Show and Tell
Page 9
Nikki retrieved her tablet and let the hurt flow in an impetuous burst of misspelled words to the Show And Tell group. Nobody knew who Nikki-Kitty was anyway, so what could it hurt?
Before she could stow it away and begin to muck out the poopy kennels, the "bing" announced a message reply. Her eyes widened. She got more than a simple "like" this time. It came from Kid Kewl himself, the owner of the whole super-secret group.
"Hush little Nikki, don't be mad.
I'm gonna fix, turn your sad to glad."
Chapter 13
Singers on the stage moved with practiced ease as they awaited their musical cues. Seated above the actors toward the rear of the orchestra loft, September counted the measures silently, attention divided between the conductor at the front of the orchestra and soloist poised on the balcony across the way. The baton raised, cue given, and September’s extended right arm danced her bow across the strings in a syncopated drumbeat of sound while her left hand fingered the strings. The eerie driving rhythm, echoed in the rest of the string section, built the desired tension and had the attentive matinee audience on the edge of their seats until all fell silent save for the celesta’s single delicate music box chord.
"How...could I ever know," sang Lily-the-Ghost.
With a smile, September leaned forward, long hair spilling over her shoulders only a few shades darker than her cello. She embraced the cello she'd named Harmony like a mother comforting her child. Musical tension released along with her shoulders with the audience's collective sigh. Harmony's tenor strains blended molasses-rich to complement the actor’s mint-fresh soprano soon joined by the tragic hero's tenor.
The lyrics cut too close to home. Guilt, shameful secrets, lives destroyed, all remained too fresh and September funneled the pain into each bow-stroke until music washed clean and transformed emotion into pure bliss. Music saved her sanity once before, and she'd only recently dared to play again after a year’s long hiatus. She had no reason to hide anymore. Music wouldn’t betray her and might even complete the healing.
Playing might give Mom reason to be proud of her, for a change. Her parents, Rose and Lysle January, sat in the front row in the audience to cheer their grandson in the children's chorus. This was eight-year-old Steven's theatrical debut.
Steven still didn't talk, but when Grandma Rose discovered he communicated most easily with rhymes and singing, she arm-twisted the theater director to include him in the children's chorus. September doubted how much Steven enjoyed being around so many people, but one didn't question Rose January. Especially about her grandbabies. She was always right. She'd tell you so, herself.
Thunder shook the theater, real thunder, not the electronic sound effects already used several times during the show. The actor playing Lily hit a high note, the shimmery tone pure, true and clear. Archibald strained to hit his high tenor part of the duet. His voice cracked into an unfortunate squeak, but quickly recovered. Shadow, positioned next to September, added a soft baritone moan of complaint, turning the duet into a trio.
September gave the "shush" signal, but Shadow continued to moan-sing along with the actors. When the tenor's voice again failed to reach the appropriate note, Shadow's arrroooo climbed the scale in a two-octave arpeggio that rivaled the singers' ranges.
Her face warmed at the orchestra director’s dirty look, but she kept playing. How could she stop? September could imagine Mom’s reaction and risked a quick peek over the railing to the audience below. Dad hid a smile with his program, but Mom sat stiff and unyielding, ignoring the doggy trumpet-blat.
At least the rest of the audience didn't realize it was a dog. The first act had struggled with feedback from the mics, after all. The actor playing Archibald turned red-faced but sang with renewed vigor, determined to out-sing Shadow's enthusiastic counterpoint.
A rest came in the music, and September again signaled Shadow to shush, but he thought it was a game. Other musicians giggled, some outright laughing with delight. September mouthed a silent "sorry" to the director but his expression forgave nothing. His nostrils flared while the baton beat the air.
The duet came to a close and Shadow's commentary quieted. She whispered to him, still aware the director watched. "Good-dog, Shadow, good shush." Praise the good, ignore the bad while gritting your teeth. That took practice, but the effort worked much better than the alternatives. "Here, take care of Bear. Bear is lonely." She nudged the dog's stuffed toy with one foot, giving him something legal to do with his mouth other than howl. He grabbed it, propped one paw over it, and began to nurse on its misshapen head.
