Say That Again (36 page)

Hannah wasn’t entirely sure what her mommy was talking about. She looked forward to going back to Heck’s, anyway. There were so many things she still wanted to paint.

“Hannah,” her daddy said, “did Echo ... did he fight with a bear?”

Cold fear flooded Hannah’s chest. It all came back to her in a rush. One moment she was watching the cubs bounce and roll — and the next she was staring up at a bear so big and black it blocked out all the light in the sky. She’d tried to listen, to understand what it wanted from her, but all she sensed was rage. Panic had frozen her feet to the earth. She couldn’t move or speak, could barely breathe. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, so she collapsed to the ground, slowly pulling herself into a ball to protect her face. The banging of her heart in her ears was so loud she was only vaguely aware of the scuffle going on between Echo and the bear. All she could do was wait and hope. Wait and hope. Wait ...

“Hannah? Hannah?”

A hand came to rest on her forearm. A few more moments passed before her eyes regained focus. Hunter lifted her chin with his fingers, turning her face to his. “Was it a bear, Hannah?”

Shaking her head, she held up three fingers.

“Three?”

She nodded. “Two little bears — and a really big one. But Echo only fought with the big one.”

Jenn leaned against Hunter’s side. “That was probably the mama bear, protecting her babies. Cubs stay with their mother through the first year. And around here, they don’t always hibernate all winter long, but wake up to forage for food occasionally.”

“But I wasn’t going to hurt them or steal their food.”

“We know that,” Jenn said, “but the bear didn’t. Sometimes mothers do crazy stuff if they think their babies are in danger — I know.” She brushed Hannah’s bangs back from her forehead. “They said you can come home tomorrow, Hannah.”

Home
. Hannah couldn’t wait. But ... had something happened to Echo? She vaguely remembered telling him to go for help, then he’d licked her face, trotted off a ways, looked back once ... and the next thing she knew, she was being lifted into the back of an ambulance.

She craned her neck to the side to peer down at the floor, scanning the entire room and out into the corridor. “Where’s Echo?”

“At the animal hospital,” Hunter said. Quickly adding, “He’ll be okay once they stitch him up and give him some medicine.”

A single, salty tear trailed its way from the corner of Hannah’s eye, then down beside her nose and lip, finally dripping from her chin to land with a
plop
upon the pale blue blanket bunched in her lap. She rubbed its trace away with a fist, holding her breath to stave off more tears, but they came anyway. Soon, her vision swam in a waterfall of them, stinging her eyes.

“He’s going to be okay, sweet pea,” Hunter told her. “He really is. He chased the bear off. And when you fell and hurt your ankle, he brought help to you. He saved you.”

She blinked at the wetness clinging to her eyelashes, pushing more tears over the brim of her eyelids. Snot filled her nose, making it hard to breathe. She sniffed it back, but it ran down her throat. After swallowing twice, she managed between blubbering breaths, “I ... know.”

“Then why are you crying?” Jenn asked.

It was hard to find the words that expressed precisely what it was she felt: an ache emanating from the center of her chest so big, so intense, she felt like her heart might burst. But the more she thought about it, the simpler it was.

“Because I love my dog. More than anything.”

If she were to write that down, she would write it all in capital letters, underline it five times, and draw stars all around it.

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—o00o—

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H
annah kicked her legs out in front of her. Wind raced through her hair, teasing it from the elastic that held her ponytail in place. Lacy white clouds rushed at her, then fell away as her weight carried the swing back. For the briefest of moments, she hung suspended, looking down. Then her world reversed and the ground blurred past as momentum tossed her forward again.

Just as her arms and legs began to tire, Hunter walked across the yard and set down a duffel bag beside the Crooked Tree. Moving behind her, he pushed the seat of her swing as high as it would go. She laughed. Laughed so hard and so long her cheeks and stomach began to hurt.

Today was the first warm day of spring and while there were still no leaves on the trees, the sun was bright and warm upon her face. When Hunter reminded her it was almost time to go and he stepped away, Hannah let the swing glide on its own for a little while, then dragged her feet over the dirt until she came to a stop. A dull ache throbbed in her ankle, so she pointed her toes and moved her foot in a small circle. The doctor had showed her exercises so her ankle would get strong again. It was better, but sometimes it still bothered her.

