Nobody's Dog (10 page)

She looks at me. Her eyes are bluer in the weird light of the carousel. “It wasn't the right time. Was it?”

There's no point in making up a story. Libby's not going to buy it. Or she'll act like she does but I'll know she sees right through it, and me. Just like she does with her drawings.

“Are you in trouble?” she says quietly.

“No.” This time it's not really the truth, but I don't know how to explain it to her. In my peripheral, Soleil and Patrick are walking toward us. “Look, just don't say anything. Please. I need to figure some stuff out. I just need time.” I hate that I'm bargaining with her. And that she's known for this long.

“You mean you'll go out again?” Libby asks.

Soleil calls to us.

“No. I won't go out again. Just don't say anything. Promise?” I put my hand on her arm, try to make her understand how important this is.

She smiles. “In that case, fine.”

“What's fine?” Soleil asks, grabbing Libby from behind and making her shriek.

“Oh, Jakob was asking if I'd give him drawing lessons,” she says, grinning like a maniac at me. “And I said I would.”

We decide to split up so that Patrick and I can do some rides together while Libby and Soleil can browse the shopping stalls. Why they'd want an overpriced T-shirt covered in sparkles, I have no idea. I'm happy to get away from Libby for a while, but hanging out with Patrick has me kind of nervous too. He seems ready for the craziest rides, while I'm not sure I want to go on any.

“Doom Mountain or Gravitator?” he asks. “Your choice.”

Gravitator reminds me of my dad.

“Doom Mountain.” I eye the lineup.

“Does it go upside down?”

“No,” I say, wondering if he thinks that's good or bad. I don't think I — or even J — could handle going upside down.

Patrick gets in line behind a couple of guys covered in tattoos. “I guess we'll meet our doom, then.”

He means it as a joke, but my stomach shudders.

“I think it's great that you're getting along with Libby,” he says. “She hasn't had the easiest time. Soleil says she's never had many friends.”

The tattooed guys laugh about something and shove each other around. “She's weird, but also kind of cool,” I say, and I realize it's truer than I first thought.

He nods. “I'm really impressed with her art. But she's sensitive and that's hard for a kid. Most people probably don't get her.”

“How do you know that?” I haven't been able to explain her, but he's right.

Patrick shrugs. “I was like that once. An artsy kid, in my own world. I talked to people who lived in my head. Drove my mother crazy. I had only one friend in high school. He's still my friend, all these years later.”

I don't know what to say to that so I just stare at the blobs of dried gum and flattened bits of popcorn on the ground, thinking of something else. “What does the name Chilko mean?'

“Ah, well.” Patrick pulls out his wallet. “It's an area, the Chilcotin, near where I grew up. Chilko means
red ochre river
.” He hands me a worn photo of a blue river with a sandy shore under a puffy-cloud sky. A white and black puppy plays in the water. “And Chilko's mom was a red and white husky, so it's kind of an homage to her too. You a dog guy, Jakob?”

My mouth feels dry. “How'd you know?”

He glances at the roller coaster as it swoops down and back up again. “I could have pegged you for one, but George mentioned you might be.”

“I've wanted one forever,” I say, then wonder if I'm giving something away. “My parents always said next year.” I let that hang in the air, not sure how much he knows.

“What about your aunt?”

“Yeah, right. She'll never let me keep a dog in the house.”

“Well, you'll just have to hang out with mine,” Patrick says. “We're always looking for buddies to walk with. He's actually a pretty fine escape artist. I have to keep him roped because he was getting out of the yard. Huskies are famous for climbing fences.”

“I know,” I say, feeling the sweat break out on my neck. “I read about it.”

He takes a few steps to close the new gap between us and the tattooed guys. “And he got sprayed by a skunk last week. Man, that reeked. No more roaming around for him.”

My face feels hot and tight and I pretend to be interested in a couple of girls walking by.

“George said Chilko really took to you,” Patrick continues.

“Yeah, I don't know why,” I mutter. “He must be really friendly.”

Patrick shrugs. “Not with everyone. Huskies are kind of aloof. They're like cats that way. They'll decide to like something or not.”

“And they're independent,” I say, thinking of how Chilko never really needs me when we're out together.

“Yup. And crazy-strong. Mind of his own when he wants to go somewhere.” Patrick looks at me. “I had to interview a few people to find George. I needed someone big, able to handle Chilko's weight and stubbornness.”

We're getting close to the front of the line and I'm getting to the end of my rope. J wants to tear into Patrick for not letting me prove myself as a dog walker, for assuming I
couldn't do it. I also want to curl up somewhere and block out all the noise. I'm not sure which way is better to fall.

