What the Dog Ate (6 page)

Who am I
kidding? I don’t have any sedatives, any drugs in the house
. She’d never
taken recreational drugs. She thought about what an odd phrase that was.
What exactly are you supposed to be trying to “re-create” while
on these drugs. Oh, right, happier times, I suppose
.

She didn’t even have any medicinal
drugs in the house, at least, nothing stronger than ibuprofen.
Why aren’t I taking Ambien like everyone else... or... what’s
that other one? The one with that creepy talking beaver in the ads?
Those ads that were so pervasive she sometimes felt like the only non-medicated
person in America.

But, there was alcohol in the
house, definitely a drug, a sedative. Was she desperate enough to have a
drink—at five a.m.? She got up and trudged to the kitchen. Kona followed. He
sat next to her, looking sleepy-eyed, as she opened the liquor cabinet and
studied the bottles of clear and amber liquids for a full minute.
Mandarin-flavored vodka stared back.
Hmmm. I could add OJ.
That would make it slightly less pathetic. If I had some tomato juice and
Worcestershire, I could make a Bloody Mary. Perfectly acceptable to drink a Bloody
Mary in the morning. Or champagne. People drink champagne in the morning
.
But that had too much of an air of celebration. She didn’t need a glass of
bubbly irony. She needed hard oblivion.

“Fuck it.”

She grabbed the bottle of silver
tequila they’d bought on their anniversary trip to Cancun two years ago. It was
almost empty. She yanked the cork out with her teeth, and looked down at Kona.
His ears stuck out in what Dave had always called his “bat-wing look;” his
I-just-got-up-and-can’t-do-a-thing-with-my-ears look.

