Dog Whisperer (9 page)

As far as Emily could tell, her parents were either the most strict parents she knew—or the most anxious. It didn't help that they didn't necessarily approve one hundred percent of Bobby, and that they really didn't like it when she went down to the marina to work on the boat. Her parents considered the fishermen and lobstermen “a rough crowd,” for the most part. They would use words to describe them like “unruly” and “rambunctious,” but what they meant was “unsavory.”

But, today, they had agreed that she could get a ride home from school with Bobby's mother, stop by the house to check on Josephine and get Zachary, and then go down to the marina with Bobby to work on their boat project. The plan was that her parents would pick her up on their way home from work.

When they got to the boatyard, Bobby's Aunt Martha was busy repairing a big stack of lobster traps—and waiting for them. Emily assumed that her mother had asked her to chaperone them during the afternoon as much as possible. Her parents considered Aunt Martha impish and earthy, but very responsible.

“Now, remember, Emily, make sure you don't interact with any riff-raff, or let yourself hear any bad language,” Aunt Martha said cheerfully.

Emily stared at her. “Did my mother actually say that?”

Aunt Martha grinned. “Well, maybe not those precise words. But, I made sure to curse several times during our conversation.”

Her mother would have gotten the joke, of course—but, not necessarily thought that it was funny.

Bobby's boat had been completely destroyed during the hurricane when the Percivals' storage shed blew down on top of it. Because they had been almost finished, it was frustrating to have to start over. But, they had decided that they were going to build an even more ambitious boat this time. So far, they were building the new one a lot faster, and not making nearly as many mistakes.

Bobby got really mad if anyone in his family said that it might be good that the first boat had gotten wrecked, because the second one was going to be so much better. It was true, but Emily would never say anything like that herself, and she had been almost as disappointed about losing their original boat as Bobby had been. Okay, maybe the old one hadn't been as pretty and smooth, but they had worked hard, and she had enjoyed every minute of it.

Now, though, they knew exactly how to build a frame, and worked much more efficiently. They were better at sawing and sanding, too.

“What are we going to work on today?” she asked.

Bobby looked over the partial frame that they had already assembled. “Maybe sand the boards we're going to use for the seats?”

That seemed like as good an idea as any, so Emily reached for some sandpaper. They were building the boat the old-fashioned way, without fiberglass or pre-cut pieces of wood, so it took more work—but, it also felt like the boat was really going to be
theirs
, when they finished. It was the same way everyone in Bobby's family had
always
built boats, going back several generations. Most of the tools she and Bobby used had belonged to his grandfather, and probably
his
grandfather before that.

Zachary came over and sniffed the boat curiously, and prowled around a little. As far as Emily could tell, he was hoping that they were going to do something more interesting this afternoon. But, once he saw them start sanding, he sighed and flopped down onto a big beach towel she had spread across the ground for him.

She had been thinking about the ghost all day, but hadn't told any of her friends yet. Partially, because she was still trying to figure it out for herself, but also because she had been telling them
so many
peculiar things lately about being able to read Zack's mind, and stuff like that. She felt a little funny having to share yet another Very Odd Event in her life.

But, it was too big a secret to keep to herself.

“So,” Emily said, as they sanded away. It was hard work, but the boards were going to be so nice and smooth when they were finished! “Something, um, really strange happened yesterday.”

Bobby laughed. “What did Zack do this time?”

Well, that was the common thread in all of these adventures, wasn't it? “I think we saw—a ghost,” she said, hesitantly.

Bobby looked up. “What? Are you kidding?”

“I could be wrong,” she said, “but—I'm pretty sure it was real.”

Bobby instantly put down his sandpaper and sat down to listen.

She told him the whole story, glancing at his expression every so often to see if he thought she might be nuts. But, no, he just seemed fascinated.

“That is so totally cool!” Bobby said enthusiastically, when she was finished. “Can I go see the ghost, too?”

It would be a lot better, for sure, if she weren't the only one, because then, it would all feel more normal. “I have no idea,” Emily said. “He was really surprised I could see him. Like he was used to being invisible or something.”

“But then he like,
materialized
in front of you?” Bobby asked.

Was that what had happened? “I'm not sure,” Emily said doubtfully. “I thought he was a regular person. Especially when Zack went right over to him.”

Bobby thought that over. “Would you still be able to see him, if you were someplace
without
Zack?”

Good question. Emily shrugged. “I never thought of that. Maybe.” Plus, of course, when she went places, if it was at all possible, she liked to bring Zack with her, so it would be hard to test it out.

“Like, could he be standing here
right now
?” Bobby asked. “And we wouldn't even know it?”

That was a creepy idea. “I don't know.” Emily couldn't help looking around, wondering if they were alone. She sure hoped so!

Besides, Zachary was sound asleep on his beach towel, which she assumed was a good sign.

“If he was here, Zack would probably go over to him,” she said. “Or, at least, you know,
notice
.”

They both looked at Zack, who was sleeping so heavily that he was snoring slightly. His paws weren't even twitching, the way they did when he was dreaming.

“While I was talking to the ghost, he didn't move around at all,” Emily said. “I have a feeling he hangs out around the water, near the bridge.”

“Maybe he was a fisherman or something,” Bobby guessed. “So, he likes to be around the ocean and all.”

That made as much sense as any other explanation. “Maybe he was lost at sea,” Emily said. “And now, he likes to stand on the rocks, where it's safe.”

Bobby nodded. “There've been lots of shipwrecks over the years. Did he seem like he was a pioneer or anything?”

Emily shook her head. “No, he looked just like, you know, a
Mainer
. Kind of outdoorsy, and his coat looked sort of like it came from L.L. Bean.” L.L. Bean was a very famous store in Maine, with lots of camping supplies and winter boots, and the kind of outfits that people in Maine thought were fashionable, but most other people thought were just
preppy
—and old-fashioned.