She readied herself for the finale, grateful for the end of the performance but dreading the after-party. Mom planned the shindig for the entire cast and crew, more to showcase herself as a donor and her grandson Steven. After Shadow's impromptu solo, September knew she’d be the target of hurt and angry glares from actors, the directors and most especially, Mom-the-perfectionist.
The rest of the performance finished note-perfect both onstage and off. The applause faded, and September cleaned her bow, wiped rosin from the strings and closed the cello score. The rest of the players put away their instruments, most smiling at her on their way downstairs. A few spoke to Shadow, but none offered to pet him. They were locals. They knew her history, and respected his working dog status despite his lapse in etiquette.
Dr. Parker Belk, the orchestra director, weaved through the chair obstacle course until he loomed above her, and September flushed again. They'd only met briefly two hours ago, when he'd introduced her as the substitute cellist.
She forced herself to meet his storm-cloud-gray eyes. "I'm so sorry." She put one hand on Shadow's head, and the dog wagged but didn't release his toy. "It's my fault, I need time to prep him to the singers." Shadow had never been around singers. He’d probably considered singing to be a human howl.
"Your mother told me you were a professional, and I appreciate you sitting in at the last minute. Sight-reading the score, that's impressive. But Rose said nothing about your pet wolf attending the performance." Parker straightened his red bow tie, and smoothed the black tuxedo jacket, making September feel even frumpier in the old jeans and tracking boots she'd not had time to change.
"He's a service dog." She turned off the stand light and rose to face him. He stood a head taller than her five-feet six inches, but not as tall as Combs.
"A service dog should have better manners. Don't you have to take a test to get a license or something? Why doesn't he wear a vest?"
"You're right, he shouldn't have howled. Beyond that, you're misinformed.” There was no test, license or identification required of service dogs. In fact, under ADA guidelines, even business owners were only allowed to ask if a dog provided a service, and what the dog was trained to do.
September accepted the cello case he handed to her. She expected him to march off in a huff.
He was right. But he didn't have to be a jerk. "I said I'm sorry, Professor Belk." She kept her voice low, but Shadow immediately dropped his Bear-toy with a whine.
"Call me Parker." He smiled, the first time she remembered seeing anything but a scowl, and it transformed his stormy expression and took years off his age. "I hate this monkey suit but can't change until after the meet-and-greet with donors. You're coming, too." He gestured at Shadow. "Bring the wolf, so they know it wasn't me this time criticizing the performance."
The turn-about caught her by surprise. The vertical scowl lines framing his wide mouth smoothed, replaced by a dimple at one corner of his crooked smile. She smiled back, but she couldn’t quell disquiet. "Okay, sure. There's a week until the next performance, plenty of time to work with Shadow before then. He won’t howl again."
"Oh, that's right. Rose said you trained him yourself. Everyone's doing that now." He rubbed his chin. "My sister-in-law got one of those Internet certifications so she could take her little poufy dog on planes for free."
She stiffened. "Excuse me?" She hated fake services gaming the system. It
just made it harder for those with legitimate animal partnerships. September put a hand on Shadow’s brow, and steadied her breathing.
Parker didn’t seem to notice he’d offended her. "Thanks for filling in on such short notice. You saved my bacon."
At the bacon word, Shadow cocked his head and licked his lips. September made eye contact with the dog and shook her head and his ears drooped with disappointment. She sheathed her bow into the front-case slot, and noticed the other musicians had already left.
When her phone pinged, she checked the display and noted three missed calls, all from Combs. She quickly pocketed the phone, and her music-induced high drained away quicker than a toilet's flush.
"You have to come to the party." Parker’s request held a note of pleading. "I hate these things, but it's expected. Everybody knows everyone, but I'm a newbie to the theater like you. Besides," he leaned forward and whispered, "Rose made me promise to get you there."
