’s a half mile to the car, he said. I’ll carry her.
--I need a minute, Annette told him.
It began with a sniffle. Then a tear ran from a corner of her eye and traced her jaw line. Before long she was sobbing. It was a response, he guessed, a kind of relief or healing episode. After a few minutes of it he thought if she got any worse he’d end up carrying both her and the dog. He was afraid, being in the middle of nowhere with her like that. Chancing it, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. He rested his hand there. He couldn’t tell whether something inside her had broken or healed. Maybe they were one and the same. All he knew was that she was crying full bore, tears coming off her chin and onto the dog’s filthy collar. He was a bit envious too, wanting some of that for himself, but too many years had passed since his own spigot had seized up.
--Are you okay?
She ignored him. Regina didn’t seem to mind, or at least didn’t react. Ted hadn’t seen anybody go on like that outside of a funeral. Patrice wasn’t a crier, Cody either. He wasn’t used to being around it. All he could do was stand and wait, staring out at the meadow rolling away under a washed out blue sky.
When she blinked to clear her eyes, her face was younger and more relaxed. She drew a breath and dropped her shoulders, taking the tissue he handed her. Maybe he’d ask her about it some time, how she’d managed to get that out of herself and look so good afterwards. But for the moment he was content to sit beside her. Where did he have to go anyway? The sun didn’t seem as hot for some reason, though it had to be close to noon. Most likely he didn’t have cancer, either, and even if he did, so what?
Stupidly he’d volunteered to walk the dog while she prepared dinner. He wanted to be helpful so he’d left a glass of Heineken beading on a coaster. With a new recipe from her sister--seared scallops with something or other---she was treating him after he’d paid for dinner last week on their second date. That was when she told him she’d had cancer. Of the breast, she’d added. In remission. She’d put it out there, not calling it a gift exactly, as much as a turn of events from which she’d been able to learn a few things. He wondered what it would be like to fall in love with someone only to have her die on him. But it was how she managed her illness on a daily basis that startled him.
“Believe it or not sometimes I forget,” she’d said.
“I bet I think more about getting cancer than you do about having it.”
“Once I learned to rely to instinct, that set off the healing process,” she’d explained. “I had to figure out a way to shake off all that conditioning.”
He nodded, as if he understood what she was talking about.
The conversation replayed in his head now as he hurried along, expecting mosquitoes but not the nasty flies with striped wings that tore a bit of skin before he could swat them. What was instinct anyway? He had no clue, other than a mechanism that kept animals alive from one day to the next. As far as he could determine, instinct hadn’t done a thing for him.
With dusk falling, coyotes would prowl for something easy. Regina had been with Annette through the course of her marriage and illness. Her ex-husband hadn’t fought for custody once the dog began having stress-related accidents in the house. Ted didn’t care much for dogs but he cared for Annette, anxious to have a woman—any woman-- in his life after the misery of his own divorce. From what he could tell, he and Patrice had been going along fine until he discovered the letters stuffed into her journal which prompted him to check her phone messages. They’d been going along like any married couple who been together as long as they had, not so much living together as living side-by-side. Some days they hardly exchanged more than a handful of words. He stilled loved her, even after she’d taken their son Cody and rented a townhouse she couldn’t afford, abandoning Ted to wander unheated rooms wrapped in a quilt, a refugee in his own home. At night he busied himself painting walls and ceilings of the dingy ranch so he could sell it. Hollowed out, he guessed crying would help, except he hadn’t cried since the day when he was ten and lit a small but contained fire on the cellar floor drain. His father overreacted anyway, beating him until he stopped, which took a while. What set his father off more than whatever he’d done wrong was the crying. Eventually Ted learned to stay dry-eyed no matter how hard he was belted.
Soon after he sold the house and found an apartment, he went for a crown at his new dentist on the other side of town. Annette, assisting Dr. Wesson, wiped his chin after a third shot of Novocain. Reflexively, he’d clutched her arm as Dr. Wesson probed his molar before the medication had taken hold. A few hours later, his speech nearly back to normal, Ted called with a question about aftercare and managed to get Annette on the line.
