Dog Whisperer (18 page)

Marigold came gamboling over, and Emily reached down to pat her—because that was what you did with dogs. The fur felt—normal. Then, she pulled her hand away. “Her fur feels regular. I mean, like Zack's.”

Mr. Griswold nodded. “Yes, she is able to appear that way. She is very advanced.”

Apparently so. “What am I supposed to do now?” Emily asked.

Mr. Griswold smiled a sweet smile at her. “Go home. Do not let your parents worry about you. We worry so much about the ones we love.”

Emily nodded, and slowly got up. “Okay. But, what if—” She stopped, and looked around at the yard.

Somehow, it wasn't surprising that Mr. Griswold and Marigold had disappeared into thin air.

Emily put her hands on her hips, not sure whether to be frustrated—or laugh. “I really wish you could talk,” she said to Zack. “Because this ghost stuff is really wacky, you know?”

As far as she could tell, Zachary was just happy, and hungry.

So, they hustled home, where her parents were waiting.

“Goodness, what took so long?” her mother asked.

Emily couldn't even think of where to begin. “Mrs. Griswold is a complicated person,” she said finally.

“Can't argue with that,” her mother said.

No, it was something they could all pretty much take for granted, wasn't it.

The telephone rang while they were packing away the leftovers and cleaning up the kitchen. Her mother answered it, and looked very surprised.

“Hello, Abigail,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Abigail? Emily tensed, wondering if Mrs. Griswold was calling to complain, or to tell her parents that their daughter was a lunatic who talked about buttercups.

Her mother listened, and then shook her head. “No, I'm afraid that's not possible. It's much too late on a school night, and she still has homework to do. Is there something I can do to help you?” She listened some more. “Oh. Well, I don't know, let me check.” She held her hand over the receiver. “Emily, Mrs. Griswold would like you and Zack to come over for tea tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay?”

What? “Um, I don't drink tea,” Emily said, because she was so surprised that she couldn't think of any other response.

Her mother smiled. “Well, I'm sure she will be able to give you a glass of juice or milk, instead.” She reached for a piece of paper with her free hand, quickly wrote something on it, and held it up.

The note on the paper said
I can make an excuse for you, if you don't want to go
.

Emily
didn't
want to go, but she was too curious to turn the invitation down. “What time am I supposed to be there?” she asked.

Her mother held up five fingers, and Emily nodded.

“Yes, she'll be there at five,” her mother said into the telephone. “Is there anything you would like her to bring you? And should I come along?” She listened. “No? I see. All right, then. Good night.” She hung up the telephone and looked at Emily quizzically. “Is there something your father and I should know here?”

Was this maybe, finally, the right time to tell them? “Zack is, um, special,” Emily said.

Her parents nodded.

Hearing his name, Zack got up and stood next to her, and she rested her hand on his broad shoulders.

“
Really
special,” Emily said.

Her parents nodded again.

Did they maybe already know that she and Zack read each other's minds, and had just never said anything? “So, since we're kind of, um, connected,” Emily said, “because he likes Mrs. Griswold, I guess I like her, too.”

“That makes sense,” her father said. “But, I'll certainly be curious to see how it goes tomorrow.”

Emily looked at him, honestly not sure whether he knew what she meant and wasn't at all surprised—or whether he had completely missed what she was trying to say.

“Me, too,” her mother said, and glanced up at the clock. “Oh, gosh, look at the time. How much homework do you have left?”

Okay, they didn't know. She didn't
think
so, anyway.

Or, did they?

She truly had no idea.

“Emily?” her mother prompted her.

Did they know, and just took it for granted, and didn't need explanations? “Uh, some Spanish and some social studies,” Emily said.

Her mother nodded. “All right. Can we help you with it?”

“No, I'm fine, thanks,” Emily said.

They didn't know.

As far as she could tell.

Maybe.

 

18

When Bobby found out that she was going to have tea with Mrs. Griswold, he was eager to join her. Emily didn't think that was such a great idea, under the circumstances, and he admitted that he pretty much despised tea—which made her laugh, since that was one of her big worries, too.

