The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (17 page)

He smiled again.

That is a very good plan. A very good plan indeed. Everyone needs to be part of a pack and this will make our pack stronger.

Then Hubert walked to the door and sat down. He thought that Stewart person would soon be home and he wanted to be ready when he arrived. He wanted to greet him, but he also wanted to think more, with Stewart in the room, of just what he might do to get them together.

It is what a good dog must do.

Everyone at the Dor-Day Sub Shop (no superfluous “-pe”) knew Judy Kubista, and no one knew where she went.

The manager on duty, a small, wrinkled woman with
WENDY
written on her name tag, said, “She came in one day, got her paycheck, and said, ‘I quit.' No one seen her since.”

The rest of the afternoon crew, consisting of two teenage boys, nodded in agreement.

“Judy, she used to live over by the elementary school. But I go that way to pick up my grandkids sometimes and I saw her house was empty with a
FOR SALE
sign on it.”

Lisa tried not to appear disappointed.

“You a relative?” Wendy asked, as if suddenly realizing that Lisa was a stranger—and from out of town, probably.

“No. I work for the
Wellsboro Gazette
.”

It's only sort of an exaggeration.

Wendy's face remained as blank as those of her two teenager assistants, and that was pretty to mostly blank.

“It's the newspaper in Wellsboro. I was doing a story on animal shelters and I heard Judy helped run the one in town here.”

“So you're not trying to collect on a bill or anything, are you?”

“No,” Lisa replied. “I just wanted to ask Judy a few questions, that's all.”

Wendy shrugged.

“Sorry I couldn't help. I would tell you I'll keep a lookout for her, but people like that…once they leave, they leave for good,” Wendy explained, as if disappearing from Lewisburg was a relatively common occurrence.

Well, maybe it is.

As Lisa was facing her disappointments in Lewisburg, Stewart was home dealing with a most unexpected phone call from his father.

“So, what's the weather like in Wellsboro?” his father asked.

Stewart held the phone away from his face for just a second and stared at it, as if a stranger had hijacked the conversation.

“Dad, we're only fifty miles away. The weather here is the same as the weather there.”

He heard his father snort in derision.

“Not always, kiddo. Sometimes it can be ten degrees colder here than where you live. That's nothing to sneeze at, you know. Ten degrees is a lot.”

Stewart closed his eyes, almost as if in pain.

“The weather here is really nice, Dad. Almost seventy degrees today. Sunny.”

His father listened and replied.

“'Bout the same here. This time, anyhow.”

He never just calls me. Maybe he needs money. Or is sick. Or something.

“Well, your grandmother called me. Out of the blue.”

“Really?”

Really?

“Yeah, been 'bout a year, maybe two, since we talked.”

What do I say to that?

“She's all worked up. Which is normal for her, but still…”

I have to ask, don't I?

“About what? I mean, what's she upset about?”

He heard his father sigh loudly, as if giving up. That was one of the things he remembered very clearly about his father: his long sighs of resignation. Other memories were more painful.

“She says you're datin' some hussy. I ain't even sure what a hussy is. You went to college. I didn't. Is this girl a hussy or what?”

Stewart would have sighed as deeply as his father just had but did not want to emulate him—not now.

“Dad, she's a very nice person. We're only friends. And Grams doesn't know her at all. She met her once when she was up here visiting two years ago for like a minute. So she has no idea what she's really like. And we're just friends, for Pete's sake.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. But your grandmother insisted that I call you and straighten you out. She also said you have a job waitin' for you in Florida that you just don't want. Like jobs grow on trees these days. Is that what you think?”

This is all too complicated to straighten out. Too much triangulation.

“No. I don't think that. And I'm not moving to Florida.”

“Hey, suit yourself. You never listened to me and you're not listening now.”

Stewart looked down and saw that he had been clenching his free hand, much too tightly, and the skin over the knuckles had gone sheet white.

Even Hubert had stood and walked carefully to Stewart, nosing at his clenched fist, whimpering softly.

“And this girl—her name is Lisa, by the way—she's very nice. We even went to church together.”

Oh man, I should not have said that. What was I thinking?

Stewart heard a low guttural snort from his father.

“A Bible-thumper? Really? You're hooked up with a Bible-thumper? You forget what happened to your mother? Don't get me started on those holy rollers.”

