Читать книгу For Love Of A Dog - Janice Carter - Страница 10

CHAPTER ONE

One month later...

THE KITCHEN WAS EMPTY. Kai sighed, hoping this wasn’t going to be one of those difficult days with Thomas refusing to go to school. To complicate matters, she was due at the hospital in Lima to drive her parents back to the farm. Her mother had been staying with her friend, Janet, in town while her father recovered from his stroke. Perhaps that was it. Thomas wanted to be around when his grandpa came home.

“Thomas?” she called up the stairs. No response.

Last night, she’d thought of asking him if he wanted to go to the hospital with her, but decided she’d be enabling his reluctance to attend school. She suspected a bullying problem, though he hadn’t complained. Of course, Thomas didn’t complain about anything. That would involve talking, and he hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in a year. Not since his father died.

Kai knew there was no point in delving into that painful memory. Too much to do right here in the now. That’s what had kept her going since her arrival at the farm, believing that eventually she’d be able to recover her former life—the one before her dad’s stroke and her return to Lima. Heck, even the one before that dog.

“Thomas? It’s getting late.” She went back through the kitchen and out onto the porch. Just past the shed and between the barn and the veggie garden stood Thomas, in his dark green rain jacket, with the dog.

The day she’d arrived at the farm, after picking Thomas up at Janet’s house, both dog and boy had been wary of each other. Thomas had clearly been interested in the animal, constantly looking at him through the crate. Amigo, not so much. His frequent sidelong glances at Thomas had been fearful, as if he were expecting a thrown stone or a cuff on the head. It had taken Kai several minutes and lots of treats to coax Amigo out of his crate once they’d reached the farm. After gobbling up his reward, he’d slunk off to a corner of the garage and lain down, accepting whatever fate had in store for him.

Kai had wished she could speak dog language to reassure the pitiful animal, but knew eventually he would feel, look and act like a happy dog. That was her hope. If things didn’t turn out that way, she’d have to come up with another game plan for Amigo. One she already knew she’d have trouble implementing.

Hard to believe it had been only four weeks since she’d driven to Brooklyn from Newark, her most pressing worry the dog dozing in the back seat. And it was especially ironic that the answer to the question of what to do with the dog had been revealed only the next day, after her mother’s phone call. Take him with you. As if she’d had any choice. Dropping him off at the pound—as that woman at Captain Rossi’s house had advised—had never been an option. She knew all too well that grown animals that weren’t considered “cute” often weren’t adopted. And cute just didn’t cut it for Amigo.

But that was weeks ago. The changes—physical and otherwise—were remarkable. Amigo had transformed into a regular mutt, and he and Thomas had become a team. Right now, the two seemed to be having a conversation: Thomas, gesturing with a stick in his right hand, first to the garden and then to the ground at his feet; the dog, staring up at him. It was difficult to tell if any part of Thomas’s message was getting through, judging by Amigo’s cocked head.

Thomas raised his arm and threw the stick. The dog’s head swiveled, following the stick’s arc into the garden plot. He looked back at Thomas, who thrust his right arm into the air, pointing to where the stick had landed. Kai held her breath, and before she’d counted to ten, the dog rose and ran after it. Well, perhaps “sauntered” was more appropriate. When Amigo reached the stick, he sniffed it a bit before walking back to Thomas, mouth empty.

“Thomas,” she called. “It’s almost time to head up to the road.” He turned her way but didn’t move. She knew he wasn’t the kind of kid to instantly react to such reminders, so she waited just long enough to see him reluctantly head toward the kitchen door before she went inside.

She sipped her coffee while Thomas ate his cereal and thought perhaps she ought to change her mind about taking him with her to the hospital. She knew he’d been missing his grandparents and his mood this morning might not be just about going to school. When he slurped up the last of the milk in his bowl, she said, “Would you like to take a day off school and come with me to pick up Grandpa and Grandma?”

He just nodded, but she’d seen the instant spark in his eyes. “Okay, I’ll walk up the road and tell the bus driver while you go make your bed.”

The early-morning rain had already vanished, and the sun was breaking through the cloud cover by the time she’d walked out to the main road and back, her sweatshirt sticking to her. Thomas was waiting patiently on the stoop leading from the kitchen. Kai’s father’s old Buick was parked in front of the two-car garage adjacent to the farmhouse. Just as she was opening the driver’s door, Kai noticed Amigo lurking near the garden. There’d been recent evidence of a groundhog, and the dog must have caught its scent.

