It was a single parent with too much on his plate and no skills to properly keep a house. Tessa turned away from so much need and slipped out into the first break of morning, into the rain falling in miraculous, life-giving, steady sheets. She and the pup stood on the broad porch for a long minute, surveying it—the mountains rounding the horizon like a fence against the gods, the bowl of grasslands studded with prickly pears and yucca and sage. Even from here, she could hear the rushing swoosh of the river that held the eastern boundary, filled to the brim by the rainy night.
The porch needed some hanging baskets of petunias and something besides a couple of kitchen chairs, though she liked the spool table. The flower beds needed some marigolds and cosmos.
She shook her head. Somewhere, there was a woman who’d want to take all of this on—the land and the man and the children, all hungry beyond reckoning—but Tessa wasn’t that woman.
“Come on, baby,” she said to the dog, thinking maybe her father would adopt one more dog. She knew he would if she asked.
At the hotel, the overnight desk clerk stopped her. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but that dog can’t go upstairs.”
“I thought you allowed dogs.”
“We are very happy to allow well-groomed dogs. If you’d like to have him groomed, we’ll be glad to let him stay for ten dollars a night.”
“Can I give him a bath?”
The clerk almost visibly shuddered. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
Tessa nodded, looked down at the dog, then up at the clock. It wasn’t quite seven. “Okay,” she said, frowning, trying to think what to do. Where could she get a dog cleaned up at seven in the morning?
It was karma, her father would tell her, a quick return on her sneaking out of Vince’s house so early. He would be dismayed, and after the intensity of the night they shared, he had every right to be. She flashed on his big hands moving over her belly, his cheery stories as they ate, the sense of well-being when she woke up.
And the living room, stacked with clothes that had not yet been put away, the toys piled up in a chair, the vast loneliness written across that scene.
No. It made a panicky heartbeat flutter in her throat.
“Come on,” she said to the dog. He needed a name, but the first order of business was a bath. “Let’s go find us some breakfast, and maybe somebody will know where to get you a bath.”
“Lucky Dog is on Alameda, right next to the river,” the clerk said. “They open at nine.”
“Thanks.” He was only doing his job, she supposed, but really—his shudder was a bit much.
Out on the plaza, which was mostly empty, she felt a sharpness of autumn in the air and thought of what Vince had said. At least it had stopped raining, and the steady downpour left everything washed clean and damp, the air as crisp as cookies. Summer fled the mountains early. As if to emphasize that fact, a clatter of leaves swept off the cottonwood and danced across the cobbles. The dog sat next to her, neatly waiting for instructions, and something about his patience pierced Tessa right through the gut.
“Why did you pick me?” she asked.
The dog looked up, shifted paw to paw. Blinked. It was if he said, Don’t you remember?
“I don’t remember. I wish I did.” She headed for a bench near the tree, gesturing for him to follow her. Sitting down, she faced him and looked deeply into his face. “What’s your name, baby? What do you want me to call you? Something Irish, maybe, or are border collies Scottish? Something with sheep?”
He regarded her with the gentle expectation of a wise old teacher waiting for a student to come up with the answer. She threaded a lock of fur through her fingers, peered off into the distance.
Suddenly, the dog shivered and climbed under her legs, quivering all over. Tessa said, “What?”
Across the plaza strode the beautiful man from the restaurant the very first night she’d been here, the one who made her think of a coyote, all lean fury and ragged intensity. His hair, loose down his back, lifted as he made his way across the plaza to a shadowy spot along the portico, where he tucked himself into the darkness beside a pillar and peered at a place across the way. Again that red fury rippled out from him, singeing the air like a careless fire.
He lit a cigarette and smoked it, watching his prey, whoever it was. Tessa looked over her shoulder, not seeing anything, but after a while she felt uncomfortable and stood up. The dog whimpered, skulking along the ground, and she murmured softly to him, “It’s all right. You’re safe with me.” When she glanced back, the man was gone.
She walked around the block to the damp, cool grounds of the church. It was deserted so early in the morning, but the rain had rendered every leaf and blade a violent green. She settled on a bench by the tomatoes, the dog leaning against her in relief. “Did he hurt you, sweetheart?”
He blinked at her sadly.
“Bastard.” No name came to her still, so she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “My dad will know.”
He shifted, waiting expectantly with her as the phone rang. Absently, she stroked him, tugging out a burr from the fur beneath his ear, another out of his back. “You’ll like being groomed, baby. I promise.”
“Good morning, princess!” Sam said after the second ring. His voice was craggy. “You’re up early.”
“Oh, dang! I forgot it’s not quite six there. So sorry, Dad. Go back to sleep.”
“No, you know I like to talk to you anytime you call. What’s up?”
“Well, I seem to have acquired a dog. You might need to take him when I get back to work.”
“Is that so? What kind of dog? How old?”
“That border collie mix I told you about; maybe six months old. Oh, Dad, he’s sitting here with me on the plaza, and he’s the sweetest thing, and so, so, so smart. He found me the first night I got here and I’ve seen him every day since, and now I can’t leave him.”
“It’s Brenna, you know.”
“Brenna was a girl dog.”
