Jim looked her up and down, his face unreadable, then turned back to Edy. “Where’s my hug?” he asked, although it was more a command than a question.
Edy jumped up like a trained circus animal performing to avoid a lash of a whip. She ran and threw her hands around his waist, but he nudged her back with his hip and lifted her chin, staring between his wife and daughter’s faces. “You two got some sun today, huh?”
“We took a walk to the lake,” Fiona quickly said.
Riley had done well to call. At least it had given Fiona a few minutes to stash any evidence of a third party, like the cooler with three empty water bottles and sandwich wrappings.
“Were you alone?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy. Just me and Mommy.”
“Nice. I’m glad you were out having fun while I was working hard,” he said, but Riley could tell he wasn’t glad at all. “What’s for dinner?” He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed as if to indicate that he didn’t smell anything cooking.
“I…I didn’t make anything,” Fiona said. “We weren’t expecting you until after ten. I figured you’d eat on the road. I was about to heat up some leftovers for Edy and me.”
“I sent you a text and left a message that I’d be home for dinner.”
Fiona looked scared and began to stammer. “Oh, I…I didn’t see it. I’m sorry. I left my phone charging in the house.” She nervously ran a hand over her head.
Jim nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “What’d you get done around here?”
“Not too much. It’s only been a few days. Edy had therapy and the dentist. I did some shopping, picked you up those T-shirts you wanted. Oh, and Mr. Wiltz came by Tuesday to empty the barn.”
Edy scrunched her shoulders and quietly left the conversation, taking the opportunity to disengage herself and return to the television, where the turtle was helping herself to another grape. “Good girl, Gomez,” Riley heard Edy whisper as she stroked the turtle’s shell with one hand and began chewing on the fingernails of her other hand. Poor kid. The tension in the room was palpable. Even from outside, Riley could feel it.
“So there’s no dinner for me, and you didn’t accomplish anything. But you managed to have fun at the lake.” He shook his head, snorting his disgust. “You’re good for nothing, you know that? Fucking good for nothing…” He looked around the room. Riley quickly ducked away from the window and stood still with her back straight against the front of the house. “At least the turtles are getting dinner,” he said. A coolness in his tone—the calm before the storm, Riley suspected—set Fiona on edge.
She apologized again. “I know you’re tired. I’m sorry I missed your call,” she said as Riley peeked back in. “Go take a shower and relax. I’ll boil some pasta and have something ready by the time you get out.”
“Pasta?” Jim jerked his head at her. “I don’t want pasta,” he hissed. “I want a real dinner. I want some fucking meat.”
“Okay. I’ll cook you dinner.” Fiona put her hand on his chest and patted it. “Tell me what you want. I’ll see what I have in the freezer.”
What he wanted was to haul off and slap her, judging from his agitated expression. He glared at the back of Edy’s head as she sat there biting her nails and, Riley presumed, only making believe she was actually watching her program. What kid could pay attention to a show with an argument escalating?
“Hmm…let’s see…what do I want?” He looked up at the ceiling, the tip of his tongue playing in one corner of his open mouth and then the other, as though contemplating an invisible menu. He nodded to himself then, as though he’d made a selection. “You know what? Don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’ll make my own dinner. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.” He shoved past Fiona, almost bowling her over, and headed for the kitchen.
“Jim?” Fiona stood there, frozen, until a loud bang and the clanging of metal made them all shudder—Riley and the turtles included. And it didn’t stop. It sounded like Jim was having a tantrum in there, throwing pots and pans all over the kitchen floor.
Riley dashed off the porch, racing over to the open kitchen window. The curtains were parted, and from a crouching position she edged her head up far enough to see Jim down on his knees, emptying a large cabinet beside the stove. He flung one pan after another across the kitchen with such force that they bounced off the walls.
Fiona rushed in and stopped in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she yelled, her hands shaking as she tucked a loose strand of her hair around her ear.
