by Greta Boris
Brian emerged from the hedge with Crackers at his heels. “See how good he is, Mom? I told you he could find me.”
“He did. Good boy.” Olivia kneeled to hug the dog. His hind end wagged so hard he almost toppled over.
“Give him a treat. He always gets a treat when he finds someone.” Brian pulled a fuzzy dog biscuit from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. Crackers nibbled it from her fingers. The lint didn’t seem to bother him.
Olivia straightened up. “Who taught him to do that?”
“Mr. Raffle,” Brian said. “The man who had Crackers before Dad got him. He was training him to be a search and rescue dog, but he got sick.”
“He abandoned the dog?” Olivia found it hard to believe someone would spend so much time and money on an animal then discard it.
“No. He’s on the board of the animal rescue organization we got Crackers from. They agreed to take Crackers to adoption days for him until they found the right owner,” Davy said.
“He was very picky, and he picked Dad.” Brian beamed at his father.
“And you. I told him all about you.” Davy ruffled Brian’s hair. “He said if Crackers liked you, he liked you too. Crackers is a smart dog.”
“Are you smart? Are you smart, Crackers?” Brian danced backward on the grass with Crackers leaping beside him. Davy and Olivia followed.
“Did you know Crackers had search and rescue training when you got him?” Olivia asked.
“It was one of the first things they told me. I had to sign a paper agreeing to keep up with the training if I wanted him.”
Olivia stopped walking. “You did?”
“Yup.”
“Why? That’s a lot of work.”
“I thought it would be good for Brian.”
Olivia resumed their trek to the far end of the greenbelt where Brian played with the lab. “What, you think we can send the dog after Brian if he wanders away?” Doubt crept into her voice.
“No. Well, maybe. But that’s not why I took Crackers. I think if Brian understands what’s involved with finding someone who’s lost, if he gets to see the worry and the fear and the effort of the searchers, it might change him. Make him think.”
Davy’s self-sacrifice surprised her. “You’re doing a good job with him.” Olivia lowered her voice.
“It hasn’t been hard. He is a bright animal,” Davy said.
Olivia had meant Brian, but she let it stand. Brian had been more focused since Davy had been in his life on a regular basis. He’d forgotten his lunch yesterday for the first time in two and a half weeks. And when he called to ask her to bring it, he remembered he’d left it on the table by the front door. That might not seem like a victory in some homes, but it was in hers.
Brian’s mid-term report card came in yesterday, and almost all his grades had improved too. Only math still hovered at a C minus. Some of the improvement was due to the time, healing, and his new health regime she was sure. But she knew it was more than that. Brian was happy. He had his dad back.
Davy had decorated a bedroom for Brian in his condo. He worked with him on homework. He’d helped him with his Halloween costume, and took him to a harvest event at his church to trick-or-treat. He was doing the kinds of things fathers do. She had to admit; this new Davy seemed to be good for their son.
Brian was quiet on the ride home. As she pulled up to the curb, he broke the silence. “Do you hate Dad?”
Olivia faced him in the dark car. “No. Of course not.”
“Sometimes you act like you do.”
She thought for a long moment before answering. “Sometimes I get mad at him.”
“You mean like when he was drinking beer and stuff?”
“Yes, that made me angry. He stopped coming home, stopped taking care of you.”
“But he’s better now.”
Again, she paused. “It does seem like it.”
“Do you think you guys could ever love each other again? That Dad could move home?” Brian’s eyes glittered in the lamplight. Olivia chewed her bottom lip. She didn’t know what to say. The answer was a definite no, but that wasn’t what Brian wanted to hear. Erasing Davy from her heart had been a painful experience, one she never wanted to go through again. “Dad wants to,” Brian said.
“Why do you say that?” She hoped Davy hadn’t been filling Brian with false hope.
“Just stuff he says.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s always going to be there to keep you and me safe. He’s never going to leave us again.”
Safe? Why bring up safety? “He said that? Said he’d keep us safe?” Olivia said. Brian nodded.
