by Don McQuinn
Crow's stroll took him uphill to the owner’s home overlooking the grounds and out to sea. Inside a low white picket fence that discouraged trespass without offering a real barrier the house was an old-fashioned twin-pillared bungalow. In Seattle it would have fit into any of the older neighborhoods. Here in this rustic setting it should have looked anachronistic. Instead, it faced the Strait with a sureness of worth and purpose. White paint, blue trim, and darkly aged cedar shake roof welcomed.
A few yards distant was a garage workshop. Dull red, it would have been merely another dumpy outbuilding except for the dog-eared tin roof. The two buildings side by side made Crow think of antique photographs of ladies in long white dresses carrying parasols, flanked by brat little brothers in cocked derbies.
Through the open double doors of the garage, Crow saw a man head and shoulders under the hood of a well-used pickup. He rose just as Crow and Major were passing.
Crow said, “’Morning,” and nodded.
The man asked. “Catch anything this morning?”
“Nothing. Did we wake you on our way out?”
“No, no.” The man came forward. “I’m always up early. Amber and I feed the animals before the school bus comes.” Opening the gate, he joined Crow, pointing. “Pasture and a small barn over there, beyond those trees. Sheep, goats, llamas. We sell the wool. Buy and sell some animals. Amber’s got her own goats, some alpacas, some rabbits. I tell her if the campsite business flops we’ll still be able to eat for a while. She half believes me.”
“Amber; pretty little blond. Way too cute. Going to scramble a lot of boy brains in a few years. She was with Mrs. Miles when I checked in.”
“That’s our Amber, sure enough. And my wife’s Sophia.” He came around the truck, hand out. “I remember your name. We haven’t actually met. I’m Jason Miles.”
They shook. “I go by Crow.”
“And this big fella?”
“That’s Major.” Crow was pleased when Jason called the dog by name and let him make the first move. Major acknowledged the courtesy with wag, taking a step forward to be patted. Jason obliged, then jerked a thumb at the garage with a wry smile. "Truck's giving me trouble. Something in the wiring. Comes and goes. Making me crazy. You wouldn’t happen to be a mechanic?”
“Shade-tree tinker.” Remembering the problems that entangled him in Lupine roiled his breakfast.
Jason brightened. “Take a look. Maybe you can see something I don’t,” and led the way. Refusal died on Crow’s lips. After rolling up his sleeves and looping Major’s leash over a hook set in the wall, Crow bent over the engine. He fiddled with wires. A few moments later, he said, “Try it now.”
Jason got behind the wheel. The starter motor wheezed uselessly. Crow straightened. “You got a voltmeter?” Jason shook his head. Crow dove back inside. For several seconds he squirmed, then gestured for Jason to turn the key again.
Crow yelped like a coyote and flew backward. The Stetson spiraled away. His feet tangled. He lurched toward the wall. At full tilt, he slammed into the garage’s wooden slats beside Major. The startled dog promptly yanked the restraining hook out of the wood. Between that jolt and Crow’s impact, the entire building rattled. Shelves emptied onto the floor. Dust rose like fog.
Major frisked and barked, enjoying this new game. Jason tumbled out of the cab and came to where Crow was shaking his hand and mumbling under his breath. Jason said, “Are you all right?”
For one pregnant instant, Crow’s eyes blazed. His jaw tightened. Jason blinked. Rising and brushing himself off, Crow said dryly, “I found your short. I’m just guessing here, but I think we proved your battery's still charged.” To the still excited Major, he said, “We’re not playing, doofus.”
From the garage door, a woman’s voice said, “What happened? Is someone hurt?”
While Jason explained, Amber rushed up to stand beside her mother, wide-eyed and silent. The girl had her mother’s features, but where the child was fair, the mother was darker and her hair black as night. When Jason finished, Sophia took a nervous step toward Crow. “Are you sure you’re all right? We have insurance.”
He waved that off. “No problem, ma’am. More surprise than hurt.”