“Um, maybe we better put Amigo in the garage while we’re gone. I don’t think he’ll wander off, but I can’t be sure.”

Thomas’s face revealed his displeasure at this, but he beckoned to Amigo, who was watching them from his sentry point in the garden. Kai marveled again at how the boy seemed able to communicate with the dog without uttering a word. It was almost as if the two could read each other’s minds. Amigo trotted over to them and followed Thomas into the garage. From the drooping tail, Kai guessed he was as unhappy at this development as Thomas.

She revved the engine, made a creaking turn and drove down the gravel lane toward the highway leading to town. Rolling down the window to let in some fresh air, she was struck again by the huge silence of the countryside—except for the crunch of tires and the ominous tick-ticking of the engine.

Silence. She’d lived with it for a month now and found it oppressive. There were days when she wanted to shake Thomas and cry, “Just speak to me. Say anything. One word. Please.” But there was no point. He’d come around in his own time. Or so the psychologist who’d been treating him since David’s death claimed. Elective mutism, he’d called it. A way of controlling something in a world that seemed out of control to an eight-year-old who’d endured the loss of his mother when he was five and then the trauma of his father’s death two years later.

“Don’t push him,” was the constant phrase and Kai was almost sick of hearing it. She couldn’t help thinking that maybe Thomas needed a push. But then she’d look at his small, pale face, so like her brother’s at the same age, and the pain of all that the family had suffered these past three years would fill her up again, followed by the inevitable guilt. She’d been gallivanting all over the world while her aging parents had lived with that pain and the tangible symbol of it—Thomas’s silence—staring them in the face each moment of every day.

* * *

MARGARET PLACED THE folded pajamas into her husband’s duffel, set the toiletry bag on top and paused briefly to stare down at the slippers on his feet. They’d be all right for the ride home. Besides, she hadn’t bothered bringing his shoes to the hospital. He’d only begun walking again—if one could call the shuffling gait that—in the past few days. She zipped up the bag and smiled at Harry.

“Well, this is it. The day we’ve been waiting for.”

He looked up at her and mumbled a garbled reply that kept her guessing for a few seconds. She couldn’t blame him for feeling negative. His stroke was not only unexpected but grossly unfair, especially considering the cycle of bad luck the family had endured for the past three years. And she couldn’t help but see the dark humor in her current situation. One at home who wouldn’t talk and now another who couldn’t.

There’d been times the last four weeks when she’d just wanted to curl up in bed and stay there. Let someone else take charge. Although she’d been grateful and relieved to have Kai come home, she knew her daughter well enough to realize that her presence was temporary. In fact, she was waiting for Kai to announce that she’d soon be returning to New York. As Harry used to say of his daughter, “Dust doesn’t get a chance to settle on her.”

Now that’s enough self-pity, Margaret Westfield. There’s an eight-year-old boy—an orphan—counting on you. Even if he doesn’t show it.

There was a light tap on the opened door. “Your daughter’s parked outside and wants to know if you’d like her to come in and help with Mr. Westfield or if you can manage.”

Margaret smiled at the young nurse’s aide. Don’t kill the messenger, she reminded herself. How typical of Kai not to realize a bit of help would be appreciated without having to ask. “I can manage if you’d be able to wheel Harry out for me.”

“Of course.” The aide unlocked the wheelchair and pushed it out of the room. Margaret followed, carrying Harry’s duffel and her own bag, and rolling the fold-up walker that Harry would be using at home. She’d been boarding at Janet’s house since Kai came back to look after Thomas. Thank goodness for old friends. That gift had hit home for her and Harry after David’s death last year. Kai had been in some exotic country or other and hadn’t even received word of the accident until days later. When she did make it back for the funeral, she’d made it obvious her stay was going to be as brief as possible.

Margaret caught up to the aide and Harry at the elevator just as the door opened, revealing Kai and Thomas.

“I found a parking space after all.” Kai’s anxious expression flicked back and forth from Margaret to Harry.

“Just in time,” Margaret said. Wanting to make up for the slight sarcasm in her voice, she focused on Thomas, who hung back behind Kai. “Look who’s here, Harry.”

