Seeing Things (20 page)

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Authors: Patti Hill

BOOK: Seeing Things
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“The world won't fall apart in two days. We'll leave right after work on Friday and come home late Sunday.”
Suzanne's voice was butter melting in a pan. “Sounds wonderful.”
“I wish we had time now.”
“Are you suggesting . . . ?”
“When have you ever been late for rounds?”
“Never.”
“Must keep the sperm count up.”
“So this is doctor's orders?”
“None other.”
I never thought to be embarrassed when they ran up the stairs toward their bedroom. When the door clicked shut, I tapped my clock. “Five-thirty-eight a.m.” Then I popped in the earplugs of my older-than-dirt Walkman to listen to instrumental hymns. To the swelling strings of “Holy, Holy, Holy” I turned to John 15. The words tickled my imagination. I closed my eyes to imagine Jesus and his disciples walking over the spongy earth of the vineyard, the broad leaves like palms reflecting the Passover moon. During this intimate, befuddling moment, Jesus did what all true friends do when they must say good-bye: He tells his friends how to stay in touch.
“Lord of the vineyard,” I prayed, “let's keep in touch. Empower me to love as you have loved.”
Bee pushed her nose under the Bible to rest her head in my lap. “You're a pushy old dog. You're not the center of the world. You know that, don't you?”
The Lord's voice, like the stirring of a tree in a spring breeze or the tender kisses of snowflakes, beckoned me to love as he loved. It was the fastest answer to prayer I could ever remember.
“MIZ BIRDIE YOU'RE FLINGING big gobs of dough all over the place,” Lupe said.
I felt around the counter to wrangle the lost clump of cookie dough back into the bowl and grunted with the strain of pushing the spoon through the batter. And I hadn't added the chocolate chips or nuts yet.
Lupe sipped coffee on the other side of the island. “If I was making cookies—and I'm not saying that I ever would. That's what the Keebler elves are for, you know what I mean? Anyway, I would use a mixer like they do on those cooking shows you watch.”
I'd spent a half hour poking through the kitchen cupboards looking for a mixer. “Trust me, Lupe, if this kitchen had a mixer, I would have used it.”
“Did you look in the garage? There's a bunch of wedding gifts out there still in boxes. I think I saw a mixer, one of the fancy kind with a bowl that raises and lowers, just like Martha Stewart's got. You like Martha Stewart, I know you do.”
I dabbed the perspiration off my face with the hem of my T-shirt.
Lupe set her coffee down. “You aren't thinking I should carry a big, heavy mixer in here. You didn't see Martha Stewart carrying one of those things when they interviewed her in front of the courthouse. She has people to do that for her. Besides, my back's not so good.”
“I'll ask Andy when he gets home.”
“You better get that batter off the counter.”
Such attentiveness was unusual for Lupe. I dropped the spoon to the counter. “Lupe, is there something you want to tell me?”
“I know you don't like to gossip about your family.”
“No, I don't.”
“But I think I should warn you that things won't be so pleasant around here for a few days.”
I picked up the spoon. “Thank you. I'll make sure I clean up my mess.”
“They need me to work a weekend this month, said they'd pay me overtime. That's a first.”
“Actually, that won't be necessary. Fletcher and I have plans.”
Chapter 22
Fletcher dropped his book bag on the floor with a thud and opened the refrigerator.
I asked him how his day had been and received the usual noncommittal grunt in reply. “That's good. By the way, Mi Sun called about ten minutes ago, asked if you were available to help her with Tootsie. Do you want a snack before we go? I baked some cookies.”
You would have thought I'd asked him to donate a kidney. “What?! I'm not going. I don't know anything about dogs.”
“Of course you do. You've done a wonderful job with Bee. And anything you don't know, I can teach you on the drive to Mi Sun's house.”
“When is she expecting us?”
I felt my Braille watch. “Fifteen minutes. At the park.”
“No way. You have to call her back. I'll look like an idiot.”
“Nonsense. The first lesson is all about the
sit
and
stay
commands, a piece of cake. Would you like a sandwich? Your father loved peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches after school.”
Fletcher slumped onto the sofa. “I couldn't.”
In the driveway I demonstrated a sleight of hand using a liver treat with Bee. I held the liver treat between my fingers in front of Bee's nose. As she licked and nibbled at my fingers, I raised the treat up and over her head as I told her to sit, which she performed perfectly. “When a dog's nose goes up, its tail goes down. Works like a charm every time. You always start with the sit command because if a dog is sitting, it's under control.
Fletcher's voice was flat. “Is the licking mandatory?”
“Absolutely. If Tootsie doesn't believe the treat is accessible, he'll lose interest.”
Fletcher looked at his watch. “This isn't going to work. We're late already.”
“Rule number one: Never keep a pretty girl waiting.” I moved toward the truck.
Fletcher climbed in beside me. “And
stay?
What about
stay?”
“We'll work as a team. I'll demonstrate with Bee. You and Mi Sun follow along with Tootsie.”
The truck jumped the curb and came to a stop. A flash of red sweater and the swing of ebony hair caught my eye. A low-slung bundle of amber and white fur pulled her toward us.