Why did I say that? Why did I tell him that?

“Stewie, you saw what happened to your mother and me, right? You ain't going there, tell me you ain't going there.”

“Dad, she is just a friend. That is all. There is nothing going on.”

Another snort.

“Your mother—you were there. How them crazies at that church broke up our marriage. It was all their fault. You know that, Stewart, don't you?”

No, they didn't. It was because you drank too much, were abusive, and ran around. That's why. That's why she took off. It wasn't their fault. And it wasn't my fault. It was your fault.

“Hey, Stewart, if that's what you want to do with your life, then go ahead. Just don't expect anything from me, okay?”

Stewart took a deep, silent breath.

“Okay, Dad. I won't. And tell Grams if she calls back that everything is fine. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure thing, sport. If you say so.”

Stewart ended the call and slumped into a kitchen chair. In a moment, Hubert was standing on his rear legs, his front paws on Stewart's thigh, whimpering and pressing his nose into Stewart's cheek, as if trying to reassure him that everything was going to be all right.

S
TEWART HEARD
Lisa pull into the driveway that evening. He remained in his chair near the window, muted the TV with the remote, and waited. Hubert heard Lisa arrive as well, and danced silently over toward the door, hoping she would be coming up to visit.

Stewart heard the soft closure of her apartment door. Hubert did as well, then looked back to Stewart, his dog face marked with obvious disappointment.

“She must have had things to do, Hubert. We'll see her soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

Hubert did not appear to be assuaged, not at all, and circled in front of the door several times, perhaps whimpering just a little, then lay down.

Maybe they're right. Maybe my grandmother has a sense about these things. After all, I am just a bag boy at a supermarket. What sort of career path is that? And Lisa is probably going places. She has talent. I could see her moving to Pittsburgh. And what am I doing? Bagging groceries.

He did not unmute the TV. He stood and went into the kitchen and prepared a cup of instant coffee.

You know, maybe that's good enough for me.

He did not bother to turn on the kitchen light and drank his coffee by the blue flickering light from the TV.

Lisa wandered about her apartment.

At least I have some room to pace. Poor Stewart would cross his entire place in like four steps.

She placed her empty notepad on the kitchen table and glared at it.

What a waste of an afternoon. Some reporter. I should have called. Saved a lot of driving time and gas. What was I thinking?

She opened her refrigerator and pulled out a can of store brand diet cola. The can hissed as she popped it open and she sat at the table. She did not bother turning on the lights.

It feels better to be in the dark.

She sipped silently and stared out the window.

I wonder if Stewart and Hubert went for their walk. I could watch for them.

She shook her head.

No. Not tonight. And maybe my mother is right. That I'm moving too fast. I don't want what happened with Mark to happen again. Stewart is nice and all, but if I move to Pittsburgh, then what happens? Hurt feelings all around. I don't think I can go through that again. Better just to stay as friends. Only friends.

She drained the rest of the cola and placed the empty can carefully into the bin she had set aside for recyclables. It was lined with a recyclable paper bag.

Better to be safe than sorry.

Upstairs, Hubert stood and paced, as best he could, in the small apartment.

Up until this moment, the cozy closeness of Stewart's small apartment had felt warm and inclusive and safe, like a protected den in a rock pile in the forest.

But tonight Hubert felt as if the walls were growing closer and closer, pinning him in.

He wanted to nudge open the door and run down the steps and nudge open that door and keep running until the trapped feeling left him.

I could do that. It would feel good.

But he looked over to Stewart. Stewart did not hide his loneliness well. His face was a road map for loneliness. He did not hide the pain behind his eyes. Hubert could not imagine what caused that pain, but Hubert knew pain and knew what it looked like. He knew pain like that—loneliness like that corroded the soul, rusted the heart.

Hubert walked into the living room and stared at Stewart.

In an instant, a fear spread over him, causing him to shudder, just a little.

What if Stewart doesn't want to be part of the pack? What if he is too broken inside to know that?

Hubert shook his head and his body followed, as if shedding an unwelcome bath of water.

That can't be. I will make it work. It is the way that—the way that things are supposed to be. Together. Safe. Fed. Warm.

Hubert narrowed his eyes.

I will do all that a good dog can do to help him see. Stewart, you have to open your eyes—to Lisa and the truth of the pack.