“Doesn’t matter; you know that. I’ve been waiting for her to show up again for a long time. I bet he’s got a star on his forehead, doesn’t he?”
Sure enough, there was a star. “Dad, border collies just have those markings.”
He laughed, low and dark.
“Well, Brenna or not, I need a name for him, and I thought I’d get some input.”
“You ask him?”
She tugged his long silky ear and his eyes drifted half shut. “He says he’s lucky,” she said suddenly.
“Call him Felix,” Sam said. “That means lucky.”
“Are you Felix?” she said, and he licked her wrist. She laughed. “Okay, I guess that’ll work. Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime, princess.”
Breakfast #90
Huevos del Diablo: One of our top dishes. Two eggs, poached in medium red or hot green chile salsa, served over lightly toasted rounds of polenta, lightly crisp strips of corn tortilla, and topped with shredded cheese and a slice of fresh tomato. Served with hash browns and ice water. You’ll need it.
HUEVOS DEL DIABLO
2 round slices of polenta, each 1 inch thick, prepared and chilled
2 cups red or green salsa
2 large eggs
Shredded cheddar or Jack cheese
1 slice of fresh tomato
Grill the polenta in a hot, buttered skillet until light brown. Meanwhile, in another skillet, heat the salsa until simmering, then gently break the eggs into the liquid, one at a time. Poach 4-6 minutes, according to your taste. Plate the polenta, and when the eggs are cooked to the desired doneness, gently remove them from the salsa and nestle each one on a slice of polenta. Spoon hot salsa over the eggs and top with cheese and tomato slice. Serves 1.
TWELVE
In the gray morning, Sam headed out to the beach to walk the dogs. Loki and Wolfenstein raced ahead on the sand, while Peaches made her slow way along the waterline. Sometimes, she paused to smell something or just stand in senile confusion. Sam gently b
rushed the ancient apricot-colored poodle’s long curls every evening to give her some stimulation. The vet shook his head every time Sam brought her in, amazed she was still alive.
There had been storms for a couple of days and the beach was littered with debris, which the dogs explored with exuberance, bringing back joyous little finds—a stick, a fish head, a rock. Sam laughed. “A rock, Loki?” The dog barked and ran the other way with his buddy.
Sam spread a rain poncho out on the damp sand and sat down. Peaches hobbled over to sit close to him. She wore a sweater, hand-knit by a woman who would like to knit a whole lot more with Sam. He gently discouraged her whenever he could, though Peaches’s sweater was so perfect he couldn’t refuse. He petted her soft little head, then took out a notebook and a pen and tried to organize his thoughts.
He had to tell Tessa the things she didn’t know. If she was hanging around the commune, running into his old friends, sooner or later she’d hear about all of it. He’d really hoped to spare her.
Why the hell had she gone trooping back there, anyway? All these years he’d kept her psyche and heart safe, and she was about to undo every little bit of it.
At the thought, his whole belly went hollow, and he prayed to a God he hadn’t believed in since 1967. “Let her know I lied for good reasons,” he said, and started to write.
Dear Princess Tessa,
You should take this letter and go sit down someplace. There are some things I have kept hidden about your life, and I reckon it’s time it all came out. Just remember, it was all for you.
When he finished the letter, he folded it carefully, put it in a pretty envelope, and took it to the post office, where he mailed it before he could chicken out. On the way back down the street, he had to blink away tears, and that made him one damned old fool.
Tessa left the dog at a veterinarian’s office, where he would be groomed and checked for fleas, diseases, and, just to be sure, a microchip. The vet would also let the humane society know a dog had been found. It was all just a formality, but she was happy enough to go through all the steps.
While Felix was being groomed, Tessa sampled the breakfast at a high-end café hung with lacy curtains and offering choices like smoked salmon and caviar served on toast or with cream cheese and fresh bagels; imported English blood sausages and Ayrshire bacon with thyme-infused potato custard. It was very good food. Her boss would love it.
When she picked up Felix, he looked like a different dog. The groomer had tied a bandana around his neck, and his long fur was as shiny, silky, and elegant as a show dog’s. It all made him look beloved.
“Look at you!” Tessa said. His tail swished happily as she approached, and he waited in shivering anticipation for her hug.
Tessa buried her nose in his soft, sweet-smelling neck. “Mmmmm.”
“He’s a terrific dog,” the groomer said. “Smart as a ten-year-old.”
“I found him. He’s been following me around since I came to town a few days ago; he was obviously abandoned. Starving. I decided to take responsibility for him.”
“There are a lot of strays around here. People abandon them and they live on the streets. Breaks my heart.”
“How old do you think he is?”
“Six months or so. He’s probably going to grow quite a bit more, since he hasn’t had enough food, obviously.”
“Border collie?”
“Yeah, but mixed with something else. Maybe husky or shepherd, something like that. My guess is, he’ll probably end up about that size. Bigger than the usual border collie.”
Felix looked at Tessa with calm eyes, and again she had the sense she’d found an ancient soul. “He’s a wise old man in a way,” she said, and kissed his nose. “Come on.”
