The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (23 page)

“So you talked to that Heather reporter from Pittsburgh?”

“I did, Mom. Just to let her know what's going on. She said she wanted to do a follow-up story.”

“Well, that's nice. Are they going to offer you a job, then?”

Lisa closed her eyes and wished her mother was more aware of how things actually worked—or at least how the current process of finding a job worked.

Maybe when she was young it was different.

“No, I don't think so. But she did invite me down to the city and she said she would introduce me around. That's a really good thing.”

Lisa was pretty certain her mother didn't really get what that entailed, but she was positive and encouraging nonetheless. “Well, that's so nice. And how is it between you and that young man…Stewart, right?”

Lisa had known she would ask and had an answer prepared.

“Yes. Stewart. We're still friends.”

She was not about to tell her of the magical kiss they shared or the hugs or the hand-holding.

“Just don't get too serious. No repeats and no more scares, okay?”

“Okay, Mom. Like I've already told you a hundred times.”

“I'm just being a mother, okay?”

“Okay. And will do. Or won't do, as the case may be.”

Lisa thought that was clever and funny, but her mother didn't laugh.

Too soon. Too close. Maybe never, I imagine.

Stewart's phone rang again. He seldom logged in more than one call per day, so today was a red-letter day in terms of data usage.

“Hey, Stewie, they caught the dog, didn't they? And it was you all along. You get the reward?”

Stewart slowly explained what had transpired early that morning. His father sounded disappointed.

“You coulda played this one better, Stewie. Made a few bucks off of it.”

“I know, Dad. I guess I didn't figure out the right angles.”

He would have argued with him, or pointed out that he did not want to profit off the situation, but knew it would be a frustrating proposition to try to do so.

“And I hear you were up in Coudersport getting the dog shots or something. I used to see that lady vet around more. But I ain't seen her in any of the usual spots for a long time. I hear she got religion or something.”

“Yeah, the receptionist said she's dating a local pastor.”

“A preacher? Don't get me started on preachers. I tell you what, Stewie, they're all just after your money. They're all hucksters, I tell you. But don't get me started.”

I will do my best not to get you started, Dad. Really I will.

“And you were right here yesterday. You could have stopped by. I had a six-pack in the fridge and there's a Pizza Hut right around the corner.”

“Sorry, Dad. I had to get back to…work.”

“Yeah, I know how that is, Stewie. Work night and day and no one cares, you know?”

“I know, Dad. I know.”

Later that afternoon, after Stewart had finished work, he realized that simply being at work was awkward, since no one in the store knew exactly how to broach the “dog” subject with him, so they'd left him mostly alone. He was, at the same time, an abettor and a hero. Thankfully, Mr. Arden was in Sunbury all day for managers' training and had had to leave moments after the police arrived to arrest Hubert. After he punched out, Stewart walked to the police station, which shared space in the municipal building with the city council offices and the city clerk, as well as serving as the downtown fire station.

Sitting at the first desk was the dog-arresting officer from this morning, Lieutenant Quinn.

“Sir,” Stewart said, a little louder than he wanted, but he wasn't really sure of protocol in this situation.

“You're Stewart, right? The one with the dog.”

“Yes sir. I just wondered if you could tell me where they're keeping Hubert?”

Lieutenant Quinn appeared puzzled.

“That's what we called the dog, sir. Hubert.”

Lieutenant Quinn tightened up his already tight face.

“Odd name…but, whatever, you know.”

“Yes sir. So is Hubert at the pound or what?”

Lieutenant Quinn wiped at his face in a soul-weary sort of gesture.

“Son, you're not from around here, are you?”

Stewart shook his head.

“No. I grew up in Lewisburg.”

“Well, Lewisburg may have a dog pound or a city animal shelter or whatever, but Wellsboro doesn't. No call for it, really. Until today, that is.”

“So…”

Lieutenant Quinn stood up and adjusted his belt again. It appeared to Stewart that belt adjustments were a very common occurrence with Lieutenant Quinn.

“We have two holding cells here. Hardly ever use either of them. They're small. If we got prisoners, we take them over to the Tioga County Prison. They're set up for it. You know—meals, showers, beds, all that sort of stuff. And bathrooms. These cells lack certain necessary amenities, if you know what I mean.”

“So…”

“We have…your Hubert in cell number two. It's a little bigger and it has a window.”