“What are you staring at?” she said
to him, then tossed the last of the clear liquid down her throat. It burned
like drinking Vicks VapoRub. She shuddered and they trooped back to bed. She
slept until eight and didn’t get out of bed again until 9:45.

~~~

“Hi sweetie... I guess you’re not
there, so—”

Maggie picked up. She hadn’t talked
to her grandmother since Dave left; hadn’t had the energy. But when she heard
her on the answering machine, she realized what a mistake it had been. Gram’s
voice wrapped around her like a cozy quilt. Maggie apologized for not calling.

“Darling, how can I get along
without my weekly call from my favorite granddaughter?”

“I’m sure Shay’s been calling you
every week like always.” It felt good to joke with Gram. Maggie had no doubt
Gram went through the same “favorite granddaughter” routine with Shannon (and
maybe her cousins too, although, really, she and Shay had to be the true
favorites). “Things have been... kind of crazy around here.”

“I know, sweetie; your mom told
me.”
Great. Mom’s version
. As if reading her mind,
Gram added, “I also talked to Shannon, of course.”
Oh, good
.
“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m OK.” The OK squeaked out. For
about the hundredth time since Dave left, tears stung the backs of her eyes.
If I made myself really dehydrated, would it stop these damn
tears?

“I know you’ve hit a bad patch. You
need a break; why not come to Jacksonville?”

“I don’t know...” The thought of
running away for a while tempted her. She still had ten days before work started.
But visiting Gram meant seeing Mom.
No thanks. I need a
vacation, not The Inquisition
. “I’d love to go, but I’m starting my new
job soon, so it’s not great timing.”

“No pressure, dear. I just thought
I’d suggest it.”

“I’ll come soon.” She should go,
she thought. At eighty-eight, Gram wasn’t going to be around forever. “Maybe
you could come see me. We could have a lot of fun, just us two single ladies.”
She’d said it. She’d called herself single. It was like getting a job at a
high-powered office and having to suddenly wear dressy heels again. It might be
the way things had to be, but it was damn uncomfortable and going to take some
getting used to.

“Speak for yourself.”

Had her grandmother giggled? “Do
you have news? Do you have a... boyfriend?”

“At eighty-three you can hardly
call him a boy.” She chuckled. “I prefer to call him my gentleman friend.”

“Wow, a younger man. Way to go,
Gram.” Competition was fierce at the assisted living complex; Gram had told her
once that single octogenarian males were as “scarce as people in line for
seconds on ‘tuna surprise’ night at the cafeteria.” Yet Gram had managed to
find one. Maggie wasn’t surprised. “I didn’t know you were looking.”

“I wasn’t! You know it was hard for
me when your grandpa passed. After sixty-five years with one man, you get
pretty set in your ways. And I’ve got my friends and classes here at the
center, and, of course, I see your mother several times a week. I thought my
life was very full.”

“So, what happened? How did you
meet?”

“Well, he moved in on my floor
recently, and we started chatting one day waiting for the elevator. He asked
for some cooking advice. Poor dear. His wife passed away last year, and I guess
she was a wonderful cook, so he never learned. He was so funny. He told me he
made split pea soup, and spent forever slicing the peas in half! He really had
me laughing, so when we got to the bottom floor, I asked him to go for a cup of
coffee.”

“You picked up a man you just met?”
Maggie pretended to be shocked.

“At my age, nobody’s ‘picking up’
anything or anybody. I’m lucky if I can pick up my dirty laundry.”

Maggie laughed. “Is he cute?”

Gram half-whispered, “Let’s just
say he can hang his cane on my bed post any time.”

“You’re so bad. Tell me everything.
What’s his name?”

“Humphrey. Isn’t that adorable?
Your Great Aunt Lyda used to have a basset hound named Humphrey, and my
Humphrey sort of reminds me of him. That dog was so regal; high forehead,
intelligent eyes. And, well, I have to admit, my Humphrey’s ears are rather
long. But if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. My ears are in some
sort of crazy race with my breasts to see which can hit my knees first.”

Maggie laughed again. It felt good.

“He’s a snappy dresser too. I love
a man in a sweater vest. Oh, there’s the door; hold on.”

Maggie listened to muffled noises;
then heard the phone being picked up.

“Hello, Maggie.”

“Mom.” Maggie got a small jolt,
hearing her mother’s voice.

“Grandma said it was you. Didn’t
you get my messages? I called twice.”

“My answering machine’s acting up.”
Although she’d generally been screening her calls, Mom had caught her off guard
one night when she’d been expecting Shannon. Mom had hounded her some more
about working it out with Dave and ended the call with an exasperated, “Well,
at least I guess it’s a good thing you two never did give me a grandbaby.”
After that, Maggie stuck strictly to her screening rule.

“We didn’t finish our conversation
last time. Have you talked to David?”

Here we go
again
. “Briefly. I called and told him it’s going to be a while before
I’m ready to put the house on the market. There’s a ton of stuff to do to get
it ready.”

“You’re selling the house? Aren’t
you going to even try to work things out? You can’t throw away all those years
together. Marriage isn’t always easy; it takes work sometimes.”

“I know that.”

“Marriage is a sacred vow.”
Oh hell, the “sacred vow” guilt trip
. After doing hard
time, serving a full twelve-year term in Catholic school, Maggie’d walked free
of her religion. But not Mom. She went to church on Sundays and every day
during Lent. “You two stood in front of the priest, God, your family and
friends, and swore you’d stay together through the good and bad.”

Figures Mom
would list the priest first, even before God
.

“Yes, Mom, I remember. I’m sure
Father Tim would be appalled. But Dave’s living with his girlfriend now. I’m
pretty sure she wouldn’t want me talking to him.”

“I don’t care what she wants.”
Mom’s voice tightened. Maggie could
hear
her lips
sliding into duck face formation.

“I don’t either. I was being
sarcastic.”

“This is no time for jokes. This is
the time to think about how to work things out.”

Maggie heard the mailman jiggle the
gate latch. Kona barked like a repeating rifle and beat his paws on the window.
This was the escape hatch she needed.

“Someone’s at the door. Gotta go.
Tell Gram I said goodbye.”

I wonder if I
could train him to go nuts like that on command. Could come in handy
.
She went to the kitchen for a biscuit.

“Kona, treat. Come here, you brave
guard dog, you.”

Kona barked one last time and raced
to the kitchen for his reward.

~~~

If I won the lottery, I wouldn’t
have to go back to work, Maggie thought from her prone position on the sofa.
Only a handful of days remained of her stint as an unemployed person. She would
miss staying in her pajamas all day.
But if I’m going to
win the lottery, I have to play the lottery. And that means getting up and
going to the store
.

She thought about walking Kona to
the store, but that exceeded her ambitions. It was over two miles. She did need
to walk him though. He’d become impatient with the infrequent exercise and
developed the habit of sitting at the front door and whining. He sat there now,
head tossed back in full pathetic cry.