Jim ignored her as he reached into the back of the almost-empty cabinet and pulled out what he was apparently searching for. A lobster pot. “Ah, here it is,” he said in a pleasantly satisfied voice that contradicted his body language. “Perfect!” He took it over to the sink, slammed it down, and turned on the faucet.
Riley lowered her head, listening to the pot fill, which seemed to take forever. She waited until she heard the water shut off, then raised her head again to see him carrying the heavy pot back to the stove, kicking the other pots and pans out of his way with the side of his boot like they were hockey pucks. Fiona’s eyes grew frantic, and she jumped when the pot hit the stove with another loud bang. Maybe he’d changed his mind about boiling pasta, although it seemed too big a pot for a little spaghetti.
“What are you doing?” Fiona asked again.
Jim turned on the burner, set the flame high, and turned to her. “Cooking myself some dinner,” he said matter-of-factly. “Someone’s got to cook around here.”
“In that big pot?”
Jim rested his hands on his hips, calmly turning to her with a smile that bordered on maniacal. “It’s the only one big enough to cook a turtle.”
“Oh, stop it!” Fiona said, as though not taking him seriously. “I said I’ll cook dinner for you.”
“Too late. I have this sudden hankering for turtle soup.”
“Jim…just calm down,” she said, her expression growing frantic. She stretched her arm across the doorway to keep him from walking out.
He rushed at her with a sneer, stopping when his nose almost touched hers. “I’ll tell you what,” he whispered. “I’ll only cook one tonight. That’ll be your lesson. Maybe it’ll teach you to check your phone when I’m on the road. And if I ever come home again and find no hot meal waiting…I’ll eat the other one. Deal?”
“Don’t you dare!” she cried.
“Stop with the tears, Fiona. You’re pathetic.”
Jim knocked her arm from the doorway, and Edy must have been listening, because as he stormed down the hall, she started screaming. “No, Daddy. Please!” And then, “Gomez!” she cried, as he must have taken the turtle from her.
Jim came back in holding it and headed for the stove. Fiona ran up behind him, pounding a fist on his back, and then Edy was there, grabbing her father’s waistband from behind. He fended them off, giving Fiona’s jaw a good whack with his elbow as he tried to fit the turtle in. Gomez’s shell was almost as round as the pot, and Jim had to stand the turtle upright. Immediately Gomez’s front feet grabbed the rim, her neck outstretched as she tried to do a pull-up and climb back out. Jim gave her nose a hard slap, and when she withdrew into her shell, he slammed the lid on the pot. “See, Edy, this is all your mother’s fault,” he said.
Fiona struggled to get around him, but he grabbed her wrists and wrestled her out of the kitchen, then dragged Edy by the arm and tossed her out, too. He stood with his back toward Riley now, blocking the kitchen doorway with his body.
Riley’s heart pounded, her mind racing as she watched the flames lick the pot. The water was still cold, she knew, but the bottom must have been scorching-hot by now. Even with Fiona and Edy both hysterical, she could hear Gomez clawing frantically at the metal walls. Riley turned in circles, searching the ground for something, anything, until she spied a rock. It was the size of a softball, and without another thought she picked it up and threw it with all her might at the glass of the raised window. It shattered as t
he rock sailed through, crashing against the counter and plunking to the floor. It was enough to make Jim race out of the kitchen.
“What the—I’m gonna kill someone!” he roared.
At least it wouldn’t be Gomez he killed. Riley bolted, turning the corner of the house so fast that she slid and landed on the seat of her pants. She managed to jump back up, but as she took off, she began to stagger. Her coordination was off, her body not moving right. She tripped over her own feet, falling forward onto the palms of hairy hands.
The front door banged with such force the ground shook. And then came the blast of a gun fired in the air. Riley scrambled for the tree line and, when she reached it, scurried as fast as she could, a good hundred feet into the woods, which was halfway to her car. She pulled out her phone and called 911 while she could still dial. She didn’t have an address to give, but it was a small town. The police would know where the farmhouse was.