“Lieutenant Quinn, I know I'm not from around here, and I don't want to sound stupid, but can I visit him? I think he was mistreated by whoever had him before me and I sort of promised I would take care of him. I don't want to lie to a dog. Not to Hubert.”

Lieutenant Quinn's gruff expression gradually gave way to a more sympathetic expression.

“I hear you, Stewart. And to tell you the truth, I think you coming in would be a great idea. “

“Really?”

“It would.”

Stewart was forming a new opinion of the policeman.

“In fact, Stewart, I would appreciate it if you came in a couple of times a day. You know, to take him for walks and stuff. I don't want to clean up after a dog. And I don't want anyone who works here to clean up after a dog. That's not on anyone's job description, let me tell you.”

“Really?”

“All of this, this pain in the behind, is because of that Mr. Arden. And Bargain Bill didn't help matters, either, what with his reward and all.”

Lieutenant Quinn stepped closer to Stewart and lowered his voice.

“Stewart, this place is always open, so you can sort of come in whenever you want. Just check in at the desk. Providing the night clerk isn't sleeping, that is. He'll give you the key to the cell. That sound okay to you?”

Stewart felt like singing, at least briefly.

“Sure, that sounds great, sir. I could come in early and maybe once during the day and once more at night. Could I bring a blanket or a cushion so Hubert has something to sleep on?”

“Sure, Stewart. Knock yourself out,” Lieutenant Quinn said.

“Listen, I have to run home to get his food and a water bowl. That's okay, right?”

“Sure.”

“And is it okay if Lisa—you met her this morning—if Lisa comes with me to visit?”

Lieutenant Quinn rolled his eyes, but then smiled.

“Sure, kid, you can bring your girlfriend with you.”

Girlfriend? Is that what she is? Wow.

Lisa and Stewart hurried back to the municipal building in Lisa's car. Lisa carried a soft pillow and a thick blanket and Stewart carried a plastic Tops bag with Hubert's food and two bowls—one for the kibbles and one for water.

Hubert appeared ecstatic when the two of them walked in, and even more ecstatic when Stewart took the fist-sized key the clerk had given him and unlocked the door. Hubert leaped and licked and offered barks and whimpers of happiness. Eventually he settled down and Lisa and Stewart sat on the concrete platform that must have been intended as a bed for the unfortunate prisoner. Lisa made sure the pillow and blanket were arranged just so on the floor. Hubert sniffed and inspected the bed carefully, circled it a few times, then lay down just for a moment, but rather than be apart from them, he jumped up on the rock-hard bed with his two humans, grinning and smiling and growling.

“I've never been in a jail cell before. Have you?” Lisa asked.

“Nope. I've been in a couple of jails—as a visitor. My dad was locked up a few times. Nothing serious. Disorderly conduct. Public intoxication. That sort of thing. A few days. A week once.”

Lisa grew serious.

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

“It's okay, Lisa. He is what he is. And I can't change the past.”

“But that's so hard. Seeing a parent in jail. Especially for a kid. How old were you?”

Stewart did not look at her when he answered.

“Maybe ten, the first time. Maybe younger. I'm not totally sure.”

Stewart looked away and out the small window. You could not see anything but the dark blue afternoon sky.

“I'm sorry, Stewart,” Lisa repeated and hugged his arm tightly.

“Yeah. Well, lots of people have it a lot worse than me.”

Hubert was watching them talk and when Lisa hugged Stewart's arm, he began to get excited, a little, whimpering with an odd whimper—not of pain, but some manner of canine celebration, nudging Stewart closer to Lisa, pushing the two of them together, tighter and closer.

They sat, a tight-knit group of three, for a long time.

“We need to take Hubert for a walk. I told you what Lieutenant Quinn said about not wanting any accidents in here to have to clean up.”

“Sure.”

Lisa was about to make a comment about this being the first time she has been in public with a known criminal, but as soon as the thought entered her mind she glanced at the serious look on Stewart's face and self-censored the remark, chiding herself for being insensitive and unthinking.

But at least I didn't say it.

The three of them skirted the main streets in Wellsboro—not that there would be that much traffic, but they didn't want to stir things up more than they were already stirred. Seeing them out in public might set Mr. Arden off and force Lieutenant Quinn to take a harder stance on visitation.