The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (10 page)

Lisa beamed.

“Lisa, let's sit down inside. We can do the interview there, can't we? You said you work there, right?”

“I do. Until a real job comes up.”

Heather leaned in close and whispered.

“I worked at an IHOP until I got my first real TV job. I know what it's like.”

I like her. I do. She's nice.

Lisa introduced Heather to everyone, including the owner of the Wired Rooster, Gilbert Fenner, who wore a clean apron for the occasion and cleaned off the front table for them, shooing away a pair of retired county workers from their usual perch.

“I'll get you free coffees. Just move, okay? KDKA is filming here.”

Lisa and Heather talked a bit more, then Heather called over to the crew.

“We're ready to start. Everything ready?”

Both men from the news van gave her a thumbs-up.

And Heather started with an introduction to the story, then moved on to Lisa, peppering her for details, asking about the town's reactions, about the multiple rewards being offered, if the police or animal control were involved yet, and a few dozen other questions that Lisa tried to keep up with, hoping that she was giving complete, cogent replies and not looking nervous or frightened.

After twenty minutes Heather stopped, pulled back a little, and did a quick twenty-second recap of the story.

“And special thanks to Gilbert Fenner of the Wired Rooster, and to Lisa Goodly, freelance writer for the
Wellsboro Gazette
. This is Heather Orlando in Wellsboro.”

The cameraman leaned back and tilted the camera upward on his shoulder.

“That was great, Lisa. You should be a reporter. Good details. Funny.”

Lisa swallowed.

Might as well try now.

“Actually, I did major in journalism and communication. Hard to break into the market, I guess.”

Heather smiled. “You've got talent. I can see that. Keep trying.”

“I am,” Lisa replied.

“Tell you what. Here's my card,” Heather said, fishing the card out of her suit pocket. “Call me later. Or better yet, send an e-mail. I can send your résumé around for you. If you want.”

Lisa nearly dropped her leather-like portfolio.

“I will, Ms. Orlando. That is so nice of you.”

“Least I can do. We professional women need to stick together. Right, Clarence?”

Clarence grunted. “Whatever you say, Ms. Orlando.”

“Now, can you tell me how to get to the car lot of this…Bargain Bill?”

“I could come with you,” Lisa said, a hopeful tone in her voice.

“Sure. That would save time. I hate getting lost. It's not far, is it?”

“Nope. Less than a mile. But three turns. Kind of tricky.”

“Then ride with us. We want to stop at the newspaper office for a minute, and the grocery store, and then hightail it back home. You would be a help if you showed us the way.”

“I would love to. I really would.”

After work, Stewart walked home, as was normal, but today he kept looking left and right, and under bushes and checking out if a dog was hiding behind any large trees on his route.

There were no dogs, save that barky little white thing in the window of that house on Wilson Avenue.

And he barks at everything. I wonder how the owner stands it? Could be deaf, I guess.

He peered at the burgeoning greenery in the backyard and called out, softly, “Hubert? Are you out here?”

There was no Hubert.

He opened the first-floor door and walked slowly up the steps.

Maybe he's gone. Maybe he ran home. I guess he just needed a place to rest up for a few days.

When he opened his door, Hubert was sitting on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, his tail thumping on the tile floor.

“Hubert,” Stewart said, and he knelt down and Hubert rushed him and grappled with him, licking and whining happily.

“How in the world did you get out? And back in?”

Hubert leaned to the left and stared at Stewart's front door.

“You opened it?”

Hubert smiled broadly and tried to lick his face again.

The door handle was a latch/lever sort of doorknob, so perhaps Hubert had just risen up and caught it just right with his paw. The downstairs door never really locked—or closed completely—so that would be an easy obstacle to overcome.

The bone Hubert had stolen that morning was half under the rug in the living room. The plastic was still intact, appearing as if Hubert had simply placed it out of sight for safekeeping.

“You did a bad thing this morning, Hubert. Good dogs don't steal.”

Hubert appeared to agree, nodding and growling—not really angry growls, but growls of acknowledgment.

“Are you hungry?”

Hubert launched himself into the air, and half twisted as he did, making soft yelping, happy noises as he bounced.

“Okay, I'll get your dinner. And instead of a cup, I'll give you a cup and a half. Maybe you're still hungry and maybe that's why you stole this morning.”

Hubert kept up his happy yelps until Stewart filled his bowl with Paws Premium dog food.

M
ID-EVENING
, both Stewart and Hubert were ensconced in two chairs in the living room watching an episode of
The Brady Bunch
, and they lifted their heads in unison and listened. They heard the soft and rapid footsteps of someone running up the steps. Obviously it was not the landlord, since the landlord had seldom, if ever, ventured up to the third floor. And if it was the landlord, there would be grunting and thumping. Since Stewart was on time with his rent and had no problems with the facilities in the apartment, there was no reason for Jerry to make the long upward climb.

