by Tish Cohen
Victor nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“Are you looking for a puppy?”
“I am.” He wandered over to the pen in the window. As if sensing Victor’s presence, his pup looked up and yawned, curling his tiny tongue. Once he saw Victor, he clambered over his siblings and stumbled to the side, wagging his tail and asking to be lifted up.
Victor reached down and brought the dog to his face, thrilled when the tongue lapped against his neck. The pup had grown to almost twice its former size and was a good deal heavier. “You’re very careful about who you sell these pups to, I presume?”
“Oh, yes. But this area is filled with dog lovers, so we usually don’t have too many problems.”
“This one’s my favorite.”
“He’s a real imp, that one. I call him Frankie. I’ve been threatening to buy that one myself if he doesn’t sell. I’d buy him today if I had the cash.”
Frankie. The dog stopped licking for a moment and stared into Victor’s eyes, smiling and panting, wiggling and wagging.
“If you’d like to get to know him a bit, there’s a playroom at the back of the store where you can set him down.”
He stared through a window at the play area, and a distressing thought hit him like a basketball to the chest. Buying a dog right now was short-sighted. Not only that, but incredibly selfish. How had he missed this? Had he become that lonely since Elisabeth and the past had entered their lives? That desperate?
Buying a puppy ran contra to his plan. He chided himself for his lack of focus.
Victor allowed the dog to nuzzle into his collar a moment, then rubbed him behind his tiny ears and handed him over to Diane. “No thank you. I just came to say good-bye.”
She looked surprised. “Okay. No problem. Did you want to see another dog?”
“No thank you.” Victor made his way toward the door and stopped, turned around. “You’ll take extra good care of Frankie will you?”
She nodded. “You bet. And if you check back in a few weeks, we may have a line on another Maltipoo litter.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Victor stepped outside again, his ears stopped up with the roar of traffic, eyes pained from the brilliance of the morning. That was that. Good. Now he could forget about the pup—Frankie—and move on.
There was a coffee shop on the corner, one with a fenced-off courtyard that ambled along the side street. He’d been stopping by for a coffee and bagel several times each week since he was fired. Place was fairly typical, packed with office workers on their lunch breaks, young mothers with infants, people out walking their dogs. Today, other than the table in the far corner, where two suited men shared a scone and argued over a stack of papers in the sun, the rest of the patio was nicely sheltered by green umbrellas and nicely devoid of people. He walked inside to pick up his coffee and bagel—poppy seed, lightly toasted—asked for a side packet of cream cheese, and carried his treat back outside where he set it all on the table farthest from the two men as possible.
There was a scuffle in the doorway. Raised voices while three young ladies—dressed, in Victor’s opinion, in not nearly enough clothing—argued with someone inside, someone who was insisting they vacate. One of the girls, the tall one with blond hair tied up in a messy ponytail, had a dog in her arms. A curly-tailed, taupe-and-black dog with a mashed-in face and eyes bulging on the sides of its head. A pug, if Victor could trust his fair-weather memory.
A employee emerged and moved toward the patio, pointing to Victor’s right, where a stainless-steel bowl filled with water was chained to the iron fence. “See? Just tie her right here.”
“You expect me to just leave her outside by herself?”
Victor didn’t look up. Just sipped his coffee, nibbled on his bagel.
The employee shrugged her apology. “Café rules. Sorry. But we’ll serve you quick and you can eat out here with your dog.”
“It’s cold out. I want to sit inside. With my dog.”
“So sorry.”
The girl sniffed. “Starbucks wouldn’t do this to me. The manager there even keeps dog cookies for me behind the counter.”
“I know. The rule sucks. But there’s nothing I can do.”
As the girl’s friends examined the doggy area, Victor chewed and watched a small bird hop along the black iron fence that surrounded the patio. The two men from the back table got up to leave, sidling between Victor and the girls before heading off toward a parked SUV. The pug had been placed on the ground and appeared worried, what with her panting and pacing. The bug eyes took in the surrounding scene and finally settled on Victor and his toasted bagel. Ah. Here was something that caught the beast’s attention. She licked her lips, then packed her tongue away as she moved closer to Victor.
