by Alan Lee
Veronica Summers parked her car and came in after nine. She came straight to my couch, kissed me on the mouth, curled up with her head in my lap and said, “I don’t want to talk. I just want to be.”
After a minute she rearranged, pulling a throw pillow under her head, still on my lap, and said, “This house. It gets me every time.”
She fell asleep soon after, breathtaking in repose.
I rested my arm around her and changed the television to SportsCenter and watched basketball highlights and wondered what during the course of her day had wiped her out and decided it didn’t matter because I was willing to spend the rest of my evenings on couches with her, no matter the reasons.
Chapter 26
Saturday, I took Kix to Wasena park. Georgina Princess joined and so did Ronnie, holding GPS by the leash until we reached a deserted field between the tennis courts and baseball diamond. I threw the tennis ball and she raced for it.
Georgina, not Ronnie.
Kix stumbled after GPS and I threw the ball again when it was returned, and the poor boy never seemed to catch up.
Manny and Beck arrived, stepping out of the supercharged American sports car and wearing marshal gear. Manny ran in a large circle with GPS and I said, “Look at them as they gyre and gimble in the wabe.”
Beck wrinkled her nose. “Is that another language?”
“No, philistine. It’s poetry.”
Soon Manny and Veronica were both kneeling and playing with the dog and Kix. They spoke to her in high-pitched voices and I noted with despair, “They are descending into anarchy.”
“You don’t like her?” said Beck.
“I do. Far more than I anticipated. But why do they squeak around her?”
“Manny and Veronica? That’s how you reward a dog. Look how much she likes it.”
“Dogs are rewarded by high-pitched voices?” I said.
“Don’t you use a more excited voice when Kix needs a reward?”
“That hypothetical situation hasn’t happened yet. He’s an abject sinner.”
She laughed. Because I’m so funny.
“That’s not true. Kix is great,” she said. “But the voice might be hard for you. Yours is deeper than most.”
I swelled with pride. Yeah it was.
Beck pointed at the dog. “See how she watches you? And runs over here occasionally? She likes you. You’re the alpha.”
“Because I feed her, probably.”
“Maybe. I’m no expert. I just grew up with dogs in the house.”
That evening I sat with the dog and petted her, and debated the merits of pet versus petted as the past tense verb, and decided I disliked both. I assumed a falsetto—a manly one, which made it okay—and told her she was a good girl. She opened her mouth and it seemed to be a smile, which was impossible I thought, but the impression remained; she was happy.
It snowed the next day, but lightly, and we went to church. Ronnie accompanied, humoring me. She once said, “Any God who truly loves me needs to have his halo adjusted.”
“After reading about him, I find his affection for us to be irresponsible and reckless.”
“Like how you feel about Kix.”
“Potentially more so.”
“I suppose if you’re going to believe in some weird religion, you may as well choose the most affectionate deity,” said Ronnie.
Though blasphemer, she looked good in a pew. Her dress exposed her shoulders and somehow on her the naked shoulders and neck looked scandalous, and the nearby parishioners had trouble focusing.
Was parishioner correct? I still had no great handle on the lexicon. Member of the congregation? One of the flock?
I sat next to Marcus Morgan. Ronnie sat on the far side, near his wife Courtney so they could whisper.
The rector (pastor? priest? clergy? ecclesiastic?) taught sanctification and the necessary byproducts of suffering. Marcus nodded enthusiastically and called an, “Amen!” which seemed to shock the stoic gathering but please the man at the mic.
After church we all took naps. In bed, under the covers, she murmured into the small of my neck, “That man is insane.”
“How so?”
“Suffering is the worst.”
“Does it not strengthen us? He claims so.”
“My suffering didn’t, I don’t think. Drove me near to suicide.” Her eyes were closed, her hand under my shirt and resting on my abdomen.
“I think what he wanted to say was, even the hard things in life can be redeemed if you find meaning and growth. Holy moments can be found in the dark and scrape away the dross.”
“I like that. But does it matter?”
“Maybe. What is life other than a series of moments? Other than the unstoppable sequence of events in which we constantly change? And if we have no choice but to change, it’s important to be changing upward instead of downward. And if we take control of every moment, instead of letting it control us, and if we decide the series of moments can be redeemed, even the dark ones, then our life is better,” I said, wondering if I should process these things more thoroughly before uttering them out loud.
“Wow. Did that pastor guy say all that? Was that his point?”
“No but it should have been. I don’t think he carried his argument far enough to the highest possible conclusions.”
She yawned. “Mackenzie.”
“Yes Ronnie.”
“Sometimes I remember how intelligent you are. How profound and deep, and I realize that you are outthinking everyone else around you. And I get all goosebumpy because you want to be with me.”
“Objection, goosebumpy is not a word.”
“Um, how about, galvanized? Or indicted?"
“Much better.”
“Mackenzie.” Very soft now.
“Yes Ronnie.”
“Moments like this are holy for me. Or as close as I’ll ever get.”
In the next room, Kix shouted at GPS and threw toys.
“Dog. Fish! Fish dog.”