A new suspicion whispered in her mind. Was it possible Davy was the one who left the newspaper articles on her car? Wrote on the stall door at the Mission? Was he trying to scare her so she’d run to him for protection? Acquiring a search and rescue dog could be part of the plan—planting seeds of fear, then positioning himself as the solution.
No. That was crazy. Davy might be impulsive, a loose cannon at times, but he wouldn’t do something like that. “Let’s go.” She threw open her car door with more force than necessary.
After she tucked Brian in, she made a cup of chamomile tea to quiet her nerves. She’d drink it this time. She wasn’t planning on a repeat of last night’s sleeplessness. She sat on the green couch cradling the warm mug in her hands, inhaling its floral steam. Her gaze rested on the window, now covered by blinds.
The idea Davy might be behind the recent events revolved in her brain like a car show exhibit on a turntable. Would it drive? She examined the idea it might not be Proctor, but Davy who was trying to spook her. She thought about what Fiona had said about Davy’s jealousy toward Tom.
The night after Tom had been rough on Brian at soccer practice, she’d felt she was being watched at work. The articles showed up on her windshield right after she’d gone to Turk’s with Tom. The message on the bathroom stall was written while she and Brian were on an outing with Tom. Could Tom be the trigger? And if he was, who else but Davy would care if she spent time with him?
Her eyelids grew heavy. She set her empty mug on the coffee table and pulled a throw blanket over herself. Davy and Tom faced each other in that place between dreams and wakefulness, the tension between them crackled in the air. But she didn’t have time to sort them out, she was looking for Brian.
She moved past the men and found herself on a sloping path. She couldn’t see him, but she knew Brian was up ahead in the darkening woods. The path twisted and turned, burrowing deeper into the gloaming. Branches reached out spindly arms grabbing at her hair, her clothing, and blinding her to what lay ahead. She could only see the few feet of mossy trail directly in front of her.
Then she heard Brian’s voice, piping and high, and the frantic barking of a dog. She began to run. But the faster she ran the more faint his voice became, until all she could hear was the hoot of a night owl and the whistle of a distant train. Its sound filled her with the kind of undefined foreboding nightmares are made from.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SATURDAY, JUNE 27TH, 1992
I HEARD FRANTIC barking and raised voices from the garden. I threw down my trowel and ran toward the sound. “I’m going to kill your crap-eating mutt.” That was Doug.
“Dad.” That was Tomas.
“Get the hell off my property.” That was Paul Travers, our next-door neighbor.
I flew around the side of the house, across the driveway and into the yard next door. Spotlighted by a patch of sunlight like two actors on a stage, Doug and Paul stood a foot apart, faces red, hands fisted. The Travers’s dog, Pepe, a small thing I always thought looked more like a dirty mophead than a canine, hid behind his owner, nose to the sky, raising an alarm. Tomas, so small and skinny next to the two large men, shuffled from foot to foot and picked at his father’s t-shirt.
“Doug. Come inside,” I said, my words coming in a breathless rush.
“I’m going to break that yappe
r’s neck if it doesn’t stop.”
“It’s a dog. Dogs bark. Get over it.” Paul’s voice was laden with disdain.
“Paul, I’m sorry. He’s not well.” I reached for my husband, anxious to lead him to the house, away from the discord.
“The hell I’m not.” Doug flung out his arm. The blow landed between my breasts driving the air from my lungs. I fell to the dirt, stunned. He’d been unpredictable in the week since he’d been home from the hospital, but he hadn’t been violent.
“Stay away from Mama,” Tomas screamed at his father and dropped to his knees next to me. He wrapped his little arms around me.
Paul shoved Doug out of the way and kneeled beside me too. “You okay?” His forehead wrinkled with concern. “This is too much for you, Sage. Too much. I’m calling the cops.”
“Please, no,” was all I could gasp out.
“You come home with me. Molly can take care of you until the police get here.”
“No police. I can handle it. We’re okay.”
“So you two are having a thing behind my back? That’s what’s going on here?” Doug’s gaunt face twisted into a rictus, a parody of his old smile.
