Good Karma

by Christina Kelly

  She had a lot to say, questions to ask and things to discuss, but wasn’t sure where to begin. With asking about Audrey? With telling him about the dog park or even referencing Fred? With asking what they were doing and where their marriage was going?

  He sat at the table and Catherine scooped a pile of overcooked pancakes onto a plate and placed them in front of him.

  “Are we having a party?” he asked.

  A party? That’s the feeling she had that she couldn’t identify. Being with Fred felt like a soiree with colored streamers and sweet sponge cake. Yesterday afternoon was a celebration of life, the flannel bathrobe tie a fanciful ribbon on a gift. A party for two.

  Ralph jerked the paper open, then folded it.

  She might have said something about the weather, about how it would promise to be a fine day for golf. Maybe he could even get in thirty-six holes. After the big storm the other night, crews would have finished clearing fairways of fallen branches. Since the forecast called for cloudless skies, it would be prudent to bring extra sunscreen. But suddenly she felt reluctant to talk, as if some words held more weight than others, some canaries and others cannonballs. As if she wouldn’t be able to control blurting out what she had done.

  “So what’s going on? What were you doing yesterday?” Ralph asked.

  It was the last thing she’d expected. It hardly occurred to her he’d notice or care she was gone. “At the dog park. I helped a new friend look for his Great Dane.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “Who?” Momentarily she thought he meant Fred. Did you find Fred? Did you get what you were looking for?

  “The dog.”

  “Sequoia,” she said firmly. Somehow saying the Great Dane’s name made the afternoon real. “No. She’s still missing.”

  “Cute.”

  “What?”

  “Sequoia. For a big dog. I like that.”

  Catherine was sorry she’d mentioned the detail.

  “And the park. How was that?”

  She considered describing the tall picket fence and the back woods. The comfortable bench where two people might spend an afternoon.

  “Catherine?” Ralph asked. “Hell-ooo. You there?”

  “It was lovely. The people were friendly.”

  Ralph retied the string to his flannel pajama bottoms and his belly hung over the edge as if he were five months pregnant. He unscrewed the top of the peanut butter jar and looked inside. “You’re running out,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “You are running out,” he repeated, louder.

  “I am?”

  “Okay, Catherine. I get it. We. We are running out of peanut butter. Is that better?” He scraped the flat edge of a knife along the jar’s inside. “But do me a favor, do us a favor, and get smooth. You got crunchy last time.”

  She watched him spread a dollop on his pancakes. Thick brown crumbs fell onto his plate like crusted scabs from an incision.

  Maybe he mistook her silence for confusion. Maybe he thought she hadn’t heard him. “You know these little nuts stick in my teeth. It takes forever to work them out.”

  “Smooth,” she said.

  “Right here.” He opened his mouth and pointed to a small gap between a canine and molar. It was a dark, empty space she never imagined he had and had been right there inside him all the time.

  “Yes.” She nodded, but now she was standing on a street corner holding a virtual suitcase that held her hopes, dreams, and all the things her future self might need. She imagined Fred somewhere nearby, ready to meet her and whistle for a taxi to the airport.

  “I mean, I can floss it out. But smooth’s better.” Ralph’s tone softened. “Okay?”

  A dog was lost, Ralph. Our dog was lost, she thought. Suddenly she wanted to tell him everything, as if she were at confession. She wanted to explain that things happen without reason. That life can do an about-face when you least expect it. That fate brings people together in strange ways. “Karma was gone too.”

  “What?”

  “We were looking for Karma, too. Not just the Great Dane.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  But he didn’t see. He didn’t understand and it didn’t matter that there had been a storm and a kiss. Things had changed.

  After taking another bite of pancake he smoothed the business section with one hand. “I’m thinking we should consider changing our investment strategy. Maybe go into real estate.”

  Catherine made a plate of pancakes for herself, sat down, and grabbed Mrs. Butterworth’s waist and tilted her sideways, watching the amber liquid stream from her head as if she’d had a brain injury.

  “There are some terrific opportunities out there,” he said.