Georgina Princess patiently fetched the toys, raised up to place her front paws on the rim of the pack ’n play and dropped the toys back in, and Kix did it again and again until he grew sleepy and we were content.
Chapter 27
I called Larry Alexander. From the sound of it, Larry was maybe eighty-five and attached to an oxygen machine.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Alexander. I happened to be hiking through the woods and got lost and ended up on your property recently on top of Bent Mountain.”
The voice on the other end made a chuckling sound. “Oh. That’s okay. Mighty fine of you to let me know, but…oh, I got so much land that I don’t know what to do with. Expect I’ll give it to my son and he won’t know either.” He chuckled some more.
“I noticed a burned down shed and old Jeep, not far from a trail I used. Any idea the story?”
“Yeah, I do…let’s see, maybe I can…maybe I can remember.” There were some scratching sounds. “Yeah, I do, so…a friend of mine, no, that’s not it…my nephew uses the land to hunt. Fine with me. And he’s got, what do you call them, lodges maybe, scattered about. Few years back, a friend of mine asked if he could make use of one, and he went up there in the Jeep, but…as I recall he got into an automobile crash, and…well, the Jeep’s still there. And, oh let’s see, I heard about a year later from my nephew, his name’s Shannon, Shannon told me the shed burned down but the Jeep survived, so…I guess it’ll just set there and rot until the end of time.” More chuckling.
“These things happen, I guess.”
“Yes, I guess they do,” said Larry.
“What was your friend doing in the Jeep up at the shed? Hunting, I suppose?”
“No, don’t think so. He was a, well, a learned man who didn’t care to hunt. I expect he just liked to get away. You know? Get out of the city now and then.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Poor man, not sure what happened to him after the accident.”
That’s funny,
Larry Alexander, because I’m not sure what happened to him before it.
I had questions.
I needed answers.
Ulysses wouldn’t have them. He couldn’t remember them, after all. But it was his door I knocked upon later that day.
Rose let me in, looking pleased to see me. As always, she was barefoot.
“Perfect timing, Mr. August. He woke from a nap an hour ago.”
I paused in the foyer. “Rose, I am confused about something. You were the housekeeper, right?”
“I was. Before the accident.” she said. “I still am, I suppose."
“And then the ex-wife and daughter asked you to move in and provide full-time care.”
“Yes.”
“Why you? Don’t take it personally, but I wouldn’t think to ask a housekeeping professional to provide medical attention.”
“Ah. Yes.” She smiled and placed her hand on my arm for a brief moment. Probably to verify bicep circumference and brag to her friends. “I see your confusion, Mr. August. I am a certified nurse. I used to work part-time with hospice, and while at homes I cleaned when I grew bored and the nicer families would tip me for the service. Word spread enough so that I was doing both jobs.”
“Ah hah.”
“You see?”
“I do.”
“Mr. Steinbeck and his ex-wife offered to pay me better than I was making before at both. His insurance helps, of course. It’s enough to help my son through college.”
“I didn’t know you had one.”
“Yes, Jason.” She smiled the biggest smile I’d seen yet. “He’s at UVA. He is my joy.”
She led me to the office where Ulysses Steinbeck sat at a chair near the fire reading a book. “Ulysses? Mackenzie August to see you.” She took three journals from his desk and placed them on his chair’s side table.
Ulysses stood and shook my hand, and smiled politely and without recognition. He glanced at the two whiteboards in the room, read the information, and said, “Thank you, Rose.”
She left.
He indicated the journals. “Before we speak, Mr. August, I need to refresh my memory.”
I sat in the opposite chair. “I know the drill, Dr. Steinbeck. Happy to wait and enjoy your fire until you’re ready.”
“I recognize your cologne.”
“The reason I wore it.”
“Very helpful.” He glanced in What Is Happening Now and noted I wasn’t scheduled. He muttered my name a few times and flipped backwards in the journal, scanning each page. He spoke softly to himself and I couldn’t make out the words. He found me from last week and said, “Ah. Ah hah, yes. Okay. Good, good. Mr. August, yes, nice to see you again. You’re finding the dog.”
“I’m here to update you and seek counsel.”
He smiled the smile of a man still catching up. “By all means. I’m hazy on the details but I know I’m eager for news about the dog.”
“We have a weird situation here, Dr. Steinbeck, because it’s almost like I have two clients.”
“Explain.”
“You hired me to find the dog. But you don’t know why. You’re hoping the reason becomes apparent and when it does you’re hoping I’ll know what to do.”
He nodded. “My notes say you are trustworthy.”
“It’s a little like you hired me to help your past self. Because your past self knew things you currently don’t. But your past self has no agency here, other than me. And your current self doesn’t know the answers. And now I know some of them, and you’re hoping the right thing will be done, even if you don’t know what it is and even though you can’t really control things. Make sense?”
He had been scratching notes in his journal. He paused and considered me. “I often experience this dilemma. It’s a helpless and frustrating sensation.”
“Considering your plight and the fact that I have control right now, I want you to know I’m doing my best.”
“You have control.”
“Yes, organic but not permanent.”
He made a humming noise. Looked at his notes. Looked at the board again. Sighed with displeasure. “You’re asking for more money.”