In the dark, the clock on Stewart's countertop microwave, purchased during a “Blow-out After-New Year's Sale” at the Tops Market, glowed 10:00.

I have to take Hubert out. No fair to him to make him wait any longer.

He snapped on the leash and then waited at the door, opening it just a little, and listened.

All was silent. He heard no noises from Lisa's apartment. And there was no loud ESPN chatter booming from Larry's apartment on the first floor.

Must be two-for-one beer somewhere in the area.

He tried to walk down the steps as quietly and as softly as he could, avoiding the third and sixth steps, which creaked loudly every time anyone stepped on them. He actually held his breath as he approached the landing on the second floor.

But Hubert had not been briefed on their stealth walk. He stopped at Lisa's door, sniffed heavily, just to make sure he was in the right place, then whimpered loudly and scratched at the door.

Stewart whispered-hissed, “Hubert! Stop!”

Hubert faced him, midscratch. His canine face seemed to communicate that he was intent on rousing Lisa from whatever she was doing.

“Hubert,” Stewart hissed again.

And Hubert whimpered loudly again, adding a little twist of a growl as well.

Stewart heard footsteps inside and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that she would peer out the spy hole in the door and not open it.

She may have looked. But she also opened the door.

“Hubert. Stewart. What are you doing here?”

Stewart took one step closer.

“We were sneaking out for a walk and Hubert suddenly stopped and started acting all weird—like he deliberately wanted to get your attention.”

“That's sweet, Hubert.”

“He's never done that before.”

Hubert bounced, in more or less a sedate manner—a complex dance routine devised, no doubt, to encourage Lisa to accompany them on this evening's walk.

Hubert looked back at Stewart with a pleading, child-like look on his face, as if to ask, “Can she come with? Please? Please?”

It would be no use to ignore the dog, of that Stewart was certain.

“Would you like to come with us? Hubert seems to want more company tonight.”

Stewart would have thought for sure that Lisa would say no. He saw the “no” in her face. But Hubert whimpered again, a puppy-like whimper, designed to bring out a motherly-comforting-take-care-of-the-lost-soul-and-pitiful-dog response.

And it did exactly that.

“Well, sure, I guess. Let me get a coat. And shoes.”

In a trice she joined them on the landing. They all tiptoed out onto the porch, Hubert's tiptoes less delicate than his human companions', and hurried across the driveway and onto the sidewalk, heading away from the house and the town and down the darker, less-lit streets.

A half block farther and Lisa and Stewart began to breathe easier. They had evaded detection one more time.

“I'm goin' ta catch that mutt,” Larry said to no one in particular as he sat at the Duncan Tavern downtown. He had run out of gas money for his truck, and this establishment was within walking distance. And they served inexpensive local brews.

The bartender was well versed in barroom chatter and bravado.

“What makes you say that, Larry?” he asked as he wiped glasses dry. “A lot of people are looking for him now. I hear Bargain Bill is going to up his reward to seven hundred and fifty. Well, up his discount, anyway.”

“I'm going to catch him, all right. I got people looking for him. Like a posse. We'll split the reward.”

“Other people have help, too, I bet,” the bartender said. Business was slow that night, so discussing anything was preferable to listening to the drone of the TV showing a Phillies baseball game.

“Maybe. But I'm the one that really needs a new truck. I had to walk here. Ain't that pitiful? A grown man having to walk?”

“I guess, Larry. Good exercise, right?”

“I hate it. Walking is for dopes and losers.”

The bartender finished drying the last of the glasses, arranging them like a line of soldiers behind the bar on a mirrored shelf.

“Good luck, Larry. I wish you well.”

“It's that mutt that needs luck. To escape from me. That's who needs luck.”

Hubert seemed to be very deliberate about how and when he veered off the sidewalk, pulling Stewart steps closer to Lisa every time. The first two times it happened, they both laughed about it. The third and fourth time, they exchanged knowing glances, or unknowing glances, silently questioning Hubert's motives and tactics.

“Hubert,” Stewart said firmly. “You can stop your games now. We're all on a walk together like you wanted. No need to do anything else, okay?”

Hubert stopped and when he looked up, it was pretty obvious that he was a bit offended by Stewart's accusations. But after a moment, the dog grinned, turned, and continued walking, staying in the exact middle of the sidewalk.