“Doug. How could you say that?” I understood this was the brain damage talking, not my husband, but the statement hit me like a slap.
“You’re sick.” Paul shook his head and stuck out a hand to help me to my feet.
“Don’t touch her.” Doug charged like a bull. The two men hit the ground with a thud, dust billowing up around them. I rolled to my knees and crawled toward the skirmish, but Tomas tightened his grip on me. “Tomas. Let me go.” I snapped at him.
“No, Mama.” He sobbed the words.
The fight lasted less than a minute. Doug, although several inches taller than Paul, was still weak from the accident. Paul now sat on his chest, pinning Doug’s arms with his knees. I stifled a laugh. This was the way most of Tomas and Lily’s wrestling matches ended. The men looked like children, silly, teasing children. It struck me funny, hysterically funny.
“The police are on their way.” Molly stood nearby, cradling and shushing Pepe like a baby, her five-year-old, Abby, clinging to her leg. I hadn’t noticed them come out of the house. “Come inside with me, Sage. I’ll make you some coffee.”
I looked toward their door. Scottie Travers, Tomas’s best friend, stood at the screen, his eyes wide. I shook my head. I’d stay here with Doug. I’d explain to the police.
I didn’t blame Molly for calling them. She was trying to protect the kids and me. Doug was loud. He sounded menacing. But I knew I could control him. At least I thought I could.
I saw the plume of dust behind the oak trees before I saw the black and white. The car crunched up the gravel and rolled to a stop between the houses. Two uniformed men, one short and Hispanic, the other a big Norwegian looking man, emerged.
“Hello there folks.” The Hispanic officer’s tone was easy. “I’m Officer Rodriguez.”
“Swanson,” the blond man said, and extended a hand to Paul, who took it and rose to his feet.
“Is anybody hurt here?” Rodriguez said.
“My mother,” Tomas said, but I shushed him.
“No, baby. Mama’s fine. It’s all a silly misunderstanding, Officer. Doug was mad about Pepe, their dog. He barks a lot. He didn’t mean to knock me over.”
“That scumbag is dicking my wife.” Doug jerked his chin toward Paul Travers. “What would you do if some scumbag was dicking your wife?” He sat up and leaned back on his arms.
“Tomas, go to Scottie’s house.” I pushed him gently toward the Travers’s home.
“No, I—” he began.
“It’s okay, son. Your mom will be okay.” Officer Rodriguez gave Tomas a comforting smile. Tomas wiped his nose with his arm leaving a long brown smear across his upper lip and walked into Molly’s waiting arms. Officer Swanson and Paul Travers followed. The screen door closed behind them.
“He’s confused.” I tipped my head toward Doug with a gesture I hoped communicated the problem.
Rodriguez thinned his lips. “Let’s go into the house, sit down, and you can tell me your side of the story. Okay?”
Rodriguez helped me to my feet while Doug struggled to his. Before we made it to the porch, the screen door slapped closed next door, and Swanson walked across the patchy grass toward them. He directed a pointed look at Rodriguez, then one at the squad car.
“On second thought, we’re going to go for a little drive. You can tell me all about it on the way,” Officer Rodriguez said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Doug said.
“I’m afraid you are, sir.” The policeman’s hand went to his belt.
Swanson moved beside him. “Let’s do this the easy way. Okay?”
Doug swung his fist in the direction of the big man’s face. It made a jagged arc and fell short. A moment later, his wrists were handcuffed behind him. The officers moved so quickly, I never saw it happen.
Doug bellowed. “Damn you. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Where are you taking him?” I had to shout to be heard over my husband’s rage.
“Usually we take them to South Coast Hospital,” Swanson said. Paul and Molly must have filled the officer in on Doug’s condition.
“Screw you. Screw you guys. I have friends. Friends who’ll can your asses.” Doug’s face had turned a dangerous purple, veins throbbed on the sides of his forehead.
“Can you take him to Mission Hospital? I’ll call his doctor and see if he can meet us there,” I said.
“Sure,” Rodriguez said. Swanson protected Doug’s head while they lowered him into the squad car.
