Conversations with Saint Bernard

by Jim Kraus

  Lyle remembered being just as fascinated by the same manner of bizarre and unusual that seemed to fascinate his son.

  Must be a male sort of thing. Or an age sort of thing. I remember being taken in by vampires and werewolves when I was his age.

  “This was totally cool, Dad. Thanks for taking me.”

  “My pleasure. We don’t seem to get away—just the boys—too often.”

  Alex nodded.

  “You feeling okay?”

  Obviously, Alex expected the question at least a few times every day. Especially since his most recent scare.

  “I am. The pills help a lot.”

  “Good.”

  “When do I see the allergy guy?”

  “This Tuesday.”

  The drove along in silence for a few miles.

  “And he’ll be able to tell what makes me sneeze and all?”

  “It’s the plan. Then we’ll be able to make changes. New laundry soap or new furnace filters or adding air purifiers—whatever is needed.”

  Alex looked out the window for a stretch of a few miles.

  “It’s probably Lewis, isn’t it?”

  Lyle had expected Alex to ask that question. He was a young boy who knew his way around a hospital and around a diagnosis. Alex had access to the Internet as well and probably researched the situation.

  “Maybe. We won’t know for sure until we see the doctor.”

  “I’ll bet it’s Lewis.”

  “Well, it could be.”

  “I would guess it is. Sort of obvious, when you think about it.”

  Lyle glanced over at his son, expecting to see pain or sadness or anger on his face. But he did not. Alex looked . . . normal. Almost happy. Or perhaps reconciled to the truth. Placid. At peace.

  “Mrs. Woloshun would say it all happened for a reason.”

  “Mrs. Woloshun?”

  “My Sunday school teacher.”

  Lyle tried to hide his surprise.

  “You remember her? It was . . . four years ago. You were little.”

  “I remember her. She was real nice. And I trusted her. I still do, I guess.”

  Lyle thought for a moment.

  “Good, son. She sounds like a smart woman.”

  Alex nodded.

  “She would say all of this has happened for a reason. She said it about me being so sick when I was little. She said it would all work out—and it did. And we need to learn from the things God puts in our life. I don’t know . . . but maybe I did learn some stuff from being sick.”

  Lyle wanted to remember every word of this conversation. Alex did not share like this often, and even less often with his mother—so Lyle wanted to make sure he caught every nuance.

  Trudy will start to cry when I tell her.

  “She would say it would all work out—just like it was planned. She said God always has a plan. She’s right, Dad. It will all work out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “It will, Dad. I know it will.”

  Two miles later, Alex piped up.

  “Can we stop at McDonald’s? And not tell Mom?”

  Lyle did not smile though he wanted to. He wanted to hug his son, tousle his hair, and tell him he was the most important thing in Lyle’s life and he would do anything to keep him close, to protect him, to keep him from harm for the rest of his life.

  Instead of doing it, he simply replied, “Sure. And we’ll keep it a secret.”

  Alex waited two more miles until a McDonald’s came into view.

  “Thanks, Dad. I know it will all work out.”

  As they pulled into the lot, he added softly, “Somehow.”

  17

  Hi, I’m Tess Bardle. From Phoenix.”

  “I’m Trudy Burden. And you’ve met Lewis.”

  Lewis was mooshing his head into Tess’s shoulder, wuffing quietly, demanding more pets from this kind stranger.

  “The only thing Lewis likes better than being petted is going for walks and rides in the car,” Trudy said. “So what are you doing in Gloucester? It’s a long way from the desert.”

  “I’m here for a high school reunion. Gloucester High. Don’t ask what year.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “And I’m visiting my father. He still lives here.”

  Trudy found it calming to be speaking to another adult without having to discuss allergies or illnesses or displacing dogs.

  “What do you do in Phoenix? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  She needs to talk.

  “I’m a nurse.”

  “You are?” Trudy exclaimed.

  “I am,” Tess replied. “I work at a family clinic in Phoenix.”

  Trudy drew in a deep breath.

  “Do you know anything about allergies in children?”

  “Some. At the clinic, we have a couple of allergy doctors on staff. The dryness and the heat keeps the pollen at bay—but it does a nasty job on sinuses. They’re always busy.”

  Tess watched as Trudy’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Even the muscles in her face seemed to loosen, to soften. Tess thought she saw the words thank you form on Trudy’s lips, but she wasn’t sure.

  She does need to talk.

  “You have time? Can I ask you a question?”

  “I have time. I’m free all morning.”

  Trudy laid out the basics of Alex’s condition, a rough sketch of his medical history, and the moment of introduction of Lewis into the house.

  When she mentioned the name “Lewis,” Lewis looked up and wuffed.

  “He’s too smart for his own good,” Trudy said as she patted his large head.

  “Sounds like dog hair and dander might be causing it,” Tess said. “But you need to see a specialist. Given what your son has gone through. I’m sure you will, right?”

  “Of course,” Trudy said quickly. “Tuesday is his appointment.”

  Tess saw the tension in Trudy’s eyes.

  Maybe I am more like my mother than I realize.

  “But your son loves Lewis, doesn’t he?”