Her mother picked her up at school, and gave Bobby a ride home, too.

“Call me after,” he whispered, before he got out of the car. “Tell me everything!”

Emily nodded.

Her mother seemed jittery, but just fixed her a snack of sliced apples and yoghurt, as though it was a perfectly typical afternoon.

“What if this spoils my tea?” Emily asked.

Her mother checked her expression to make sure she was kidding, and then smiled. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

After finishing her snack, Emily did the reading assignment for language arts, and then spent a few minutes brushing Zack. His fur was glossy and thick, and she thought he looked very handsome, indeed.

Just before she was going to leave, her father got home.

“Remember, send us a signal, if you need help,” he said. “One if by land, two if by sea.”

Right. Emily laughed, and snapped Zachary's leash onto his collar.

“Cell phone?” her mother asked.

Emily nodded, and patted the pocket of her hoodie.

It was a fairly chilly day, with the sun bright in the autumn sky, and no clouds anywhere. Zack was in a good mood, and stopped to sniff a rock, and a telephone pole, and a blueberry bush, on the way.

Mrs. Griswold was sitting on the new wicker loveseat on her porch—since the old one had been smashed in the hurricane—waiting for them. Emily started up the front steps, but then stopped, when she realized that Mrs. Griswold was holding a cigarette.

Emily stared at her. “Wait. You smoke
cigarettes
?”

“No,” Mrs. Griswold said, and then looked down at her hand. “Well, not for many, many years. I found half a pack in a junk drawer in the kitchen.” She frowned. “It's actually pretty stale. I could have done without it.”

Emily hung back. “I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to be anywhere near secondhand smoke.”

Mrs. Griswold laughed. “Your parents don't miss a trick, do they?” She sighed, took one last puff on the cigarette, and then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the end table. Then, she picked up a magazine and waved it rapidly back and forth to blow the smoke away. “All right. The coast is clear.”

Emily nodded and walked up onto the porch, with Zack trailing along behind her. But, the coast—smoke—must not have been
quite
clear, because Zack sneezed and then looked at Mrs. Griswold reproachfully.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Griswold said wryly. “Even the dog is giving me a lecture.”

With good reason!

Emily sat down in a wicker rocking chair, and Zack sat next to her on the porch floor, his posture very straight.

“Well,” Mrs. Griswold said, and poured each of them a cup of tea.

“Thank you,” Emily said, and put
a lot
of sugar in her cup.

There was also a plate of cookies on the table, and Emily helped herself to one. Zack looked so mournful when he saw her bite into it, that she broke off a piece and handed it to him.

She and Mrs. Griswold sipped their tea. Emily didn't like it much, but the sugar helped.

“You're attuned to that dog in some unusual way,” Mrs. Griswold said. “Although I can't quite put my finger on it.”

Again, with the “that dog” stuff. She must have looked annoyed, because Mrs. Griswold chuckled.

“Right,” she said. “I meant to say ‘Zachary.' ”

Okay. That was much better. “Thank you,” Emily said. “He really prefers that, although he also likes me to call him ‘Zack.' ”

Mrs. Griswold nodded. “Yes, I'm sure he does. But, my question is, how do you
know
that?”

Wouldn't it be strange if Mrs. Griswold, of all people, was the first grown-up to figure it out? “I was guessing?” Emily said.

Mrs. Griswold frowned at her. “Don't be one of those silly girls who makes everything she says sound like a question, even when it isn't. It shows a lack of confidence.”

Well, she was only
twelve
. Sometimes, she didn't necessarily
feel
confident.

Like, for example, in this particular situation.

“He's my dog,” Emily said, making sure that her voice sounded calm and certain. “We spend a lot of time together, so I can probably sense a few things.”

Mrs. Griswold shook her head. “It's more than that—I've watched the two of you together many times. You don't always speak to him, but he instantly responds, anyway. I've found it quite uncanny.”

