Whom Dog Hath Joined (6 page)

I knew that I loved Lili – but was I “in love” with her?
What did that mean, anyway? In college and graduate school I’d read the poems
that Elizabeth and Robert Browning wrote to each other, Shakespeare’s sonnets, W.
H. Auden and Sara Teasdale. I’d fallen for books like Scott Spencer’s
Endless
Love
and M. M. Kaye’s
The Far Pavilions
, about love so deep it
bordered on (or was) obsession.

Did I feel that way about Lili? Did I even want to? Real
life wasn’t a poem or a novel, and if I really did have the addictive
personality Santos said I did, then an obsessive love was not a good thing.

I put back the perfume bottle and thought about Lili, how I
felt when I was with her, when we were apart. She was the first person I
thought of when something happened I wanted to share. When we were apart,
sometimes I’d feel a physical longing to be near her. Everything we did
together seemed more enjoyable because she was with me.

That was love, I decided. I didn’t need a poet to tell me.

I was relieved when I heard Rick pull up in front of the
house, and I opened the front door and let Rochester out to run ahead of me.
Rascal was in the back of the pickup, with his front paws on the side rail. He
barked as I lowered the back gate, then he jumped down. He and Rochester began
chasing each other in circles in the driveway.

“You find any ID for the body yesterday?” I asked Rick.

“Nope. Which makes this case a real bear.”

“Can’t you use dental records or DNA?” I asked.

“You have to have something to compare to. The ME guesses
that it’s the body of an adolescent male Caucasian, based on his preliminary
look at the bones, but we won’t know for sure until the final report. While I
wait for the cause of death, and the age of the victim, I’ve got to pore over
the crime scene reports for clues as to how long the body was there. That will
give me a framework to check missing persons reports.”

I told him that Lili was going to email me photos of the sneaker.
“I thought I’d look around online and see if I can narrow the time when the
shoe was manufactured.”

“That would help. Thanks.”

He left, and I checked my email. Nothing from Lili. So I did
some quick research on Converse sneakers and discovered that Chuck Taylor, also
known as “Mr. Basketball,” was one of the first athlete-endorsers, and that
Converse had begun making Chucks in 1923. The Chucks of the 50s, 60s and 70s
were made of three-ply canvas and had a black or blue label on the heel. The
words CONVERSE ALL-STARS were in caps at the top, with a five-pointed star in
the center of the label, breaking through between “Converse” and “All.” The
star also broke into the middle of Chuck’s signature. There was a copyright
symbol under the star, and the words MADE IN USA were in tiny caps at the
bottom.

I hoped that there had been some change in the logo that
might narrow down when the blue sneaker at the Meeting House had been made. But
without Lili’s photos I couldn’t do much more research.

To avoid staring at the screen obsessively checking for
messages, I stood up and began tidying my bedroom. I made space on the bureau
for Lili when she stayed over, and that meant I gathered my bills, junk mail
and other paperwork into one pile.

A tie bar I had inherited from my father was on top of the
pile. I remembered wearing it a few weeks before – it must have fallen
somewhere, and Lili had discovered it. I carried it over to the old wooden
jewelry box where I kept the bits and pieces he’d left me. And maybe because it
had been on my mind the day before, I noticed the copper POW bracelet at the
bottom of the box.

I picked it up and examined it. It was tarnished, but I couldn’t
tell if that was from age or wear. The soldier’s name, rank, and date and
location of disappearance were engraved on the metal.

C14S
MARC DES ROCHERS

USAF
7-10-66 LAOS

I remembered Mr. Des Rochers, an engineer my dad called
“Des,” and often commuted to work with. I’d been to his family’s house in
Levittown a few times, especially when I got old enough to drive and wanted to
use my dad’s car. I’d take him to Des’s house early in the morning and then
pick him up there in the evening. But I’d never thought to ask about the fate
of Des’s son.

That was easily remedied, I thought. I went back to the
computer and entered his name. It was uncommon, so it came up easily. The
results were both saddening and surprising. Over 1600 military personnel were
still missing, over forty years after “Operation Homecoming” in the spring of
1973, when Vietnam returned American POWs. One hundred ninety four of them were
members of the Air Force, lost over Laos.

