“Thank you,” I said.
And then I turned around and walked upstairs.
I lay on my bed listening to the muted murmuring downstairs, and for a few minutes, I let myself imagine that Margery was talking Frank out of taking Toby. Maybe she was convincing him that with all of his traveling and the work it was going to be taking care of old Mr. Carder, a pet would just be too much extra responsibility. But then I heard Toby’s feet scrabbling against the hardwood floors, followed by Margery’s voice as she talked to him: “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay. Mr. Carder is a nice man. It’s okay.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as Toby began to whimper, and I rolled over and put my pillow over my head as he began to whine. It was silent for a while, and then I heard the steady sound of Toby barking, over and over and over. It was the same plaintive sound I’d heard the day I arrived. Desperate. Frantic. The “I-know-you-can-hear-me-why-aren’t-you-answering?” one.
I got up off the bed and went to the window and looked outside. Frank was leading Toby into his father’s house. Toby wasn’t resisting, but his head was turned toward our place. He was looking for me.
I pressed my hand against the windowpane.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
“Toby,” I whispered. “Oh, Toby, I’m so sorry.”
I stayed in the shop all weekend, working on the sculpture. It was either that or go crazy thinking about how close Toby was and how much I wanted to see him. Every ten minutes or so, I entertained the idea of leapfrogging over the fence and grabbing him, but I didn’t of course. With Mom’s hearings coming up so soon, I wasn’t about to do anything that would get me in trouble.
Margery tried to convince me that it would be different for Toby this time. Now that Frank was involved, Toby wasn’t going to be left outside all night and he would be fed regularly. But who was going to give him hugs and call him a good boy? Who was going to let him off his leash so he could run through the field? And whose bed was he going to curl up in each night before he fell asleep? Not Mr. Carder’s, even if he was going to try harder this time around. I was sure of it.
On Saturday I went out once to see him, after I heard him barking nonstop for over an hour. He lunged so hard when he saw me through the fence that I thought he was going to choke. He was attached to the metal chain again, but he wore a new collar that was red with a blue stripe running down the middle, and it fit okay. It didn’t seem to be bothering him, at least. Still, that chain gave me the willies. And the way Toby was pulling on it made it even worse.
“No, Tobes.” I shook my head at him. “No jumping, buddy. Sit.” I tried to make the signal with my hands, but it was hard to do with the fence in the way. “Sit, buddy, okay? Just sit.”
And he did. He sat down right in front of me, even though that horrible chain stopped him from getting any closer. It was as if he wanted to show me he remembered all the commands we’d worked on and that he wouldn’t forget them, no matter what.
“Oh, Toby, you’re such a good boy,” I whispered, swallowing over a pain in my throat. “You’re such a sweet, good boy.”
He sat there looking at me, holding my gaze with his. I knew he understood that I would come over if I could. That I would change everything if only I had the chance.
That night, I sat down and wrote a letter to Frank Carder. I used my most impressive vocabulary and tried to sound as polite as I could. I even double-checked my spelling.
Dear Mr. Carder:
I appreciate you helping to take care of Toby. I know he is glad to go inside at night, and his new collar is very attractive. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you one more favor. Toby’s favorite thing to do is run. He loves to run more than anything in the world, especially in the fields behind our homes. If you have a few minutes at the end of the day, would you please let him off his leash so he can do that? It wouldn’t have to be for very long; just so he could stretch and feel the wind in his fur. He knows his name, so all you have to do is call him when it’s time to go inside, and he’ll come right back.
I know he would appreciate this very much, and so would I. Thank you for considering it.
Sincerely,
Winifred (Fred) Collins
When I was finished writing, I folded the letter into thirds, put it in an envelope, and sealed it shut. I wrote MR. FRANK CARDER on the outside, just in case old Mr. Carder got to it first and thought it was for him. Then I put it in their mailbox, crossed my fingers, and got back to work.
A knock on the door startled me on Sunday afternoon.
“You got a minute?” Margery stuck her head inside the workshop. “There’s something out here you might want to see.”
I put down the bicycle handles and followed her outside. It was a cold, raw day. The wind blew sharply through the trees, and the sky was the color of a pearl. I wrapped my coat more tightly around me and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Look over there,” Margery said, pointing across the field.
Frank Carder was standing at the edge of the field, dressed in his long black coat. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and he had the same wool cap on his head.
“And right … there.” Margery grinned, pointing to another spot on the field.
It was then I saw Toby. He was streaking across the dry grass, his legs a blur of motion beneath a sea of rippling fur. Both of his ears were turned inside out from the force of his speed, and his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth like a big pink eraser. I dropped my arms as I watched him go, and even though Margery was there, my face broke open into a grin. I couldn’t help it. He looked so happy.
“All right, Toby!” Frank Carder cupped his hands around his mouth. “Let’s go, boy!”
I held my breath, feeling my insides clench, but Toby, who had been moving east, swerved sharply at the sound of his name and raced back.
“You did a really good job with him, Fred,” Margery said, looking over at me. “A really, really good job.”
I didn’t look at her, but I flushed warmly at her words. I kept my eyes on Toby as he rocketed toward Mr. Carder.
