“We’ll let this settle on her tummy before we give her anymore.” Trudy picked up the bowl and set it in the sink. While her mother made goo-goo eyes at the dog, doting on it and patting its head, Trudy whipped out her phone and snapped a photo and sent it to Georgia and Aunt Star before her mother could object.
Within seconds, Trudy’s phone pinged with a text from Aunt Star: Merciful Lord! Did a bolt of lightning strike Sister on the head? Joking aside, we know what happened last time a stray wandered onto her property.
You mean that innocent brown dog or the perv? Trudy refrained from texting back.
Her phone pinged again, this time with a text from Georgia: Is Mom going to let you keep it? LOL! Seriously, I still think about that poor dog we named Brownie.
Leaning against the counter, Trudy thumbed the keys on her screen as the memory played in her mind: Remember how we buried him in that unmarked grave at the edge of our property?
Georgia replied: Yeah, that trucker was so nice. After he hit Brownie he stopped to help.
Trudy wrote back: He held onto Momma and kept her from running onto the highway and becoming the next casualty. You ran in the house and called Aunt Star at work.
After a couple more texts back and forth, Trudy pocketed her phone and went to join Clay and Zia on the floor.
Jewel’s cellphone rang where she’d left it sitting on the red desk. She ambled over, took one look at her screen, and sighed into the phone, “Yes, Star. There’s a big yellow dog in my house. Looks like somebody spilled the beans.” She narrowed her eyes at Trudy and disappeared through the archway, her phone pressed to her ear instead of on speaker.
“Your mom okay?” Clay twisted his head around after Jewel was out of earshot.
Trudy shrugged and stroked the dog. “She’s probably pissed ’cuz I told her sister.”
“Why would she be pissed?”
“’Cuz that’s one more thing Aunt Star can needle her about.”
They stopped talking when Jewel reentered the room and set her phone down. Gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, she stood at the sink and looked out the window. “I told your Aunt Star, apparently Zia’s a survivor like the rest of us.”
“Don’t be mad at me, Momma.”
Her mother let out a weary sigh but didn’t turn around. “Oh, honey. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.”
Trudy pushed her hair back and studied the way her mother stood rigid as if she was working up the courage to say something else.
Abruptly, her mother swiveled and faced her. “I’m sorry about what happened to that brown dog.” She scratched her eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Those were rough times back then.”
“It’s okay, Momma,” Trudy said, pretending it didn’t hurt. Pretending the cushion of time healed all wounds. Gripping Clay’s shoulder, she struggled stiffly to her feet and went to hug her mother. “I’m glad that trucker stopped to help. He was a nice man.”
Her mother’s eyes watered. “He sent me a Christmas card one year with a photo of a POW/MIA bumper sticker on the back of his rig. I wrote him back and thanked him for saving my life, from keeping me from doing something selfish and stupid.”
Trudy gulped, seeing the pain in her mother’s expression. This was the first time her mother had opened up and talked about her nervous breakdown, and right in front of Clay. No code words this time like go away, no talking around it or covering it up. It’s like it took that phone call from the Air Force to give her permission to let go…a little bit at a time.
Clay stood and zipped up his jacket. “Ladies, I’m fixin’ to run into town to check on Hercules. You want me to stop by the pet store and grab a small bag of dog food? A little something to tide her over for now?”
Trudy plopped down on the edge of the pallet and rubbed the dog behind her ears. “Do you mind picking up a red collar and…” She stopped herself, realizing she was rushing things.
Clay sucked his teeth a second. “You want me to get a nametag? Have her name engraved? Just in case?”
Trudy started to get up. “Let me give you some money.”
“You can pay me back later.” He waggled his brows and she blushed to her bones, picking up on his insinuation. If her mother hadn’t called about the dog, interrupting their date, they’d probably be back at Clay’s snuggling in front of a warm fire. And yet, Trudy felt a sense of relief. Except for a few tender kisses and cuddling since she’d been home, they hadn’t been intimate since high school. He’d never seen her fully nude, without a stitch of anything on except jewelry and makeup. She’d been with other men since her divorce, but like she’d admitted to Clay at breakfast, her ex let her know she wasn’t young anymore.
