Brute Strength (8 page)

‘She'll be around all summer,' I said. ‘She'll be working for Steve. And she'll be at this National Pet Week event the club is doing, too. It's in a couple of weeks. May eleventh. Saturday afternoon. Her exams don't start until after that.'

‘Don't bother asking Vanessa to help,' said Isaac, who was the principal organizer of the event. ‘She's already signed up. I recruited her before she'd even been here! She's contributing food, and she's already doing publicity. We're on all these events calendars on the Internet. And Holly, you promised me some books.' The club's major public-education effort took place every September, when AKC-affiliated clubs were encouraged to hold Responsible Dog Ownership Day events. Isaac and a few other exceptionally competitive members had decided, however, that if our club were to be in the running for one of the American Kennel Club's Community Achievement Awards, we'd have to do a lot more than our usual RDO day; rather, we were supposed to make the club an integral part of the community in dozens of ways. It seemed to me that our small obedience club stood almost no chance against big kennel clubs with large memberships, but I kept my opinion to myself.

‘Isaac, I have not forgotten.' Steve and I had co-authored a dog diet book with a blunt title:
No More Fat Dogs.
I had also promised copies of my solo effort,
101 Ways to Cook Liver
, which was purportedly a dog-treat cookbook but was actually about training with food. ‘If you don't trust me, I can drop the books off at your house, but I'll be there. I promise.' I was on the verge of telling Isaac about having recruited Max Crocker and Mukluk, but I stopped myself. If Vanessa heard about Max, she'd do her best to match him up with Avery. I had no intention of letting her do any such thing. With all my experience in pairing rescue dogs with just the right adopters, I was the veteran matchmaker. Furthermore, I'd already met Max, whereas Vanessa didn't even know that he existed. Besides, he was too old for Avery. And ideal for Rita.

When Vanessa spoke, I must've leaped two feet in the air. ‘We'll have to get the two lovebirds together soon,' she said.

In a second, I realized that she meant Sammy and Ulla rather than Max and Rita or possibly Max and Avery.

‘Absolutely,' I said with the enthusiasm of relief. ‘Absolutely! Whenever you like.'

NINE

O
n Friday morning over breakfast, Steve said, ‘I don't like the way Fiona's just disappeared. It's like she never existed. You did write to her parents, didn't you?'

‘Yes. Of course! And to Hatch. Leah did, too. And I sent the addresses to Gabrielle and my father, not that he'll do anything, but Gabrielle will.'

‘There's no funeral around here? Memorial service?'

‘I looked online. Her parents are having a memorial service, but that's in California. There just has to be something at the hospital, Brigham and Women's, but maybe it's private. I couldn't find it listed anywhere.'

‘We could make a donation. Do that, would you? Sorry to dump it on you.'

I refilled our coffee cups. ‘It's OK. It's better than OK. It's a good idea. I'll send something to the hospital in her memory.'

‘You know, Holly, if it'd been one of our dogs . . .'

‘Don't say that! But you're right. We'd be flooded with calls and cards and email. Maybe her parents are getting that kind of support, and we don't know about it. I hope they are. And Hatch, too.'

‘Not from his own family.'

‘Steve, we don't know that, either. This could be the face they show to the world. Some people believe in a brave front.'

He turned his attention to what was left of his scrambled eggs and toast. Eventually, he said, ‘It bothers me that Fiona left from here. From our house.'

‘Steve, I don't like it, either. And I especially don't like it that she had that accident so soon after she left. Nashua is . . . maybe it's an hour away. Less? That's practically no time! But I've been over it again and again in my mind, and Fiona had almost nothing to drink. She had one small glass of wine when she first got here, and after that, she had a big dinner. With no more wine. And what I found online said that alcohol was
not
involved. She did take an antihistamine, but she was a doctor. She had to have known what she was taking. And she wasn't just any doctor. She was a young doctor finishing a residency at Brigham and Women's. It's one of the best hospitals in the country. In the world! She of all people would've known not to take something that would make her drowsy.'

‘A moose, maybe. Or a deer.'