It pleased him, this being wanted. Even by a creature that looked as if her eyes were sliding down the sides of her face. Victor patted his mouth with a napkin before he spoke. “I’ll watch your dog.”
The girl turned around, noticing Victor for the first time. “Excuse me?”
“I said I’ll watch your dog.” He motioned toward his breakfast. “She can keep me company while I finish my coffee.”
She sighed and glanced at her friends, who nodded and started inside the coffee shop.
“You don’t mind?”
“Not a bit.”
Victor watched as she wound the fancy green leash through the dirty rungs of the iron fence, then blew the pug a kiss before disappearing inside. The dog had lost interest in Victor now that her owner had vanished, and took to investigating the shiny water dish.
Victor drained his coffee cup, folded what remained of his bagel into his mouth, and stood up. After a good stretch and a satisfied smack to his belly, he walked over to the black iron trash receptacle and pushed his paper plate through the flap. He turned to find the pug looking up at him, pig tail wagging excitedly, little raisin face opening into a smile. When Victor didn’t react, the dog wandered close, raised herself up on tiny drumsticks, and rested one paw on his pant leg.
HE STARED UP at the sky and tried to determine whether the tree that shaded the dog pen would keep the shade for the rest of the day. The ancient oak hung over the trampled grass like a great prehistoric creature, and Victor determined the sun wouldn’t bake the ground directly beneath until long after four o’clock. Besides, the day seemed in no danger of heating up too much. He tested out the corner posts by giving each a good shove and, satisfied the enclosure was sturdy, he stared down inside it and smiled at the mashed-up face that looked back at him. The pug spun in a circle and yipped her reproach.
“You settle down now. Might not be as fancy a home as you’re used to, but you’re not in any danger.”
He looked around, proud of himself. Stealing a dog had been a brilliant move on his part. A few people might get ruffled in the short-term, but no one winds up hurt in the end.
Victor realized he was hungry again. It had been a long walk home. He spun around to find his daughter staring at him, open-mouthed.
“What are you doing?”
“I know. It’s a huge responsibility and I should have discussed this with you first. But an opportunity came up and—well, you see that squishy little raisin face. How was I supposed to resist? Happy early birthday, Mouse.”
“You bought me a dog?”
“Isn’t she a cute one?”
“Dad, I’m not a little kid you can distract with puppies or candy.”
“Not meant to be a distraction. Just a small household change that should bring us both a bit of joy.”
“There’s no way we can handle a dog right now.”
“I’ll do the dirty work, I don’t mind a bit.”
“You can’t handle it either. The walking, the feeding, the training. Keeping it out of reach of coyotes. It’s a nice gesture, Dad, but we have to return it.”
He glanced down at the pug, who grinned and panted and looked up at them both as if they were the most beautiful creatures on earth. Leaning over the pen, Victor
waggled his fingers and allowed the dog to lick them. “We can’t.”
“Please. Just call the place where you got the dog and tell them I’ll drop it off in the morning.”
He searched his mind. The dog, here, now, was a good thing. That much he knew. And he was the reason the dog was here. Yet, how it had happened had vanished. The pet store flashed in his consciousness, but he’d left there without a dog. “I don’t know, Mouse. I can’t think where she came from…” He fiddled with his tie, loosened it. Undid the top buttons of his shirt. Damn this sticky mind. “It’ll come to me. It will. It’s this sludge; it fills my head. This stinking, reeking like mother-fucking shitface sludge.”
“Dad, we have to do something. You’re scaring me.”
“I have my own plan.”
“Plan? Your mind isn’t functioning all that well. If there’s a plan, I think I should be involved.”
“I can’t think of it right now, Mouse, but I have a feeling the plan is all about you. All about my girl.”
SEPTEMBER 20, 1996
Delilah was standing at the counter, spreading peanut butter onto a slice of Wonder bread when her mother slammed down the phone. Elisabeth ran her hands through her hair. “Dratted sitter,” she said. “Canceled again.”
