The Dog That Whispered (17 page)

Be human
.

Thurman looked at the sliding door and saw his own reflection off the glass. He tilted his head.

Thurman realized he was looking at Thurman.

Good dog
, he growled.

Then his lips moved, as if he were tasting a new word. Not all words came easy to dogs, and not to Thurman.

He growled softly, almost under his breath.

Then he tried it out, making the sounds for the first time, perhaps, and speaking it louder, so he could hear it as it left his throat.

Forgive
, he whispered. Then he closed his eyes.

And he whispered again.

Forgiven
.

H
AZEL RODE
a cable car in San Francisco. She took the tourist ferry to Alcatraz. She had dinner in a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. She drove to Los Angeles. She went to Disneyland by herself. She drove out to see the Hollywood sign. She parked by the La Brea Tar Pits, and came away totally unimpressed, having built up the site in her mind.

I read about the tar pits when I was little
, she thought as she stared at it.
I guess I expected to see real saber-toothed tigers running around. Maybe I should go into the actual museum
.

She did not.

She got lost on the Los Angeles freeway system four times.

She stopped at an Orange Julius. Her mother had talked about them, saying how delicious the drink was.

It was okay. But not something I would tell my kids about. Probably not, anyhow
.

And now, only days into her quest, she was beginning to feel dislocated, edging on disorientation.

Being free is harder than I thought
.

She drove past an all-suites hotel just off the freeway and it took her twenty minutes to figure out how to circle back and exit at the right time to get to the hotel. She missed the correct exit twice, driving back and around three times.

She wondered if she would show up on any of the closed-circuit cameras posted along the highway and if any of the people who monitored such things would consider her a potential threat, trying to “case” the hotel before striking. Hazel did not consider that a real possibility, but it amused her to think of someone picking her minivan out of a thousand other minivans and applying special scrutiny to her and her alone.

She was given a nice two-room suite on the third floor, the bedroom not facing the freeway, but west, toward the ocean.

She was too far inland to see the ocean, but she took some comfort in the fact that it lay outside her bedroom window. She sat at the small desk and opened up the green leatherette folder that listed all the guest services and restaurants and room service options and churches in the area. She flipped past all of those sections until she found “Guest Laundry.”

Washers and dryers are available to all guests and are located on the third and sixth floors. The machines are coin operated and detergent and fabric softener are available for purchase. Guests using these facilities do so at their own risk, and the hotel assumes no liability for any damages to clothing or lost articles
.

“Third floor? Great.”

Hazel now had something to do, something practical, something concrete, even if it was as simple as washing clothes.

She unloaded her second suitcase, the one she used for dirty clothes, and separated them into lights and darks. She looked at both piles, wondering if she had any delicates.

She did not.

I don't think I own any delicate clothing. Maybe a sweater or two. But I didn't bring them. Or did I give them away?

Water splashing in the atrium fountain echoed throughout the hotel's open interior as Hazel padded down the hallway to the laundry room tucked away in a far corner, next to the ice machine and vending area. As she neared the door, out charged a toddler, arms waving in the air, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, laughing as only a toddler can laugh, with complete and utter abandonment. A split second later, a woman burst out of the room, giving chase, obviously the child's mother, laughing as well, but the laughter was a bit tired, and a bit concerned. She scooped up the toddler in her arms and spun about, carrying the wiggling child under her right arm, like a football player might carry a very active football.

Hazel hesitated a moment, but then continued.

I do have laundry to do, after all. And maybe they're almost done
.

She stepped inside the very well-lit room, which contained a table and three washers and three dryers and a wall-mounted, coin-operated detergent dispenser. One slot offered a “special” laundry bag that Hazel knew was no more than a plastic bag with the word
LAUNDRY
printed on it.

The woman carrying the child waved at Hazel and pushed back an errant strand of hair from her face.

“I'm almost done. Clothes are in the dryer now. Washers are all yours.”

“Thanks. I only need two of them.”

The toddler, now being held by his mother in a standing position on the folding table, in between two mounds of freshly washed and dried clothes, let out a bloodcurdling scream. Hazel spun around, expecting to see broken bones or blood, but instead it was the toddler, bouncing, smiling, and readying to scream again.

His mother clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Inside voice,” she hissed at him—not an angry hiss, but a firm one.

The toddler narrowed his eyes, and must have agreed, for when the hand came off his mouth he remained quiet, relatively speaking.

“Sorry. He gets rambunctious in the afternoon. Plays havoc on naptime, let me tell you. My naptime, that is. Not his.”

Hazel had never been around babies or small children, so she was at a loss to know how to answer.

“No problem,” she said, thinking that it was indefinite enough of an answer as not to offend a sensitive parent.

She doesn't seem like a sensitive parent—but you never know
.

“So where you headed? By the way, I'm Jennifer. Which means you can accurately tell my age because everyone born in 1980 was named Jennifer. And this here is Axel. Don't ask. My husband picked it out. I got to name the first two. This one was his choice.”

Hazel waved and introduced herself.

I like her
.

“So where are you headed?”

