The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (25 page)

“Nothing bad will happen, Lisa. It won't.”

Lisa turned her head, almost as if she were about to run off, or like she was unwilling to make eye contact.

“You can't know that, Stewart. You can't.”

“I'm sure. I am.”

Lisa snapped back to him. Her eyes flashed, even in the dark, angry, or at least upset.

“My father said he would never leave my mother—and he did,” Lisa hissed. “So what's sure and certain in this world, Stewart? We have to take care of Hubert. We have to. I don't want to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty. I've done enough of that already.”

Stewart was confused, and a little scared. Even Hubert, all of a sudden, as if feeding on Lisa's emotions, seemed to grow nervous, and anxious, and whimpered a bit—more of a low whine, a noise Stewart had never heard him make.

Stewart dropped the leash. He was sure Hubert would not move anywhere, not without the two of them by his side. Stewart put his hands on Lisa's shoulders—stopping for just a moment, thinking how small and delicate her shoulders were, how precise and how doll-like they felt—and turned her to face him.

“Lisa, I understand what you're asking. I've thought about it. I could just say that he got off his leash and took off. But then what? I would have to hide him upstairs and then we would have to move. I would think even the police here in Wellsboro would consider me as a prime suspect. And Hubert is not a dog I could hide under the bed. And if we had to leave, I would have to leave you. I don't want to do that. Not now. Not ever. Besides that, I don't think lying is something they teach in church. I don't think lying is part of the truth, you know?”

Lisa stared up at Stewart—angry, sad, confused, worried—and then, slowly, all of those feelings began to change and turn into something else, perhaps akin to wonderment, or a sudden, joyful acknowledgment of an unspoken dream, a goal she'd had but had not mentioned yet to Stewart.

“The truth? What do you mean, Stewart? The truth? Like the Bible sort of truth?”

That was when Hubert barked and bounced and placed his front paws on Lisa's shoulder as well. He couldn't quite stretch that far, but he came close, as if he were trying to explain something very important to Lisa, trying his best to see what actually had occurred and that she should be happy.

Stewart knew that what he was about to say would be confusing. He was still a little, or a lot, confused. But he felt something different as well. Confused, to be sure, but also certain that he was on the right path. Often, in the past, Stewart had felt as if he were left alone in the darkness, but now, way off in the distance, within reach, he could now see light. He could now see a way out of that darkness.

And he could see, or sense, a glimpse of that peace.

And truth.

He looked into her eyes and did not look away, even though the words were hard to grab on to.

“I picked up a Bible. There was a stack of free ones in the jail. They probably have them there for like, hardened criminals and deviants and, you know, bad guys. But I started reading it to Hubert. He seemed to like it. I got the feeling that he wanted me to read it. And he would fall asleep with his head in my lap when I did. And to be honest, I sort of like reading it. I like when it talks about looking for the truth, or finding the truth.”

Lisa appeared to be near tears.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Lisa's broad, happy smile gradually faded and she grew puzzled.

“But I thought you went to church. I thought you knew all about faith.”

Stewart shook his head. “After my parents both took off for good, when I was a freshman in high school, my grandmother took up with this…sort of crazy church. I'm not sure it was a real, honest-to-goodness church. You know, like a real church that follows the rules and all that. I guess we went to church when I was real little. But not for years and years. So I didn't know what to expect. But I thought that her new ‘group' was pretty nuts. Lots of screaming and shouting. And lots of blame. She blamed everyone but herself for everything that had gone wrong in her life and with her family. And she acted like all of a sudden she knew all about what to do and not do. She was always telling me all the things that I can't do and if I did do them I would go to hell and she would point out people that we knew who were going to hell. And for sure my dad was going to hell, and of course, my mother—after a while, I stopped listening.”

Lisa was crying now, very softly, very small, the tears on her cheeks catching the starlight as little jeweled facets.

“I didn't know.”

Stewart felt a sudden, and unexplained, sense of boldness.

“And I didn't know that I didn't know. But then I met you. And I watched you, Lisa. That's what I did. It was nothing that you said, really. It was how you acted. Sort of how you lived. I saw right away that you had a sense of peace that I didn't. And I wanted that. So I paid attention. And it's also because Hubert seemed to keep nudging us together.”

“You think?” Lisa sniffled. “Hubert?”

“I do. Don't you? Didn't you get the sense that he was the happiest when we were together?”

Lisa sniffled again, louder this time, and almost laughed.

“I thought it was just me. I thought I was imagining it. Or that I wanted it—to get to know you—and that I was projecting onto poor Hubert.”

Stewart looked down at the dog.

“No. I think he's had a hand in this from the beginning. Or a paw, as it were. I think he knows what he's doing. He knows about the truth. I see it in his eyes.”

Hubert bounced several more times, barking and growling.

Stewart decided then that a very long embrace was just what Hubert would want to see, and apparently it was, because as they hugged, Hubert sat back down, then found the loose end of the leash and picked it up in his mouth and sat, grinning, watching his two humans hold tight to each other and whisper soft things to each other.