We stand in awkward silence for a minute and I try to think of something to break it. “How long have you had Chilko?” I ask.

“Since he was a pup. You could say he came from a broken home.”

“How come?” Something tells me whatever Patrick's going to say will only make this crazy situation harder, but I can't stop myself.

“It's kind of a sad story.” Patrick shakes his hair out of his face. “He was the smallest in the litter, if you can believe that. There were four. Three girls and him.”

The roller coaster comes back to the station and kids scramble out of it, laughing and shouting.

“His mom was a beauty — pale blue eyes, that reddish fur,” Patrick says. “She lived around town, apparently had been someone's at some point, but she'd been a stray for a few years. I'd watched her since the spring, when I first noticed she was pregnant.”

“She was just wandering around?”

“That's what strays do. She looked in good shape, though. She was getting food somewhere.”

“But how did you know where she'd be?” They're about to load the ride again and suddenly I just want to step out of line. I just want to talk to Patrick about Chilko like we're friends and everything is normal.

“I was painting this house next to a lot that hadn't been built on yet,” he says, strolling up as the guy takes our tickets and sends us through the turnstile. “Lots of shrubs and tall grass. Perfect for a dog to have her pups. I looked over one day from the top of my ladder, and there she was, holding one
of the pups in her mouth. After I finished work, I went over there and watched her.”

We get into the first car of the roller coaster. Patrick's still talking, seems relaxed, but I'm tightening up like a spring. I can't make my hands unclench. Dr. Tang's words of warning fill my head. I try to ignore them by focusing on Patrick's voice.

“She'd made a nest in an old refrigerator box,” he's saying. “Pulled in some leaves and rags and made this great den for the pups. I didn't get that close because she was watching me with that mama look, but after I'd been back, brought her food a few times, she let me sit beside her.”

A bell rings and the operator comes by to check we're strapped in. Tells us not to put our hands out while the ride is moving. I try to picture Chilko and his mom and sisters — little furballs in an overgrown field, Patrick sitting there watching — but I keep coming back to the present, the bump of the car as people move behind us, shouts from kids waiting in line.

“Well, this is a first for me,” Patrick says. “Got to admit I'm a little freaked.”

“You are?” I look at him.

His face is pale under his tan. “Yeah, I'm not really great with heights. Or G-forces.”

So he hates pretty much everything about these rides. Holy crap. “But you paint houses. Don't you go up ladders?”

The guy pushes a button in the control room and we jerk forward, start moving up the track.

Patrick grips the sides of the seat. “Yeah, but ladders don't go fifty kilometres an hour.”

“Great. So neither of us wants to be here,” I mutter.

Patrick doesn't hear me.

The car starts to climb. My heart is ramming into my ribs and my palms are sweaty. The strap on my chest feels tight and familiar. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stay here at Playland, another hot summer day, but suddenly I'm flying back to dark, wet streets — glowing street lights move past the rainy window. We're driving through an intersection. I force my eyes open. The roller coaster thunders and shudders under me. Then we're slipping, the car is spinning in a circle. My neck strains, a yell coming from deep in my throat.

Something squeezes my arm. I flash back to present, where we're riding the track up and up, the loud gears vibrating through me.

Patrick's holding onto my arm. “It's okay, right? How bad can it be?”

As we reach the top of the track, hesitate, I look out over the city, blinking in the bright sun. I can't answer his question.

“We're okay,” Patrick says as we start the descent, the people behind us already screaming. “Just remind me not to do this again.”

My reply is lost in the roar of the machine.

The light from the street lamp outside the house paints my walls a faint orange. It's 11:00 pm. Aunt Laura went to bed early — headache. There's no TV or music on downstairs. It's a warm night, clouds covering the stars. I won't be able to find Sirius, but at least I know where I'm going now.

After we stumbled off the ride, Patrick and I wandered through the crowds looking for a place to sit down. He looked ready to puke but I was a little distracted. I couldn't get the picture out of my mind.

I see myself standing on the side of the street as our car spins, then tumbles down the bank. I pretend to be a witness. I still can't see what it was that caused the crash. It's the last piece of the puzzle. Maybe when it's complete, I'll stop dreaming about finding it.

Because the floor creaks and Libby might be listening, I slide the stiff frame of my window up as high as it will go. I haven't tried to get out this way since I was nine and playing spies with a kid from across the street. I fell out and sprained my ankle. I'm hoping now I'm tall enough to make the drop.

