Stepdog (28 page)

I was shaken from this righteous vengeance by the dog, awakened, yawning loudly behind my head from the backseat. I started in surprise. She was uninterested in the vengeance I was wreaking for her owner's sake. She plopped her chin down on my shoulder and sighed, as if to ask when we could change the channel because this moonlit-plains show was getting really dull.

My kneejerk reaction was that of a father when his kid walks in on him while he's watching porn. Really. I was embarrassed, same as that. I was so relieved when she yawned again: she hadn't noticed what I was up to! She hadn't witnessed any of my dirty thoughts. The horrible nasty secrets that actually defined my character, that I was lecherous, and insecure, and jealous, and capable of violence. That I could hate. She had figured out none of this. I'd fooled her. Ha! I was still Rory the Hero, the soundest bloke west of the Atlantic, and she adored me no matter what evil I got up to between my ears. Dogs are pretty good that way.

“Want a treat?” I offered.

'Course she did.

A
S
S
ARA HAD
predicted, I found my eyes getting droopy, so I exited onto the service road, and then the shoulder of the service road, and napped as best I could under the circumstances: I was in a ridiculously small car, so full to the gills that my seat could not recline. The only emergency Sara had not packed for was camping out, so there were no blankets or cushions, and anyhow it was too chilly outside to fall asleep there. But for a few restless hours, with the door locked and Cody sometimes snoring beside me, I was able to get a bit of a kip, full of dreams involving highways or dogs or Jay trying to cop a feel from Sara. Jay either passed by without my knowing it, or had given up the chase—there was no sign of him at all. Eventually the moon was so high and bright, it made it impossible even to doze, so I slapped myself awake and pulled back onto Highway 40. From here to Albuquerque, it would just be an awful, boring nighttime slog.

I saw a sign for Elk City, checked the gauge, and refueled at a small all-night station off the interstate. I got a coffee but all the so-called food was too disgusting to consider eating. Here's good news, though: no sign of Mr. Baldy.

In the moonlight, everything looked like flat-out desert. That had happened so suddenly! Somehow between Tulsa and here, I'd hit the Old West, real Lyle Lovett country, but it had happened after sundown and before the moon was high enough to see by. The wide expanses were now filled with unfamiliar shapes that I imagined to be all the exotic western-sounding plants I associated with the American West: hickory, sage, mesquite, prickly pear, Joshua trees, yucca plants. Not that I'd know any of them on sight, but I liked the names.

Cody turned restlessly on her bed, sighed, sulked, started to eat a bully stick, tossed it dismissively into the seat beside me, thought better of it, worked her way carefully forward to retrieve the bully stick, disappeared into the back again, finished eating it, drank water, sighed tragically again, and then yawned—which might mean she was queasy.

“Don't throw up,” I begged.

She was delighted that I was speaking to her again. Immediately she inched forward on her belly, like a mobile Sphinx, and proceeded to try to get my attention by rubbing the side of her head against my upper arm. I could see in my peripheral vision that she was looking up at me endearingly.

“Whatever you want, you're not getting it,” I said. I had a sinking feeling that I hadn't fed her lately . . . oh, yes I had, right before my own aborted dinner with Jay.
I
was the one who hadn't eaten.

O
N WE DROVE,
for hours. We passed Amarillo, where Sara had wanted me to stop, and drove hours more, and finally entered New Mexico. Georgia O'Keeffe territory (a good Irish name, O'Keeffe). For the O'Keeffe collection at the MFA, Sara had pushed me to play Aaron Copland's
Billy the Kid
(Billy the Kid: son of Irish immigrants). But O'Keeffe herself had actually preferred classical, so I'd also played some Bach. I wish I had some Bach to play now, or if not Bach, Van Morrison.

Outside a place called Tucumcari, I saw a station with a sprawling minimart attached and pulled in to refuel. It must have been about four in the morning. Eyes so bloodshot you could've navigated by them. Under the awful fluorescent lights of the canopy, I filled the tank, and went inside to pay the bloke. I could've used the ATM at the pump, but I like to do business with other human beings whenever possible, because I'm personable that way. While I was in there, I used the toilet and grabbed a coffee and some Snickers bars, which were the healthiest things in the place.