Echo was lying at the base of the tree, his muzzle resting on his paws, his rear legs stretched out behind him like a frog. Two long pink scars were still visible, going from the top of his nose to just below his right eye. Her daddy had told her that hair would grow over those in time, but she kind of liked them. They reminded her how brave he’d been and that if he hadn’t fought the bear off, she might not be alive at all. Which made her wonder about something ... Something very serious. She didn’t want to think about it at all, but she couldn’t help it.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweet pea?”

“How long do dogs live?”

Hunter crouched beside Echo and stroked the top of his head. Groaning, Echo closed his eyes. Soon, he rolled over on his back and spread his legs wide, exposing his belly. Hunter scratched all the way from inside Echo’s rear legs to his chest.

“Not long enough,” Hunter finally said.

Hannah came to sit beside them, Indian style. “So, not as long as people?”

“No, not as long as people.”

“How long?” She was insistent. It was important to know.

“A breed like this? Twelve or thirteen years, generally. Sometimes a few more, sometimes less.”

Adding the numbers in her head, she quickly came to the conclusion that she didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Best friends should live longer.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“But where do they go after they ... after they stop living?”

“Do you believe people go to heaven when they die, Hannah?”

She didn’t know. So she thought about it. They had to go somewhere. “Yes, I think so.”

Her father stood and she stood with him. A frown of disapproval tugged at his mouth. Bending over, he wiped the dirt from Hannah’s knees.

She tugged at his sleeve as he straightened. “Do they ever come back?”

“Come back?”

“From heaven?”

“Dogs or people?”

“Both, I guess.”

He gazed at far-off clouds, a smile slowly teasing at the corners of his lips. “I don’t know, Hannah ... but I’d like to believe they do.”

“Good, because if Echo can’t stay forever, or at least as long as I’m around, I want another dog just like him. Well, maybe not
exactly
like him. It’s okay if it’s different. Maybe a girl dog, instead. Or a little dog. Or a brown one. But a good dog. It has to be a good dog. A really good dog.”

As she said that, it occurred to her that all dogs were good. They just needed to meet the right person who would love them for what they were.

Echo sat at her feet, love and admiration evident in his golden-brown eyes.

“Hunter?” Jenn called. Standing at the rail of the front porch, she slipped her arms into her denim jacket, then began buttoning it up. “There you two are. Almost time. Fifteen minutes.”

He raised a hand. “Got it! We’ll be there.” Picking up the duffel bag, he glanced at Hannah and then Echo. “You two ready?”

Hannah hesitated. She was and she wasn’t. Too bad Echo couldn’t come with them.

Together, they walked across the yard, Echo running circles around them, as if he had exciting adventures of his own ahead. But then, Echo acted that way every day.

At the edge of the property, where a narrow footpath squeezed between a row of forsythia bursting with golden blooms, Echo sat and waited obediently. When Hunter gave the okay, they crossed the road and strolled up Heck’s driveway. He was there on the porch, wearing charcoal-colored corduroy pants and a gray tweed jacket.

“Just in time,” he said, taking the duffel bag from Hunter. “Echo and I are headed to Fox Hollow for a visit — if that’s all right with you, Hannah?”

She nodded. “You have my present, right?”

“I do. Nicely wrapped for transport. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it before she sees it.”

They followed Heck inside. He set the bag beside the sofa. Echo lay down next to it, sniffing along the zipper. Inside, Hannah had stuffed Echo’s favorite things: his squeaky giraffe, his elephant, two balls in case he lost one, three bones of different flavors, and the braided rug to sleep on, along with a sack of kibble and two dishes. She’d wanted to pack more for him, but her mommy had said that was probably enough. He didn’t need to scatter too many of his things through Heck’s house.

Hunter took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Heck. “I’ve written down the details of our trip, including our flights and accommodations. Brad and my mom will take care of the horses, but if you could check the mailbox for us, that’d be great.” He pointed to the bottom of the paper. “My cell number is —”

“Don’t worry, Hunter. Jenn went over everything with me yesterday, including how much and when to feed the dog.”