“I want to report a domestic disturbance at the old Barrett residence on Blueberry Hill Road near the—” That’s as far as she got before she lost her voice and her fingers. The phone slipped from her grip to the ground. She stepped on the screen, tapping furiously with her paw until she managed to hit the end-call button. She laid back then, listening to Jim’s threats and silently bearing the jolting pain of shifting when it happened this fast.
Through the trees she caught glimpses of Jim running wildly back and forth along the tree line. “I see you in there! You come out here now,” he shouted, but Riley knew he was bluffing. If he saw anything, it would have been a large wolf-like creature dressed in clothes, and he would have either taken aim and fired or, more likely, dropped his gun in fright and run back in the house. But he moved on, ranting and cursing as he circled around to the front of the house and disappeared. And now here came Edy, escaping through the back door with Gomez in her arms, shrieking and sobbing as she, too, ran for the cover of the woods—straight for Riley.
Riley was glad she wasn’t wearing jeans. As it was, the hem of her shorts hung to her ankles when she stood on all fours. In long pants her canine legs would have been tangled inside her pant legs, and she would have had to drag herself back to the car.
The car…Riley paused. She couldn’t drive in her present state, let alone get the keys out of her pocket with useless paws. Opposable thumbs were decidedly the most ingenious and underrated of nature’s inventions. Unfortunately, she was without them for the time being. She sat on her haunches, perfectly canine now, except for the fact of her sleeveless tee and baggy shorts. It occurred to her that she’d lost her water sneakers in the commotion. She looked around the shadowed trees, spotting one white shoe in the gloaming and then the other a few feet away. She collected the first in her mouth, carried it over and lined it up with the other, then clamped her teeth on the insides of both. The trick now was to go back to her cell phone, drop it inside a shoe, and get the hell out of here.
Suddenly she heard movement, the rustling of leaves, twigs snapping underfoot. Riley spun around on full alert, shoes dangling from her mouth. Edy approached through the trees—hiding from her father to keep Gomez safe, she guessed. Her own vision was excellent now, but she doubted Edy’s human eyes could make out details in the dusky interior of the woods—like a coyote dressed in clothes. But she might have been wrong. Edy looked right at her from the distance, moving her head and squinting between the branches.
“Coyote? Is that you in there?”
Sneakers swinging from her mouth, chin held high to keep herself from tripping over them, Riley turned and bolted, reaching the road just as a whoop-whoop sounded and the police chief’s SUV flew by. Paul Foster, no doubt. He’d most likely been in the area, maybe on his way home, and responded to the call.
Fiona’s voice rang out from the backyard. “Edy? Edy! Come back, baby,” she begged. “It’s okay now.” Whatever happened, at least Paul’s arrival on the scene would put Jim in check. Temporarily.
Running had caused Riley’s shorts to slip down around her ankles. She stepped out of them and used her snout to push and hide them under her car. When it was safe to return, she’d come back for her phone. Her main concern right now was what to do, where to go. She wasn’t used to these uncontrolled changes. There was no telling how long it would be before she shifted back. What if it took hours? What if Jim decided to drive around after the police left and search the roads for any sign of the intruder who’d smashed his window. Her only option was to run two miles to Peggy and Barbara’s and have one of them drive her car out of there.
On four legs, adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream, she ran the distance in a matter of minutes and got there in time to interrupt dinner. A loud bark and a scratch at the screen door had Black Jack and Peanut racing to the door. They’d seen her in fur only a few times in the eight years she’d known them, and each time they’d responded with the amazed curiosity of kids watching magic tricks. The sight of her through the screen spooked them at first, but one whiff of her essence—that identifying scent undetected by human noses—had them responding with joyful and fearless excitement. Beyond the barking Riley heard the sound of forks clinking against plates, then a chair being pushed back as someone got up from the table.
A moment later Peggy was standing at the screen door in shorts. She’d evidently just gotten home from work and changed before sitting down to eat. Riley panted, catching her breath, and pinned her ears like a guilty dog the moment Peggy looked down at her wearing a T-shirt.