  Trudy just nodded.

  “And you’re worried about . . . what happens to the dog . . . if he is making Alex sick.”

  Trudy nodded and did not speak.

  “Well, here’s one thing you need to do when you get to the doctor. They may not suggest it—since doctors are just well-trained mechanics. If it is dog hair, they’ll tell you the dog has to go. Simple. But there might be another way.”

  “What?”

  “Patients can get a series of weekly injections—over the course of a year. It will drastically desensitize the allergy symptoms.”

  “I read about it on the Internet.”

  “So all you have to do is find a temporary home for Lewis for a year—until Alex gets a full series of shots.”

  “A year?”

  “It will be easier for your son to be separated for a year—rather than forever.”

  Trudy took in a deep breath.

  “So where am I going to find someone willing to take a very large dog for a year?”

  Tess smiled.

  Now I know why I stopped. Now I see.

  “You know, I think I might know someone who would be a perfect candidate.”

  18

  Tess did not speak about Lewis until dinner. She had wanted to see the inside of the RV—to judge if it was roomy enough for both her father and a St. Bernard.

  It was.

  While not exactly spacious, it would offer more than ample room for a man and a dog.

  Even a man and a large dog.

  “And it has a built-in Wi-Fi connector,” Gary exclaimed. “George, this is so cool.”

  Tess remarked on the ingenious use of space inside—room enough for a kitchen and a bathroom and a living area and a dining area. Of course, the living area and the dining area were the same area—with a few foldouts and put-aways involved in switching their purpose.

  “This is so nice, Dad,” she said, sitting on the couch. “I can see h
ow you could make this work for a long trip.”

  George appeared happy his daughter and son-in-law approved of his choice, and they both seemed genuinely impressed with the interior furnishing and the RV’s accoutrements. Gary sat in the small above-cab alcove holding a queen-sized bed, and George and his daughter sat on the couch in the middle of the RV. Of course, this couch offered seat belts, but as couches go, Trudy declared, it was “more than adequately comfortable.”

  “I could have gone bigger,” George stated, “but there is only me. And there’s more than enough room for me in here. And all the things I need. And the bigger it gets, the harder it is to drive.”

  Trudy offered an odd smile at her father.

  “Speaking of traveling solo . . . and traveling companions, Dad . . .”

  Even Gary perked up at this opening. Tess had not spoken to him about Lewis either.

  “I think I have found you a traveling partner.”

  * * *

  “Alex,” Trudy said, after sitting both him and Lewis down on the good couch in the real family room—the one no one used except when people Alex didn’t know came over—“what would you say to Lewis taking a trip for a while? Not forever. Just for a while.”

  Alex did not reply, not right away. He first looked at Lewis, and Lewis looked back at him, and then both of them looked at Trudy.

  “How long?”

  “Until you get the shots to make you not allergic to dogs. If the doctor says the shots will work and all.”

  “How long?”

  Trudy shrugged.

  “Maybe six months.”

  Lewis cleared his throat, then snorted.

  Come on, Lewis. You can’t do this. I’m not lying. I’m not.

  “Maybe a year. Depending on your sensitivity. We’ll have to wait until we see the doctor.”

  “Where would he go?”

  Trudy tried to smile, earnest and open.

  “All over America, Alex. Wouldn’t it be the best thing?”

  * * *

  “A St. Bernard? Are you crazy, Tess?” And this remark was from Gary, who had so far stayed out of the discussion. “They’re big dogs.”

  George nodded sagely.

  “Real big dogs, Tess. I don’t think it would work. This is a small RV, after all.”

  Tess tried to remember what her mother did in situations like this.

  Act firm. As if the decision has already been made. All you have to do is fill in the details. And do not put up with any negative thoughts.

  Tess smiled.

  And Mom smiled. A lot. Like you smile at a small child when you’re trying to explain something complicated.

  “Dad, you like dogs. You liked Mitzi, remember?”

  George responded with a scowl.

  “It was your mother’s dog. And it was a small dog. Not some gargantuan beast of a dog.”

  “Dad, I remember you crying when you had to put her down. You loved the dog. And now . . . there’s an opportunity to show the same love to a dog and a little boy and, well, to an entire family. You’ll have someone to talk with while you drive. And he’ll be good protection. You do realize you’re . . . well, you’re an older person, traveling alone. I would be worried sick. But if Lewis were along . . . well it would be different.”

  “Lewis,” George snorted, “what sort of name is that? They named a dog Lewis?”

  He’s coming around.

  “Trudy said he was named after the explorer. It’s fate, Dad. You’ll both be exploring. And he’s the sweetest, most calm dog you’ll ever meet.”

  Gary looked as if he was about to speak, and Tess glared at him, just for a moment.

  Gary shrugged instead of speaking and looked down at his hands instead.

  “Listen, Dad, I don’t want you to decide today. And maybe the doctor will find it’s something else altogether. But I just want you to think about it. We’re here for a week.”

  George looked at his daughter with some suspicion.

  “Remember this, Dad. You will be helping out a family—and a sick young boy. This could prove . . . providential to them. Seriously. It would be an answer to prayer.”