Early that morning, she’d agonized over whether to pack an overnight bag. Instead, she stashed a travel-sized bag of toiletries into her purse along with lip gloss, mascara, and clean underwear. After that first visit with Clay, she’d started to apply her weekly doses of estrogen cream again, because like her female gynecologist once said, “Sometimes girls our age need help in the lubrication department.”
“Miss Jewel,” Clay addressed her mother. “How would you like to ride into town with me? It’s a good excuse for you to see more of Hector’s handiwork. And as an added bonus, you can meet Hercules.” He squeezed Trudy’s shoulder. “Okay with you, boss?”
Trudy reached for his hand, squeezing him back. How did he know she needed time alone with the dog? Time to get to know Zia, time to admit it was okay to move on. To love another dog as much as she’d loved Skylar, even if it was only for a couple of days. “Momma, I think it’s a marvelous idea. I’ll stay here with Zia and keep her company.”
Hesitating, Jewel pulled her cap off and raked her elegant fingers through her tufts of hair. She glanced at the turquoise phone. “I don’t know, I…”
Her look conveyed to Trudy: what if the Air Force calls with news while I’m out?
“Momma, you gave them your cellphone number, remember? And I checked your answering machine in the bedroom. It’s working fine, so…”
Jewel looked at her cap, then at Clay. “I suppose Trudy’s right. It was only four days ago…oh, why not? First let me run and slap on some lipstick. I’ll be right back.”
After she left the room, Clay went to the sink to wash his hands. As Trudy lounged next to Zia on the floor, she looked up in time to catch Clay standing in front of the framed photograph of her mother being crowned Miss Eastern New Mexico. The image was imprinted on Trudy’s brain, along with her mother’s maiden name, Jewel Hurn, splashed in bold script at the bottom of the photo. Drying his hands on a paper towel, Clay lingered there in deep thought. She thought she heard him utter a faint “Huh?” before he turned to toss the crumpled paper towel in the trash.
With a spring in her step and her ruby beret perched at a jaunty angle, Jewel breezed into the kitchen and grabbed her purse off the red desk. “Well, Detective. Shall we?”
Clay extended his arm. “You’re lookin’ spiffy, Jewel Hurn.” He winked at Trudy. “Don’t worry, Gertrude. I’ll keep Miss Eastern New Mexico out of trouble and bring her back before curfew.”
Jewel patted Clay on the arm and they headed out the carport door. It was the first time she’d left the house in days.
After Trudy heard the door close, she let out a huge sigh. Her heart pumped wildly as she wondered if Clay had seen a photograph of Dub’s vandalized grave before the editors cropped it for public viewing in the Pardon Gazette? For surely the police report contained an image of the entire tombstone showing the deceased person’s full name: Manifred “Dub” Hurn II.
First Momma prodding Clay for information the other night at dinner and now Lupi this morning at breakfast. Was Clay putting two and two together? God, she hoped not.
As she snuggled up next to Zia, she said a silent prayer: Please, Clay. For once, don’t ask too many questions.
Late that night, long after Clay had gone home and Trudy had taken Zia out back to potty, she locked up th
e house, checked on her mom, then got Zia settled on her pallet in the kitchen. The storm blew in right before midnight, moments after Trudy had crawled into bed and texted Clay goodnight. Before she turned out her bedside lamp, she scrolled through her phone, looking at photos of missing dogs sent in by their owners and posted on area shelter websites.
Several yellow dogs were listed, but none were missing a limb.
Outside Trudy’s window, the wind howled as rain pelted the glass. It sounded like boards and nails groaning, being pulled apart from the ruins of an old tree house in the Cottonwood next to the house. Or were those small animals caught in nature’s wrath? As the storm raged on, Trudy heard a whimper coming from the hallway. Looking up from her phone, she watched Zia barrel through the bedroom door, jump onto Trudy’s bed, and burrow her face under the blankets.
Trudy couldn’t help but laugh. She set her phone on the nightstand and turned off the light. Despite the fact Zia hadn’t had a bath, and Trudy barely knew her, she opened her heart to this stranger and couldn’t kick her out.