Then I came back out into the cool, windy night, wishing I'd thought to buy some face cream.

And there was the white Lexus SUV, stopped right behind the MINI.

I
shoved the Snickers bars into the pocket of my sweatshirt but dropped the coffee in the process, felt a few scalding drops splatter at my ankles as I marched back toward the car.

“Hello there,” said Jay, reaching for the nozzle on the pump behind mine. He smiled in a neighborly way, as if we were casual acquaintances who routinely exchanged greetings at this very petrol station. He was wearing a lighter version of his long dark arboretum coat. His sleek bald head was bare.

I looked through the MINI's windows. Cody was still there. She was bored, of course. But the sudden movement of my head outside made her look up. Then she noticed Jay, stood and peered out the back window at him. I could see her tail wagging as she recognized him.

“Hello, Cody,” he called, and waved at her.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

He gestured as if it should be obvious. “Getting gas.”

“I mean how did you
get
here?”

He repeated the look, more exaggerated. “I drove. I followed you. No tricks this time, I simply tailed you.”

“I was ahead of you,” I said, aggravated. “I was
way
ahead of you, and then I pulled
over
. For
hours
. Anyhow I told you to back off.”

He calmly shook his head. “I'm not backing off while you have my dog. How callow of you to think I would. I was directly behind you most of the time, except when you pulled off onto the service road. Then I waited at the next on-ramp with my lights off. You drove right past me getting back on 40 and I've been tailing you since then. When you stopped for gas in Elk City, I waited on the edge of the parking lot and just kept tailing you. One great thing about a hybrid with a big tank, you hardly ever need to refuel.”

“Surprised you didn't break into my car and just
take
her while I was inside,” I said angrily, embarrassed I'd been such an easy mark.

He smiled pleasantly enough. “Breaking into somebody's car is against the law. I can manage to get my own dog back without breaking the law.”

“She's
not
your dog! You know, Jay, you seemed like a pretty sound bloke back in Boston, but this behavior, man, I tell you, it's
demented
. No offense, but if you were family, I'd be calling a head doctor about you. And that's saying something coming from an Irishman.”

“I have not been behaving aboveboard, I confess,” said Jay.

I spat out a laugh. “Ha! Understatement!”

He hesitated a moment—a real hesitation, not a pause for effect. Maybe for the first time he was about to say something that wasn't rehearsed. “Rory, I know you can't believe I've gone to such extremes over a dog.”

“Again, understatement.”

“I'd like to explain why. Straight up. I suggested we do that over coffee back in Boston, and I'd still like to do it now.” He gave me
an inviting, questioning look, like when he'd wanted me to drink with him in Tulsa.

“If it means you'll stop tailing me, I'm all ears. But I have to take Cody out. No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he said, holding his hands up as if to demonstrate he was unarmed. “I'll finish gassing up here, and when I join you I'll stay at least five feet away from you both.”

“You better,” I warned. As if his word meant anything.

The ground around the edges of the paved area was dust. I don't mean dusty, I mean
dust
—you could scoop it up like dirty flour. I opened the car, pocketed the Swiss Army knife Sara had left below the console, and put Cody on her lead. She fairly flew out of the car, and without remembering Jay was there, or bothering to thank me for springing her, began to sniff along the outer edge of the pavement where the canopy light just barely lit things, until she came upon a clump of weeds, where she peed. Then, looking chuffed with herself, she trotted off into the scraggly bushes growing in the dust . . . but stopped suddenly, after three strides, beside an evergreen bush. The ground around it was littered with juniper-looking berries, which I recognized from the design on gin bottles, so I concluded it was a juniper bush.

“Come on,” I said, tugging at the lead.

Cody gave me a beseeching stare. She raised one of her front paws like a hunting dog on point, but the rest of her posture was sagging and sad, as if she were suddenly exhausted.