“Oh, all right, then.” Hunter squatted down, so he could look Hannah in the eye. “It’s time.”

Hannah scrunched her mouth up. “Do we have to go?”

“Aren’t you the one who wanted to go to Disney World?”

Well, yes, but when she asked about it, no one told her you couldn’t take your dog into the park unless it was a service or therapy dog. Echo had months of training left before he could earn his vest that would allow him to go to school with her and other places like restaurants and stores and doctors’ offices.

Hannah didn’t want to say goodbye, though. It sounded too permanent. Going to Echo, she held up seven fingers. “This many sleeps, Echo, and I’ll be back. I promise.”

With a whimper, Echo raised himself up on his hind feet and hooked his front paws over her shoulders, almost knocking her over. He tucked his muzzle in the crook of her neck. Her arms went around him in a hug. Soon, she felt his wet tongue sliding up and down her cheek, tickling her ear.

“I’ll try,” she said to Echo. “But I’ll still miss you.”

“You’ll try what?” Hunter asked her.

“He said I need to be brave.”

“You already are, Hannah. At six years old, you’ve survived more than some people ten times your age. But I’d be okay if you were a little less brave sometimes.” Hunter took her hand in his as they turned to go. “You know, I’m kind of nervous about this week. Maybe you could stick a little closer to your mom and me, all right? I wouldn’t want anyone to get lost.”

“Okay.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Do you want to borrow my map?”

“Your map?”

“Of Disney World. In case you get lost.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He winked at her. “Good idea.”

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T
here was sadness and loneliness in this place. A longing for things past. I sensed it the first time we walked into the reception area and saw the long hallways with their polished railings and aseptic floors, and then as Heck guided me past a large gathering area where an old man with a weathered face stared catatonically at a large-screen TV, oblivious to our passing.

It was our third visit to Fox Hollow in a week. Tomorrow, Hannah and her family would return from their trip to Disney World. As much as I had enjoyed my time with Heck, I was ready for Hannah to come home. Still, I was glad I had come to Fox Hollow. For all the sorrow contained within those walls, if you simply
listened
, there were stories to be heard ...

People spoke softly here, in voices worn from use. Their hands were gnarled and shaky, their spines sometimes stooped, their movements slow and stiff. Yet as we went by each room and I stole a peek, eyes rich with wisdom turned to gaze observantly at me, memories kindling in the depths of their hazy pupils.

“Ohhh, would you look at that?” said one elderly gentleman, leaning on his walker. “Just like my old boy, Shep. Best farm dog this side of the Mississippi.”

“What a bea-U-tiful dog,” another remarked with a toothless smile.

“Such shiny black fur.”

“Pretty gold eyes.”

“How handsome he is.”

“How well behaved.”

But more often than the compliments on my looks and manners, I heard, “I used to have a dog.”

Oh, the stories that were contained in those few words:
I used to have a dog.

We heard quite a lot of them in those few visits. Many more than once. How one Jack Russell Terrier had roused his family in the night and saved them from a fire. How a Labrador mix had been hit by a truck and found on the highway, barely clinging to life, then served for fifteen years as the Faderville firehouse dog. How one mutt of indeterminate heritage had helped raise nine children and fifteen grandchildren, patiently tolerating ear-tuggings and tail-pullings (those children were obviously no relation to the Grunwald twins). And how one tiny teacup poodle had been his master’s ears, alerting him to an attempted burglary with his fierce yapping.

Then smiles would transform the residents’ faces and tears dampen their eyes, and trembling hands drifted down to stroke my head and withers. Softest of all were Sophia’s fingers. She knew the perfect place to scratch just below my ear and around to the base of my throat. But each time we visited, it went exactly the same.

“Sophia?” Heck would say after tapping lightly on the door, which was always open. “Sophia, would you like a visitor today?”

Sitting in her recliner, the one with the buttons that made it go up and down so she could stand more easily, she would tilt her head at me, smiling. “Ohhh, what a lovely dog. May I pet him?”