Rolling on her side, Trudy tried to reassure her. She peeled back the covers and was greeted by hot doggy breath. “So you think you can just nose your way in here and hunker down without permission? You don’t care what any of us look like, how young or old we are, rich or poor, what titles come before or after our names…you want to be loved. I get it, girl. Goodnight.”
Zia yawned and let out a contented sigh.
Trudy nuzzled her face in Zia’s fur. She smelled of brittle tumbleweeds and rain.
As the two of them began to nod off, Clay’s voice brushed through Trudy’s thoughts: Maybe she’s a gift from the plains.
CHAPTER 21
Secret Agent
SPORTING A new red collar and a set of tags, Zia loped along the fence line in the backyard, stopping occasionally to paw at the earth with her left front foot. The rain had finally stopped late Monday afternoon, and by Tuesday morning, water still stood in places. Rivulets ran through silty patches of yellow prairie grass, all that was left of Shep Cutterbuck’s oasis.
Huddled in her nubby cardigan, Trudy perched on a plastered bench and inhaled the cold air and watched Zia play. Yesterday, she and Momma loaded Zia in the minivan and drove through the rain to see Dr. Chung, the same vet Clay entrusted Hercules to. Dr. Chung had examined Zia nose to tail, inspected her for heartworm and other ailments, and remarked she was in pretty good shape for a stray with three legs. While a young vet tech ran a scanner over Zia’s body and determined she didn’t have an embedded microchip, another tech called around to other local vets and shelters in the area to see if anyone had reported a missing dog fitting Zia’s description. After an extensive search by telephone and internet, the tech popped her head back in the exam room while Dr. Chung was giving Zia a round of vaccinations, and announced, “Looks like she’s all yours. No one’s reported her missing.”
“You okay with that, Momma?” Trudy asked with a half smile.
Jutting her chin at the dog, Jewel said, “First stop’s the beauty shop. Not me, her. Guess we’ll use that groomer Clay told us about. This one’s on me.”
Nose to the ground, Zia sniffed her way toward the vintage travel trailer, its flat tires melted into rims that formed puddles of rubber in the ground now turned to muck. The summer before Daddy went to war, he bought the 1965 white Shasta camper from another pilot in the squadron. With Daddy playing airline pilot, he hitched the camper to the back of Momma’s station wagon and the family headed west. Crossing deserts and mountains, they gawked at giant redwoods and ran screaming into the Pacific Ocean before it slapped them back to shore, leaving them breathless and running back for more. When they returned, Daddy parked it behind the carport and it rarely left except for a few times when Aunt Star and a friend borrowed it to go camping, but mostly it stayed put, serving as a glorified clubhouse on wheels.
As Zia explored the ground around the camper, Trudy rose from the bench to stretch. Bending over, she touched her toes then slowly flattened her palms against the patio and held it for twenty seconds. Georgia’s advice from a chat long ago chimed in Trudy’s head: “If we can touch our toes, Sis, we can stave off old age a little longer.”
“I’m touching my piggy toes,” Trudy groaned, counting to twenty before she pulled up from the stretch and looked around for Zia.
The dream that woke her at sunrise returned. As she walked to the edge of the patio to keep an eye on the dog, the dream reeled through her mind like an old memory. Wanting to capture it in writing, to help her make sense of it, she pulled out her smartphone, opened the notes app, and began thumbing the keys on her screen:
Alone on the shoulder of a steep mountain road, I stood in the bend of a hairpin curve and searched the deep canyon below. All I could see for miles were large boulders dotted with prickly pear cactus and the occasional glint of metal from some long ago wreck.
Then from somewhere behind me, the sound of children singing, “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” echoed through the mountain pass. Whipping my head around, I watched Momma’s station wagon careen around the curve in the road and sail over the side of the mountain. But instead of crashing into the canyon below, the station wagon sprouted wings and rode the thermals across a tranquil sky.
As the sound of children’s voices faded and I longed to join them, a passenger door flung open and Bogey tumbled out. From my spot on the road, I thrust giant arms skyward, for I was the big sister, and it was my job to catch him. But no matter how far I stretched, I couldn’t reach him, for my arms weren’t long enough. When I woke up, my eyes leaked with tears, and Zia stared at me from her spot on the bed where she rested her chin on my belly.