Harry managed a lopsided smile and extended his good hand. Thomas hesitated and then moved into that outstretched arm to hug his grandfather. Margaret teared up and saw that Kai, too, was close to tears.

“This is a lovely surprise,” she said. “Even if you’re missing a day of school, Thomas.” Something flashed in her daughter’s face that made Margaret add, “Thank you for that, Kai.”

The elevator ride was silent except for the occasional snuffling from Harry, his right hand clutching Thomas’s. This is another side of the new Harry I have to live with, Margaret thought. An emotional one, with a sensitivity he’d never shown in their forty-three-year marriage. The doctor had explained these changes were to be expected after a stroke. They might persist or disappear as his health returned. Right now, she’d take the old Harry no matter how irritating and insensitive he used to be.

Getting Harry into the car wasn’t as difficult as Margaret had feared, though it took both Kai and the aide to help him to his feet and slide him into the passenger seat. The physiotherapist had advised Margaret to get him walking every day. He’d need a wheelchair for excursions to the mall—fat chance of that, thought Margaret, who couldn’t get Harry to a mall when he’d had the use of two legs—but the walker would suffice for indoors. Anyway, Margaret knew the drill. Walk, talk and use the brain as much as possible.

She scarcely heard Kai chattering about the latest at the farm or what groceries she’d stocked up on for their arrival home. Instead, her mind was busily making plans for the days and weeks ahead. The physiotherapist and the doctor had recommended an innovative program for stroke patients—one that could be found not in Lima, but in Columbus—and Margaret was determined to take Harry there. Her cousin, Evelyn, might be able to put her up. The only problem was Thomas and who would look after him. Bringing him along would be too disruptive—for all of them.

When they turned onto the gravel road that led to the farm, Margaret noticed Harry look out the window. Neighbors’ fields around them were ready for planting. She guessed that was on her husband’s mind as he checked out both sides of the road. He made a low humming sound. During his stay at the rehab hospital, he’d be asking himself, “Who’s going to plant the soybeans?” Margaret forced her thoughts elsewhere. It was time to look ahead, she told herself.

Just before they rounded the curve that took them to their driveway, Margaret spotted a red tractor plowing the field next to theirs. Bryant Lewis didn’t waste any time. He and Harry used to try to see who’d get the first field done, then the first row planted and so on. It was a silly competition that had stopped the year Harry refused to sign a contract with the big company that wanted everyone to use their patented seed. Then the year Bryant told Harry he was looking into taking a wind turbine had pretty much ended the neighborly chats over the fence. And when David was killed...well, they hadn’t had any communication with their longtime neighbor since then.

Harry’s humming grew louder as they drove past Bryant’s field. Margaret saw Kai glance anxiously at her father. She’d grown up with that peculiar habit of his and could read the signs as well as anyone. The Buick pulled up to the garage.

“Thomas, you take Grandpa’s suitcase up to the house while Grandma and I help him get out of the car,” Kai instructed.

Thomas climbed out, taking the suitcase that was propped between him and Margaret. Then Kai opened the trunk and pulled out the walker. “I think this’ll do to get Dad into the house, don’t you, Mom?”

For a moment Margaret was speechless herself. This was a side of Kai—being in charge—she’d only seen the one time she’d visited her in New York. Never in the context of her childhood home. Harry had always assumed that role, even when David was working the farm with him. But then, David had always been quick to please, unlike Kai, who’d taken more pleasure from rebellion.

Tempted though she was to assert her authority, Margaret stopped herself. The past four weeks of going to the hospital daily, working with Harry and his physiotherapist, handling the paperwork and bills arising from his health care and making tentative plans for the near future had been draining. Right now, she was all too happy to let Kai take the lead.

By the time the two of them had helped Harry up to the kitchen door, Thomas had gone back to collect Margaret’s suitcase and was waiting patiently on the porch, an expression of expectation on his face. Margaret half noticed the exchange between Kai and Thomas but was busy helping Harry lift the front wheels of his walker over the stoop. She didn’t see Thomas running toward the garage, but the sound she heard seconds later froze her to the spot.

Barking. She turned around to spot a brownish-yellow dog leaping up at Thomas and quickly looked at Kai.