  Opportunities? Life is filled with opportunities. We don’t always know to embrace them but we can. Life is filled with choices and chances and changes. Dogs get lost. People fall out of love.

  Then he added, “Downtown has some cool old buildings that need attention. And just think of all that foot traffic by Ellis Square.”

  I need attention, she thought. “Do you really know anything about this market?” Catherine remembered Charleston and how for two years before he retired they talked about getting a little historic house with an outdoor plaque—BUILT 1858—and a brass door knocker. How they imagined they could buy close enough to the wharf to watch the boats come in with the tides. But their tech stocks had taken a big hit and all they could afford was an unremarkable neighborhood in Mount Pleasant. “Isn’t it a little soon?” She was going to say idiotic. Isn’t it a little idiotic? But she didn’t, because she suddenly thought of Fred and realized that sometimes the world works in mysterious ways. Miracles happen. If they hadn’t moved to Savannah, she wouldn’t have met him.

  “I’m just kicking the idea around at this point.”

  “Oh.”

  “Audrey has shown me some properties downtown that are interesting. That may make sense in the long term.”

  “Audrey?” Catherine felt a stiffness in her back.

  “Look. The investments are my department. This is your department.” He motioned his upturned hands to the kitchen. To the refrigerator and stove and microwave. To the empty jar of peanut butter. “Did you see she won salesperson of the month again?” He took his thumb and jabbed it into his mouth, trying to work out a nut, then poured more creamer into his coffee. “And I think that’s it for the cream,” he added. “You’re out of cream.”

  And that was it. Without another thought or a fight or even a word she let herself go. She gave herself permission to set off into the universe. She even left Karma, just for the morning. “I’ll get some.”

  She stood, grabbed her purse and car keys from the counter, and let his voice fall flat in the empty well of the back stairs. Maybe he added some items to her grocery list. Butter or beer or bacon. Maybe called after her to pick up a book of stamps or a stick of antiperspirant. But she was already in the car, checking the mirrors, double-checking that the car was in reverse. With breath measured and mind focused, she backed out, being sure not to rush, not to let her heart control the gas pedal.

  Then she put the car in drive and pulled out of the driveway and forward to the stop sign. She thought of the iridescent, delicate wings of a monarch butterfly, a butterfly that changes from egg to chrysalis to adult in a matter of weeks. A butterfly that uses the sun and an internal compass to find its way in the world. And so she followed her own instinctual feeling. Instead of taking a right to the wide aisles of Piggly Wiggly, she turned left toward Fred’s house.

  chapter 33

  Ida Blue couldn’t believe her good luck, as if she’d cracked open a fortune cookie to find a scrap of paper that read YOU WON!

  Fred had arrived late on the previous afternoon to pick up his dog. When she opened the door she noticed his grin, as big as a Triple Whopper. He thanked her for working Sequoia into her busy schedule—like she had anything else to do—and handed her a hundred-dollar bill.

 
Ida Blue flipped it over, expecting it could pay for Marvin Gardens or Baltic Avenue, anticipating Not Legal Tender or Rich Uncle Pennybags on the back. “Seriously?” she asked.

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life,” he answered. “And if you’re willing, I’ll need you mornings and hopefully some afternoons too.”

  “I’ll try to fit you in.”

  Sequoia had wandered to Fred’s side to enjoy an ear rub, but when Ida Blue pocketed the money, the dog turned and approached, nuzzling Ida Blue’s hip. She knew it was just the Slim Jim in her pocket but felt appreciated nonetheless.

  “She’s always been friendly,” Fred said, “but I’ve never seen her like this. She just adores you.”

  “And the feeling is mutual.”

  “Look, I’m anticipating some longer trips, too. Maybe to Europe or the Caribbean.”

  “I’m here as much as you need me.” Ida Blue fondled the beef jerky, then brought her hand out so the dog’s wide tongue could smack at her fingers. “We seem to have a real connection.”