The footfalls matched Lisa's light steps.

Instead of tapping at the door, she must have just leaned close to the door.

“Stewart. It's me. Can I come in?”

Both Stewart and Hubert rose from their chairs and hurried to the door.

Lisa stood in the open doorway, lit from the bulb behind her, face flushed and rosy, her blonde hair tied back with some sort of pink scarf/kerchief thing that made her face look even prettier, Stewart thought, showing her throat and ears and jawbone. The look made her appear younger and more delicate, like a painting or something artistic like that.

Like a model.

Hubert sniffed once and began to circle around himself, yipping with restrained glee at having both his humans together again.

“Hubert!” she cried and bent down and embraced him, all the while his backside wiggling and joggling with canine elation.

Then she stood and gave Stewart just as passionate a hug, while Hubert danced around them, smiling and snorting as if he had been separated from them for days and days instead of a few hours.

“This has been such a wonderful, perfect day, Stewart. I didn't even mind having to go to work this afternoon when Lydia called in sick.”

“Lydia?”

“The tall girl with purple highlights.”

“Oh, sure. So what happened with the TV 2 Action News Team?”

“Well, you saw me at the market, right? With Heather Orlando? It was so much fun.”

“I did. She seems nice. Real pretty. But sort of plastic, isn't she?”

Lisa crossed her arms and assumed a scolding schoolmarm expression. “Stewart, you have to look like that for TV. I probably should have used more makeup than I did.”

Hubert finally settled down and sat, staring up at Lisa.

“You want a Coke? It's not actually Coke. It's the store brand—Tops Cola. And it's always cheaper. It's pretty good, though.”

“Sure. A Tops Cola would be swell, Stewart. I just can't tell you how exciting today was.”

Lisa curled herself into one chair, Stewart took the other, and Hubert sat between them, turning to whichever one was speaking. That evening he looked at Lisa a lot more than he looked at Stewart.

“Hubert, you were a bad boy today, weren't you?” Lisa asked, and Hubert hung his head, his nose almost to the floor, when she scolded him.

“He didn't look guilty at all when I told him that,” Stewart said as he handed Lisa the almost-Coke.

“You just have to do it right. Maybe women are better at it. Maybe their voice modulates differently. You get it from listening to moms. Who could make you feel guiltier—your dad or mom?”

“I guess it was my grandmother. She sort of raised me.”

Lisa's face stayed neutral, as if she were doing her best not to show emotion.

“I'm sorry, Stewart. When did your mom…you know…pass away?”

“She didn't,” Stewart replied. He knew this was not the right moment to bring up his fractured family, memories of abusive parents and all the rest, but the subject had already been opened.

Just the bare minimum, Stewart. If she hears everything, she might be scared off. I don't want Lisa scared off.

“She left when I was pretty young. My dad left at the same time. I think they both thought the other one was bluffing. And since we were living with my grandmother, I suppose they figured I would be taken care of regardless.”

“They just left?” Lisa asked, her voice very small.

“Sort of. They weren't exactly Ward and June Cleaver at their best. More like
Married with Children
—you know, that old TV show with the guy that sold shoes?”

“Sure. It's on that station that just shows reruns.”

“So they had this huge, daylong fight, and they both took off. My dad sort of stuck around the area.”

“And your mom?”

“I didn't see her for five years after that.”

Lisa looked down at Hubert for a moment.

I've said too much. She's scared.

“Stewart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any hard memories.”

Stewart took a deep breath.

“Hey, it's okay. It was a long time ago. And today was a good day, right? That makes things better.”

There was a hitch in Lisa's voice, a pause in her eyes, as if she wanted to say something, anything, but simply did not know what that would be, those words that might make things better. She tried to smile.

“Well, Stewart, you're right. It has been a good day.”

“Then everything is good. Really. And don't worry. The past is the past, right?”

“Right,” she replied, her tone sounding not exactly heartfelt.

“And Hubert is the one who was bad today, weren't you, Hubert?” Stewart said, hoping that the change in the conversation would bring things back to normal, back before he said anything about his past, back to Lisa smiling and being happy.

Stewart thought, or hoped, that his deflection worked.

“He was a bad boy,” Lisa agreed.

Hubert looked up at them both, as if his act of looking guilty was penance enough for whatever it was they said he did—whatever it was.

Lisa scratched him behind the ears and Hubert closed his eyes in deep satisfaction, groaning a little in pleasure.

“So tell me all about you and the news lady.”

As she tended to Hubert, Lisa began to relate the facts of the interview at the Wired Rooster and the following interviews, starting with Bargain Bill.

