by Janet Elder
All this baseball led Michael to start thinking about his own upcoming seventh-grade baseball season. He wanted to take advantage of the warm Florida weather and get in some practice. Rich, who had brought his glove to Florida under the assumption that he’d be pressed into nonstop catches during our time at the beach, suggested we stop at a nearby Sports Authority and buy a glove for me, too. That way Michael would have a pitcher and a fielder for his practice.
I knew there was a method to Rich’s madness. Throwing a baseball around on a field in Florida was a long way from having chemotherapy dripped into my veins. It was a good idea, physically, spiritually—just a good idea.
So off we went. Back on the road, we stopped at the Sports Authority on Kennedy Boulevard where I tried on dozens of gloves. I had no idea what one looks for in a glove, so I took Rich’s and Michael’s word for it when they urged me to take the soft, tan outfielder’s glove made by Wilson. I had never owned a baseball glove. When I was growing up, girls didn’t play on school baseball teams. While we walked to the register I put the glove on my hand, punching my fist into it to make it mine. I imagined myself becoming every bit as good a baseball mother–player as Mimi Kepner.
We headed back to the hotel to change and swim in the pool. I had wanted Michael to have some lunch before we went swimming, but he insisted on swimming first, saying he was still full from the pancakes he had eaten for breakfast.
We were the only people at the pool. The sky was growing dark. Still, Michael was the first one in the water. With an eye on Michael in the pool, Rich and I sat down for a moment, talking about the plans for the beach part of our trip. “Come on, Dad,” Michael called. “Come on. I’ve got the football.”
“Give me a minute.”
Just as Rich stood up to take off his T-shirt and dive into the pool, it started to drizzle. The sky was getting darker by the minute. I was the killjoy. “Come on, Michael, it’s starting to rain. You have to get out of the pool.”
“Let’s wait and see if it stops,” he called.
“It is not going to. Come on, let’s get some lunch. If it stops, we can come back later.”
A dripping, disappointed, suddenly hungry Michael got out of the pool, wrapped a towel around himself, and asked: “What are we going to have for lunch?”
We went upstairs to change. Rich stretched out on the bed. Michael grabbed the remote control, turned on the TV, and started surfing the channels looking for SportsCenter. I was about to go into the bathroom to take a shower when my cell phone rang.
“I’ll bet it’s The Times,” Michael said. “If it is the paper, don’t answer it,” he went on. “You promised you would not do any work.”
“I have to answer it.” I grabbed my phone and looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t the paper. It was Barbara. “It’s Auntie Babs.”
I flipped open the phone. “Hi.”
“Jan, I’m at work. I conferenced Dave in. He’s on, too.”
“What’s wrong?” I didn’t want to hear the answer.
Our room was suddenly silent. Michael had turned the television off. I could feel him and Rich staring at me.
In a cracking, barely audible voice, Dave said: “Janet, I am really sorry, Huck ran away this morning. We’ve looked for him all day. He’s gone.”
I couldn’t speak. The shock and pain nearly overwhelmed me. I looked at Michael while I was trying to absorb Dave’s words. I could not bear it. I handed the phone to Rich.
“Dave.”
Dave repeated to Rich what he had just said to me. Huck was gone.
“Oh, no. Oh, no.”
At just that moment, Michael put the pieces of the conversation together and threw himself at me, sobbing uncontrollably. “WHAT HAPPENED TO HUCK? IS IT HUCK?”
Before I could answer, he yelled again, “JUST TELL ME. WHAT HAPPENED TO HUCK?”
I tried not to cry. “He ran away.”
Michael was screaming and crying. The cries were visceral, as though he were in excruciating physical pain. I held him. His whole body was shaking. His cries were so loud, Rich could not hear Dave.
Rich raised his voice. “When did this happen?”
In a very slow, quiet way, Dave began to step Rich through the morning’s events. He recounted the story that is every dog owner’s nightmare, the nightmare that makes it so risky to give your heart over to a pet in the first place. For our family, our little Huck represented nothing less than the affirmation of life.