Amber pointed at Major. “He didn’t get hurt, did he?” Major whined and twitched in his need to make friends.
Crow laughed. “Not hardly. Old Major thought it was pretty funny.”
The girl looked at Crow with shy disapproval. “He wouldn’t think it was funny if he knew you were hurt.”
Sophia was scandalized. “Amber.”
Crow said, “She’s right, Mrs. Miles. Major knew it wasn’t a big deal.”
Still shy, but pleased nonetheless, Amber looked to her mother. “I knew when Mr. Crow checked in. They love each other.”
Jason said, “Sometimes I think she can talk to animals. I know she thinks so.”
Coloring, the girl defended herself. “I don’t either. But I really do understand. Sometimes.”
Crow said, “You understood Major. He’d like to get better acquainted.” He looked to Sophia for approval. Her smile answered for her and Crow released the dog to go shower affection on the child and her mother. To Jason, he said, “I knocked down a lot of stuff. I’ll clean it up.”
Jason said, “Forget that. You were helping. Never mind the mess. I’ll get it after I fix the truck.”
“It's just worn insulation. I'll drive you into town for new wiring.”
Jason said, “You don’t have to do that.”
Crow turned away. "I know. Be just a minute. We get back, clean up, and I'll check out."
All the way to town and back he indulged Jason’s small talk, silently telling himself Major had all the best of it, riding in the truck bed.
Home again, Crow noted Sophia had replaced everything in the garage. Equipment benched in a far corner caught his eye. Jason saw and said, “My reloading tools. The only way I can afford ammunition. Can’t afford it anyhow, to be honest. I saw your Marine decal; you do any shooting?”
“I own a gun. That’s about it.” Then, feeling a bit guilty for his extended curtness, Crow added, “Nobody can afford anything anymore.”
From opposite sides of the engine, the men attacked the truck’s compromised wiring. Deeper into the building, Amber had rigged her father’s trouble light so they could see better and she was bouncing a ball off the rear wall for Major.
Jason stepped back with a confident thumb’s up. “Got ‘er done, I believe,” he said and stepped into the cab.
From the corner of his eye Crow absently watched Amber throw the ball. Major leaped. Jaws snapped an instant late. The deflected ball struck the trouble light on the workshelf. The bulb made a soft pop. Sparks danced and sputtered.
There was a loud explosion.
Crow felt himself falling. Grenade.
Impossible. Not here.
Major. Yelping. Biting at his side.
Another explosion, much louder. Fire in two, three - innumerable - places. Unbelievably, the whole rear of the building was engulfed. More explosions. Smaller, an evil rain spraying through the larger thunder of other blasts.
Gunfire. Screaming.
Amber.
God, no; not the child.
Jason was running toward her, toward the inferno.
Amber fell, terribly still. No more screams. Major, biting at his own side continuously, ran to Crow. Jason took one more step before the giant's hand of yet another explosion smashed him to the floor.
Crouched, Crow scrambled past him. He fought forward, fell flat beside Amber, grabbed her neck. There was a weak, rapid pulse.
Smoke blinded him. Heat drew a dry, crisp smell from his clothes. Flat on the floor, he got his hands into Amber’s armpits and inched backward. The smaller explosions multiplied. He imagined a beast snarling as it saw its prey stolen.
Firefight.
No, that was then. Concentrate.
Fire. The red dreams.
No dream now.
Major’s frantic barking was faint. Crow knew instantly, proudly, his dog, injury and all, was summoning help.
His foot struck something yielding. There was a groan and Crow realized the contact was Jason. Crow found his shirt, gripped it. Sticky wetness slimed his grip.
Other scenes, other times and places shrieked at him to remember.
Red. Scenes.
No.
One hand for the girl. One hand for the father. Crawl. Pull.
Inches. Fire and smoke.
Don’t remember. Don't think. Do what needs done.
Leave no wounded. No dead.
He rose to his knees, straining for extra purchase. Intensified heat roared triumph. Thicker smoke burrowed into his eyes, his throat.
