Say That Again (27 page)

He left and Hannah slid one book aside and put the rest away. Despite what Heck had said, she checked some other boxes. From one, she lifted out an old camera case. From another, several women’s blouses. From a third, a pair of women’s boots. Then, from yet another, she pulled out a pearl necklace.

My eyelids were getting heavy. I yawned, but Hannah took no notice. I thought she might lose track of time and go through the whole lot, when she took out a framed picture.

As she stared at it, it was as if the world around her faded away. Something in it held her captive.

“Hannah?” Heck called from elsewhere in the house. “It’s time.”

The picture pressed to her chest, Hannah went to the living room, me ambling sleepily behind. She stopped at the entrance to the room, a question framing behind her eyes.

Heck was rearranging pillows on the couch, his back to her. “I thought I’d show you more about how to do watercolors this afternoon, since I know you like them so much. They’re more difficult to —” He stopped talking when he turned around and saw the picture she held.

“Who’s this?” She turned the picture around so he could see. It was a black and white photograph of a woman, young, fair-haired, pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. “Is this your mommy?”

He breathed a laugh. “No, although I can see where you’d say that. It’s an old picture.” His gaze took on a far-off, somber look, as if recalling days gone by. “It’s my wife. Was ... Is ...”

Her steps slow, her expression curious, yet compassionate, Hannah approached him. “Did she die?”

Sinking onto the couch, he shook his head. “No, but she’s not really here. I mean ... she doesn’t remember anything. Not even me.” He took the picture from Hannah as she sat beside him. His fingertips grazed the woman’s hair, then paused on her lips as he sighed wistfully. “That happens when you get old, sometimes. Only it happened to her earlier than most.”

Hannah scooted closer, leaving a gap of only a few inches between them as she peered at the picture with him. “How did it happen?”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Not an accident or a tumor or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. She just started forgetting one day. Things like where she left her glasses, what time she was supposed to be at an appointment ... I didn’t think anything of it at first. She was always very busy, teaching and helping out in the community, and when you’re busy like that, it’s a lot to remember. One day she couldn’t remember where she parked her car. She called the police, saying it had been stolen. It had been in the garage all along. Then she left a pot on the burner and went on an errand. When I got home, the kitchen was filled with smoke. At that point, I realized I had to be with her every minute. One night ... one night I woke up, found her in the kitchen, and she looked at me and grabbed a skillet, ready to hit me, because she thought I had broken into the house ...” Frown lines carved deep into the crevices around his mouth. “She didn’t know who I was — and I knew it was time.”

“For what?”

“To let go, I suppose. I couldn’t take care of her any longer by myself. We lived in a very busy neighborhood. She could’ve walked out the door and gotten lost or wandered into traffic and gotten hit. Even worse was the possibility that if she found the car keys, she might cause an accident and hurt someone else. So I made the decision to place her in an assisted living facility. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” With each sentence, his shoulders sank lower, as if the weight of it all was bearing down on him. “She grew up in Faderville when she was little, about your age, so that’s why I chose to come here with her. Her sister, Maria, still lives in the area. I was hoping that being here would spark memories, but it hasn’t.”

A few moments elapsed in silence — Heck sorting through a quagmire of emotions and Hannah struggling to comprehend it all. Finally, Heck straightened his spine and exhaled loudly. “Do you know that place called Fox Hollow, this side of town?”

She shrugged.

“It’s where mostly old people live, people who need a lot of help getting around, or a nurse to look after them. That’s where she is.”

Hannah’s eyes lit with understanding. “My Aunt Cammie works there!”

“So you’ve been there?”

“Once. To see Aunt Bernie.”

I tilted my head at her. The name sounded familiar, although I couldn’t quite place it.

“It’s very sad there,” Hannah added.

“It is. I visit Sophia twice a week still, even though she doesn’t know who I am, or that I was there just a few days before.”

“I’m sorry she doesn’t remember.”

“Me, too. But I try to use those times to talk about things we used to do together. It makes me realize how lucky I was to have met her. Not many people would put up with me.”

“
I
like you, Heck.”