Stewart broke the hug after a while.

“We better get back or they will think we've let him go.”

Lisa giggled in response.

“And, Stewart, you won't tell anyone about what I asked, will you? About breaking him out and escaping? I don't know what came over me.”

Stewart, still feeling bold, bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He kept his eyes open and saw that Hubert almost dropped the leash when he pressed his lips to the top of Lisa's head.

“I won't say a word. And it was nothing that I didn't consider a few hundred times myself.”

Stewart reached down and took the leash from Hubert's mouth.

Being together, the three of them, felt like they had been doing it forever, which, of course, they had not, but each one of them, without saying another word, all hoped that this feeling would never end and that the three of them would always be together.

And then Stewart thought that not all things go according to what we want—and he would be okay, no matter what happened.

Stewart guessed he would have no choice but to trust.

When the three of them were back in the jail cell, Lisa, in a mouse-small voice, said, “We could pray about this, you know. I sort of forgot to do that. Maybe that was part of my problem.”

Stewart locked the cell door and knelt back beside Lisa. They had been kneeling like this all along to be able to say good-bye to Hubert and pet him just before they left. But tonight, Hubert whimpered and growled a little and then put his paw through the bars so Lisa could hold it.

“Could you pray, Lisa? I'd rather hear you pray than me. And I'm still not sure of what words to use, you know?”

And she did, quietly, offering a prayer as soft as a rabbit's fur, as gentle as a morning mist, and as heartfelt as a toddler's request for a hug. It was all perfect and it was all planned and Hubert whimpered along with every word Lisa said to God, as if Hubert were adding his voice to hers, to make it better understood by the Divine Creator, that guiding force of nature that Hubert knew as his protector.

And Stewart, in that most pellucid moment of clarity, was certain that the prayer was heard and that its requests were being considered—by the very Creator of all things bright and beautiful.

Wellsboro, after dark, grew soft and hushed. There were a few bars open with loud music, and a few late-night businesses, but for the most part once the sun went down Wellsboro relaxed, yawned, and grew still.

Stewart and Lisa said the final good-byes to Hubert, said good-bye to Sergeant Wilson who was at the desk, and stepped out into the darkness again.

But this darkness was different. Stewart, in the past, preferred the daylight hours, where nothing could hide in the shadows. But tonight, that fear—that unconscious, unknowing fear—while not vanished, was less than it ever had been.

Stewart would think back on this night and ponder why.

Maybe it's because I finally admitted to someone the truth about my parents. Like opening a door into a locked cellar. It doesn't change what it was, but it changed me.

He took Lisa's hand in his, this time on his volition, and they walked for several blocks, in silence. The only sound they made was their soft footfalls on the sidewalk.

“Do you really think Hubert had a plan?” Lisa asked as they turned down Maple.

“I don't know,” Stewart said. “I mean, no one will ever know. But it sure seems like he knows what he's doing. And he really likes us together. And he got me to think about the Bible and all that. So…I guess he did have a plan.”

“Good dog, Hubert,” Lisa said. “Good dog.”

“I think he helped me grow up,” Stewart said. “I never had someone in my life who needed protection.”

Lisa squeezed his hand.

“I know you mean Hubert,” she said, “but when I'm with you, I feel protected, too.”

“Good. I meant you, too.”

Lisa was silent for a half a block, as if she had something to say but was searching for the right words.

“You've been damaged, Stewart,” was what she finally said. Lisa pushed a few strands of hair from her face and turned to look at him as she spoke. “We all have been damaged, I think, in one way or another. The world is broken, Stewart. I used to think that if we tried hard enough, everything would be better. I think trying to be good is a good thing, but the world will stay broken. You know what I mean?”

Stewart said that he did.

“When my parents divorced,” Lisa said, “I was hurt. It's still hard to trust. But everyone thought that once the thing that causes the pain is over—like a bad marriage or a divorce—then the pain will be gone.”

“And it's not,” Stewart added.

“No, it's not gone. It's kind of like an echo that never fully fades away.”

Stewart nodded, making sure that she saw him nod. He had read somewhere that if a man wants to show his interest in a woman, he had to be sure that she knew he was listening to her.

I don't remember where I read that. It sounds like it would be true.

“My mother still wants me to be careful with you, Stewart,” Lisa said quietly, almost as an admission of guilt.

“Why?”

“She doesn't want me to get hurt. Like she was. But more because I was…before. She worries a lot. And to be honest, I gave her reasons to worry. I've done things that I'm not proud of.”

Stewart nodded again.

After a moment, he said, “And my grandmother still wants me to be careful with you.”

Lisa stopped walking and turned to Stewart.

“But she doesn't know me at all.”

It was obvious to Stewart that Lisa's mother's warning went down easier with Stewart than did his grandmother's warning to him about Lisa went down with Lisa.

I read about that, too…somewhere. The differences between men and women.

“She thinks you're after my money.”

Lisa could not hold her laugh.