I can do this. After what You did, did You think I’d beg You for help?.
Crow heard, rather than felt, something strike his head. Then came incredible pain, blinding color.
Red.
His mind split, half still determined to drag Amber and her father clear of the fire, the other half flickering in and out of panic. Through the noise pounding him he heard himself bellow defiance. And despair. He pitched forward, his body sprawled protectively atop the child.
Explosions continued to crack in stuttering succession. Ricochets screamed.
Something yanked his ankle. His head slipped off Amber, struck the floor. The lightning-bolt pain surprised him; he couldn’t believe he could hurt even more. This new injustice energized him. Fury clamped his grip tighter on both his charges.
Major yelped and the tug on Crow’s ankle stopped, then started again. An eternity later, someone grabbed his other ankle. Twin pulls skidded him backward. After eternity, his face was grated across gravel and dirt instead of smooth concrete. The scourging heat and choking smoke diminished. Agony remained constant.
Clean air, rich as honey, gushed into his chest.
I told You. I'm still here.
Major's sloppy tongue dragged across Crow’s cheek. He let go of Amber and her father. He tried to reach out to Major but failed. The dog pressed his nose, hot and dry, to Crow’s ear before resting his head against his master’s. Then he whined. Rasping, the sound ended as a broken moan.
Crow cried out. His struggles to touch his dog were a mere stirring, hopeless against a power that stole him, whirled him down into dark, consuming mystery. At the last, he was content to accept it. He'd share it with his comrade.
Chapter 13
Lila considered people who zing out of bed alert terminally maladjusted. She loathed the clang or buzz or chirp of an alarm clock and positively dreaded the non-stop natter of caffeine-marinated disc jockeys. Her routine wake-up call was Zasu’s gentle paw and soft whine. It always came too early, but the technique was far superior. A reluctant butterfly, Lila inched from under the warm covers..
Zasu leaped down and into her gotta-go circle. Lila winced at the rude energy. Her expression soured further as her feet hit the bare wooden floor. Cruelly, the boards had soaked up every bit of cold in the world and delivered it directly to her naked feet.
As soon as Zasu saw her mistress upright, she streaked for the kitchen and resumed her dance until Lila opened the door. A last whirl launched the dog.
Lila wondered how even an animal could be chipper in the face of so much gray. The distant mountains were shrouded in clouds. Peering through the door's window, the sight of the lake's surface stippled by autumn's cutting breeze made the back of her neck prickle. Closer to the house, the last of summer's flowers cowered.
Watching Zasu dart, patrolling her empire for evidence of night-time intruders, Lila was reminded of the little dog charging Major. She drifted from that to hoping Crow was enjoying a prettier day.
Mission accomplished, Zasu was eager to come inside and get with the serious matter of breakfast. Lila got dressed, not feeling up to regular behavior. She examined the kitchen. It was already cozy. She couldn't remember flicking the thermostat on the way to let Zasu out. The realization gave her pause: She was beginning to simply do what needed done, cruising on automatic. The world was foreclosing on her, leaving nothing but dilemmas to fill her time.
Had she crossed the line between determination and obstinacy? Was Crow's wandering really the best way to deal with the world? The people encouraging her weren't able to help, not really. They had no money to lend, no time to spare from their own lives. Pastor Richards had stepped up to the plate once. His loan was the difference between trying and giving up without even starting. Lila winced, hoping he didn't need to be paid back any time soon. She regretted taking the money. Still, when a dream glitters right in front of one the need to reach for it can be overwhelming.
Was the dream wrong? If Van was right, it was time for the old Lupine to grow even larger. She dreamt and scrambled. He built and stormed ahead putting up solid, sturdy things. Like him. A man who wanted to rebuild his life. They also said the divorce was his fault, but it was Van who got custody of their son. The wife was the one who moved away. That was another of Van's qualities; determination. He saw things through. Nothing like that odd Crow person. Told her to fight for goals, but spent his own life as restless as wind. The image held her mind: That's what he was, a wind that comes into lives from nowhere, stirs them up, then wanders off to a different nowhere.