Marc Des Rochers was among those still missing.

I sat back in my chair. I couldn’t imagine how his father
must have felt, not knowing about his son’s fate. Had he died instantly? Lived
for a while in pain and suffering? Been incarcerated in one of the prison
camps?

I knew my father had been deeply hurt by my stint in prison.
But at least he knew I was fed and had access to medical care, that at some
point I would be released. Another quick search revealed that Des had passed
away a few years before. His online obituary listed his son “Marc, missing in
Laos since 1966.”

Beneath that was the line that broke my heart. “Until his
death, Rene wore an MIA bracelet with Marc’s name on it, always hoping that his
son would come home to him.”

I pushed my chair back quickly and stood up, startling
Rochester, who had curled behind me, and Rascal, out in the hallway. “Come on guys,
let’s go for a walk,” I said.

Both of them knew that magic word, and they raced down the
stairs ahead of me, taking them two or three at a time, romping around the
front door. I grabbed their leashes and we started out of River Bend. We kept
going past the guard gate, and turned down Ferry Street toward town. After all
the hubbub from the Harvest Festival the day before, Stewart’s Crossing was
quiet and sleepy. Most of the businesses at that end of town were closed, and I
let the dogs loose to run around the parking lot of the VFW Hall.

Rochester was bigger than Rascal, and  his coat was in
shades of gold compared to Rascal’s black and white. Rascal was by far more
active, running in circles around Rochester trying to herd his friend. But Rochester
darted in and grabbed the handle of Rascal’s leash in his mouth, ready to take
the Aussie for a walk. That completely confused Rascal.

I watched them play, then suddenly Rochester disengaged
himself from Rascal and sprinted toward a tall, beefy-looking guy with brown
hair, heading away from downtown on foot. He jumped up on the guy, nosing him
in the groin.

“Rochester! Down!” I called, and hurried forward.

Rochester dropped to the ground and rushed back to me.
“Sorry!” I called.

As Rochester darted around me, the guy approached us. He was
in his late twenties, with a round, open face. “Maybe you can help me,” he
said, in an accent that pegged him from somewhere Down Under. “I’m somewhat
lost. I’m looking for a chocolate shop. I think it would be called More than
Chocolate.”

“Nothing by that name in town,” I said. “Though there is a
café called The Chocolate Ear that serves great pastries.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know who runs it, would you?” he
asked, as I clipped Rochester’s leash back to his collar. Rascal scudded up
beside us, and I hooked him up, too.

“I do. She’s a friend of mine. Gail Dukowski.”

“Bless you!” he said. “That’s who I’ve been looking for.” He
reached out to shake my hand. “Declan Gallagher.”

“Steve Levitan.” We shook. “How do you know Gail?”

“She used to date my roommate Randy in New York,” he said.
“When I was in graduate school at Columbia.”

I told him that I’d gone to school there as well, and
discovered that long after I’d gotten my MA in English he had been in the
business school on an international exchange program from New Zealand. He had a
Southern Hemisphere charm, relaxed posture, clipped language with a hint of the
exotic. There was a warmth and friendliness about him, even after only a few minutes’
acquaintance, that made me like him.

“I had a bit of a crush on Gail back then,” he said. “Though
she only had eyes for Randy. I ran into him last week, and he told me they’d
broken up and she’d moved down here. I remembered her talking about the chocolate
shop and so I thought I’d look her up.”

“Come on, we’ll walk you down there,” I said. “Gail loves
Rochester, and she always has a biscuit for him.” I reached down to scratch
around Rascal’s neck. “And one for you, too, Rascal.”

As we walked, I said, “It’s a nice day for a drive down from
New York.”

“I’m not there anymore,” Declan said. “I was, with a
manufacturing company in Brooklyn. But their business tanked, and they couldn’t
afford to sponsor me for the H1-B visa beyond my year of practical training.
Fortunately, I managed to get myself a much better job, with an electronics
company, so I won’t have to go back home. They filed for my visa and I got it
last month.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “Where is this company?”

“Up the road a bit,” he said. “In an industrial park outside
Newtown.”