“No.”
“Then…”
“I’ve been paid and paid well. I’m not here to extort you.”
“Okay.” He fidgeted in the chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dropped the journal with a thump and bent to retrieve it.
“I need more information and we need to make a decision.”
“One second.” He wrote again in his journal. He got lost, read from a few pages ago, scanned his notes again from today, and wrote some more. Pronounced, “I’m ready.”
“I found the dog. I have the dog. I discovered a secret the dog was keeping.”
His pen paused. “That’s satisfying news. Right?”
“Not yet. I can tell you what I know but you’ll be dissatisfied. I don’t have all the answers yet and I think that’s ultimately what you’re after. But…you need to decide if you want me to continue.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“The weeks leading up to the divorce finalization, you acted out of character. Aggressively so. And you’re essentially asking me to go digging into that time period. You need to decide if you want that man’s secrets unearthed.”
“I had secrets.”
“At least one.” The paramour.
“So it’s not just about the dog.”
“Georgina Princess is merely the tip of the iceberg, I think.”
“Georgina Princess.” His face paled. “That…that tugs at me. You know, sometimes I almost remember it.”
“Her.”
Ulysses didn’t hear. He smiled sadly. “Alex always wanted a dog.” He made some slow scratches on the paper. “Do you have guesses about things you might discover?”
“I have guesses. But I don’t want to tell you yet.”
“Is money involved?”
“I suspect so. But maybe don’t write that down.”
“Hmm.” He stood and stared at the fire. He kept talking to himself under his breath, probably to keep things fresh in his mind. He paced the room, glancing again and again at the whiteboards. Sat back down and read in his journal. “This is a lot to absorb and I’m not sure how to do it. Or how to proceed or what to say.”
“Understood. It comes down to this. I can quit now and give you the simple answers and it might bring you peace. Or I can keep going and get the truth.”
“If…if the truth you uncover implicates my ‘past self’ in some sort of crime, are you obligated to alert the authorities?” He spoke the words slowly, like trying to pull them out from fog.
“No. And I won’t.”
“Are you obligated to tell anyone else?”
“No. And you’ll need to trust my discretion and my promise that I have the best interest of you and your family in mind.”
He stared at his journal for a long time, resting his cheek in his hand. Big sigh. “I need the truth. I want to know.”
“Okay.”
“But, dammit, I have no idea how to document this.” He wiped at his eyes and sniffed, and he was dealing with emotion hitherto I hadn’t noticed. I sat patiently and soon his pen began scratching.
He wrote, Trust Mackenzie. He’s still working at the truth. He has the best interest of you and Alex at heart.
For reasons I couldn’t immediately identify, his words went straight into my inner recesses and suddenly I was dealing with emotions hitherto unexpected.
I wondered why he wrote Alex’s name. Habit? Subconscious slip?
I cleared my throat. “Did you ever like to get away, Dr. Steinbeck? Before the accident. Escape to nature to clear your mind? Cabin in the woods, maybe?”
He sniffed. “I wish. Too late now."
Rose came in, carrying a tray. She said, “Mind if I eavesdrop a moment? I have coffee and tea.”
Ulysses straightened and wiped more at his eyes and set his pen down. “Yes of course, Rose. Than
k you. I can’t quite remember why I’m so damn emotional at the moment.”
Chapter 28
A dim realization hit me the following morning as I drank coffee and watched Ronnie leave in her Mercedes for the office. The topic of our future still felt nuclear, too hot to touch directly and we danced around it, enjoying each moment like there wouldn’t be another, but with looming dread. As our bonds deepened, the stakes raised, and Ronnie wobbled like an amateur poker player suddenly betting with big money. She’d never cared about tomorrow until she was with me and she worried she would ruin it all. Suffering anxiety about future events which would probably never happen.
Kix and I watched her from the door and she blew kisses from her car as she left.
My first car, father? A red Mercedes and I’ll accept nothing less, said Kix and he laughed at Georgina Princess.
A strange thought, my son driving one day—leaving in my car and me having nothing to drive, being stuck at home.
Stuck at home.
“Huh,” I said to myself. “How about that.”
Okay, fine. I’ll take a Lexus, if I must.
Light bulbs flashing between my ears. “The Jeep, Kix. That’s the answer. The Jeep and the Audi.”
Yes yes. Either will do, sure. Maybe I’m not as picky as I thought. But I’d still prefer the Mercedes, Pops.
I drove to Virginia Tech and parked near Owens Dining Hall. The wind blew harder here today than in Roanoke but temperatures were above freezing and I wasn’t forced to reevaluate my life choices, and that was nice.
I called Alex. She answered brightly and I said, “I’ll be driving near Blacksburg soon. Can I buy you a coffee and update you about the dog and get your thoughts on something?”
“Absolutely, Mr. August. Is my father okay?”
“He’s dynamite. Saw him yesterday.”
“Any reason we can’t talk now over the phone? I’ve got time.”
Argh. Think fast, Mackenzie. “I gotta take another call in a minute, so I can’t. Meet you at Owens Dining Hall later today? Pick a time.”
“Does thirty minutes work? Or an hour?”