Thanksgiving Night (Angel Paws Holiday)

by Jordan Taylor

  Thanksgiving Night

  an Angel Paws Holiday short story

  Jordan Taylor

  * * *

  Copyright © 2013 by Jordan Taylor. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover photograph by Ksenia Raykova.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or dogs, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No trees were harmed in the creation or publication of this work.

  Short Stuff Press

  * * *

  Thanksgiving Night

  Michelle thought the first month must be the hardest. The adjustment, learning to get on with her life—to live without Jacob. Now, as she sat at the computer, the Skype call just ended, she dropped her head in her hands and closed her eyes. No, the first month being alone wasn’t the hardest. It was the last month.

  It was Thanksgiving Day. The first Thanksgiving in twelve years that she had not shared with Jacob. The only Thanksgiving their boys, Lucas and Elijah, ever spent without their father.

  She told herself he was safe and well. She told herself he would be home by Christmas. She told herself this too would pass and she was being selfish. Thousands of others said goodbye to their husbands, sons, brothers, fathers when they were deployed overseas every year, every month, every day.

  But tears slipped between her lashes and she bit her lip. It would be a memory soon. Today, now, she had to make this a great Thanksgiving for the boys and for herself. She had just promised Jacob, worlds away, that she would.

  A long, wet tongue dragged across her cheek, licking away salty tears. Michelle sat back, looking down at Night.

  “Daddy will be home soon,” she whispered.

  Night, the massive, jet black German Shepherd Dog, cocked his head. He knew “Daddy” as well as the two human boys in the family. He looked from Michelle to the now blank computer screen where Jacob had waved and said he loved her a moment before. Then he glanced toward the door, long tail waving gently back and forth.

  “No.…” Michelle shook her head. “I’m sorry, Night.” She wiped her eyes and took the big dog’s head in her hands. “Soon. Not yet, but soon.”

  He gazed into her eyes, as if trying to read her words inside them.

  “Mom! I can’t find my shoes!” Lucas’s voice called from somewhere around the stairs.

  Night trotted for the office door and Michelle followed.

  “Did you look under your bed?”

  “They’re not in my room,” Lucas shouted back. “Elijah, have you seen my shoes?”

  Elijah, who was only five, did not answer. Michelle found the two boys on the stairs as she walked into the foyer—Lucas standing at the bottom, looking around, while Elijah sat at the top, clutching the old and surly cat, Raggedy, in his arms.

  “Elijah, please don’t crush the cat. Lucas, look in the garage. Did you take them off outside the door?”

  “I think Night took them again.” Lucas rounded on Night, who had walked up to him, wagging his tail. “Where are my shoes?”

  “He didn’t take your shoes. Go check the garage. Elijah, please let the cat go. Have you brushed your teeth? Are you ready to go to Nan and Pat’s?”

  Although … perhaps he had. Michelle glanced at Night as Lucas ran off to check the garage, insisting that they weren’t there. Night used to steal things when he was younger—a hand towel, a shirt, his own leash, a shoe: hoarding objects under the cushion in his bed like a packrat. But he’d grown out of it, she thought. Then Jacob left and many things changed. Including Elijah’s need to clutch something at all times, whether her arm or his stuffed rabbit or the poor cat. And Lucas’s tending to be short-tempered with his little brother, not to mention her and the dog now. And Night himself. Night having gone back to his old ways: stealing things, ignoring Michelle when she called, rolling on his back to keep from being hauled into the bathtub, barking through the fence at the neighbor’s Basset Hound despite her never doing a thing besides lie on the deck.

  Some days, since Jacob was gone, Michelle felt she was being pulled in twenty directions at once. She didn’t know whether to run in circles or curl up and burst into tears.

  And she had thought the first month would be the hardest.

  Michelle took a deep breath and started up the stairs. If she couldn’t handle everything, she could at least handle some things. She pulled Raggedy from Elijah’s arms and the cat sped down the hall toward the master bedroom. Night, spotting the flash of movement, surged past Michelle and Elijah, thundering up the stairs and down the hall, whining with excitement.

  “Night, no!” Michelle shouted as he hurtled past.

  The next second, he was barking in the bedroom, clawing carpet as he fought to drag his nearly 100 pounds under the bed with the hissing cat.

  If only she didn’t run. Raggedy could lie around in the sun for weeks and Night acted as if he didn’t even notice she lived in the house. Let her run and all of Night’s prey drive kicked in: small animal, moving fast, chase, catch.

  Of course, he had caught her before and Michelle knew he wouldn’t hurt the cat. It was all great fun to Night. Yet, that didn’t help Raggedy. Or Michelle’s eardrums, she thought as the barking reverberated through the house.

  “Night, Quiet!”

  He barked a few more times, then emerged into the hall to stare at her, still whining.

  Night was never meant to lead a house pet’s life. She didn’t blame him for being high-strung, always ready for something to happen, eager for some vague but important Big Event. She loved Night, she had adored the beautiful shepherd since the first day Jacob brought him home. Still, he had never respected her the way he did Jacob and, on top of the boys and the holidays and Jacob being away, the big, eager dog was just about one too many lately.