“Uh-oh,” Peggy said. “What have you done now?”
Riley turned in an excited circle and rushed over to Peggy’s car.
“Let me guess…you shifted while you were driving…and lost your pants? Come on in.”
Riley shook her head and stood up against the driver’s side door. This business of pantomiming, of communicating wordlessly with humans, was exhausting. It made her feel bad for dogs. But Peggy caught on right away.
Riley heard Barbara’s voice in the background. “Who is it?”
“It’s Riley,” Peggy shouted into the house. “Get my car keys.”
“What?” Barbra was there then, quieting the dogs and peeking over Peggy’s shoulder. “Holy shit! Get her in here.”
“She doesn’t want to come in. Get my car keys.”
Barbara disappeared, then came back and stared down at Riley’s T-shirt. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. I’ll take her home and be right back.” Peggy went to her car and opened the back door, motioning for her to hop in.
Riley refused. She needed both of them—one to drive her car back home. She raced around Peggy and barked at Barbara.
“What, you need me, too?”
Yes, yes! Riley danced around, rushed to the end of the driveway, then looked back at them and swung her head.
“She wants us to follow her somewhere,” Peggy said, translating Riley’s barks and body language. “Maybe she left her car someplace.”
“I feel like I’m in an episode of Lassie.” Barbara pushed the chihuahuas back, closed the front door, and rushed out, pulling on the heels of her sneakers as she came down the porch steps.
Riley waited for the car to back out, then took off along the shoulder of the road, glancing back every so often to make sure Peggy was keeping pace.
When they reached the car, Barbara jumped out and looked at Riley. “Keys?”
Riley led her through the weeds along the passenger side and pointed with her nose until Barbara got down on her knees and found her shoes and shorts. The keys jingled, and Barbara pulled them out of a pocket. Riley took a moment to listen for human voices, ears twitching in all directions. Nothing. No sign that Paul was still at the Barrett residence. She heard no hint of human activity at all, only the chirping of crickets and the soft stirrings of night things.
“Come on. Get in,” Barbara said.
Riley jumped into the backseat, but as soon as Barbara shut the door, Peggy yelled something she couldn’t hear.
Riley whined in protest. She didn’t want to have a conversation with Peggy tonight. She’d planned to have Barbara drop her home with her car and call it a night.
“Sorry, buddy, but those are the doctor’s orders.”
Nerves already frayed, the thought of having to come clean about spending the day with Fiona made her anxiety mount. She began panting heavily.
“You need some air back there?” Barbara rolled the window down. Riley stuck her head out and looked back at the car following closely behind. Even through the windshield she could see Peggy’s deadpan expression. When their eyes locked, Riley pulled her head inside and began pacing in the backseat. Another mile and she watched her house and property go by. Riley pushed herself in between the front seats and licked Barbara’s ear, nudged her cheek.
“Sorry. No can do,” Barbara said. “You’ll drive yourself home later when you’re…better.”
Riley knew she was in for an interrogation. A few minutes later Barbara was slowing down to let Peggy go around and turn in the driveway first. Peggy was out of the car in a flash, waiting to open Riley’s door.
“I’ll go heat dinner,” Barbara said, and left Peggy to deal with her.
Peggy opened the car door. “Get out.”
Riley didn’t budge. She sat in the backseat pouting, her head turned away from Peggy,
“Riley. Let’s go. Out of the car—now!”
Reluctantly, Riley slunk out, tail between her legs, and when they reached the front door, Peggy held it open and pointed. “In the house!”
Tail still tucked between her legs, Riley pushed past the exuberant chihuahuas. Overwhelmed by the sheer fascination of Riley in fur, they sniffed and chased her, trying to engage her in play. She felt bad for ignoring them, but she was too upset. So was Peggy. She was being very quiet, which meant she was not in a good mood. Riley trotted into the living room, where she hopped up on the couch and curled into a sulking, guilt-ridden ball of shame.
Coyote Blues Page 19