They sold her a collar and leash, along with a bag of good food. Tessa led him back to the hotel, paid the extra fees, and took him upstairs with her. Opening the French doors to the balcony, she let him explore while she shed the clothes she’d worn for a little too long and took a shower.
Only then did she let the night flood back in. Vince in all his animal power, the bathroom filled with steam, making their skin slippery. In the mirror, she saw the marks and little bruises from lovemaking, and it made her want to sit down and weep.
Too much. He was just too much, all that hungry need and his motherless children and the vast hole at the center of their lives, with no one to put away the clothes and cook a nutritious breakfast every morning before school. She thought of her father, making oatmeal, putting oranges in a bowl for after-school snacks, braiding her hair at night so it wouldn’t tangle while she slept.
How had he become such a good homemaker? She sure had never learned the knack.
No, she was not the right woman for that empty place in Vince Grasso’s life. Briskly, she combed out her hair, put on clean clothes, and pulled out the laptop so she could make notes for the interview with Vita at 100 Breakfasts this afternoon. After that, she typed up her notes on everything else and sent them off to her boss. Then she curled up on the bed with Felix for a little nap in the soft noontime air.
When Vince woke up and realized that Tessa wasn’t just in another room, that she’d taken the dog and left him asleep without a word or a note, he couldn’t believe it. He sat on the front porch in his jeans and no shirt, stung and angry, thinking about her, about the taste of her and the laughing they had done and—
“Get over it,” he said aloud. She was just passing through. What had he expected?
He spent the morning trying to get the house together. Last spring, he’d had a girl from the high school come in once a week to vacuum and dust and put things in order a little, but she had graduated and moved to California for college. He hadn’t found anyone to replace her, but he supposed he ought to get on it.
He washed four loads of clothes, cleaned up the kitchen and reloaded the dishwasher, scrubbed the bathrooms, and stacked folded clothes into piles on the dining-room table, where he’d be forced to move them if the family wanted to eat. When the girls got home, he would make them take their own clothes and toys and books up to their rooms. Natalie could vacuum the hallway upstairs, Jade could dust, and even Hannah could do something. She liked to sweep. He should get her a little broom that would fit her. As he straightened up the dining room, he wondered if he could make a center for homework and school things on the built-in buffet; there were drawers and doors, enough for everybody. He opened the top drawer. It held odds and ends of all kinds—old bills and a photo album and some cassette tapes that no longer had a machine to play them, a knee brace, and a pair of racing gloves. He closed the drawer again, defeated. Maybe he could buy some baskets or something.
Could he just throw it all away, maybe? He opened the drawer. If it had been in there all this time, it probably wasn’t anything he needed. The papers for the ranch, for taxes, for all of that, were in his office upstairs. This was crap. From the kitchen, he fetched a big black trash bag and started throwing things away. It was liberating.
He had to start making the girls do more chores. They were supposed to make their beds, and he did make them set the table and clear it and put dishes into the dishwasher every mealtime. The chaos was overwhelming to him—how could three little girls be expected to feel safe and secure in such a world?
A wave of anger at Carrie washed over him. What the hell had she been thinking, to check out like that? To just leave them?
As long as he lived, he’d never understand it. How did a person desert her children? How did she bear it, knowing she would never see them win a prize or wear a prom dress or graduate from college?
No, he would never understand, not even when the girls were cranky when his mother brought them in, hot from the long car ride, sick of having to be on their best behavior. He sent them outside to play in the back while his mother brought the packages in. “Socks and panties for each one,” she said, and pulled out a piece of paper to help him keep it straight. “Jade’s are pink and white, Hannah’s are green
and yellow, and Natalie had to have red and black.”
In spite of the dark knot of despair in his throat, Vince laughed at that. “She’s got her own drummer, that girl.”
“I bought them each a few pairs of pants and some shirts they can mix and match. Although”—she pulled out one bag—“I didn’t want to buy this one for Natalie, but she absolutely insisted.”
It was a peasant-style blouse, white with embroidery on it, and some red corduroy pants. “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you want her to buy this?”
“Makes her look pretty chubby.”
Flickers of heat licked the back of his skull. “Ma, you’ve gotta stop it with her weight.”
“Vince, she’s a plump child who is going to grow up and be a fat woman if you don’t do something right now.”
“She isn’t plump! She’s got a bit of a tummy. She’s eight years old, for God’s sake. I’m not putting her on a diet.”
“You don’t know,” his mother said, narrowing her eyes, “what it’s like.”
Judy was a big sturdy woman without much softness. Hers was the handsome, hard-chiseled face of a Western woman: strong cheekbones, wide mouth, hooded eyes. She had big hands and feet and plenty of rear end.
“I get it,” he said, putting his hands on her arms. “You want her to be pretty. I appreciate that.” He looked out the front window to see where the girls were. Natalie had climbed to the top of the tree house, her blond hair wild around her face, her arms raised in autocratic direction of her sisters. She was spunky and opinionated and brilliantly smart. She reminded him of his mother in many ways, and maybe she’d grow up to look a lot like her. “I don’t know if she’ll ever be pretty, Ma. But that doesn’t mean she can’t be happy.”
The Secret of Everything Page 16