  Night, whose registered name was Navrátil Noční Obloha (Navrátil’s Night Sky), came to them through Czech working lines imported for the U.S. military. Jacob, not a K-9 handler himself but an NCO in a K-9 unit, had his name on a list for flunked dogs for years before being introduced to Night.

  After evaluation and an introductory training period, Night was dropped from the K-9 program for lax drive. In other words, he lacked work ethic and the kind of intense passion and motivation that made a good K-9. Just the dog who might make a good family companion instead.

  Right now, he was making a roadblock. Michelle closed the master bedroom door and guided Elijah around Night, to his own room where he needed to finish getting ready to leave for her in-laws’ and Thanksgiving dinner with Jacob’s family—including Lucas and Elijah’s favorite cousins.

  The nearly two hour drive upstate to the relatives’ meant both that they were running very late and that Night had to accompany them. With the boys, the dog, snacks, toys for the road, drinks for dinner, a hostess gift for Clara—known to all her grandkids as Nan—leash, blanket, and rawhide ring for Night, along with a dozen other odds and ends finally packed in the green Forester, Michelle stood back.

  “Got everything?”

  Lucas read a comic book, already buckled into the back seat. He didn’t look up. Elijah reached with both hands to hold Night’s head while the tall dog leaned over the backs of the seats to methodically lick the little boy’s face.

  Michelle had read somewhere that dogs’ mouths had fewer germs than humans’. As she dropped into her own seat and started the engine, she hoped it was true. At least they were both occupied: Elijah didn’t ask about Daddy and Night didn’t bark.

 
Traffic was sparse on Thanksgiving morning, one small blessing.

  No, Michelle had to remind herself as she drove: how many dozens, hundreds, of blessings did she have in her life? Those two healthy, bright boys in the back seats for starters. It just took a little more reminding, a little more discipline, to remember them all when Jacob was 5,000 miles away.

  The rest of the family were already there when Michelle and the kids arrived. This wouldn’t have bothered Michelle if not for the spectacle of herself wrestling Night from the Forester, through the house, past the warm, bright kitchen—overflowing with a vast array of savory aromas from turkey to homemade rolls—to shove him into the tiny back yard. The kids all wanted to pet him, Night jumping and pawing at them, while the adults took several steps back.

  Too much, Michelle thought, not for the first time, as she pushed the sliding door closed in Night’s face. He was, really, a good dog and, at his best, well-trained. But he was also young and headstrong and needed someone who could keep up with him and keep that energy worked off and that intelligence in line. He needed Jacob.

  With his blanket on the little back deck and his new rawhide ring gripped in those long, powerful jaws, Night paced about the old wood, gazing all the time through the glass door. Michelle had a marrow bone for him in the cooler. Best to save that for later.

  After hugs and greetings, with many requests for news from Jacob, Michelle tried to help with dinner. Soon, she found herself pulled into the game zone set up in the living room.

  Jacob’s family had a tradition of playing games together on Thanksgiving day while the turkey baked. Board games, card games, party games, games Michelle had never heard of which mixed all ages and any group size. The kids had been playing sardines when Michelle and her boys arrived. Now they crowded into the living room for Twister while Uncle Mark set up an antique Monopoly board.

  Night scratched the glass door before lying down with his ring. Michelle knew the kids would be out later to run around with him when they grew tired of Monopoly.

  Before everyone sat down for dinner, she gave Night his marrow bone and told him what a good dog he was. He set upon the bone like a starving wolf, chomping and slavering over it as if Michelle hadn’t fed him all week.

  She gazed at the clear, cold sky, the first stars of twilight just visible. Was Jacob watching those stars now? This morning, she only spoke to him for a few minutes, finding out he was all right, telling him she loved him. What had he eaten for Thanksgiving dinner? She hadn’t had time to ask. Whatever it was, she hoped it didn’t have to be rehydrated.

  She patted Night, still slurping over the bone, and turned inside to warmth and rich food and smiling company.

  Full and exhausted for the late drive home in the dark, Michelle kept the now agreeable Lucas engaged in conversation to avoid growing drowsy. They talked over the meal—favorite parts, what a good cook Nan was. They talked about tomorrow and what they would do. Michelle refused to go shopping on Black Friday, but some of the deals advertised on TV looked tempting. They talked about Night, who was pacing around in the back, looking for something to do. (“Don’t let him chew on anything back there, Lucas.”) And they talked about Jacob and how he would be home by Christmas.

  Christmas. Michelle felt warmed thinking about it now. It didn’t seem such a long time away after all. Thanksgiving was over, almost. Somehow, Christmas seemed a whole lot closer on this side of it.

  By the time she turned into the suburban neighborhood, then down their own cul-de-sac, Michelle really was growing drowsy. It was past 11:00 and all three of her boys were apparently asleep in the back.

  She noticed the dark windows and empty driveways of neighbors away seeing family. A strange van stood across the street and another unknown car at the end of the cul-de-sac parked in a driveway where the house beyond still glowed.

  Having everyone you loved close at hand was a blessing Michelle would never again take for granted. She shut off the engine and sighed, leaning back, eyes closed. So tired. The house would be dark and cold. The car felt warm and comfortable. She still felt so full, having, of course, consumed her recommended calories for about three months in one sitting.