Collisions with moose and deer are fairly common in northern New England. But Fiona had hit a tree. I said so. ‘Of course,' I added, ‘she could've swerved to avoid wildlife. But that doesn't account for why she'd left the highway. What I read on the web was that the accident took place on an exit ramp. Or maybe just off the ramp. I wondered whether she was afraid that she was falling asleep. Or maybe she felt sick.'

‘It couldn't have been the food. The rest of us were fine.'

‘And if she'd felt dangerously ill, you'd think she'd have called for help. She must've had a cell phone.'

‘For all we know, she did call.'

‘The news report didn't mention that.'

‘If it's not on Google, it didn't happen?'

I laughed. ‘Exactly. And it's also possible that she was just looking for a ladies' room. But I may know more later. Sammy has a play date with Ulla at three o'clock. I'm not going to ask for details, but Vanessa may say something.' I thought for a moment and said, ‘Something such as, “Thanks for offering the lasagne that my unmannerly daughter was rude enough to refuse”.'

Weirdly enough, as it turned out, at three o'clock that afternoon when Vanessa opened the gate to her yard and welcomed Sammy and me, one of the first things she said was, ‘Thank you for offering food. I hope that Avery told you how gracious it was of you.'

‘Of course.' I mean, what else could I say? That besides training her dog in the rudiments of good citizenship, Vanessa should have been instilling those fundamentals in her daughter? Not that any self-respecting malamute would've refused a pan of lasagne. ‘Sometimes in these situations, people are overwhelmed with food. And offers.'

‘We're not, really. It's not as if Fiona had really been part of the family.' She paused. ‘Even so. Well, distraction is the best medicine, isn't it? Ulla, look who's come to play with you!'

Ulla hardly needed to have her attention directed to Sammy, who was wiggling and waggling all over and straining at his leash in response to her adorable play bow. Is that the cutest posture in dogdom? Front down, rear up, tail swishing back and forth? And that let's-play gleam in the eye?

Correctly reading my hesitation, Vanessa said, ‘Fully fenced. Gates closed. You
are
paranoid, aren't you?'

I smiled. ‘I'm very careful.' Then I admitted the truth: ‘Careful to the point of paranoia.' With that, I let Sammy loose. And the chase was on! Ulla zoomed away with Sammy after her, and when she veered around, he streaked ahead, doubled back, and ran a little circle around her. By city standards, Vanessa's yard was big, more than twice the size of mine, long and narrow, so the dogs had the space they needed to run full tilt, and a beautiful sight they were, speeding down and back, around and around in great ovals. Vah-vah-vah-voom!

Vanessa and I had the sense to stay out of the dogs' way. At first, we stood with our backs almost pressed against the fence near the gate, but when the dogs had slowed down a bit, we moved to a patio at the back of the house, an area paved with bluestone where we took seats on wrought-iron chairs that matched a long rectangular table. Overhead was an iron structure, a trellis or pergola, I suppose, with vines that hadn't yet leafed out. Just in back of us were glass doors to an expensive-looking kitchen, the kind that's all granite and glass and stainless steel. The day was mild and sunny, so we were comfortable outdoors.

‘I've always liked this house,' I said. ‘I didn't know the people who were here before you, but I've walked by it hundreds of times.' Like Max Crocker's house, Vanessa's was gentrified working class, but it blended more smoothly than his did with the surrounding neighborhood. Like his, it was painted in a warm shade of pale yellow, but it retained its original porch and hadn't gained the kinds of window frames and outdoor partitions that architects love to add.

‘You've never been in it? We'll have to give you the tour. It was all redone about ten years ago, and the kitchen was done all over again maybe five years ago. The third floor has apartment possibilities. I may do something about that. For my father. Or maybe Avery or Hatch. We'll have to see what develops.'

‘Ulla is going to ruin your yard,' I said.

‘Fair enough. It's hers. But she's not a big digger, and if she starts, I intervene. The yard is one of the reasons I bought this house. The fence is high enough, and it's sort of a bonus that everything's lawn and mulch with shrubs and trees by the fence. There aren't any flower beds to excavate. Just look at the two them! Bats out of hell!' My yard isn't heaven, but it's hardly hell. Vanessa must have seen my expression. ‘No offense meant! I just meant . . .'