Delilah walked her sandwich and glass of milk over to the table and sat down.
“I’ll fail my midterm if I miss another art class.” Elisabeth lit a cigarette and crossed the room to the window, tugging it open and perching herself, barefoot in paint-spattered leggings and undershirt, on the ledge. She stared outside and, with a barely perceptible wobble of her head, exhaled. “I don’t know what I was thinking, enrolling in night school as a single parent. Thirty-one years old and still working on my BFA. Remember this, Delilah. Marry someone with money. Don’t get all starry-eyed over someone having a good year in sales. Those bonus checks aren’t a sure thing. If you want an easy life, marry a man who comes from money. One who has a nice fat bank account.”
Delilah wasn’t too sure what was desirable about a fat bank account and wasn’t interested enough to inquire. “Okay.”
“They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but let me tell you, it buys you nice things. You want to marry smart. A husband with money means you’ll never have to go out and work. You can, but you don’t have to. See the difference?”
Delilah nodded.
“That was my mistake. I didn’t marry smart.”
“If you didn’t marry Daddy, you wouldn’t have had me,” Delilah pointed out, her cheeks smeared with peanut butter.
Elisabeth smiled. “You’d still have found your way to me. You might not have looked exactly the same. You might have been shorter or taller, or a boy, but you were definitely meant for me.”
Delilah thought about the possibility of being born a boy. “Disgusting.”
“But you’d have had a father who was able to support his family properly.”
“Why don’t you call him?” Delilah asked. “I can go stay at his house.”
“Friday’s not his night. You go to his house Saturdays, sleep over until Sunday.”
“I want to go today. Dad builds a tent in his living room for me to camp.” Right away she regretted the confession. Hearing that Victor was exciting enough to build indoor tents could backfire. “No booze, I promise.”
“What kind of life is this?” Elisabeth said, stabbing out her cigarette. She picked up the phone and started to dial. “Victor? It’s Elisabeth. I need a favor…”
Delilah listened while her mother ranted again about the sitter and the situation Victor left her in, before announcing she needed child care. “Delilah is to be home no later than ten tomorrow morning,” she warned. “One minute, one half minute later, and the judge will hear about it on Tuesday.”
She hung up the phone and looked at her conniving daughter. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go get packed for your father’s.”
“Should I bring my bath toys?” Delilah asked.
“Don’t bother, baby.” Elisabeth gathered her daughter’s silky hair into a loose ponytail. “It’s just one night.”
Twenty-Nine
Ransom Park. In the history of parks, it was quite possibly the worst name ever conjured up. Called to mind untraceable phone calls, bundles of unmarked bills, and—the irony was not lost on Lila—kidnappers.
A metal fence, knee high to an adult, chest high to a toddler, had the same white sign dangling every six feet or so, on both the inside and the outside of the fence: NO ADULTS UNLESS ACCOMPANIED BY CHILDREN. When Kieran caught sight of it, she’d announced that no one need worry. She’d keep an eye out for unattended adults.
Lila and Elisabeth sat side by side on a swell of grass in the sun while Kieran, dressed like a sixty-four-year-old spinster in thick tights and wool skirt, put her hands on her hips and stared across the grass at the wading pool, where a few children with rolled-up jeans were racing through the water. Another two girls were perched at the water’s edge trying to float a paper boat. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a pool? I don’t have the right clothes.”
“I didn’t know, Kiki,” said Elisabeth. “Just peel off your tights and dip your toes in like the other kids. It doesn’t matter if you get splashed a little.”
Kieran shook her head solemnly and sighed. It was clear that part of her was desperate to be a kid, but she didn’t know how. “It’s not even warm enough for wading pools. Those kids don’t know anything.”
Elisabeth leaned forward and fussed with Kieran’s bangs. “You know I don’t like it when you wear that hair band. It’s too severe for your face.” She sat back and assessed the child.
“Look, Kieran,” said Lila, pointing toward the pool. “There’s a boy wearing his sneakers in the water even.”