“Cody, what's wrong?” I asked, more irritated than concerned.

“She's got a bur stuck in her paw,” said Jay, approaching from the pumps. He stopped well short of us, hands slightly raised to show he was behaving. “In this part of the country there are little
burs all over the ground this time of year. Look at her paws, I bet you'll find some stuck into the pads.”

I stared at him.

“If you don't want to help her, will you at least allow me to?” he asked, impatiently.

“Your idea of taking care of her is pretty questionable. Rat poison?”

Cody, still beseeching, was looking back and forth between us. She glanced down at her paw, then back at us.

“Just pull the burs out, would you
please,
Rory.” If he had sounded contemptuous, I would've felt justified in belting him, but his tone was urgent, like a concerned dad.

I turned back to Cody, knelt down, and examined her foot. The light here was crap, but yes, there was a hard, tiny bur stuck to her paw, and several more buried down between her toes. I began to pull them out. She jerked her nose up several times, as if it hurt but she was trying to be stoic. I released that foot and tugged on the other one. There were half a dozen more burs here. Tiny, but hard and nasty, with points like needles.

“You said you had something to say. Say it.”

He took a deep breath, stood straight and regal, plunged his hands into his pockets, and spoke. His tone was the wistful dignity of the king of Peters Hill. “I need my dog back. It's that simple. I've run out of schemes, so I'm just asking you outright—begging, if I must—and I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused by not doing that earlier. This might sound at first like an unreasonable request, but I'm not an idiot, and I wouldn't ask unless I felt there was a reason—a genuine reason—for you to say yes.”

“You misjudged, then,” I said, pulling at the burs, which wasn't
easy because they pricked me in removing them. “No fucking way will I say yes.”

“You haven't heard me out yet. I'm not just asking for my own interest. I want to explain why it's best for Cody—and also best for
you
.”

I wondered what medication he was forgetting to take. “Gotta hear this, don't we, Cody?” I said to her as I continued to ease the burs out of her paw. “Go ahead, then, mate. Give us your best pitch.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, in classic listen-to-me-I'm-an-expert position. “First let me explain why it's best for Cody. Dogs like routine and familiarity. For Cody that means going back to Boston,” he said. “Jamaica Plain. Going for her daily walks in the arboretum, the turn of the seasons, the dogs and people she knows on Peters Hill. What the hell kind of life will it be for a New England dog, living in Los Angeles? It would be one thing if you were living in the canyons, or Malibu, but I'm guessing you're just renting an apartment in the Valley or something, right? Do you know how miserably hot it gets in the Valley? And Sara will probably be working someplace new, so Cody will be left all alone in a strange little apartment all day, and then maybe get a quick walk in some playground on the leash. What kind of a life is that? If Sara cared about Cody's well-being, she wouldn't subject her to that.”

I wasn't all that interested in the quality of Cody's life (bliss compared to most
people's,
in fairness) but I was struck by how much he'd thought this out and how strongly he felt about it. In my mind, this ridiculous chase had become about Jay wanting to win just for the sake of winning—to me, that was the only sen
sible explanation for his obsessiveness. But he was genuinely preoccupied with the dog's well-being. In a way I wasn't. In a way I couldn't even contemplate.

He must have seen something on my face, in my expression, because he took a step closer. “Rory.” He lowered his voice. “It's not your fault that your good fortune is so disruptive to Cody, but it
is
disruptive. She's had a very good life with almost no stress. Except for Sara's taking her away from our home, of course. But she's coddled, you know it yourself.”

Yes, I did. I would never say it, but I s'pose he could read it in my face, my body language, because he kept right on:

“And that's why it's also better for
you
if she's not with you in L.A. She will not be good at handling stress. If you already find her needy, and you already feel that Sara coddles her, trust me: when you get to L.A., she'll be even needier and Sara will coddle her even more.”

That was probably true.

“And you'll resent it and it will cause tension, which Cody will sense, which will make her more clingy, which will make Sara coddle her more, and it will be a vicious cycle that won't be good for any of you.”