“Well,” Hazel replied, still unsure of how to describe her current journey. “Phoenix. But I don't have to be there until next week.”

Actually, we didn't set a date. I said I would call when I'm in the area
.

Jennifer listened, then sighed.

“We're actually on our way home tomorrow morning. Fargo.”

Hazel nodded, wondering if she should make some comment on Fargo, another city she had never visited.

“We did Disneyland, SeaWorld, Magic Mountain, Legoland, Universal Studios, and Knott's Berry Farm.”

“Wow,” Hazel replied, obviously impressed.

“We love amusement parks,” Jennifer continued. “And in Fargo you don't have many choices. Just the ‘fun centers' with batting cages and go-kart tracks. No Magic Mountain in Fargo.”

“Your itinerary is impressive.”

Jennifer picked up Axel and set him on her hip, a practiced move, no doubt.

“But as much fun as all this has been…going home is the best part of any trip. Going back to our little house. I love California and the parks and all…but I love my home more than anything.”

Jennifer moved Axel to face her and held him with both hands.

“Isn't that right, little Ax man? Do you want to go home?”

That question persuaded Axel to let loose his practiced, blood-chilling scream again.

And the scream, much to Hazel's surprise, elicited a wistful feeling in her, a wistful feeling for someplace called home.

Gretna waved as soon as she saw the figure at the end of the block.

“Emily,” she shouted. “I'm already here.”

For a moment, Gretna wondered if it had been proper to shout like that, for an old woman, that is.

Older. Not old
.

And then she decided that she did not really care.

I'm already old. I can do pretty much what I like
.

She smiled and waved again. Emily waved back.

Except get out of bed in the morning without groaning. Other than that, I'm good
.

Thurman sat beside Gretna, grinning, patiently waiting. Gretna had told him that she was coming along.

“I thought you would like that, Thurman. And I get a little nervous, walking alone, with a dog.”

Thurman had appeared wounded by that remark.

“In case I fall, Thurman—who would take you home?”

Thurman considered that and then nodded in agreement.

Good
, he growled.
Good think
.

As Emily made her way up the front walk, Thurman began to do his retriever cha-cha-cha in anticipation, as Gretna explained it all once again.

“Thurman needed an afternoon walk. Wilson has some sort of professor meeting and he wasn't going to be home until later and he was worried about poor Thurman and I suggested that I could come and walk him and Wilson thought it was a good idea, but he suggested that I take a cab both ways but it is too nice a day for that, don't you think, Emily?”

“I do,” she said and bent down to give Thurman a hug. He responded by offering a lyrical, happy growl. Gretna was not sure if he was trying to say anything, but he did sound happy.

“And I am glad you called,” Emily said. “We can take our walk, then I can walk you back home. I have to visit my mother-in-law. It's been a few days.”

“I know. She just sits in the lobby, you know.”

Gretna saw the flash of pain on Emily's face.

“I didn't mean it like that. Even when you come, she still just sits in the lobby. You know what I mean. You could be there all the time and she wouldn't change.”

Emily appeared a bit relieved.

“Well, let's walk,” she said.

And the three of them set off down the block, heading east, in the direction of Wilkinsburg.

“So, you two had a nice time at that play?”

“We did. It's been years since I've been to a play. None of my children seem to appreciate that sort of theater. Unless there are robots and explosions, they want nothing to do with it.”

Gretna nodded.

“Kids.”

Gretna desperately wanted to ask more about the evening and probe down to a more personal level, but she had promised Wilson that she would not do that—under penalty of never seeing Thurman again.

Reluctantly, she had agreed.

And Gretna was mostly certain that Emily would have answered her questions—about the evening and about Wilson—but she was also certain that such information would not be volunteered on her own accord.

As they walked, they talked about the weather and how pleasant it had been, the prospects for a good season for the Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team, which they both had guarded opinions of, and how nice Thurman was to walk—as dogs go, that is.

When Thurman heard his name, he looked back over his shoulder and nearly stumbled off the curb, grinning at the idea of being the topic of conversation.

The blocks passed quickly, and soon Gretna stood at the front door, fumbling with Wilson's house key.

“I'll make sure he has water,” she said as Thurman bounded inside.

His bowl was nearly empty, so she let the water run for a long time until it turned cool. Taking small steps, she placed it near his food bowl, trying not to spill any.

When she stood upright, Thurman looked at her and spoke.

You pray
, he said, his growl gentle, almost kind.

“I am. I mean, I will.”

Thurman nodded.

Prepare
, he said.

“Prepare? For what?” she asked, absolutely certain that he was speaking to her, none of this you're-just-a-fiction-of-my-wounded-personality business.

Surprises
.

“Surprises?”

And secrets
.

“What?”

Thurman looked up at her with his expression indicating that she had heard correctly. He then walked over to his bowl and began to drink, making loud, slurpy noises with audible gulps in between.

“Axel, do you want to go home? No more Disneyland?” Jennifer asked her son, who was now sitting on the folding table, kicking his legs, giggling about something.

In an instant, his face shifted to angry, his little eyes becoming slits.

“No!” he shouted and crossed his arms and pushed his chin into his chest.

Jennifer laughed.