I wondered if it felt like flying, going that fast.
I hoped it did.
“You’re going to shake that knee clear off if you keep rattling it like that.” Margery stood at the stove, dressed in pajamas and her purple robe. Her brown work boots made a clunking sound every time she walked across the kitchen, and I wondered if she had slippers and didn’t bother to wear them, or if she just liked the feel of her work boots. Today was the morning of the dependency hearing. Margery had let me skip school. She said it was because she wouldn’t be able to come get me and make it to Philadelphia on time, but I think she knew I wasn’t in any mood to deal with school. Not today.
I ignored her comment and stared out the window at the side of Mr. Carder’s house. I wondered what Toby was doing, if he was eating breakfast perhaps, or maybe even still sleeping. My insides felt wired with electrical currents—bolts zipping through my body one way and zapping another. And every time I thought about seeing Mom, the hairs on my arms stood up straight.
“This here’s called Hunky Dory,” Margery said, setting a plate in front of me. In the middle of it was something that looked like a fried egg inside a scooped-out piece of bread. “Eat up. It’s going to be a long day.”
But I pushed the plate away. The smell of it made me nauseous.
“Fred, I’m telling you—” Margery started, pointing at me with the spatula. But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Because just then, a gun exploded. The sound was so loud that I thought the bullet must have sailed through the window right into the kitchen. I screamed and ducked, covering my ears with my hands. Margery jumped, too, dropping her spatula.
“What the—” She turned off the flame underneath the frying pan and raced for the door, her purple robe flapping behind her. “John Carder?” I could hear her yelling across the yard. “John Carder, what in God’s name are you doing?”
I stood up, ready to follow he
r, when I noticed something outside the window. It was Toby. He was running faster than I’d ever seen him run before. His eyes looked wild, and his tail hung halfway between his legs. He was racing down the driveway between Margery’s house and Mr. Carder’s, heading straight for the road.
I flew toward the door, Toby’s name already rising in my throat, but I tripped on the first step and tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs. I caught myself at the bottom, landing on my hands and knees. Something that felt like a knife shot through my left arm, and for a moment, I struggled to catch my breath. But the pain was nothing compared to the way my stomach dropped when I heard the squeal of brakes up ahead, followed by a dull, permanent thud.
And then, silence.
It took me less than ten seconds to make it to the end of the driveway, but it felt like I was moving in slow motion. Toby was in the middle of the road, lying perfectly still, like a forgotten sack of garbage. Off to the right, a man in a red coat got out of a shiny black car. He left his door open as he ran toward me, his eyes wide with fear.
“Is that your dog?” His voice sounded strange, as if he was calling to me from the bottom of a well.
I sank to my knees, getting as close to Toby as I could without touching him. A pool of blood had already started to seep under his head, and his eyes were glassy. He was still breathing, but with effort, as if it took his full concentration, and one of his legs was bent at an impossible angle.
I lowered my face down to his. “I’m right here, Toby.” I held my hands out over him, but it was hard to know where I could put them without causing him any pain. Besides, they were shaking. I lowered them again and took another breath as a shout sounded out behind me.
“Fred!”
Margery flew in, catching me around the shoulders. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh, Toby.”
“Is that your dog?” the man in the red jacket said again. “I’m so sorry. I never even saw him. He just came flying out of nowhere.”
“Can you still drive?” Margery asked.
“What?” The man looked bewildered.
“Can you still drive your car?” Margery repeated. “I don’t have a car, and we’ve got to get this dog to the vet or he’s going to die right here in the middle of the road. Can you take us?”
“Yeah, of course.” The man started bobbing his head up and down. “Of course, of course. Come on, get in my car. I’ll take you right now.”
“Okay, Fred.” Margery squared her shoulders. “I’ll bring him to the car and put him in your lap. You get in the back seat.” I nodded but stayed as close as possible to Margery as she lifted Toby and started walking. Something told me not to leave him, not for a second, that he needed to see and hear me if he was going to make it.
I could tell Margery was trying to be careful, even as Toby made a sound that was something between a whimper and a growl when she picked him up. His head went limp against her arm, and he made no effort to raise it again.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, keeping my face down close to his. “We’re just heading to the car. We’re going to get you some help.” I slid into the back seat and held out my arms. “It won’t be long now,” I said as Margery lowered him into my lap. I could feel him sink into me, as if he’d let go of what had spooked him in the first place, all in one big rush. I bent over his head, so close this time that my lips just barely brushed his ear. “Just hold on, little guy, okay? Hold on.”
The lady behind the desk was filing her nails when we burst in with Toby. Big, long pink nails with tiny rhinestones glued at the tips. But she dropped the file when she saw us. “Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, oh, oh! What happened?”
“He was hit by a car,” Margery answered grimly. “Please get someone fast.”
“Don’t you worry.” The lady used one of her nails to press a red button on the phone. She kept her eyes on Toby as the phone made a beeping sound. “Canine, HBC,” she said, leaning into it. “Canine, HBC.”