“It was about seven thirty. I went out to the driveway to get the paper like I always do.”
Barbara kept interrupting Dave. “Has Huck had a rabies shot?”
“We’ll get to that, honey,” Dave said to Barbara.
Then he continued. “I came through the backyard and locked the gate behind me. Huck was out in the backyard doing his business. I was standing in the driveway looking around for the paper and the next thing I knew Huck was barking and running down the driveway. At first I called to him, but he wouldn’t come. Huck would just not come to me. I kept trying to catch him, but every time I reached for him, he ran from me.”
Barbara started to talk over Dave. “Has Huck had his rabies shot?” she asked again.
Impatiently, Rich turned to me. “Janet, has Huck had his rabies shot?”
“Yes, yes, why?”
Rich tried to continue with Dave. Rich was doing his best to keep his own emotions at bay, concentrating fully on getting the facts. He was now speaking in forceful tones. “Barbara, he’s had his rabies shot. Now, Dave, this happened when?”
“It was early this morning, before Darian went to school. In fact, she didn’t go to school today; she stayed home to help look for Huck. She’s really upset.”
Rich could not piece the story together fast enough. “Dave, how did Huck get out?”
“He is so small and so skinny, he must have been able to slip through the part of the fence where it meets the gate,” Dave continued. “There are about three inches there. I don’t know if he saw me on the driveway getting the paper and wanted to follow me, or if he just wanted to get out of the backyard. I just don’t know. But all of a sudden, there he was barking, running around between the front yard and the driveway. Whenever anyone came near him, he’d run. Darian tried to get him to come to her. And if he’d go to anyone, he’d go to her, but he wouldn’t. At one point I was able to grab hold of him from the rear, but he turned and sank his teeth into me, which surprised me. It wasn’t a very good place on his body to grab him, but I didn’t have a choice. And then once he started biting, I couldn’t hold on. Barb was trying to leave for work—she was all dressed and was in heels—but she came running out of the house to try and catch him, too.”
Barbara was still worried about what Huck had done to Dave. “You should see my husband’s hand. He can’t use it. I want him to have a doctor look at it. He won’t go.”
Rich, whose sharp mind always functions with laserlike precision, kept trying to bring the conversation back to the time line. “I’m really sorry about your hand, Dave. Let’s come back to that in a minute. Finish telling me what happened.”
Dave’s voice had now grown a lot steadier. “It was the morning rush hour, there was a lot of traffic in front of the house. There is some construction going on about a half mile up Wyckoff Avenue, so everything was kind of backed up. At one point, Huck was at the end of the driveway and I was worried he would dash out into the road and get hit by a car. Barb went out in the street and stopped the traffic. Darian and I kept trying to catch Huck. People in their cars were watching what was going on. Huck just kept running between the front yard and the driveway. People walking to school stopped to watch. A lot of horns were blaring because of the traffic mess. At one point a heavyset guy driving a truck stopped, got out of his truck, and started walking toward Huck, and making all these noises at him. I guess the guy thought he could make Huck run back toward the house. But that didn’t happen. The guy just scared Huck even more. Huck tore up Wyckoff Avenue, in the
direction of Hubbard School. I was still in my robe and slippers and Darian was still in her pajamas, but we all went running after him, including Barb in her high heels. We kept calling him, but he just kept going. I can run pretty fast, but he outran us right away. Darian ran up past Oak Street, but she lost him, too. At that point Barbara had to get to work. Darian and I have been out looking for Huck all day. She wouldn’t go to school.”
Rich was finally getting the picture. “What about your hand, Dave?”
“He got me pretty good. Like I said, I was really surprised he would do that to me. But it’s all right. Barbara thinks it’s worse than it really is. There was a lot of blood, but I don’t think there is any real damage. It is kind of swollen right now. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m very sorry Huck bit you like that.”