  How pleasant to just doze off right now and unload the car tomorrow. She sighed, unbuckled her seatbelt, and pushed open her door.

  She had to carry Elijah, limp for once, grasping no security object, while Lucas groggily rolled out of his seat and walked around to open the back for Night. Night bounded into the dark driveway, shaking and stretching, huge ears pricked, the only one of them alert and chipper.

  Night sniffed around the yard as Michelle and Lucas started up the cement walkway to the front door. She didn’t worry about him. He always stayed in his own yard and close to his people unless a squirrel or cat ran past. It wasn’t until he lifted his leg on the light post by the walkway that she realized the light was out. No wonder it seemed so dark. She should have left a light on inside that morning.

  She fumbled for several seconds at the front door, trying to hold Elijah and find the correct key at the same time. Night pushed between her and Lucas, whimpering at the door, his tail up and waving, ears pricked. He usually acted like that about going out, not in.

  Finally, Michelle pushed the door open. Night dashed inside. She reached for a light switch as Lucas said, “Watch it—you almost knocked me down,” to the dog, who was bounding up the stairs as if being called.

  Something happened then. Something in a flash so fast and sharp, it felt as if it had been happening for all of the proceeding minutes, leading Michelle to this moment when she finally figured it out: a series of events popping into her consciousness in a flash like a bolt of lightning:

  Strange van parked across the street in the dark. Excited, agitated dog. Outside light dead. Cool breeze touching her cheek as she stepped inside the house. Dog flying inside as if to something important.

  In that flash, she knew a split second before her fingers tripped the switch that nothing would happen. Nothing did happen. The foyer remained dark. The chill, November breeze pushed on her from the wide open back door. The dog’s thundering paws pounded up the stairs into the hall.

  Then came action. One second, one flashing thought, one flick of a dead switch, then Michelle moved so fast she didn’t have time to think anymore. She grabbed Lucas’s arm and whirled away, back out the door, dragging him with her, Elijah still held with the other.

  She thought there would be a bark, a growl, something. But she heard only a great crash like a floor lamp being knocked aside, a man’s deep voice shouting an oath from somewhere upstairs, then a much louder and more ground-shaking crash as the yelling man was thrown to the floor.

  She heard footsteps pound along the upstairs hall, then down the stairs as she raced across the path back to the car. Surely the shouting man couldn’t already be back on his feet: two of them.

  Bang, crash. Someone fell down the stairs, snapping off thin banister rails before crashing to the wood floor in the foyer.

  Michelle yanked the back car door open, shoved both boys inside, then slammed the door. As she threw herself into the front seat, a dark figure burst from their open front door. Head bowed, limping after his fall down the stairs, the man ran across the lawn toward the van parked on the other side of the street.

  Michelle grabbed for the wheel only to discover she was in the passenger seat. There, in the cup-holder, her phone. She grabbed it: 911, hardly able to hear the boys’ terrified voices in the back over the blood hammering in her ears.

  The man had crossed their lawn, never glancing in their direction, running for his van, when a black shape appeared in the doorway. As if he’d been shot from a cannon, Night flew across the yard in less than two seconds. Mouth wide, teeth glinting in moonlight, he slammed into the legs of the running man so hard the force carried them both across the road to smash against the unyielding van.

  The man screamed, cursing, beating at the dog with both fists, kicking and trying to get the van do
or open at the same time.

  “What’s your emergency?”

  The voice in Michelle’s ear made her jump. “Someone has broken into our house! Please send the police! 244 Southeast Oak!”

  The man had the van door open, the dog’s teeth locked around his ankle, yelling and kicking.

  Michelle threw open her door, unable to hear the emergency operator’s voice though she knew the woman was speaking. “Night, no! Let go! Let him go!”

  Then the man turned back from leaning far inside the van, whirling around to face the big dog. Something metal glinted in his hand in the moonlight.

  “Night!” Michelle shouted. Then all three of the Forester’s inhabitants screamed as the gun’s light ripped across darkness in a neon flash and the sound of the shot hammered through the car like fireworks.

  Finally, Night did let go. He dropped the leg, launching himself upward at the same time to bite down on the man’s hand. The pistol dropped as the man screamed, pulling himself into the driver’s seat, beating on Night’s head with his fist, then slamming the door against the dog’s body until he finally broke the grip and pulled his injured hand inside, crashing the door shut.

  “They’re on their way. Ma’am, can you hear me? The police are on their way.”

  Night threw himself against the door, scrabbling at it, trying to bite the window.

  “Night! Night!” Both boys were shouting. Lucas threw open his door but Michelle dropped the phone and grabbed her oldest son.

  “Stay in the car!” She struggled to hold him and pull both doors closed.

  When she looked up, the van was speeding up the street: no headlights, swerving as if the driver could hardly hold the wheel. Michelle was afraid Night would give chase, but he had already whirled around and rushed back into the house. He jumped the steps to the front door, then vanished inside.

  “Is he okay?” Lucas struggled. “Was he shot?”

  “Just stay where you are. Don’t leave the car.”