“This was a huge mistake,” Fletcher mumbled.
Tootsie turned out to be a Welsh corgi, eager to please and perpetually smiling. While Fletcher made himself friendly with Tootsie as I'd suggested, I sat with Bee and prayed fervently:
Jesus, you rode a donkey colt that had never been ridden. You directed ravens to feed Elijah. You made ants wise, and I don't even think they have what you'd call a brain, but that's something else entirely, isn't it? Let's see, you care when a sparrow falls to the ground. Seems to me that making Bee and Tootsie good dogs should be a piece of cake for you, as well as a benefit to Fletcher's cause. Only you can make so much out of so little. Amen.
Bee sat with ears pricked forward, leaning into her collar so hard she coughed. I used my no-nonsense voice in her ear. “You're going to sit right here until you're needed, do you hear me?”
She mouthed a complaint, so I fed her a liver treat.
“Today, you're a tool in God's hands.”
MI SUN BACKED AWAY from Tootsie, who sat still as a stone waiting for his mistress to release him from the
stay
command.
Fletcher said, “Go ahead and release him.”
“Okay!” The corgi paddled through the grass toward Mi Sun. “This is
so
cool. What's next?”
“That's enough for his first lesson,” Fletcher said, sounding like Mrs. Wilson, my eighth-grade PE teacher.
Fletcher and Mi Sun joined me under a tree. The lacey parasol of leaves overhead became denser with each visit to the park.
“I can't
believe
how much you know about dogs,” Mi Sun said, and I almost thanked her. Her breathless awe was reserved for young men, not grandmas. “You're so good with them,” she gushed.
“Grandma taught me.”
Obviously he didn't get that humility from me. “Practice the sit and stay,” I told Mi Sun. “We'll get together next week to work on his pulling problem.”
Fletcher couldn't hide the panic in his voice. “Tootsie's such a fast learner, Grandma. Do you suppose he's ready to move on today?”
I felt my watch. “It's almost five o'clock.”
Fletcher pulled me up from the bench as we'd practiced and set the walker in front of me. “Yeah, we gotta go.”
Mi Sun and Fletcher walked ahead of me, like everyone these days. She said, “You should think about going to youth group. We meet on Wednesday nights at the church.”
“I don't know. My . . . it's probably not a good idea.”
“You'd love it. The kids are
great.
You complained about not knowing anyone.”
Please note for posterity's sake that I kept my mouth shut and prayed.
“It's not my thing. I'm pretty busy.”
“How do you know if it's your thing if you haven't tried it?”
I liked her tenacity.
Fletcher opened the truck door for me. “I'll let you know,” he said in his most noncommittal voice.
“You are
so
going.” Mi Sun laughed. “You'll love the kids. They're great. And I don't give up,
ever.
”
“Maybe.” Fletcher bent over Bee to unhook her leash, and before I had the chance to warn him, Bee bolted for freedom. Fletcher ran after her, screaming her name.
“Stop!” I called after him. “Fletcher! Don't run! Stop!”
He obeyed to turn, openhanded. “Grandma, she's across the park already.”
I swallowed down bitter panic. Cars. Vicious dogs. Bee was a country dog. “If you chase her, she thinks you're playing a game. Trust me. She'll look back eventually, and when she does, we have to be doing something to arouse her curiosity.”
“Like?” I heard the threat of tears in Fletcher's voice.
“Whoop as loud as you can and walk away from her.”
Fletcher moved closer, whispered his panic. “We have to get home or else.”
“We can't leave Bee behind. This is the quickest way.” Mi Sun moved closer. “You have to trust me about this. Mi Sun will help, won't you?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Run toward the lake with Tootsie.” I handed Fletcher the leash. “Don't look at Bee. Give Tootsie lots of attention. Feed her liver treats. When Bee gets closer, fall to the ground—she'll move in to give you a bath—and grab her. Go! Run! Make lots of noise!”
Mi Sun let out a war whoop and took off with Tootsie.
Fletcher stood like a mailbox in front of me. His voice trembled. “If Dad finds out . . .”
I pushed him in the direction of Mi Sun and Tootsie.
“The sooner you start whooping . . .”
FLETCHER AND I SAT at the kitchen counter, breathing hard from the rushed trip home. “So,” he said, taking a bite out of a cookie, “was Huck at the park?”
“I haven't seen him for a couple days. He's like that. He shows up when it suits him.”
“The next time you see him, ask what's on the lit final.”
“I guarantee he knows nothing about it. If you remember, school isn't exactly his favorite hangout.”
The door from the garage opened and the authoritative click of Suzanne's heels announced her arrival. She paused inside the door with a rustle of packages. Fletcher stiffened beside me. To distract her from his anxiety, I greeted her with the friendliness of Mickey Mouse at the gates of Disney World. With age, sadly, came the ability to camouflage one's true feelings.
. . . love one another . . .
“Welcome home! How was your day?” I all but chirped.
Although she spoke to Fletcher, I shivered with the chill of her voice. “Shouldn't you be doing homework?”
Fletcher expelled a sigh of relief. “Totally.” He left me alone with Suzanne.
This was the moment I'd prayed for. I'd rehearsed an apology for my self-serving attempt at saving her floors with doggie booties. Before I started my preamble, Suzanne said, “Andrew asked me to do a little research, see if there is anything new to help your AMD.”

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