His throat hurt from shouting for a dog who couldn’t hear him. Breaking from the trail he headed downhill through ferns and briars, gambling that the dog had made for the coolness of the boggy lowland. Thorns from looping vines snagged the rayon shirt he’d bought at the mall that morning. By now any trace of the expensive cologne he’d purchased with the shirt had evaporated from his skin. He glanced behind him, attempting to visually locate the trail before he went any further. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up like Regina.
The dog might have pushed into the skunk cabbage, if that’s what it was called, or deeper into what looked like a cedar swamp. Here and there he noticed animal tracks in the black spongy ground. He’d never been good at reading signs. He’d laugh about all this later, telling the story to Annette. Whatever was under her blouse was fine with him. It didn’t matter one way or the other. While other men might consider breasts a commodity they couldn’t live without, he was beyond that. For one thing, he was older now and thought of women differently. Annette’s bright green eyes and dry wit, the way she studied him as he spoke, waiting to turn something he said into a joke, made him forget about her body, at least temporarily. But unless he found the dog whatever he had going with her wouldn’t matter. She coddled the animal as if it were a child, spending $60 for a bag of organic dog food, a herring and sweet potato concoction she’d tried herself, testing a nugget off a tea saucer in the high-end shop that catered exclusively to canines. Ted acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world, eating dog food. He would have approved of anything she’d said.
He started to pray. He prayed whenever he was desperate. Please God let me find Regina. He vowed to become a better person as he fought his way around a massive rhododendron. Just this once let my prayers be answered. Alive, too, he amended, not torn to shreds. Amen. He blessed himself. A plea for help—that’s all prayer was.
A dusty purple tinted the gap over his head. He stood in a bit of clearing, squinting in the fading sunlight to detect anything stirring. He straightened his shoulders and cocked his head, listening until his ears hurt.
He jumped when his phone rang. He fished for it and dropped it on the ground.
--On my way, he said. Took a wrong turn.
--How’s Regina?
--Good. Better than good. She loves the freedom.
--I shouldn’t have let you do this. You must be drenched. You can shower here. I have a bathrobe your size.
--Yeah okay. That would be great.
--Please hurry.
--We’re almost back at the car.
He loved the idea, strolling around her place with his clothes in the washer machine. He couldn’t ask for anything better, even if it was another man’s bathrobe. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d slept with a woman other than Patrice. In preparation he’d packed three condoms and half a tab of Viagra his brother had given him, the items secure in a plastic bag in his pocket. When he did find Regina, he’d have to wrestle her into the nylon safety harness which attached to a seatbelt. Annette had made it look easy when she slipped it over the dog’s torso and tightened the half dozen Velcro straps. The absurdity of it, a device that probably cost as much as a child’s car seat, though he did find himself conversing with his four legged passenger on the ride and wondered briefly why he’d never had a dog in his life.
The woods spooked him. He’d never taken Cody camping despite the boy’s pleading. In the few times he’d found himself in the wilderness he’d felt as insignificant as the pine sapling he’d crushed as he’d stepped off the trail. He’d stopped at the preserve only after he’d noticed the empty lot as he’d driven by. Tired of tugging Regina along behind him, he’d unclipped the leash and slowed his pace so she’d stay on his heels.
Twenty minutes later he called Annette back. He came right out with it.
--I’m sorry, but I lost Regina. She went off into the woods.
--She’s missing?
He exhaled.
--But I have to carry her downstairs into the yard.
--Somehow she got away from me.
-- You’re leaving her there?
--It’s too dark to see. We can drive the perimeter.
--She just couldn’t have run off like that. She can hardly move.
--That’s what I don’t get. It’s as if she fell through a seam in the ground.
Back at her condo, he drank a glass of water and set it on the table between the candles and flowers. He apologized again and stood there looking everywhere except at her.
--I just lit these, she said as she extinguished the flames. Knowing Regina, she’s probably waiting in the lot for us now.