It sounded exotic. It must be awful. Lonesome, no matter what he said.
That crazy moment, that "other woman" thing, happened when she was watching a lonely man go searching for more loneliness.
An emotional imagining, that's all it was. Right next door to hysteria. Forget the whole thing.
The ease of the conclusion and the relief at having it cleared up was practically euphoric. So reasonable, when one actually analyzed it. Still, the direction of her thoughts shifted to her past.
Her own life with a partner hadn't been all that bad. She really believed she was in love. It was untrue then and impossible to imagine now. Lila unconsciously frowned as she remembered how depressed she was the first time she looked in the clothes dryer and saw her clothes tumbling around with his. That alone should have sent her screaming down the road to somewhere else.
They never had a real fight, not even a good air-cleaning shouting match. But he nagged. And complained. Whenever irritation got the best of her and she struck back, he was either apologetic (I didn’t mean it that way. I should have said it differently, shouldn’t have mentioned it at all.) or little-boy defensive (I was just trying to be helpful. I thought we were a team?). It was like wrestling fog. The deeper one plunged into it, the colder it grew.
Why hadn’t she seen that side of him sooner?
Yapping coyotes snapped Lila out of her reverie. The imposing Major came to her mind again. It was really quite impressive the way the animal obeyed. Disapproval twitched her nose; pets should to be spoiled and enjoyed. Reluctantly, she admitted that Crow and Major enjoyed a fine bond. And the dog did behave like a gentleman. So did Crow; she might as well admit that, too.
Yet there seemed a hidden violence in him. When he'd spoken of the way he acquired Major it was as if he was picturing the event in his mind and enjoying what must have been a terrible confrontation. She was sure that, at the time, he wanted to explode.
Suddenly, in the depth of her heart, she knew that someday he would again. To her surprise, she found herself feeling sorry for him. Not merely sorry, but terribly saddened.
Not that he was her concern.
The woman who appeared when he left spoke of what we can create in ourselves, how it can last forever. What was Crow creating? If there was no one aware of it, no one to share it, how could it last at all?
The coffeemaker bleated readiness. She welcomed it, told herself it was just what she needed to break this silly introspective mood and get to the reality of the day. Her mind wasn't quite ready to dismiss Crow, though. She
frowned as she filled a mug.
He was exactly what she’d needed when she wanted to talk. He said he’d listen and leave. That’s what he did. She’d always owe him for that. If he’d stayed any longer, she’d probably have said too much.
What would he have said in return?
Don't go there.
Zasu whined impatience. Lila seized the distraction. By the time the dog was fed and her own oatmeal cooking, she was in a better mood. Things weren’t all bad, she decided. If nothing else, the phone conversation with the loan officer with the other bank in Seattle was encouraging.
That was the sort of sunshine that could burn off any old gray day.
* * * * *
Edward Lawton strode into his bank. Customers making eye contact received the requisite cheery nod. He'd practiced it with a mirror until he was reasonably sure he could bring it up in front of a firing squad. Nor did he kid himself about those he greeted. Speaking of firing squads, plenty of people would be delighted to see any banker staring at one.
Movement to the side caught his eye. Sydney was craning past a customer seated at her desk to gesture Edward closer. Teeth gritting, he maintained the false front. Sydney knew how he disliked having his entrance interrupted. Nevertheless, he changed course.
Banking was largely mind-crushing paperwork. He hated it. Sydney handled most of those chores so well he couldn’t afford to be excessively offensive. If she ever got angry enough to stage a slowdown she might discover how he depended on her. It helped that she was a single mother. They were all desperate to hang onto any job and almost embarrassingly grateful if it was a decent job. There was a downside, of course; they aired their troubles as freely as if they were hanging laundry. And their sad little faces when salaries were discussed were simply not to be believed.