  At eight o’clock the following morning, Fred brought Sequoia back to Ida Blue’s house. The dog practically raced through her front door, and Fred carried in her bed, some chew toys, a retractable leash, and a tub of food. He gave Ida Blue complete instructions for his dog’s care, as if Sequoia were being dropped off at summer camp. He apologized for his vagueness but said he didn’t really know when he’d return. He had an important appointment. Ida Blue couldn’t be more pleased. She had no pressing engagements besides her talk shows and realized that missing yesterday’s programs hadn’t been nearly as difficult as she’d expected. She’d thought she’d crave Kathie Lee and Hoda the way a chain-smoker misses a cigarette, but she seemed to have quit cold turkey without any signs of withdrawal.

  After feeding Sequoia a light breakfast and sitting out back to watch her root around in the yard, she decided to take the dog for a walk. The first thing Ida Blue needed was a workout outfit, but the closest thing she could find were polyester shorts with a wide elastic waistband and a Hawaiian short-sleeved top. She didn’t have running shoes, so she settled for canvas slip-ons and found a bright pink sweatband to complete the ensemble.

  As Ida Blue stood in her small closet, Sequoia seemed genuinely interested in her, her eyes following her every movement, her tail hitting the floor. Maybe it wasn’t all about her Slim Jim. “Girls rule and boys drool,” she whispered, then quickly apologized as she saw drool forming on Sequoia’s lower lip. Next, Ida Blue headed to her garage to get the backpack filled with her flyers and removed them. The papers had been in there for weeks, corners wilting from the humidity. Dog-eared! she thought. With her new dogsitting empire supported by the patronage of Fred, maybe her days of marketing in hot parking lots were over.

  Sally Ride didn’t prepare for space just by watching Star Trek, so Ida Blue decided it was time to get serious. Inside the empty backpack she placed a half-dozen plastic bags, a thermos of water, three granola bars, a survival whistle, a travel umbrella, and bandages—in case either she or the dog developed blisters. She mapped out a mile loop from a pullout plan in the Seven Oaks phone book. Ambitious, but she was ready for a challenge. She could almost hear Oprah speaking directly to her: Every journey starts with a step.

  She hooked the leash to Sequoia’s collar and set off. After they passed her mailbox she had to stop to readjust her shoe, and Sequoia waited patiently. A few minutes later they reached the sidewalk and she stopped to sip water. If she was going to keep up this pace, she needed to stay hydrated. To keep her legs moving, her arms swinging, and her mind occupied, she started humming the tune of “Erie Canal”: I’ve got an old dog and she’s a Great Dane / Fifteen miles on Oak Bluff Lane.

  After a bit, she stopped for a granola bar, feeling like Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France. Sweat dripped from her armpits and trickled down her sides. A mile was going to be a challenge but worth the pain. Where there is no struggle, there is no strength. Her thighs rubbed together and she was sorry she hadn’t brought a tub of Vaseline. Surprisingly, the dog seemed fine, a worthy training partner. Sequoia would walk a few feet ahead of Ida Blue, pushing her to be the best she could be, then wait as Ida Blue caught her breath. As people passed in golf carts or on bicycles they tipped their hats or waved encouragingly, as if they were all living in the Olympic Village.

  Then a dark-blue car passed. She noticed it because it was going fast, above the twenty-eight-miles-per-hour speed limit, but it suddenly slowed and pulled over. After a minute, it backed up until it reached her.

  Ida Blue would have to get used to this, people wanting to chat about her fitness regimen, to enquire if she and her dog were training for the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon. She’d have to factor public relations into her schedule.

  The car pulled alongside her and a white-haired woman rolled down the passenger-side window and leaned over to talk to her. “Is that dog yours?”

  Ida Blue had seen shows about how often dogs look like their owners, how people subconsciously choose pets that mirror themselves, so it was natural for this woman to make that assumption. Ida Blue had the same oversize head and strong body. The same gentle disposition too, though she knew the woman couldn’t see that. “We’re not exactly related by birth.”

  “No, I mean, isn’t that Sequoia?”

  The dog sniffed the air and wagged her tail. “Yes, baby.” Ida Blue ran her hand along the dog’s neck and held the leash tight. “Yes.”

  “What about Fred? Does Fred know you have her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course?”

  “He’s my neighbor. We sort of share her.”