“I’ll explain when we get inside,” was all Kai said before Margaret could get a word out.

Margaret would have insisted on an immediate explanation were it not for Harry, who’d halted his progress into the kitchen to turn around, as well. His face was ashen and a deep but loud humming came from his open mouth.

* * *

“I THINK THAT’S enough for today.”

Luca took the towel-wrapped cold pack from his physiotherapist, Paul, and used it to wipe his sweaty brow before placing it on his left knee. He closed his eyes, savoring the coolness that seeped into the inflammation around his knee prosthetic. Today’s workout had been rigorous as Paul took him into the final stage of his therapy. He tried to speak but could only get out an incomprehensible grunt, which Paul recognized all too well.

He patted Luca’s shoulder. “Enjoy. You did great. See you on Thursday.”

After Paul headed off for his next patient, Luca waited the requisite fifteen minutes before sitting up, took a few deep breaths to ease the dizziness and reached for the sweatshirt draped on the chair next to the physio gurney. Five minutes later he was walking, assisted by his cane, out the front door of the rehabilitation center.

The day had marked another milestone: his first time driving himself to and from the center. A week ago he’d achieved the ninety-degree bend in his knee that Paul had been guiding him toward with the promise that he’d soon be able to drive again. Of course, his mother had needed some persuasion to relinquish her chauffeuring duties, just as she’d needed time to cut back on some of the other mothering tasks she’d assumed upon Luca’s return home from the hospital.

Getting behind the wheel took effort, but Luca heaved a satisfied sigh as he turned on the ignition. One more step to independence. If only true independence were not so far away. Luca tried not to dwell on the fact that his childhood home was now the only one he had. He had to be grateful for that, knowing so many of his military comrades fared much poorer—physically, mentally and financially. But he also knew that until he was out in the real world again, taking on all the responsibilities that entailed, he could not begin the actual healing process. The physical one was underway and ticking along nicely. As to the emotional and psychological recovery, Luca expected the course to be much bumpier.

One day at a time. That was the mantra that had taken him from the hospital at Kandahar base five months ago to this parking lot in Newark, New Jersey. Heaven only knew how many times a day he’d repeated those words to himself. There was a time, pre-Afghanistan, when he’d have scoffed at such a mantra. In those days, he’d considered himself a doer, someone who didn’t sit by while others worked. Someone who had to lead, who chafed at idleness and loathed indecision. Someone who occasionally had difficulty keeping anger in check. If there was a single thing to be thankful for these past few months, it had to be the chance to say goodbye to that Luca Rossi.

When he pulled up to his mother’s home, Luca saw that she had company. He didn’t recognize the car but noted it had DC license plates. As he walked past it to the front door, he also noticed an army hat on the passenger seat. He paused, considering getting back into his mother’s sedan. He’d made his formal application for discharge a month after his return to the States, and according to the military lawyer who’d been counselling him, it would not be contested. There had been a few overtures and promises of lighter duties, even promotion. All blather, as far as Luca was concerned. He took a deep breath and went inside the house.

“Luca?” his mother called. “We’re in the solarium, darling.”

He went down the hall and through the kitchen, spotted a tray laid out with his mother’s best China tea service and turned into the solarium. A uniformed NCO leaped to his feet, snapping a smart salute.

Luca grinned. “At ease, McDougall—and thank you, but I’m a civvie now.”

“No way, sir. Never.”

Luca ignored the hand extended to him, instead wrapping the younger officer in a bear hug, waiting for the unexpected tears to vanish before releasing the corporal.

“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair. He propped his cane against the solarium door frame and removed his windbreaker. As he was taking his own seat opposite McDougall, his mother excused herself to get the tea.

“How are you? And the others? What’s happening with the squad? I haven’t heard from anyone in almost a month.”

“I’m on leave and scheduled to head back there in two weeks. Some of the others are home, too, and a few took leave in Germany. A couple have requested medical discharges.” McDougall fell silent.

Luca didn’t need to ask who they were. Kowalski and Murphy, who’d run after Lopez and seen him get blown up. Narrowly escaping that fate, as well.

“How are they doing?”

McDougall bit his lip. “Murphy’s managing. Lost a leg. But Kowalski...they figure he’s got PTSD. Referring him to a psych facility.”