That explained a lot. Rose never did anything without a reason. She wondered if Parker was Mom’s latest matchmaking target. September took a moment, appraising him. Heck, why not? They at least had music in common. That was a hell of a lot less stressful than dead bodies.
Shadow pressed against her. "I'm okay, baby-dog." She touched his ruff and her breathing steadied. Mom would have a cow if September had a panic attack here, in front of the folks Rose wanted to impress.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. September pulled it back out to check. Combs again. She declined the call, and pocketed the phone.
"Let me carry your ax?" Parker didn't wait for her answer. He grabbed the cello's backpack straps, slung Harmony onto his shoulders, and headed for the stairs. "You coming?"
What choice did she have? "Shadow, let's go. Bring Bear."
Shadow thundered down the cement stairs and waited for her impatiently at the bottom. September kept one hand on the railing, habit after her knee repair surgery. This could be good, reconnecting with fellow musicians, people she understood and with whom she shared common interests. She'd make a ten-minute appearance at the party and be polite to Parker. At least she had a good excuse to dodge Mom.
Thunder boomed again, and the lights flickered off and back on. "What fun, it's a thunder party, right Shadow?" She joined the dog at the foot of the stairs, jollying him with her happy voice as she reattached his leash.
He offered a muffled woof, the Bear-toy still clenched tight in his jaws, and shook the stuffed toy hard while his tail flagged high. The sight of his bullet notched ear was a stark reminder of past danger they had faced. Better to focus on music. Anyone with half a brain would choose rim shots over gunshots.
Parker stopped, eyebrows raised. "Thunder party?"
"Some dogs fear loud noises, especially thunder. So ever since Shadow was a baby, we've had thunder parties with fun games and treats when it got noisy." That probably had helped Shadow get through his close calls, although she hadn't planned it that way.
She followed Parker from the backstage to the floor of the stage. Actors mingled with fans, mostly family, and accepted bouquets, hugs, posed for pictures and signed programs. Most of the musicians stood in an awkward group to one side. September moved to join them, until she saw Parker dodging between bodies to cross the stage. He still carried Harmony over his shoulder.
"Parker, wait." He made a beeline to her parents. Crap. Into the lion’s den. Now she had to explain Shadow’s disruption with the whole world listening.
The play director stood chatting with Mom and Dad, and Rose gave Parker a brief hug and then searched the room for September. Parker bent to greet Steven, and the child turned away, his green eyes stabbing September from across the room.
She hadn't seen Steven since that horrible day last November. He'd grown since then. And he acted so formal, not like a child at all, despite his frail frame. Steven stood military straight, but when Mom reached to stroke his white-blond hair, he shifted away like a skittish cat. Mom urgently beckoned September to join them.
Shadow whined, leaning back against her legs. September smoothed the dog's black brow, unconsciously mirroring Mom's comforting gesture. Far from dodging away like Steven, though, Shadow leaned into her palm wanting more. He dropped Bear-toy and shivered a bit, and then pulled back on the leash not wanting to move. "What's wrong, baby-dog? You've never been scared of thunder before."
***
Shadow stared at all the strangers milling about and talking with loud voices. He only recognized a few. Nikki saw him and smiled, and he wondered if Doc Eugene might be there, too. Shadow's tail stirred until she turned away to talk to Steven. His tail fell.
Steven had grown taller, thinner, and somehow sharper than before. Shadow shivered when Steven stared into his eyes. His-boy had never done that before, and Shadow slid his eyes aside, the way a polite dog should.
All around him, strangers laughed and talked so loudly it hurt a good-dog's ears. He felt unsettled by Steven's odd behavior. He trusted September, but she acted distressed, too. That made Shadow worry. Her smell always changed before she had a scary-gone time, when her heart hammered and she panted like something chased her, and she fell into a deaf-blind-screaming fit. In those times, she couldn't hear him, or see him. Shadow warned her before a scary-gone time happened, and sometimes September kept it at bay. When she couldn’t, Shadow protected September until she knew him again.
Her smell hadn't changed. But it might. September tried to be brave, but he could always tell when she struggled. So, Shadow pressed close to her side to keep her safe. Nobody told him he should. Shadow figured that out all by himself. He was smart that way.