“I hope he has another pair, because those are not going to be dry for school tomorrow.”
“Then you should hang here with us.” Lila shrugged and leaned back on her elbows. “We’re going to talk about world politics and the depletion of the ozone.”
Kieran huffed in annoyance. “Does this mean you’re going to smoke?”
Elisabeth looked at Lila and laughed. “It’s like living with a prison guard.” She patted Kieran’s leg. “Hardly at all. Now run off and play like the other kids. Try to make a friend.”
Kieran scowled, then stomped down the little hill toward the pool with her arms folded across her chest. Once at the water’s edge, two girls ran past and splashed her, causing Kieran to jump back, indignant, and kick at the water as payback.
When Elisabeth had suggested an afternoon at the park with Kieran, Lila hadn’t been interested. But it turned out to be the perfect place to have her mother all to herself. Her little sister was now too busy policing the other kids to steal away any of Elisabeth’s attention.
“Mum, I’m worried about Kieran.”
“She’s fine. Just a bit uptight.”
“This fascination with lost children. It’s not healthy.”
“Kids have bizarre interests. I find it best to allow it and let them tire of it on their own. If I forbid the milk cartons flat-out, it’ll only feed her obsession. You were obsessed with the foil wrappers from cigarette packages when you were young. Used to go through the garbage trying to find empty packages. I didn’t stop that.”
“I was peeling it to make a silver ball. That’s different.”
“You know what I think? I think now that you’re in Kieran’s life, she’ll start to focus on what is here. Not what is missing.”
“Maybe. But what about that Finn guy who babysits her?”
“What? Finn is a wonderful human being. He’s gifted, you know. Once he comes out of his slump, he’ll be a very famous artist.”
“His place is littered with hash and rolling papers and empty bottles. That’s no place for a child.”
“The creative process is different for everyone. Honestly, Delilah. Your father raised you to make terrible judgments about people. Finn is just lovely. He’
s been very good to me.”
Lila debated asking if they were dating. She wasn’t sure she could handle the answer.
Elisabeth lit a cigarette, then stretched back on her elbows in the grass. She was underdressed in a T-shirt and orange batik wrap skirt that exposed far too much tanned thigh as she crossed one leg over the other, twirling her foot. “I just got these shoes.”
“Nice.”
“Really? You don’t think they’re flashy? All that beading?”
“No. They’re bold.”
“Are you sure? The saleswoman was pushy. But they make my ankles look slim, don’t you think?”
Lila nodded.
“It was such fun, picking you up from school again,” Elisabeth said, rolling onto her side, closer to Lila. “Must have felt a bit like kindergarten to you, though.”
Lila had been mortified. This time Elisabeth hadn’t waited in the parking lot, but came right up to the class. A braless woman in a pale T-shirt knocking at the door and wandering inside the studio to lean against the sinks as if there were a sign out on the street—hand drawn by Lichty, with no hard edges—that announced the need for a studio audience. When Lichty asked if he could help Elisabeth, she’d pointed at Lila and announced she was just picking up her daughter. Lichty’s face had turned toward Lila’s and crumpled into a delighted smile, before he announced, “Miss Mack. Your mommy is here.”
The last five minutes of class had been torture. Not only were the students distracted by the maternal presence, but standing nude in front of her mother made Lila feel vulgar and ashamed. The damaged slut of a daughter, in spite of the obvious pride on Elisabeth’s face.
“No. It was fine that you came.” Lila shifted her mother’s cloth purse from beside her knees and put on a fake smile.
“A happy surprise.”
“It’s a nice, bright studio.”
“Yeah. But cold.”
“Does your teacher ever bring in outside experts? You know, professionals?”
“Umm…I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.”
“You should tell him your mother is a painter. Tell him I’m from Canada. I bet he’d be interested to bring in a foreign influence, don’t you? It would be fascinating for those sheltered kids to see what’s going on in other parts of the globe. Let them know Los Angeles isn’t the be all and end all of the art world.”