“Rich, we’re the ones who are sorry. I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible. We are all so upset.”
“We’re upset, too,” Rich said. “Let us figure out what we’re going to do and I’ll call you back. What kinds of things have you been doing to find him?”
“I called a friend of mine who lives up that way and he said he saw Huck run by. This guy said he didn’t think Huck would run past where they’re doing the road work. So we’ve been driving around looking for him in all those streets back there. But we haven’t seen him. I called some of the police stations and veterinarians within a five-mile radius. Darian has been working on a sign. I can expand the radius if you want me to.”
“Yes, of course, do that. It couldn’t hurt,”
Rich said. Rich now wanted to get off the phone with Barbara and Dave so he could collect his thoughts. “Let me call you back in a few minutes when we know what we’re going to do.”
Meanwhile, Michael had not been able to stop sobbing. I tried to both hold him and reach for Rich’s cell phone at the same time. Working the phones was intuitive for me. I wanted to start calling the airlines to find out how soon we could get on a plane. There was no question in my mind that we were going to go home and look for Huck.
“You shouldn’t come home,” Barbara said to Rich. “We can put up a sign and keep looking for Huck. You should stay and try to enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Rich said. “Let me talk to Janet; I think she is on the phone with the airlines. I’ll call you back.”
Rich hung up the phone and reached for Michael. But Michael pulled away and reached for his suitcase, still only half unpacked, and started throwing his clothes into it. In soft tones Rich started to explain to Michael what had happened.
“When Uncle Dave went out to get the paper off their driveway this morning, Huck somehow got through the backyard fence. Uncle Dave tried to catch him and so did Auntie Babs and Darian, but they couldn’t. Huck ran up Wyckoff Avenue. Uncle Dave and Darian have been looking for Huck all day, but they have not been able to find him.”
“Is he dead?” Michael asked.
“A friend of Uncle Dave’s who lives in the direction Huck ran in saw Huck, but I don’t know when that was.”
It was now about 3:30 in the afternoon. We’d soon be facing rush hour. I was having a hard time convincing American Airlines to find tickets so that we could fly home right away. I begged the woman on the other end of the phone to find us seats, on any airline, for anytime that afternoon or evening. She said there was nothing for the rest of the day. I begged some more. I told her we had to get home for a family emergency and then explained to her what the emergency was. I was grateful to be put on hold. I thought it was a good sign.
I told Rich he ought to start packing, too. He paused, then said, “Is this the right decision?” and then didn’t even wait for an answer. “Tell her we have to get home, tell her to let you speak to a supervisor, ask if we can just come to the airport and be on standby.”
While I waited on hold, I looked over at Michael. Our son’s heart was shattered. Our little eight-month-old, nine-pound puppy whom we had left in a strange place was now lost. Forget the ball games. Forget diving into the Atlantic Ocean and lying on the beach with a book. Forget feeling carefree. Forget trying out that new baseball glove. Nothing mattered now but finding Huck.
“Ms. Elder?”
“Yes, yes.”
“I can give you the last three seats on our last flight out of Tampa. It leaves at 6:02.”
“That’s great. We’ll take them. Let’s just exchange the tickets we have for next week out of Palm Beach for the tickets out of Tampa tonight.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that.”
I don’t remember what she said after that until she came to the part about the tickets costing $500 a piece—one way from Florida to New York, $500 times three—$1,500, just to get us home. Buying more tickets also meant we were now stuck with three return tickets out of Palm Beach. The woman’s assurance that we could save the Palm Beach tickets and use them anytime in the next year was cold comfort.
I knew we didn’t have a choice. I gave her my credit card number, took down the flight number and our reservation numbers, and got off the phone. By the time I did, Michael had stopped crying, his eyes were nearly swollen shut. “I’m packed. Can we go?” he asked.
“Just give Dad and me a few minutes to pull everything together and we’re out of here.”