Before I climb out, I throw the backpack onto the grass, cringing as I wait for a thud. It makes almost no sound. Libby's bedroom window is under Aunt Laura's room, so with any luck she won't hear or see me, even if she's awake.

The walk to Patrick's house — it's hard to call it Chilko's anymore — is fast and slow at the same time. I'm pulled forward by finally knowing what happened the night of the accident, but my gut tells me I'm letting everyone I know down. Including myself.

As I walk along the lane, scouting for lights on in the houses, my skin gets goosebumps. This is the last time. After this, no more lies.

Chilko lies in the middle of the lawn with his head between his paws. I can't see from here if he's asleep or not, but his ears are up, so he knows something's going on. There are no lights on in the house. For a second I wish there were.

“Hey, Chilko,” I whisper, putting my nose through the chain-link fence.

He's up instantly, tail wagging. He'd know me anywhere.

We walk the same route as before. I take the lead, making sure to keep us on track so I know exactly where the intersection is.

A few cars pass us, but no one slows down or looks at us. We're invisible tonight. I start to breathe normally. Maybe this is going to work out.

After Ridgeway Avenue we walk past an empty, overgrown lot. Big trees and tall grass fill the space between two houses. My mom always warned me to stay out of places like this. Never know what you might step on.

Chilko heads right into the jungle.

“Hey, come back,” I whisper.

He ignores me.

I try to step where the grass has been pressed down into a trail. He disappears behind a round bush. Homeless people live in places like this.

And around the bush I find what I'm afraid of: cardboard boxes and shopping carts and garbage lying around. Someone lives here. Or did. And Chilko's inside their house.

He sniffs inside a big box, every corner, turns around and wags his tail.

“That's someone's house,” I whisper. “Let's get out of here, Chilko.”

He seems to understand because he takes one more look at the box, then trots past me, back toward the street. I wipe sweat off the back of my neck.

We walk on, in sync with each other, me and my dog. I reach over and rub his ears and he grins at me. I'm connected to him in a way no one else is. I want this feeling to last forever. Somehow everything will be okay.

Chilko stands at the next street corner, sniffing the air. I give him a pat and we cross together.

The problem is, the person I'd like to talk to right now, who'd maybe understand what it feels like to be on my own — who'd probably see some kind of art in being surrounded by silence and the hum of the city — thinks I'm at home in bed. Because I promised her I would be.

I start to get nervous as we come to the corner of Keith and Brooksbank. One block to go. Chilko is happy to wander in front, sniffing bushes and peeing on everything as usual. My spine tingles. It's like waiting for the doctor to give you a shot — you know it's coming, just not when.

The intersection is empty and quiet. On one side, the houses sleep, office buildings dark and deserted. On the other side, the woods that lead down to the river.

I take hold of Chilko's collar as we come to the spot where we stopped last time. My thoughts spin like a dust storm.

Dad's voice is in my ear.
We've been through this a thousand times, Jakob. The answer's still no. Not until you're older
.

Chilko's warm fur keeps me from slipping all the way back. I grip his collar tighter.

“But Dad,” I hear myself say. “I can handle the responsibility, I swear.”

I'm losing patience with this. Let's talk about something else
. Dad's voice is hard and I know I've lost.

“What, like stupid astronomy? That's all you ever want to talk about. Maybe I don't want to go camping next summer.”

Dad blinks but says nothing.

Then I see it. In my mind I see myself see it in the road ahead. “Dad, look — there's a dog in the road,” I say.

“I'm warning you, don't push me on this, Jakob,” Dad growls, looking back at me.

“No, really —”

Mom gasps. Her finger points. “Oh my god, Charlie!” The moment my dad sees it, his mouth opens. His hands jerk the wheel. The flash of something in the headlights, something black. Something furry. It slips out of sight a second before Mom screams. We spin, spin, hit something — a curb — then roll. My mom's ragged voice —
Jakob!
 — rips my eardrums and I shake my head back to the present.

I know, finally, as I try to clear my vision, rub my face with my hands. It was a dog. A black dog in the road, and I couldn't warn him in time. He didn't believe me. The screech of tires fills my head, the smell of burning rubber on dry pavement —

But the road was wet when we crashed.

I look up as the sound of Chilko's yelp-scream cuts through the night air.

Where. Where is he? The road. The road is empty. Find him, find that dog. He's my dog. I brought him here.

For a second, two cars pause — one red, one dirty white. Dirty white pulls around red and screeches off. Red stays, door opens.