Had it been his dog he wouldn’t have taken the news so calmly. He had that about him, quick to pin a wrong, even if it was an oversight or a mistake. Eventually he’d come around in an attempt to mop up the damage. Chronically defensive, Patrice had labeled him, not to mention unhappy and a worrywart. He’d tried to change, first with exercise, then with meditation and therapy. But after a month or so, when he didn’t get the results he expected, he quit all three.
While he drove through neighborhood adjacent to the preserve, Annette quizzed a couple pushing a stroller, a circle of men smoking cigars around a kettle grill, a cop in an idling cruiser.
--She’s 14 and basically helpless, Annette informed the cop.
--How’d you lose her then?
His look was unsympathetic, as if their negligence was beyond his understanding.
--She was there and then she wasn’t, if that makes any sense, Annette said.
When the cop glanced his way, Ted nodded in agreement.
Nobody they asked had seen Regina, or any loose dog for that matter. Ted squeezed the wheel while Annette aimed the flashlight at a black wall of trees. He reiterated the details, or lack of them, until he couldn’t stand the sound of his voice. He imagined Regina frozen in the sweep of headlights, a pair of red eyes staring at him in accusation. After another mile with nothing to show for it, Annette switched off the flashlight.
-- I lost Pixie when I was ten, she said. Somehow she dug her way out of our backyard. A week later I thought I spotted her at a park. My father circled it for hours. For years she haunted my dreams.
-- It’s the truth, he said. In case you’re wondering.
--I wasn’t. I believe you.
--I’m sick about it. Just so you know.
That night he slept in spurts in his basement apartment. Even with the AC on, he awoke wet with sweat, relieved that his dream about losing the dog had been just that, until he remembered reality. He changed clothes and lay awake until he decided he was done trying to sleep. At sunrise he drove back to her condo, stopping for coffee on the way. He wasn’t sure she even drank coffee. But he was sure Regina was dead. If the dog lived outside, like the two vicious German Shepherds that barked half the night in the chain link kennel behind his apartment building, maybe she’d stand half a chance. By now whatever was left of her had been dragged off by scavengers.
Annette was pale and distracted, dressed in hiking boots, a sleeveless tee shirt and cargo shorts. She cinched a fluid belt with four small plastic bottles in holsters. Inside the belt she’d tucked a canvas water bowl and a bag of dog treats. A pair of binoculars hung from her neck. The table had been cleared except for his flowers, the kitchen scrubbed and tidy. She’d been up all night too. He didn’t have to ask. She thanked him for the coffee, apologizing for what they were going through, as if she had something to do with it. He’d have felt better if she’d attacked him with a club as soon as he walked through the door.
--No one’s turned in a dog at the pound, she said. I called twice.
--Did you tell them what an idiot I am?
--That’s between you and me.
She smiled. Maybe she’d forgiven him already, understanding that things could go wrong with no one to blame for the outcome. But that wasn’t part of his makeup. He’d never get past what he’d done. As long as he stayed with Annette, he’d forever be the guy who’d lost her dog, one that by all accounts was impossible to lose. He might as well wear a tee shirt announcing the fact. When she locked the door behind them he was certain he’d never see the inside of her condo again.
Once back at the preserve they alternated calling for Regina. The morning was already warm and humid, the start of another scorcher. Sunlight filtered through oaks and maples. Birds, insects, chipmunks and squirrels moved about in a deliberate way that might have calmed Ted under different circumstances. Instead he felt edgy and exhausted. He swatted mosquitoes off the back of his neck while Annette marched ahead, her boots powdered gray from trail dust. She crouched to inspect prints, and plucked a few strands of hair snagged on a briar. She’d fought her cancer the same way, he guessed, calmly and methodically, staying within herself, gathering clues that would lead her back to health.
After an hour of hiking they climbed through a meadow. At the top an old graveyard was enclosed by a wall of flat stone. He hopped the wall for a better view. As he offered a hand to Annette, he glanced down at her breasts. He hadn’t meant to. He did and he didn’t. Under her moist tee shirt the edges of her bra pressed against her skin. He couldn’t tell one way or the other. But she’d caught him. A slight frown, a look of disappointment, though she said nothing. She’d gotten that look from other men, too, he guessed. Now he was one of them. When she turned away to scan the meadow with her binoculars, he nearly blurted an apology. But he chose to think her frown was simply a reaction to the stress of the climb.