“What have you got to whine about?
You totally won the doggie Lotto. I’m the one with something to whine about
around here.” She decided to give it a try. “Hhyyymmm.”

Kona stopped and tilted his head.
He walked toward her.

She whined again. “Hhyyymmm.” He
wagged his tail and climbed up with her. “Can’t beat ’em, join ’em? That your
plan?” He sat on her chest. “Oooof. OK. Get off. We’ll go for a walk.”

Hearing the last word, he jumped
down and ran to the door, barking. His back end wagged. Maggie decided they’d
go to the park. If she felt up to it, they’d swing by and get a lottery ticket
on the way home. “OK, in the car, Buddy.”

The park smelled of wet grass. The
morning May gray hadn’t burned off yet, but Maggie still hid behind her
sunglasses. Kona dragged her to the edge of the park, where he sniffed
determinedly at one particular bush. She stretched his leash to its maximum
length and flopped down on a bench to wait, her back to him.

Several mothers shadowed their
toddlers playing on the swings or climbing on the green sea monster that bobbed
up and down out of the sand. Maggie was vaguely aware of the laughter of the
children as she pondered her growing to-do list for putting the house on the
market. On top of the routine cleaning and gardening, there were dozens of
repairs to make: the dining room ceiling fan wasn’t working, the office needed
repainting, the—

“Aaaagggghhhhhh!”

The piercing scream came from a
little girl in off-kilter pigtails, who pointed at Kona. He was devouring
something. He had that “Mine!” stance, hunched over a small, gray blob. She ran
back to him and heard furious crunching.

“Drop it!” She tugged his leash. He
ignored her, lunged at the last of whatever it was and, showing his lupine
ancestry, wolfed it down. Maggie turned back to the playground.

A woman scooped up the crying girl
and stroked her hair.

“Your dog flushed a baby ground
squirrel out of its nest, and ate it! In front of the kids!”

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. He’s never
done anything like that before.” Kona had eaten many things, but never
something living. Well, maybe a few spiders and some moths, and a bee once, but
never a... mammal. She dragged him back towards the car. He twisted and bucked,
trying to get back at what was left of the squirrel’s nest. It was like walking
a marlin. Maggie began to sweat as everyone watched her trying to reel in her
beast.

“Kona, how could you?” She scolded
him and pointed at the back seat. “Get in.” He hopped into the Honda, licking
his chops.
I just know this is coming back to haunt me.
What goes down, usually comes up—or ends up with a trip to the vet
.

~~~

Sure enough, the next morning,
Maggie was cleaning up bits of dead baby squirrel in the pre-dawn light.
“Couldn’t you at least give me some warning so I could put you outside?” She
glared at Kona, who surveyed the action and appeared to grin at her.

She turned her head away and, using
Dave’s old beach towel, swiped at the dark lumps on the rug. There was another
small spot on the hardwood floor.
Thank God it’s too dark
in here to really see what I’m doing
. She glanced to see if she’d gotten
all the... pieces and felt her gag reflexes kick in. When the gagging passed,
the tears came. Dave had always cleaned up after Kona because Maggie couldn’t
stomach it.
I’m on my own now when it comes to cleaning up
dead baby squirrel bits
.

Afterwards, Maggie went back to
bed, but couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about being on her own. She also
thought about the liquor cabinet. The tequila had worked pretty well before,
and she’d managed to turn off her brain and get a few more hours sleep. In
fact, it also worked well on several other mornings, when she woke before dawn
and her mind wouldn’t stop asking the same annoying questions over and
over—like, how are we going to get through the next days, weeks, months? Now
she knew how to make the little hamster wheel in her brain stop spinning.

She got up and went out to the
cupboard for the big bottle of Cuervo. It smelled like fermented green olives.
She hated green olives. She plugged her nose and drank a shot like it was
medicine. It tasted bitter; she shivered as it burned a path down her throat.
She wondered how something that tasted this nasty alone could be so delicious
when you added margarita mix or lime juice. She thought about how Dave loved
margaritas, his favorite drink. They’d even served them at their wedding
reception, the bartender squeezing the limes fresh. Even with the nasty taste,
a second shot didn’t seem like a half-bad idea just now. She shuddered again.