In the before, a lifetime ago when Steven had been his-boy, Shadow kept Steven safe. September showed him how. He stayed close beside Steven so his-boy didn't wander away, and barked loud to warn adult humans when Steven needed help. Shadow learned how to understand what September wanted him to do when she told him to sit and down and wait. He learned not to pull too hard or lag behind on the leash, especially when Steven grabbed hold of the leash, and that he should always stay with his-boy.
September played games that made him think hard and wag harder when he finally figured out what she wanted. September made a "click" noise with her mouth and gave him a treat when he guessed right, until he didn't have to guess anymore. He knew many words, like "phone" and "cello" and "Macy-cat." He'd learned some things all by himself, too, including "car ride" and "Frisbee" and "bacon." He really liked bacon.
Steven never talked but sometimes he screamed. Shadow wondered why. He yawned, and peeked quickly at Steven again, relieved that his-boy no longer stared. Staring made his skin prickle.
Long ago, Shadow decided he should teach Steven the joys of playing tug and fetch, tummy rubs and running fast-fast-fast. Instead, Steven stacked rocks, or made things spin, boring games for Shadow. Before, his-boy never looked at him, not directly. And Steven never ever petted him, even though Shadow ached to be petted. Maybe if he knew how to make the click-mouth-sound, Steven would understand.
Shadow nudged September with his nose, and her hand dropped to smooth his brow. That made him feel better. She'd been a constant in his life even in the before-time when Shadow lived at Steven's house. She understood Shadow even when he couldn't make click-noises to explain. She petted him—BLISS—and scratched his hard-to-reach spots. September never yelled if he made mistakes. When he did something right, she called him "good-dog" until he thought he’d melt with delight. He liked pleasing September and being called "good-dog" even more than getting a treat. Unless it was bacon.
He didn't try to love September. It simply happened. And now they belonged to each other.
Seeing Steven made his heart jump with concern. Fur stood off his shoulders at the memory of Steven pointing the gun, the scary-pop sound and acrid smell when it bit his ear. Ever since that day, he'd lived with September and been a good-dog for her, keeping her safe from bad dreams and bad men. He didn't want to get close to Steven ever again.
"What's wrong, baby-dog?" He could tell she didn't want to talk to Steven or the people around him. But her voice made everything better, and he licked her hand to tell her so. He jumped up, surprising her. He wasn't supposed to, but needed her arms around him. She scolded him with a laugh that said she didn't mean it.
Shadow didn't object when she scooped up Bear-toy where he'd dropped it, and tucked it under her arm. When she tugged his leash, Shadow reluctantly followed, but he kept his eyes down, away from Steven. His tail tucked.
She wouldn't, would she? Hand his leash to Steven? His tail tucked tighter at the thought and he whimpered. Humans did things that made no dog-sense sometimes. Shadow wanted to please September, but not if it meant going away from her. He'd do anything to stay with her. She belonged to him, they belonged together.
Why had Steven come back, unless he meant to take Shadow away? That would hurt worse than the gun-bite.
His whimper became a steady whine. He debated digging his feet into the rough floor. Shadow had chosen to disobey September before, when he knew—knew for certain—that she was wrong. This time he wasn't sure, and the confusion and worry made his head hurt and heart ache. Before he could decide, September’s phone made a funny sound and she stopped to talk.
Her scent changed and then her voice. Alarm fluttered his stomach when she asked, "Who is this? Why do you have Detective Combs's phone?"
Shadow didn’t recognize the young voice on the other end of the device. Only that the girl sounded terrified.
"Melinda?" September stiffened when she said the word, and Shadow nose poked her thigh, but she ignored him. “Willie’s gone? Oh my God.”
Cocking his head, Shadow studied her face. The whites of her eyes and wrinkled brow matched her words, and her scent became brittle with the rush of energy. September waved at the adults across the room, and pointed to her phone. He couldn't help his paw-dance of relief when she did an about face.