Oops. She must have slipped up a few times, because when she was in front of people, she tried to make a point of saying things aloud, to make it seem as though Zack was just really well-trained. “He's my dog,” Emily said, again. “Weren't you like, in tune with
your
dog?”

Mrs. Griswold raised her eyebrows. “Dog?”

“You know, Marigold,” Emily said. “Your Border collie.”

Now, Mrs. Griswold looked startled. “How could you possibly know about
Marigold
? That was years ago.”

Double oops. “Um, my parents told me you had a dog,” Emily said.

But, it was clear that Mrs. Griswold wasn't buying that. “Have you been talking to my son?” she asked.

Not the question she had been expecting. Emily shook her head, but that wasn't quite the truth. “I was in his store for a few minutes,” she said. “But it felt like it wasn't any of my business, so I didn't say anything. Bobby and I just bought sandpaper to use on the boat and then, we left.” She glanced at Mrs. Griswold. “Did you know he only lives over in Wiscasset?”

“We may not be in touch,” Mrs. Griswold said stiffly, “but obviously, I know where he
lives
.”

Okay. Whatever.

Mrs. Griswold picked up her tea, avoiding Emily's eyes. “How—did he look?”

“Your son?” Emily asked, just to be sure.

Mrs. Griswold nodded. “His name's Hank.”

“He seemed, you know, fine,” Emily said. “Bobby said we were building a boat, and he told us about a boat that he and, um, Mr. Griswold built. He had a picture and everything.”

Mrs. Griswold nodded a very stiff nod.

Then, Emily noticed that there was a gargoyle in the shape of an eagle perched up in the eaves of the porch, and another wooden gargoyle attached to the corner of the porch railing. That one was a wolf—or maybe a dog?—with wings. “Did you make those gargoyles?” she asked, pointing.

Mrs. Griswold moved her jaw. “Yes, I did,” she said.

“They're really great,” Emily said. “How did you do it?”

Mrs. Griswold smiled wryly. “I chiseled away all of the wood that didn't belong there.”

What a cool way of thinking about art! Drawing was different—it was more about adding everything that
did
belong on the page.

“Did Hank tell you about the movie?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

Emily looked at her blankly.

“My little buttercup has the sweetest smile,” Mrs. Griswold said.

Oh. Emily shook her head. “No. I mean, we were only in there for a minute, and—no.”

“But, there's no other way you could have found out about that,” Mrs. Griswold said. “It was one of my husband's favorites, and—” She stopped. “It was a private joke,” she said—whispered, really. “I doubt Hank ever even knew about it.”

If Emily had to make a guess, that was probably true. Zack came over and rested his head on her lap, and she automatically rubbed the back of his ears, which was his favorite place to be patted.

“I don't believe any of that beyond-the-grave foolishness,” Mrs. Griswold said, her voice too loud. “It's just wishful thinking.”

Emily shrugged, instead of saying anything.

“But, you've been in contact with Sam somehow,” Mrs. Griswold went on. “That's the only other explanation.”

Yes.

But, should she admit it?

Mrs. Griswold leaned forward. “Please tell me. It means a great deal to me.”

It was scary to start, because it was going to sound so unbelievable. But, Emily took a deep breath. “We were watching the kayak races and Zack went over to a man who was standing near the bridge,” she said. “I thought he was just a regular person, so I was talking to him. Zack was being really friendly, so I figured he must be okay.”

Mrs. Griswold looked dubious—and uneasy, but she nodded.

“It all seemed kind of bizarre, when I thought about it,” Emily said. “So, I went back a couple of days later. And we saw him again, and then, it all started to make sense.” Was that the right word? “Well, not ‘sense,' necessarily, but it was, you know,
logical
.”

“Is he all right?” Mrs. Griswold asked, her expression very intense.

Emily nodded. “Oh, yeah, definitely. He just says he has like, a task, and I was thinking,
whoa
, he's been here for all those years? But, he said that time is different for him, and it didn't feel that way. I don't know how it works, though. He couldn't really explain it.”