‘I know. And this chance to run hell for leather is exactly what Sammy needs. Leah takes Kimi running, and Steve usually takes a dog or two to work, where there's an exercise area. My neighbor Kevin is a runner – you'll have to meet him – and sometimes I take Rowdy or Sammy and tag along with him. But all of our dogs need this kind of chance to just fly around and let off steam. Sammy most of all. They tear around in our yard, but we just don't have this kind of space.'

‘You're more than welcome here! Just show up!'

As I was about thank her, one of the glass doors to the kitchen opened, and Avery stuck her head out. Although it must have been three fifteen or so, she was dressed in blue-striped pajamas and a white terry cloth robe. ‘Mom, are we out of sugar?'

‘Of course not. If the bowl is empty, look in the cupboard. There's a bag there. And for heaven's sake, Avery, get dressed! Holly will think that you just got out of bed. And if you're making coffee, make some for us, please.'

When Avery had closed the door, Vanessa said quietly, ‘She refuses to go back to Bennington. I've signed her up for Harvard Summer School. She needs to start getting out. It was one thing right after her father's death, but this has gone on way too long. It's just not practical to hang around doing nothing until you find yourself. Well, thank God for dogs! These two were made for each other!'

‘They really do play well together,' I said. ‘They know all the right moves.'

‘If only the same could be said for all of us! Coffee?'

I accepted. For some unknown reason, instead of just filling up two mugs, Vanessa insisted on bringing out cups, saucers, spoons, a sugar bowl, a creamer, and an insulated carafe of coffee. Worse, she also carried out a small plate of cookies. Coffee alone would've worked, but the food attracted the attention of the dogs, who were determined to have their share. I managed to get Sammy in a reasonably solid down-stay on the bluestone, but Ulla refused to be deterred and kept flinging herself in the air. Vanessa eventually settled for holding the little plate well above her head while she and I each took a cookie. I ate mine as fast as possible. As Vanessa was lowering the plate, when it was at about shoulder height, Ulla sprang, and all the cookies slid as one mass off the plate and into her mouth.

‘Oh, well,' said Vanessa. ‘At least they were lemon wafers and not chocolate. They won't do her any harm. Life with malamutes! But look how good Sammy is! He really is the perfect dog.'

Sammy's eyes were gleaming, and his tail was sailing back and forth, but his belly was still on the bluestone, and he'd refrained from crawling forward.

‘If Ulla hadn't caught all the cookies, he'd've lost it,' I said. ‘But he is a good boy, aren't you, Sammy? You are a good, good dog.' After checking to make sure that there were no crumbs to trigger a dog fight, I released him from his down. ‘OK!'

The food having vanished into Ulla's stomach, the dogs resumed their zooming around, and Vanessa and I were left to drink our coffee. The opportunity to ask about Fiona was almost palpably absent. Furthermore, I couldn't think of a way to inquire about Avery's difficulties. Rita, being a psychotherapist, was always asking outrageously nosy questions with such calm self-confidence that people tended to supply answers without taking offense. If anything, they seemed to find her interest flattering. In my place, she'd have drawn Vanessa into a discussion of what anyone would have seen as Avery's prolonged mourning and depression, and Rita'd have gone on to find out whether Avery was seeing a therapist or taking antidepressants. My stepmother, Gabrielle, would've been as effective as Rita. I comforted myself with the thought that both Rita and Gabrielle lacked my absolute self-assurance about investigating canine causes for concern. If I'd been worried about Ulla, I wouldn't have hesitated to interrogate Vanessa. What's more, with not a trace of embarrassment, I could've checked Ulla for mammary tumors or stuck my nose in her ears in search of the nasty scent of infection. Yet here I was, unable to formulate a simple statement of concern about Vanessa's daughter! Of course, I had yet to raise the matter of Ulla's weight, but I'd eventually find the opportunity, and Avery was far more depressed than Ulla was plump.

So, we drifted into talking about Jane Austen and, in particular, about
Emma
. Vanessa turned out to share my dissatisfaction with the ending. Because Cambridge is filled with people who study literature, whereas I merely devour it, I was usually reluctant to voice my view that Emma's marriage to Mr Knightley was a gigantic mistake.