The dogs were well-behaved as we walked down the shady
sidewalk, though they were eager to sniff out every interesting scent. “Up
ahead,” I said to Declan. “Those green and white awnings? That’s The Chocolate
Ear.”

The elderly hippie I’d seen at the Harvest Festival stepped
out of the café as we approached. Rochester balked and wouldn’t move forward as
the man approached us. “Buy some candles or soap?” he asked, opening a worn
leather satchel. “All handmade.” He pulled out a couple of strong-smelling bars
wrapped in brown paper and tied with what looked like horsehair. “Just sold
some candles to the lady inside.”

Rochester growled. “Sorry, the smell doesn’t seem to agree
with my dog,” I said. I tugged on both dogs’ leashes and we stepped into Main
Street to go around him.

Declan asked the old man, “How much?”

“Five bucks.” He handed one of the bars to Declan, who
lifted it to his nose to sniff.

“I’ll take it.” Declan pulled a bill out of his wallet and
handed it to the old man, who stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hope Gail likes lemon,” Declan said to me when the man
had passed.

I handed the leashes to Declan and stuck my head in the door
when we got to the café. Gail’s mother Lorraine was working the register and I
asked her, “Can you tell Gail I’ve got an old friend of hers out here?”

Lorraine was a petite dynamo, with neatly coiffed gray hair
and a perpetual smile. I took the dogs back from Declan as she introduced
herself to Declan. “Did you work with Gail in the city?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I was a roommate of Randy’s.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I’ll tell Gail you’re here.”

I wondered at her cool reaction. I guessed she hadn’t liked
Gail’s boyfriend much.

Declan and I stood in the shade of the awning, watching the
traffic pass on Main Street. The dogs sprawled beside me on the pavement, but
they both hopped up when Gail stepped out the door.

Gail’s blonde hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, and she
wore a gray cotton blouse, jeans and kitchen clogs. I noticed she was staring
at the man with me. “Declan?” she asked. “Wow! It’s been what, a year or so? The
last time I saw you was at graduation.”

“Hello, Gail.” He stepped forward and kissed her cheek.
“It’s lovely to see you again. And I’m so pleased you were able to realize that
dream we talked about.” He waved his hand to encompass the chocolate shop.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “But how did you track
me down? I don’t even know your last name and I didn’t think you knew mine.”

I thought I saw Declan blush. “I saw Randy in New York, at a
Columbia cocktail party.”

“Is he still as obnoxious as ever?”

Declan burst out laughing. “I didn’t know you saw him that
way. He is rather full of himself, you know, being an investment banker.”

“He was that way as a student. It just took me a long time
to see it.”

“Well, we got to talking, and he mentioned you two had
broken up. I had to do some detective work to find you. Helped by my new best
friend over here.” He reached down to scratch behind Rochester’s ears. The dog
looked up at him with an expression of delight.

“I still remember how sweet you were, the morning I first
heard from my mother that she was sick.”

“How is she doing?” he asked. “She looks quite well.”

“The surgery was easy but the rehab wasn’t,” Gail said. “But
she’s much better now, thank you.” She seemed to realize that she was holding a
pair of dog biscuits in her hand, and she gave one to each dog. I could sense
the awkwardness between Gail and Declan—but that was something they’d have to work
out on their own.

Lorraine stuck her head out the door. “What can I get for
all of you?”

“Nothing for me. I’ve got to get back home.” I shook
Declan’s hand. “Congratulations on the new job and the visa. I hope we’ll be
seeing you around Stewart’s Crossing.”

Gail looked from me to Declan, then reached out a hand to
him. “Well, come on inside. I can see we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

They walked into the café, and after the dogs had cleaned up
every biscuit crumb, we walked back through town to River Bend. I was pleased
to be able to bring Gail and her old friend together. I’d seen a sadness in her
now and then, and I’d chalked it up to her mother’s illness, and worry over
Lorraine’s recovery. But maybe it was partly to do with that failed
relationship.

It was clear that Declan wanted something more than
friendship with Gail, and I hoped he’d be able to bring some happiness back to
her. The dogs dallied with smells around an ancient sycamore, and I realized
there had been plenty of time for Lili to get home and email me those sneaker
photos.