“I like you, too, Hannah.”

Something told me that what was developing between them was stronger than ‘like’ and more like love. But humans can be shy about expressing that emotion. Dogs never are. If we love you, there will be no doubt about it.

“Sophia’s a pretty name,” Hannah said.

“I think so, too.”

“How did you meet her?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. We met in high school when her family moved to Louisville, but I was two years older and we’d only gone on a few dates when I was drafted. Me, in the army. Can you imagine that? Anyway, we wrote to each other for a while, when I was fighting in the war, but one day her letters started coming back to me unopened. Turns out her family had moved several more times. Still, she never married and neither did I. I suppose we never gave up hope of finding each other again. And then, almost twenty years later, we met again through mutual friends. Three months after that we were married.”

“Did you have any kids?”

“No, we didn’t.” Heck squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “But Sophia was always good with children. You would have liked her.”

Tucking a leg beneath her and twisting sideways so she could face him, Hannah gave Heck a quizzical look. “
Would
have?”

“The way she used to be.” He studied his fingernails briefly before getting up from the couch. “I was just thinking, before you walked into the room, that maybe we should just go paint something. When I’m feeling melancholy, it helps to lift my spirits.” He held out his hand.

Hannah stared at it as if he’d just offered her a handful of rusty tacks. Except for me, Hannah didn’t like to make physical contact with others, not even with her parents.

“What if Mommy asks what I read today?”

Grinning, he tipped his head. “I have just the thing.” He went to the back bedroom and came out a minute later with a travel guide full of pictures of a place with a castle and roller coasters and palm trees. “This is a book about a magical place called Disney World. Have you ever been there, Hannah?”

“Nope.”

“Every child should go there once in their lives. After we do some painting and clean up, we’ll read about it. Maybe combine it with a geography lesson on the state of Florida, as well as some history about Walt Disney himself. And you know what? You may keep it. It even has a map, so you can find your way around. Maybe you can convince your parents to take you there. Okay?”

“Okay.” Hannah placed her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet.

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—o00o—

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T
hat afternoon Hannah painted a picture of Sophia. From memory. But it wasn’t black and white. It was alive with streaks and patches of pinks, yellows, blues, and greens, and Sophia was standing in a field of flowers, just like the one in Heck’s painting.

Heck’s eyes misted over as he stood behind her, watching her add the finishing touches. “She’s wearing pearls,” he said quietly.

“Do you like it?” Hannah asked.

“It’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen.” He turned away, his breath a quavering sigh. He pulled his shoulders up high. “Why don’t we go back inside, Hannah? I need to start sorting through those boxes. Most were Sophia’s belongings. Someone else could probably make good use of them. After all, what am I going to do with fifteen skirts, half a dozen high heels, and several strings of pearls?” He flashed a joking smile, although his eyes were still sad. “Don’t answer that, by the way.”

They cleaned up the paints hastily, but before Heck could delve into sorting through his boxes — the same boxes that had been sitting around since the first time Hannah and I stayed with him when Lise’s sheep got out — Hunter arrived to take Hannah home for the day.

While much of the past year, by all accounts, had been rough for Hannah, there were some highlights to it. For one, she and Heck were forming an unusual but very strong bond.

Then there was me. You might think I would feel like a third wheel, but that was never the case. I did miss my days with Hunter, but there were many times he had to either leave me in the truck while out on calls or behind a baby gate at the clinic, a place I never much cared for anyway. I had never warmed to all the noise and commotion there, not to mention the continuous string of strangers and nervous animals mewling and barking and squeaking.

On days I spent with Hannah, I was always right beside her. And that was where I would always choose to be.

But sometimes, even when life is exactly as we want it to be, it doesn’t stay that way. In a heartbeat, it can all go away.

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A
favorite part of my day was feeding the horses with Jenn after she got off work. Today, however, we were doing our chores a little early while Hannah took a nap in her bedroom. Instead of Hunter picking Hannah up around four, Jenn had picked her up a little after one, explaining to Heck that she had the afternoon off.