I called down to the front desk to ask if they’d get the bill ready. I explained that we’d have to be checking out now instead of tomorrow morning because our dog ran away and we had to get back home to look for him. “Would you hold on for just a minute?” the clerk asked. I started using my free hand to pack. “Ma’am, there will be no charge for tonight. We’ll have your bill ready for you in five minutes. Just stop by the desk on your way out. I hope you find your dog.”
No gesture ever made me feel more kindly toward a hotel. It eased the $1,500 sticker shock of the plane tickets. “We’d like to give our Yankees tickets away. Can anyone at the desk use three tickets for tonight’s Yankees game?”
“That’s very nice. I’ll ask around.”
I hung up and started to pack, hurriedly explaining to Rich that our vacation just cost $1,500 more, although we had been saved some money by the hotel. He was only half listening to me. Rich had turned all of his worry inward and was blaming himself for Huck’s disappearance.
“I knew it, I just knew it. That’s why I was worried about the holes under the fence. It’s my fault. It is no one’s fault but mine. I felt it in my bones. I don’t know why I went ahead with this arrangement if I thought something bad might happen. I never should have rolled the dice. I should not have put Huck in this position and I should not have put the Clarks in this position. It is my fault. I am so mad at myself.”
Of course it wasn’t Rich’s fault any more than it was my fault or Barbara’s or Dave’s. But there was no talking to Rich about it in that moment. I knew he was as heartsick as I was and worried that our rush home would just set Michael up for more anguish. It was another roll of the dice.
I asked Rich to call Dave back and tell him we were on our way. “Ask him if it’s really cold. We may have to go by our apartment first to get our winter jackets.”
“We have to go home first anyway; we need our car.”
“Let’s just go,” Michael pleaded. “Can’t we just go straight to the Clarks? We can use their car.”
I didn’t want to involve Michael in all of the arrangements. “Just tell Dave we’re on a six o’clock flight; we’ll be at their house around ten. Oh yeah, and ask him for the name of that hotel we once stayed at near their house, the one we stayed at over Thanksgiving.”
I looked at the clock. We didn’t have much time to make our flight. We had to get out of the hotel, drive to the airport, return the rental car, get our tickets, and get through security. I stuffed my clothes in my suitcase, along with the new baseball glove, my books, and my needlepoint project. There was no point in putting any of it in my carry-on bag.
My cell phone was l
osing its charge. I knew there were countless calls still to make once we got to the airport, so I put the phone charger and my Palm Pilot in my handbag along with a pad and pen. I started rummaging through Michael’s suitcase to pull out anything with long sleeves. The air on the plane would be cold. New York would be even colder.
Rich called Dave to let him know our plans and find out about the hotel. “It’s the Woodcliff Lake Hilton on Tice Road. You sure you want to come home?” Dave asked.
“We have to, Dave.”
“OK. Well, Darian is working on the sign.”
“That’s great. Tell her to write that there is a reward—$1,000—cash.”
Michael was sitting on the floor, with his back up against one of the beds. “Let’s make it $2,000,” he said to Rich. “I can put in the other $1,000 from all of my birthday money in the bank.”
Rich reached out and touched Michael’s shoulder. “A thousand dollars is a lot of money,” he said to Michael. “It is enough to get people to pay attention. Anyone who would look for Huck for $2,000 would look for Huck for $1,000. We don’t have to use your money.”
And then Rich was back to Dave: “A thousand-dollar reward, Dave.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“Oh, and Dave, I think you might have a picture of Huck. I sent one to Barbara in an e-mail when we first got Huck. You probably still have it, and if you do, Darian could use it on the sign.”
“Okay, we’ll check. We’ll see you later.”
Rich was calmer. No doubt he was already working out the game plan. I was busy trying to get us out of Tampa and into a New Jersey hotel. That was the easy part. I knew Rich was wrestling with the impossible—figuring out how we were going to set out to find a tiny dog in an unfamiliar wooded mountainous area. He had already decided on a $1,000 reward. He had already realized that the Clarks had a picture of Huck buried on their hard drive.