  “Wait.” The woman shook her head as if trying to shoo away a bee. “You share Sequoia?”

  “I’m his dog walker, but I prefer to think of it as joint custody.” Ida Blue liked the way that sounded. Joint custody. It was a phrase tossed around on daytime TV and Divorce Court when people wrangled over children or estates in the Hamptons. “He’s asked me to be on call for a few days. He has business to attend to.” Business might have been an overstatement, because she assumed he was retired, but it made her feel like they were all part of something big.

  “Did he tell you that?”

  Ida Blue wasn’t sure what the woman was getting at. “Why sure. Mornings. Afternoons. It all depends. He’s a pretty busy fellow.”

  The woman ran her hands through her hair, then looked into the rearview mirror though no one was behind her. “The other night. The storm. Wasn’t Sequoia lost?”

  “Lost?” That was the night Sequoia had come into Ida Blue’s garage. The night her luck had changed. “Not so much lost as found. They were in my garage.”

  “They?”

  “She was with another dog. A Boston terrier.”

  “Oh,” the woman said quietly.

  “Sort of brown and white. Brindle is the term for it.” It was nice to be able to share some of her canine knowledge with the public. Maybe one day she could cohost a game show with Cesar Milan. Have Drew Carey on standby with The Pooch Is Right.

  “I see.”

  “Are you all right?” Ida Blue asked. The woman’s face had flushed crimson as if her car’s air-conditioning had just gone on the fritz.

  “You say you’re a dogsitter?”

  “Sitter. Trainer. Handler. I do it all.”

  “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

  “Ida Blue.”

  “Ida Blue the pet psychic?”

  “Yes, I mean I was a pet psychic, but truth be told, getting a good connection is sort of like finding love on The Bachelor.”

  “I called you a few months ago about Ralph.”

  It must have been one of her free ten-minute consultations. It was so draining dealing with people who believed in clairvoyance. Thank goodness those days were over. “Well, take what I said with a grain of salt. I was transitioning between careers.”

  “Ralph isn’t my dog. He’s my husband.”

  “You c
alled me about your husband?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t have issues with my dog.”

  Was this one of the hundred fake calls she’d gotten over the years? People who made prank phone calls just to get her goat. May I speak with Mr. and Mrs. Wall? No Walls there? Then what’s holding up your house?

  Well, Sequoia isn’t really mine, either, Ida Blue thought, so we’ll all just play along with each other. “Here’s a newsflash, lady. I’m not a real pet psychic, so pardon me if I take my dog.” She tugged Sequoia back to the sidewalk to make the final push toward home while the blue car pulled out into the road. Clearly, the driver had forgotten where she was rushing, as she made a sharp U-turn and returned in the direction she’d come.

  chapter 34

  Fred felt like a teenager. He kept running back and forth to his dining room window to see if Catherine’s car had pulled in. They had made a plan that she would swing by around nine, and although she was almost an hour late it didn’t matter. All that mattered was seeing her again. He hoped they would fetch Sequoia and he could explain his dogsitting arrangement to her. The plan wasn’t to deceive Catherine; the plan was to get to know her. He wanted to tell her about the pain of losing Lissa and his struggle to connect with Danielle. He might brag about Tommy. He could ask about her marriage or even about Ralph, while remarking how lucky a man he must be to have spent a lifetime in her company. He would have her tell him stories of Karma as a puppy and her own childhood, of summer camp or New Jersey winters or exotic trips she’d taken. He wondered if she preferred the beach or the mountains. Maybe one day he could bring her to Lewiston for the holidays, then rent a cabin near Sunday River or Sugarloaf. He hadn’t skied in years but couldn’t remember why he’d stopped.

  Finally he spied her blue car parked outside, and he opened the door before she even knocked. She stood before him wearing a bright skirt and a short-sleeved shirt that flattered her figure. “Why hello there,” he said breathlessly, as if he’d just been on a training run to get to this moment, the starting line of his last and best race. Fred had hoped that Catherine would jump into his arms as in a scene straight out of a Cary Grant movie. Instead she just stood on the stairs.