After pressing done, Trudy looked up from her notes and blurted into the cold air, “It’s not my fault, Daddy. I followed your orders. I tried to protect him, but that ugly little tumor was bigger than all of us. Even the ‘gods’ in white coats couldn’t save him.”
Stunned by the words that tumbled from her mouth, she breathed deeply and tried to jettison the guilt.
Zia’s sharp yelp pierced the cold morning air. Stuffing her phone in her pocket, Trudy dashed off the patio. “What is it, girl? What’s got you so riled up?” Sidestepping mud holes, Trudy picked her way to the back of the camper where Zia pawed frantically at something near the left rear tire.
“Hope that’s not a prairie dog town you’re bothering.” Trudy bent this way and that, trying to get a closer look.
Using her front paw and snout, Zia dug at something in the ground. A few seconds later, she swung her head around, proudly showing off a mud-caked object clenched in her teeth. Before Zia could dart off with her prize, Trudy tried to pry it from her jaws. “Drop it, girl. Let me have it, please.” Her tone was firm, but polite.
Zia shook her head as if to say, “No. It’s mine. I found it.”
“Drop it,” Trudy commanded again, and this time the dog unclamped her jaws and the object fell into Trudy’s right hand. Using her thumb, she brushed away some of the grime. A sense of foreboding stirred in her chest, and suddenly it hurt to breathe. “What were these doing under the camper?” She stared at a pair of men’s eyeglasses, or what was left of them.
Zia whimpered and pranced about as if she half expected her mistress to return the treasure.
Mud sucked at the soles of Trudy’s sneakers as she squished her way back across the yard. “Daddy’s galoshes would’ve come in handy about now,” Trudy said as Zia trotted beside her. “Kinda wish I would’ve kept ’em.”
Tracking mud across the patio, Trudy plunked down on a plastered bench and turned the glasses over in her hand. “Daddy had perfect vision. He wore aviator-style sunglasses, and these aren’t sunglasses.”
Zia stood in front of her, slowly wagging her tail. Her left hand free of grime, Trudy caressed the dog’s face and cooed, “Since you’re my secret agent, be a good girl and tell me who these belonged to.”
Swiping her tongue across her lips, Zia sat b
ack on her haunches and dangled her front paw in front of Trudy.
“Oh, you wanna shake on it first, huh?” Trudy stuck out her left hand and shook Zia’s paw. Then Zia yawned and rested her paw on Trudy’s knee and stared up at her with an expectant look in her eyes, reminding Trudy of Skylar.
The sound of metal clanging against metal echoed from the front of the house. Even out back, Trudy could hear the flags snap in the breeze. As she brushed dirt from Zia’s nose, Trudy asked her, “Where did you come from, girl?” But all Zia did was blink.
Twisting around on the bench, Trudy stood and peered out beyond the railroad tracks to the southwest. She couldn’t see the old runway from her mother’s backyard, but it was out there less than two miles away. Out beyond a concertina wire fence that separated government property from civilian land, a fence that might have a hole big enough for a stray dog or coyote to pass through. As Trudy reached for the top of Zia’s fuzzy head, she looked down and said, “Was that you stalking me on the edge of the runway a few weeks ago?”
Zia whimpered and let out a heavy sigh that sounded more like a snort.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, girl. I’m glad you found me. Let’s go inside.”
As they approached the sunroom’s French doors, Trudy looked back one more time toward the old base before she kicked off her sneakers and told Zia, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
On stocking feet, Trudy padded through the sunroom into the kitchen and grabbed a hand towel. Setting the mud-caked eyeglasses in the sink, she went to wipe Zia’s feet.
Back in the kitchen a few minutes later, Zia lapped water then Trudy gave her a treat. At the sink, she turned on the tap and gently washed the mud from the gold metal frames. One lens was missing, the other cracked, but the frames were intact, although a bit corroded.
Placing the frames on a paper towel, she pulled out her phone, snapped a photo, then trudged over and sat down in the armchair and stared at the eyeglasses drying on her lap. Water dripped from Zia’s chin as she swung her head around and made a beeline across the room. Placing her chin on Trudy’s knee, she closed her eyes and let out a wheezy sigh, her interest in the eyeglasses forgotten.
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