Luca let that sink in, trying hard not to give in to the guilt.

“But the reason I’m here, sir—other than to say hello and pass on greetings from the squad—is to say how sorry I am that Amigo never got to you.”

Luca frowned. Amigo? He drew a blank for a second, then recalled the mangy stray that had adopted him a few weeks before the disaster.

“When the squad finally got back to base,” McDougall went on, “we realized Amigo had followed us the whole way. He was about half a day behind us, we reckoned, and showed up bright and early our first morning. Fortunately, McNaught—you remember him, sir—spotted him before he got shot by one of the Afghan patrols. Took a while to explain Amigo was a pet—the squad mascot, so to speak.”

Luca found himself nodding absently, taking in the information but not quite processing it. His mind kept drifting to the Afghan valley where his life and the lives of his men had been forever altered. When he finally tuned back in, he caught the last line of McDougall’s story.

“Sorry,” he said, “could you repeat that last sentence?”

“We persuaded this woman—a photojournalist I think, en route from Kuwait through Frankfurt—to help transport Amigo stateside, but when she got here your mother—” McDougall swiveled to look toward the kitchen and lowered his voice “—refused to take him, so the woman had to leave with Amigo.”

Luca frowned. “I’m a bit confused. This woman came to the house and was turned away by my mother?”

“Basically.”

“And who was this woman again?”

McDougall fished around in the breast pocket of his uniform jacket to withdraw a slip of paper. “This is her name and address. At least, her current address. She lives in Brooklyn, but she’s staying at her parents’ farm in Ohio.”

Luca’s vision blurred as he read. He didn’t know whether to feel sad or angry. Frustrated, perhaps, that his life had been taken out of his hands by other people. By my own mother. “Kay Westfield? Lima, Ohio?”

“It’s actually Kai, rhymes with ‘sigh.’ I found that out right away. And it’s Lima as in the bean. She was cool, though I could tell she was a bit reluctant to take a dog at first. Came around when I told her the story.”

“Told her the story?”

McDougall straightened at the tone in his captain’s voice. “Not all of it, sir, just enough for her to know the dog was important to you.”

Luca hid the dismay he was feeling. It seemed to him that Afghanistan was never going to go away, and now there was a dog to contend with. Not just any dog, he reminded himself. There’d been something special about the stray from the start. Those tired brown eyes of his had conveyed a war-weariness that Luca had connected with instantly. As much as part of him wished the mutt had stayed in Afghanistan—along with the memory of that day—Luca also knew were it not for Amigo, he might have been killed with Lopez.

“So where is the dog now?”

“Apparently, Westfield took him with her to Ohio. I’m not sure of the details. Some family emergency. She sent me an email when she got there. Said she was sorry, dog could not be safely delivered to your mother—her words, by the way—and left her contact info if we wanted to come and get him. I just got back stateside a week ago and thought, rather than make any plans to fetch the dog, I should talk to you first.” He paused. “See if you want him.”

Luca recognized McDougall was giving him an out. He could leave the situation as it stood, or do something about it. The young man’s expression was as neutral as Luca hoped his own was. Military training had polished that skill. But he also knew the effort McDougall and the others in his squad must have made to ship the dog across the world. Not just the effort, he told himself. The compassion they must have been feeling for Amigo and—especially—for him.

He extracted his wallet from the pocket of his hoodie and tucked the piece of paper inside. “Thank you, Corporal McDougall I appreciate what you and the other men have done for me. It’s quite remarkable, and...well...I intend to follow up. I’ve only got two more weeks of physio. After that, perhaps a road trip to Ohio. Must be nice there in May.”

McDougall’s smile told him he’d made the right decision. “If there’s anything else we can do to help with that, sir, let me know.”

“I think all of you have done more than enough. I’ll let you know how it works out.”

“Here we are,” Luca’s mother announced, coming into the room with the tea tray. “It took a bit longer than I expected.” She set the tray on the coffee table, glancing expectantly at Luca.

Curious about our talk, he realized. He was thankful for the diversion of tea, and the conversation drifted into everyday matters, giving him a chance to cool down. One day at a time. He passed the plate of cookies to McDougall and decided perhaps the confrontation with his mother about turning Amigo away could wait till tomorrow, after he Googled Lima, Ohio, and figured out a plan.