--I never realized this place was so huge, she said.
--We’ve covered most of it.
--So she’s got to be right in front of us somewhere, right?
The meadow dipped and spread for a half a mile toward a ribbon of road where cars shimmered by in slow motion. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted the dog’s name. At the sound of his voice, midway across the meadow, two crows rose out of the grass. They’d found the carcass, he was sure of it, though he kept the news to himself. Annette would survive this too. She had that about her, a knack for getting from one crisis to the next and coming out better for it. If he himself measured up, he’d still be with Patrice. Annette hadn’t blamed herself for her own failed marriage, which had ended by mutual agreement with both parties civil and accommodating. It just wasn’t natural. Every time he and Patrice talked money or custody their discussions didn’t last five minutes before one of them got up and left the room.
As he shifted his weight, the capstone they stood on rocked gently. His elbow touched hers, sending a shiver up his arm.
A hundred yards below them a mowed path curved before disappearing into the high withered grass. For some reason a tractor had been through recently, though Ted had no idea what its purpose had been. He was eyeing the tracks when a smudge of white appeared and just as quickly vanished around the bend. Regina. He was sure of it. White smudged with black. Holy shit. She was there and then she wasn’t. But it was her. He was certain of it.
--I see her!
He leaped from the wall, wind milling his arms as he charged downhill. It was impossible, a miracle. When he reached the dog she was still moving, edging away from him with some plan in her ancient brain. He nearly stumbled over her as she hesitated before a brush pile to look over her shoulder, her milky eyes sizing up her rescuer.
He shoved his arms under her belly and pressed her flank to his face. Sticky burrs and patches of dried mud clung to her coat. Under a clump of matted hair, maggots squirmed in an open sore the size of a quarter. He gagged from the smell as he struggled back uphill, trying to remember this kind of joy. He hadn’t felt it when he’d married Patrice or held Cody for the first time—so he guessed he never had. The filthy mutt sagged in his arms, as listless as a forty pound bag of onions, her dead weight forcing him to adjust his grip. He’d go back to church. He’d been thinking about it anyway, even suggested it to Cody-- the kid could use some religious instruction—but his son had heard about church from his friends and wanted no part of it. So he’d go alone.
Annette stood on the wall making arrangements with someone from the veterinary clinic. By the time Ted reached her she was pouring water into the collapsible bowl which she held to Regina’s snout. The dog refused her offer.
--She’s probably in shock, Ted said.
--She knows us, don’t you baby?
Annette pulled Regina onto her lap. She stroked her fur while he stood there, impatient to get back to the parking lot and on with the rest of the day.
--It’s a half mile to the car, he said. I’ll carry her.
--I need a minute, Annette told him.
It began with a sniffle. Then a tear ran from a corner of her eye and traced her jaw line. Before long she was sobbing. It was a response, he guessed, a kind of relief or healing episode. After a few minutes of it he thought if she got any worse he’d end up carrying both her and the dog. He was afraid, being in the middle of nowhere with her like that. Chancing it, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. He rested his hand there. He couldn’t tell whether something inside her had broken or healed. Maybe they were one and the same. All he knew was that she was crying full bore, tears coming off her chin and onto the dog’s filthy collar. He was a bit envious too, wanting some of that for himself, but too many years had passed since his own spigot had seized up.
--Are you okay?
She ignored him. Regina didn’t seem to mind, or at least didn’t react. Ted hadn’t seen anybody go on like that outside of a funeral. Patrice wasn’t a crier, Cody either. He wasn’t used to being around it. All he could do was stand and wait, staring out at the meadow rolling away under a washed out blue sky.
When she blinked to clear her eyes, her face was younger and more relaxed. She drew a breath and dropped her shoulders, taking the tissue he handed her. Maybe he’d ask her about it some time, how she’d managed to get that out of herself and look so good afterwards. But for the moment he was content to sit beside her. Where did he have to go anyway? The sun didn’t seem as hot for some reason, though it had to be close to noon. Most likely he didn’t have cancer, either, and even if he did, so what?