I had no idea what HBC meant, but it didn’t matter. I just stayed as close to Toby as I could, whispering in his ear. He’d fallen unconscious in the car, and for a moment then, when I’d felt his body sag against mine, I was sure he was dead. Margery had turned around when I’d started yelling and had pressed her fingers against his neck. “He’s still breathing,” she’d said. “He’s out, but he’s breathing. Keep talking to him, Fred. Just keep talking.”
So I had. I’d bent down low to his ear and reminded him of the first time he’d bolted, just as I was getting ready to bring him over to Margery’s. And how he’d reappeared again, right on her front steps after he’d finished his run in the woods. “Like you knew,” I’d whispered, barely skimming the top of his head with my fingertips. “You knew that I was waiting for you.” I’d told him the story of his first bath, and how he’d learned to sit down when we did the arm signal, and about the first time I’d ever laid eyes on him—how sad I’d felt looking at his awful, scraggly appearance, but how insistent he’d been that I come near him anyway.
I was still talking to him as we stood there in the waiting room, when a door opened and a man in blue scrubs appeared, pushing a small gurney. The vet. A New York Yankees tattoo had been inked on the inside of his arm, and a mop of brown curls fell down over his eyes. He helped Margery settle Toby on the gurney, and then nodded at me. “I’m going to take him in the back and assess his injuries. Have a seat. As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll come back out and tell you. It shouldn’t take long.”
And just like that, Toby was gone.
“Come on.” Margery put her arm around me and steered me toward a line of chairs against the wall. “All we can do right now is wait.”
I followed her on wooden legs but couldn’t sit down. Instead, I stood by the window and stared out at the parking lot. Except for two or three cars, it was empty, a wide, vast expanse of cement. It reminded me of Toby’s field. And when I thought about that, I thought about how he looked when he ran across it. How beautifully his fur rippled in the wind, and how his tongue hung out on one side. I could feel a familiar swell forming again in the back of my throat. Toby had to make it through this so he could run again. He just had to.
I turned around as the front door opened behind me. It was the man in the red coat. His face was pale as he sat down next to Margery.
“They took him?” he asked. Margery nodded. “Nothing yet, though?” She shook her head. The man lifted his hands to his mouth. His fingers trembled. We still didn’t know his name. I wasn’t sure it mattered.
“What made him run?” I asked Margery suddenly. “Did Mr. Carder shoot at him?”
“No.” Margery shook her head. “He swore he didn’t. He said he was just cleaning the gun and it went off. Poor Toby, though. He couldn’t have known. He must’ve been terrified, hearing it go off like that, so close by.”
I thought about how Toby’s eyes had looked as he’d raced down the driveway. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen that kind of fear. Sadness, yes. Maybe even despair. But not fear. Not like that.
It was another ten minutes before the vet came back to the waiting room. We all jumped out of our chairs when we saw him, but I got to him first. “How’s Toby?” I was breathless.
“I’m going to be blunt with you.” The vet spoke quietly, as if measuring his words. “Toby has a fractured skull, traumatic internal injuries, and a severely broken leg.”
“Is he going to make it?” I had to force myself not to grab the man’s arm.
“Not without surgery,” the vet explained. “And even then, he’ll only have a fifty-fifty shot at survival. He’s very seriously injured.”
“What kind of surgery?” Margery asked.
“It’ll be extensive,” the vet said. “Do you have insurance?”
“No.” Margery shook her head. “He’s not even our dog.”
“I’ll pay for it,” the man in the red coat blurted suddenly. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Please, just try to save him.”
/> “I didn’t know he wasn’t your dog,” the vet said. “Technically, I shouldn’t operate without the owner’s permission. But if you’re serious about covering the cost …” He glanced at the man with the red coat.
“Anything!” The man held up his hands. “Whatever it is, I’ll make sure it’s paid. Please, just do what you need to do.”
“All right.” The vet nodded at the secretary with the long pink nails. “Theresa will draw up the release forms for you. Make sure to leave your contact information, especially a cell phone number. I’ll most likely be in surgery for the rest of the morning, and then Toby will have to stay with us in the recovery room through the night. But I can call you when I’m finished and let you know how he’s doing.”
“Call with any updates,” Margery added. “Anything at all.”
“No matter what it is,” I interjected. “Good or bad. We just want to know.”
“You got it.” The vet smiled at me. “In these kinds of situations, I’m always glad to see that an animal is loved so well. You’d be amazed at how hard they fight to get back to that.”
Oh, Toby, I thought to myself. Please. Please just come back to me.
I was never so glad to be on the back of Margery’s motorcycle as we made our way to Philadelphia a few hours later. Not only did the noise make it impossible to talk, but it also eliminated the awkward silences that not talking created.
There were too many thoughts swirling around in my head, and not enough words in the world to explain them all. It wasn’t fair that to get back to someone I loved more than anyone, I’d have to leave my best friend. What if I lost them both?
It was dizzying to think about, and frightening, too. So when downtown Philadelphia loomed into view, the tips of the skyscrapers piercing the sky, I dug my fingernail into the middle of my palm and squeezed my eyes shut tight. And I didn’t open them until we arrived at the courthouse.
Strays Like Us Page 18