I fade back to tires and windshield wipers, clicking metal and someone's moan. It's coming from my throat.

Someone's trying to talk to me — they've gotten out of their car and they're looking into my face. It's an old man. He says things that fall apart as soon as they leave his mouth. I try to focus. It feels important.

The old man points to a spot in front of his car. I finally hear him say, “That other car clipped him. Did you see? The car took off and your dog ran into the woods.” He points down the road at the tail lights getting smaller and smaller.

“Clipped him?”

“Yeah, caught him on the side. He didn't go under. Damn stupid kids don't stop for anything. I didn't get their licence plate, did you?”

I shake my head.

“Are you okay, son? Your dog was hobbling, but going at some speed. I'm no vet, but that might be a good sign.” The man looks hopefully at me, then at the woods.

Dogs run from pain.

They hide somewhere because they feel safer, even if they're badly injured.

“Should you be out this time of night?” he asks. “Are your parents around?”

“They're —” I start to say it, but realize it will only make things worse. “I've got to find him.” I start to back away, my mind already listing all the horrible injuries Chilko could have.

“I'll help you look for him.” The old man holds up his hand. “I can call animal services.”

“No. Please don't call anyone. I have to go,” I call, jogging to the edge of the road. But I need help. I need all the help I can get. My throat starts to close as I think of him lying somewhere, dying. It can't be. It can't.

A voice is shouting from far away. I don't know if it's J or me or someone else.
Stupid! Look what happens when you take it too far. This is all your fault
. Now the voice gets more familiar, but the words are harder to take.
This is why we never let you have a dog. This is what happens when you can't be responsible
.

I thrash through small trees and bushes, shining my flashlight, calling Chilko's name. I stop to listen for whining, howling, anything dog-like. Silence.

I gulp air and look around, smelling dirt — the same dirt as that night. Somewhere around here is where our car stopped. Plants have grown up again, hiding the evidence. It couldn't be worse: I'm back where it happened, but for a completely different reason. How could I have been so stupid? “I'm sorry!” I yell. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

Nothing answers me, and I'm not sure who I'm yelling at, but another chunk of sound comes up from somewhere and I yell and yell, burning my throat with how loud it is. Every yell empties me a little more. The trees swallow it up.

Finally I lean on a tree, put my head back and cry.

A branch scratches my cheek. The woods seem to go on forever. I don't even know how far it is until I reach the river. No moon, no stars tonight. In this darkness, I might just end up in the water. Every snap of twig and rustle of leaf
could be Chilko, but it's not. He's used to the forest, being alone in it. Huskies are pretty close to wolves as far as dogs go. He could be anywhere.

“Chilko!” I let out the biggest, loudest call I can. It bounces off the trees then disappears. The far-off drone of a car on the road.

I search for what feels like forever, trying to use a system so I don't search around a tree twice, but this is impossible, I realize, as I come to the same short stump. I can't even see any tracks in the dark. My flashlight's getting weaker. My head feels like it weighs fifty kilos.

I'm about to give up, although I still haven't thought about what that means, when my phone rings and makes me jump against a tree. Rubbing my shoulder, I pull the phone out. It could only be Mason. Unless — my mouth goes dry — Aunt Laura discovered I'm not at home.

But it's neither of their numbers. It's Soleil's number. The one taped to the fridge in case I need help when Aunt Laura's not home. But I know it's not Soleil.

I press talk.

“Oh, you are up,” Libby says. This seems a little dumb because I'd have to be up to answer the call.

“Yeah, I am,” I say, and feel so completely alone that my eyes start prickling again.

“But you're not upstairs.”

What's the point in lying now? “No, I'm not.”

“What's going on, Jakob? Everyone's worried.”

“Who?”

“My mom and your aunt. And me.”

“Do they know I'm out?”

“No, but can't you just tell me where you are?”

“I'm in the woods.”

“Why?”

“It's a really long story.” I push off from the tree, holding the flashlight out until I find a narrow trail that seems to go in the direction of the road.

“Are you in trouble, Jakob? Do you want someone to come and get you?”

God, yes. “God, no,” I say. “I'm coming home now.”

“But you're going to tell me what's going on. You have to.” Her voice is quiet but so sure. It's the most solid thing I have right now.

“Is your mom awake?”

“No. She sleeps like a log. Don't worry. I don't care how long the story is.”

Up ahead, I think I can make out the faint light of a street lamp at the top of a bank. I aim for it. “Good,” I say, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “Because it'll take me all the way home to tell it.”