  Don’t layer it on too thickly. He’ll see through it.

  “Sleep on it, Dad. I know you don’t like to rush into decisions. Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind. Okay? Please say okay.”

  George looked as if he were going to scowl, then didn’t.

  “Okay,” he replied. “I promise to think about it.”

  * * *

  “Maybe we’ll get to meet him this weekend. He’s older. Sort of like a grandfather.”

  Alex had not responded to this unexpected solution with any great deal of anxiety or trepidation.

  “And he likes dogs?”

  “It’s what his daughter said. And he would be alone for the whole trip. So Lewis could keep him company. I think this could work out for both of us.”

  “Or all three of us. Me, Lewis, and this guy.”

  “Right. The three of you,” Trudy quickly replied.

  “What do you think?”

  Alex’s face tightened up, like it always did when he was puzzled or confounded by a problem. Then he brightened.

  “If Lewis likes him, then it’s okay with me.”

  And Trudy, for the first time in days and days and days, felt a glimmer of hope, flickering off in the future.

  “Okay,” she replied. “Then it’s a plan.”

  19

  After dinner, after the “Lewis” discussion, after watching too much news on TV, Tess walked into the kitchen to make her last cup of coffee for the day.

  Too late for a full pot. And Mr. Coffee doesn’t do well with single servings. I guess I’ll have to use Dad’s instant . . . coffee, if you can call it coffee.

  She removed the jar from the cabinet, measured out a serving into an empty cup, and filled the electric kettle with water. From the living room, she heard the sound of a baseball game. Or it might have been a football game. They all sounded the same to her. She listened. No one was speaking. She glanced out around the corner. Her father and her husband were sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead at the flickering images, not saying a word, each apparently lost in their own world.

  It’s a baseball game.

  She watched them for a moment.

  They can sit for hours and never say anything to each other and they will say they had a good time together. I don’t get it. I don’t.

  The water was boiling, and she poured it out into her cup and added half-and-half. She made sure the coffee and creamer were returned to nearly the exact place where they had been placed.

  I’m doing what my father does. Making sure everything is exactly like it was. Being precise and orderly.

  She sat at the kitchen table and read over the Gloucester Times. A stack of advertising and catalogues and other unopened mail solicitations were piled on the corner of the table. She was certain her father placed them there in preparation to put them in the apartment complex’s recycling receptacle down by the parking lot.

  She slid the stack over and flipped through them. An L.L. Bean catalogue. Three envelopes offering “low-cost insurance for seniors.” A solicitation for RV insurance. A thick booklet of local businesses with coupons for “buy one dinner and get the second at half price.”

  I can see why he doesn’t go through these carefully.

  She stopped halfway through the small stack. A large postcard, addressed to her father, using his name and not “or current resident,” had been sent from the New Hampshire Firearms in Exeter.

  She flipped it over. “Huge customer appreciation sale. Get a free New Hampshire Firearms T-shirt with the purchase of a new Double Tap 9mm or .45cal Tactical Pistol.” There were lists of other rifles and guns with a list the hours of operation and website.

  Why would he have gotten this flyer? He’s never owned a gun. Unless . . . he bought a gun.

  Tess turned the card over. It was his correct address and the prefe
rred spelling of his name—with the middle initial.

  Why would he need a gun? Protection?

  She felt a cold jolt in her heart. She stopped thinking, trying hard to stop making connections in her mind.

  I have to do something.

  Slipping the card back into the stack, she tidied it up, squared the corners, and slid it back to the edge of the table.

  I can’t imagine . . .

  She closed her eyes.

  He has to have something to live for. It’s all there is to it.

  * * *

  Three days after Tess found the advertisement for the gun shop, the Burdens drove past the New Hampshire Firearms store in Exeter on their way back from the allergist. No one paid any attention to it.

  “We could have waited for an appointment at his Gloucester office,” Lyle said as he navigated the heavy traffic on Interstate 95.

  Trudy did not answer. And Lyle, obviously, did not expect an answer. The doctor in question came highly recommended, and the Tuesday appointment in his Exeter office was the only time available for the next several weeks.

  Other than Lyle’s comment, no one had spoken on the trip back to Gloucester. Alex stared out the window. He did not appear sad or apprehensive, just bored.

  Dr. Casario had given them the news they had all expected.

  “We did the scratch tests. Nothing on pollen or dust or grass or mold. But the dog dander swelled up almost immediately. Alex is very sensitive and allergic.”

  Trudy nodded as he spoke.

  “And when can we start the shots?”

  “The shots?” the doctor asked.

  “The desensitivity shots.”

  “I don’t always recommend the shots, Mrs. Burden. With severe cases, they might not work as well. It’s a lot simpler just to get rid of the offending allergen.”

  “I know. But the ‘offending allergen’ is my son’s dog. So when can we start the shots?”

  “Mrs. Burden . . .,” the doctor replied and looked clearly like he was about to launch into a long discussion of why removal would be better and cheaper and more convenient than a year-long series of shots. But then he looked again at Mrs. Burden’s face.

  “Mrs. Burden, I take it you have researched this?”