“I just don't trust that man,” Lisa declared. “I don't believe a word of what he is saying about Hubert. He's a perfect used-car salesman. I think he was even trying to cry when he was talking about ‘his lost little doggie.' I could see him wincing, trying to get all teary.”

At this Hubert's ear perked up.

“You don't know him, Hubert. Despite what he's saying. He just wants publicity.”

Then she explained about the interview with Mr. Grback, the editor of the
Gazette
, and how he said that the story was “just so charming that he had to run it on the front page.”

“He called it ‘charming.' Can you believe it? He pretends he's such a curmudgeon, but he's really a softie. I mean, he called the story ‘charming.' That's saying a lot. I think.”

Then she elaborated about the filming at the Tops Market and the interview with Mr. Arden, “who seemed even more pompous and arrogant than when I talked to him. I mean, I think he is really offended at Hubert—like the bones he stole are going to be a major financial hit on the store. He doesn't seem to have a sense of humor at all. Heather was trying to give him an opportunity to say something nice, but he kept talking about criminals and how they need to be locked up for the good of normal society—locked up with the key thrown away.”

“Yeah,” Stewart said. “I watched you guys. I was having to deal with a ‘clean-up in aisle seven.' Somebody dropped a jar of pickles. Sweet pickles, no less. I like them, but they are really sticky when they're all over the floor.”

“So then Heather had the crew take a few more shots of outside the store, and I e-mailed them the video of Hubert that you took this morning, and she said that the story was so good that they were going to hurry back to the studio and edit it together so it could run tonight on the eleven o'clock news. You'll stay up with me to watch, won't you, Stewart? I need to share this with somebody. She said that the story and the visuals might even get it picked up by other stations. It might go national.”

“Sure. I wouldn't miss this for anything.”

Lisa sort of hugged herself.

“I can't believe it. And Heather gave me her card and said to send her my résumé. And that she would show it around if I wanted. Can you believe it?”

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. She's going to leave me and Hubert and Wellsboro forever. And I'll be stuck mopping up pickle juice for the rest of my life. This is just my luck. Like something I deserve. Especially after what I told her about my crazy family. Like maybe I'm just used to seeing people walk away. Maybe it is what I deserve. That's what my grandmother said—when she was mad. People get what they deserve, she said. That's God's way, she said. God gives people what they deserve. And maybe I deserve being left.

Hubert had been watching Stewart's face for the last few moments. He rose, pushed his head against Stewart's thigh, then lifted himself up and placed his front paws on Stewart's lap. Hubert stared deeply in his eyes, smiling, then whining, then nudging at his chest with his head, as if to get his human to stop thinking bleak, lost, and alone thoughts and instead smile, because the three of them were together and warm and their stomachs were full.

Or at least his was full.

Later that evening, Stewart and Lisa pulled the two chairs in the living room closer together so they both had the same view of the TV.

Lisa checked her watch.

“We've got ten minutes until the news.”

Stewart nodded.

“Time for another cup of coffee,” he said and walked into the kitchen.

Lisa followed him.

“I think I'll join you. Although I don't need the caffeine to get amped up tonight.”

As Stewart added water to the kettle, Lisa leaned against the counter.

“Stewart, have you ever gotten a bill for the cable TV?”

Stewart tilted his head.

“No. I haven't. I guess I thought it must come with the apartment.”

“I don't think that's the way it works. I think our landlord is stealing the cable signal.”

“Really?”

The water started to burble as it heated.

“Think about it. Why do we only get the network shows, hunting and fishing shows, sports, and that station that only shows reruns?”

Stewart smiled.

“Maybe it's the special Wellsboro backwoods package?”

At this, Lisa laughed so loudly that even Hubert stared at her, puzzled at her outburst.

“You are so funny, Stewart.”

Back to normal. She's laughing again. That's good. Maybe she'll forget about what I said before—about my lunatic family and all. Maybe.

The news segment was called “The Canine Bandit of Wellsboro,” and it ran just after the hard news section ended and before the sports segment.

“Heather said that if it runs early that means a big thumbs-up from the producers. If it runs before sports, we've got a winner on our hands, is what she said.”

The segment started with a teaser, just before a commercial, and the teaser featured a close-up of Heather Orlando inside the Wired Rooster.

“She looks better on TV,” Stewart said when the commercial started.

“I think she looked nice in person, too,” Lisa replied. “It's just you're not used to it. No one in Wellsboro wears any makeup, or the right kind, that's for sure. I mean the women. I guess no one sees the need to dress up here. For anything.”

Then the segment started—at the Wired Rooster. When Lisa came into view, she reached over and grabbed Stewart's hand and squeezed.

No girl has ever grabbed my hand before. Or squeezed it.

And she held on during the entire segment.

“You look real good on camera,” Stewart said quietly, not to interrupt the segment.

Lisa turned quickly, smiled at him, and turned back to the TV.