“Why don’t you take that bastard next door in? Dicking somebody else’s wife is illegal, isn’t it?” The door closed with a thud and muffled his ranting.
“I have to find someone to watch the kids, and I’ll be right there,” I said.
“Take your time.” Officer Rodriguez patted my shoulder. “He’s not going anywhere.”
I watched until the car was out of sight, then turned to my house. Tomas stood at the Travers’s door, nose pressed to the screen, face too stoic for a little boy. It almost broke my heart.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“MOM.” A VOICE, and a gentle shake of her shoulder hauled Olivia from sleep. “Mom, why are you sleeping on the couch?” She rolled over and pried open her eyes. Her son’s face came into focus. “I’m going to be late for school.”
The words worked like a shot of espresso. “What time is it?”
“Almost 8:30.”
Olivia threw off the throw blanket and ran into her bedroom to pull on a pair of yoga pants, then realized she’d gone to bed without changing into her pajamas twice in two days. Not good, but least it would save time today. After dragging a comb through her hair, she hustled Brian out to the car.
By the time they got to St. Barnabas, the drop-off line had been reduced to the stragglers who were as late as she was. She left Brian at the curb with promises to bring him something for lunch before noon.
Olivia swung by her favorite coffee shop on the way home. A double latte would hit the spot. She opened the front door and nearly whacked into the woman at the end of a long line. It was bustling inside. Customers’ voices rose above the roar of coffee makers, the rumble of grinders, and the banging of grounds canisters against trash cans. She hesitated. Her teeth felt like they were covered with fur, her skin slicked with oil. She didn’t want to run into anybody she knew, but the cafe smelled wonderful. The siren call of caffeine won out. She joined the line.
Eight minutes later, she placed her order and went to stand with the crowd gathered at the pickup window. She answered three emails and sent a text to Fiona to let her know she’d be late while she was in line. Now she opened the Fishbowl’s Facebook page, trying to make the most of her wait. A deep voice at a table behind her said, “Olivia.”
Mike McKibben sat at a table in a corner of the coffee shop with a h
alf empty mug and The Register in front of him. She walked closer to her ex-father-in-law. “Mike.”
He smiled; Davy’s smile. His round face was a plumper version of her ex-husband’s. The narrow nose, the kindness in his green-blue eyes, they were all Davy. But instead of light brown hair, his face was framed with hair so white it almost glowed. Olivia smoothed her own hair self-consciously.
“What are you doing here on a Friday morning? I didn’t think the Fishbowl could run without you,” he said.
“I overslept.”
His eyes narrowed as he examined her face. “You feeling okay? I could keep Brian overnight if you need a break.” Mike picked Brian up from school on Fridays and kept him at his place until Olivia arrived.
“No. I’m good. Just zonked out on the couch and didn’t have my alarm.”
“I wish I needed an alarm.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t wait to retire from the department so I could sleep in. Who knew sleeping in would mean five-fifteen instead of five a.m.?”
“I don’t wake up at five, but I don’t usually sleep this late. My schedule has been a little off,” Olivia said.
“Well, I repeat, if you need a night to yourself I’d love to spend more time with my grandson.”
A barista called out her double latte. “That’s me. See you around six.” She leaned over and was enveloped by the scents of pine and smoke, his familiar aftershave. She kissed his smooth cheek and left the shop.
When Olivia got home, she went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She spiked the water up as hot as she could handle, stepped in and let the jets do their magic. When she emerged fifteen minutes later, the sweat and the cobwebs of the night had been washed away. She felt refreshed, awake and her mind hummed with caffeine.
She squirted a generous amount of lavender body lotion in her hand, began rubbing it onto her legs, and thought about her day. She decided to stop by Enzo’s Sports Bar, her old workplace, and pick up a meatball sandwich for Brian. It was one of his favorites, and she could say hello to Enzo while she was there. He’d been kind to her at the lowest point of her life. She didn’t know how she would have made it through the horrible weeks that followed Brian’s accident without him. Or Art. Or Mike. They were her heroes.