“Can we go look for him tomorrow?” Bobby asked. “See if we can find out more?”

Emily wasn't sure she
wanted
to see the ghost—
any
 ghost—again, but it would feel safer to explore with Bobby, than by herself. And it would be better to learn more details, instead of imagining all sorts of possibilities—including scary ones.

“Sure,” she said. “Let's give it a try!”

 

10

Unfortunately, the next afternoon, Mrs. Griswold was being released from the hospital, and Emily's mother had offered to pick her up and bring her home. To be nice, Emily had said that she would come along for the ride. Mrs. Griswold apparently wasn't thrilled about the idea of not finding her own way home—big surprise—but, she must not have had any other options, because she agreed.

Once they got to the hospital, and all of the final paperwork was filled out, a friendly orderly named Robert brought Mrs. Griswold out to the curb in a wheelchair. Then, he helped her into the front seat of the car. She was going to be using a walker at home for a while, so he folded it up and put it in the backseat next to Emily.

“Good luck, then, ma'am,” he said.

Mrs. Griswold nodded, staring straight ahead through the windshield. She had a stern expression on her face, but Emily noticed that she looked sort of tired, and small, and even older than usual.

“Thank you for the help, Robert,” Emily's mother said. “We really appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” he said, and turned to take the wheelchair back inside the hospital. “Take care now.”

Once Mrs. Griswold had put her seatbelt on, there was a short silence.

“Well, okay, then,” Emily's mother said, and started the car.

There was another painful silence, and Emily was definitely regretting having agreed to come along on this excursion. But, her mother always said that it was important to help people who needed help, even if they weren't very friendly about it. Her mother's theory was that those were the people who needed help the most.

As they rode along, there was no conversation, and Emily tried to think of something to say. But, Mrs. Griswold wasn't the kind of person who would think it was interesting to hear what she had done at school that day, or anything like that.

“Are you comfortable?” Emily's mother asked.

Mrs. Griswold nodded.

“I'm sure that hip is very painful,” Emily's mother said.

Mrs. Griswold nodded—and maybe even winced.

They drove through Brunswick, where the hospital was located, and headed towards Bailey's Cove.

“Where's that dog?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

“That dog” sounded awfully hostile, but maybe she was just trying to start a conversation. So, Emily didn't snap “ ‘That dog' is named
Zack
,” even though it was the answer she wanted to give. “He stayed home,” Emily said. “We were afraid he might get excited, and jump on you or something.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Griswold said.

It was quiet again.

After a minute, Emily's mother turned on the car radio, which was tuned to a classical station. Emily wasn't exactly an expert about classical music, but she thought it was soothing. On days when she had tests at school, her father often insisted upon playing Mozart at breakfast, because he said it would help her be able to focus better. She had never noticed any difference, but always said things to him later like, “Wow, that Jupiter Symphony
really
helped my math score!” and her father would say, “I think you're having a little bit of fun with me, Emily,” and they would both laugh.

“You really don't like it when I call him ‘that dog,' do you?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

Not even a tiny bit. In fact, she thought it was mean, and insulting. “His name is Zack,” Emily said. “Or, sometimes, I call him Zachary. But, mostly, Zack.”

Mrs. Griswold nodded. “Yes, of course. I will try to remember that.” She looked over at Emily's mother. “It's very kind of you to do this for me, Joanne,” she said, sounding as though she was having a hard time getting the words out of her mouth.

“We're happy to help,” Emily's mother said. “And if you put together a list, we'll go out and pick up some groceries for you.”

“Maybe we could just stop at Cyril's for a moment and get a few things,” Mrs. Griswold said. “I really don't want to be a bother.”

Emily thought that Mrs. Griswold mostly
liked
being difficult, but that she hated being obligated to people, or—horrors!—maybe even owing them a favor.

“How does the house look?” Mrs. Griswold asked.

It looked a lot better since those dumb high school guys had repainted all of the parts with spray paint on them, but Emily wasn't even sure if Mrs. Griswold knew that had happened. Probably, no one would have wanted to tell her about it, and she might not even have had any visitors in the hospital, except for Emily's parents. The last time Mrs. Griswold had seen the house, it had been severely damaged by the hurricane, so she must have been lying in bed in the hospital and worrying about that.

“I think they've done a good job with the repairs,” Emily's mother said. “The water damage was mostly confined to the front room. The new couch was delivered already, but there are still a few other things you're going to need to replace.”

Mrs. Griswold shrugged. “I'm not sure picking one out from a catalog was the best idea, but truth is, I never cared for the old couch. Samuel used to say—” She stopped. “Well, anyway, it was always too soft, and the springs were shot.”

Samuel had been Mrs. Griswold's husband, who was killed in a car accident, when Emily was about a year and a half.

They had pulled into the parking lot at the Mini-Mart now, and Emily offered to go inside and do the shopping, while her mother stayed in the car with Mrs. Griswold.

Mrs. Griswold opened her purse, and handed Emily some money. “There you go, then. It's—very nice of you to do this.”

It would be strange to be the kind of person who found it
hard
to say “please” and “thank you” and simple stuff like that.

Once she was in the store, Emily checked the list carefully, making sure that she got just the right brands, and amounts, since Mrs. Griswold would probably be cross if she made any mistakes. When she brought everything up to the checkout counter, Cyril studied the array of groceries.

“Well, looks like Abigail Griswold is home from the hospital,” he said.

“How can you tell?” Emily asked curiously.

“Well, she loves those baked beans, and the brown bread,” Cyril said. “And I've never seen your family buy light cream—it's always skim milk for your parents, and two percent for you. Plus, maple walnut ice cream is so unpopular that I really only stock it for her. The codfish cakes, too.”