For somebody who'd never lived with the three of us, he had pretty much nailed the worst-case scenario. I focused on the burs.

“It's a domestic meltdown waiting to happen,” he continued, calm and parental, about to offer a wonderful solution. He squatted down to be closer to us. I focused on that final paw. Seven burs. “Unless I take her back to Boston. Sara never needs to know you gave her up willingly. Let her think I tricked you. She already knows I'm capable of that.”

“Fuck off,” I said.

“I didn't mean that as an insult,” he said quickly. “I apologize if it sounded like that. Really. But please consider this. In Boston she'd be in a nice roomy home she's seen before, full of furniture from her early days. She'll spend every day in her park, with her original owner and her friends and her climate and her seasons. So she'll be fine. And so will you. You can get a rescue dog or buy a puppy, you and Sara together, and you can raise it together and then it will be something that bonds you instead of causing strain between you.”

I said nothing. I had run out of burs and wished I had something else to focus my attention on. I began to look for burs in her tail. He'd struck such a nerve, although no way would I ever give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Of course I knew Cody would be gone someday, and then Sara and I could get a new dog—together. With ground rules that
I
had a say in. I had imagined that very thing, it's true. Sometimes in moments I'm not proud of, I'd even had flashing fantasies of some painless, quick, inexpensive Mystery Doggie Illness expediting things a bit. And here was Jay offering to do the job, guilt-free. If only he wasn't an utter gobshite.

“I didn't really give her rat poison, Rory,” he said gently, as if he were following my thoughts. “Letting her eat the chocolate cake was awful enough.”

“Come on, Cody,” I said, and stood up. Jay stood, too.

“Please be decent enough to acknowledge that you hear what I'm saying. Your marriage would be so much easier without this particular dog in it.”

Yes. It would. Fuck him.

“Come on, Cody, back to the car.”

“Let me pet her,” he said, hurriedly, urgently. He took an impulsive step toward us. I went rigid and held a warning hand up, and he stepped back, tried to collect himself. “Please, Rory. I just want to be near her a moment. For God's sake, it won't cost you anything to be compassionate.”

“I don't think so, Jay.” Hate to admit it, but I felt guilty for denying him, he was so . . . plaintive. Now it seemed obvious he would never have given her rat poison—and in fact, somewhat hysterical of Sara to believe he had. Sara's relationship with this dog really did bring out the worst in her, from every possible angle.

He closed his eyes a moment, I swear to God as if he were blinking back tears. “I wish you'd consider this. You're always
accommodating
her, I saw that clearly back in the arboretum. No relationship with a pet should be like that, for you
or
them. You're living with a dog you like just fine, but you
resent
. You'll just end up resenting her more out there. You'd be grateful to be relieved of her, as long as she's in good hands, you just don't want Sara angry at you. We both know that. I'm offering you an out, and you're not taking it.”

“Let's go, Cody,” I said, tugging the leash toward the car and really wanting to slam Jay's head against the pavement because he was getting through to a part of me that I'd been trying very hard to ignore for months now.

He stepped around in front of me to block my path; I stopped short and glared at him. Quickly, he took a step back. “Five feet,” he said, “I'm giving you five feet, like I promised. Look, Rory, I'm not trying to hold her for ransom. I'm not going to sell her on the black market. For God's sake, I just
want my dog back
.” I broke eye contact, looked straight at the pavement, so uncomfortable. Like
she was his
child
or something. “My measure of contentment is my dog curled up asleep by my chair.
Your
measure of contentment is not having that same dog constantly in your face. The only thing keeping both of us from what we want is Sara getting what
she
wants—even if what Sara wants isn't actually good for Cody. Even if it's not good for your relationship.”

“Our relationship is fine.”

“It would be better, easier, without this dog,” he said with quiet certitude. “If you hand me that leash, Rory, everything changes for the better, for all four of us. I admit you'll have a rough patch with Sara but she'll get over it.”

“You should talk! You're the poster child for not getting over the loss of a dog.”