If Hannah was confused by the change in routine, she didn’t mention it, but we dogs are very aware of such things. If you forget to wake up at dawn on the weekends to let us out, we will snort in your ear until you do. Being the dog I am, though, I forgot about the disruption in our usual schedule the moment we stepped into the barn and a hundred wonderful smells — horses, manure, hay, and dirt — filled my nose.

Somewhere, I caught a whiff of field mouse among the straw bales. I had my nose buried in between two stacks of it when Hunter walked in. Jenn was bundled up in her coat and wearing mud boots, scooping feed into the horses’ buckets.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s up with the cryptic text message?”

I bounded over to him, my hind end wiggling, but he ignored me, which only made me try harder. When I jumped on the front of his coat, he pushed me off. I skulked away, wondering if I’d done something wrong. It wasn’t like him to dismiss me without a proper greeting.

Although my beginnings had consisted of people who disappointed and betrayed me, lately my life was full of nothing but good and honest people: Hunter and Jenn, Hannah and Maura, Brad and Lise. Even Heck. None had ever raised a hand against me, or yelled at me, or forgotten to feed me. Not even Jenn, who at first had seemed reluctant to have me in the house and constantly with Hannah. And so I never let the chance pass to let them know how much I appreciated them. I licked their hands at every opportunity, didn’t cause trouble, never chewed on anything that had their scent, and watched over them as if their lives depended on it. But sometimes, apparently, they forgot that. Like now.

Jenn finished filling Cinnamon’s bucket, then put the scoop back in the feed sack before turning around. She leaned against a support post, her face a mixture of concern and confusion. “I learned something today that has me rethinking things.”

“Like what?” Hunter asked. Normally at this point, he’d pull her into a hug and give her a long, noisy smooch, but something about her stance must have warned him off. “Did Maura get into trouble at school again? She’s been pretty good since —”

“It’s not Maura.” Jenn went out the barn door and headed toward the house, Hunter close behind.

Cinnamon stomped a hoof on the ground as I passed her stall. Clover snorted at me, big globs of horse snot spraying down on me. The horses and I had an agreement — I ignored them and they looked down their noses at me. Actually, I was smart enough to know if I annoyed them, they could flatten me with one good kick, so I stayed the hell away. I’d been stepped on once. Nearly broke a toe. That was enough. Besides, there was something about being in one of those confined stalls that didn’t sit well with me, although I could never quite understand why. I also had this inexplicable fear of horse blankets and being smothered by them.

“Then who?” Hunter said.

At the back door, they both scraped their shoes on the welcome mat before going into the kitchen. I slipped in just before Hunter closed the door.

“Hector Menendez, that’s who.”

Chuckling , Hunter helped her take her coat off and hung it on a hook. “Did he make her listen to Rossini, instead of Tchaikovsky? Or introduce her to the horrors of impressionism?”

“I’m serious, Hunter.” Jenn grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge and took a swig. “I think we may have rushed into this arrangement with him ... and maybe we should put a hold on it for now.”

He shrugged his coat off and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. But he didn’t sit down yet. “Where is this coming from, Jenn?”

“Hunter, he could be a child molester, for all we know.”

He slapped a palm lightly on the table. “Oh, come on, Jenn. That’s ridiculous. What on earth would make you think that? I know he was a little standoffish when we first went over to say ‘hi’, and he can be a bit of an oddball, but —”

“A little standoffish? A
little
?” She set her drink down firmly on the counter, then glanced around to make sure Hannah wasn’t lurking close by. “He did everything but tell you to fuck off — and that’s only because his generation doesn’t have that word in their vocabularies. I mean really, Hunter, I didn’t think we’d have to agree that it was a bad idea to let someone that we hardly know watch our kids. That’s just common sense.” She put her pop back in the fridge, shutting it so hard the bottles in the door rattled. From the drying rack beside the sink she grabbed a spatula and waved it around. “Like what does he, or did he, do? Is he divorced, widowed, never married? I mean, he never really said. At least not that I know of. And is he Catholic, Methodist, a Druid? Republican, Democrat, Libertarian?”