Arthur said, “She’s real to him?”
“Sometimes I think she is.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Lane said, “I don’t know. You know, after the real Helen died, he said he got a job at the cemetery just so he could be close to her.”
“Really,” Arthur said.
“Said it was the only way they could be together and he could still take care of their son.” Riley barked. Lane turned his head. “Sounds like he’s found something.”
“The cemetery angle might be worth looking into.”
Riley’s bark became a series of excited cries.
“What do you mean?” Lane said.
“Which cemetery did he work at?” Arthur said.
“Queen’s Park.”
“Isn’t that on the way to the airport?”
Riley yelped. The men turned. The dog’s cry was filled with anger and pain. His tail was tucked between his legs.
“Riley!” Lane ran.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur followed.
Arthur tripped and fell.
“Riley!” Lane skidded to a stop.
Arthur arrived seconds later.
Riley had grown a beard; a circle of bristles around his muzzle. A few quills sprouted from the black of his nose.
“Jesus!” Lane went to touch the quills and pulled his hand away. “Porcupine. Where the hell is it?”
“Don’t know.”
Riley pawed at the quills and yelped.
“We’ve got to get him to the vet!” Arthur wiped at tears.
Lane reached under Riley’s neck with his right arm and tucked his other arm behind the retriever’s rear legs.
By the time they reached the Jeep, Lane’s arms, back and legs were one solid ache. A mixture of rage and desperation drove him forward.
It took 20 minutes to reach the clinic with Arthur sitting in the back seat holding Riley’s head in his lap.
Arthur held open the door. Lane carried the dog inside the vet’s office. The receptionist took a quick look and pointed to an open door. Lane found an examination table and eased Riley onto it. He put his hands on the retriever’s front paws. “Got to keep you from touching those quills. Only pushes them further in.”
“Think he’ll be okay?” Arthur said.
“Hope so.”
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” The Doctor stepped in the back door. She wore a white smock, blue jeans, a southern US accent and close cut grey hair.
“Riley ran into a porcupine. It was a bit of a shock.” Arthur nodded in Lane’s direction.
The Vet moved in between the men and leaned over the dog. “Hey there Riley.” She scratched him behind the ear. In a voice full of good humour she asked, “Is he a biter?”
“No,” Lane said.
“Well, Riley ol’ boy we’d better get busy. This’ll take a while. Rose, I need a tray!”
“Comin’ up,” the receptionist said.
“How many times did he go after the porcupine?” said the Vet.
“We never saw it,” Arthur said.
“If we had, there’d be one less porcupine,” Lane said.
The Vet said, “Porcupine’s don’t go lookin’ for trouble. Better ask yourself if it was just defending itself.”
Lane was about to reply when questions about Riley and Ernie coalesced into one answer and he said, “I’ll be damned.”
Thursday, August 3
CHAPTER 16
Ernie was caught in the distorted reality of a nightmare.
He blinked.
He remembered the horror of wanting to run but being unable to. He saw the knife’s reflection. He felt the steel across the bridge of his nose. Uncle Bob said, “Don’t make a sound or I’ll cut you!”
He was fully awake and slick with sweat.
“Ernie?”
His door opened.
A silhouette in a nightgown.
“Mom?”
“You okay?” Beth stepped inside the room.
He heard the fear in her voice and saw it in the hesitating way she moved.
Scout nudged his hand with a cold, insistent nose.
“I heard a scream,” Beth said.
“Nightmare,” he said and blinked when she switched on the light.
She said, “You’re so pale!”
“It was a nightmare, Mom.”
“You scared me. That scream. That bloody scream. This has to be the fourth night in a row.”
Ernie shivered.
“Come on.” She gestured for him to follow.
“Where?”
“I’ll make a cup of tea.”
He swung his feet out and onto the floor, keeping the sheet across his lap. “Mom.”
“Oh, I’ll meet you downstairs, then.”
They’d discussed every crisis over a cup of tea. He held the taste of Earl Grey in his mouth, remembering the other times. “Ernie your grandfather has died. Ernie, your father and I are splitting up. Ernie, we’re moving in with Nanny.” Each time they’d sought the warmth of something familiar, something they could share by boiling water.
They sat across from one another at the white plastic table on the deck. Each had a mug in hand and the tea pot in between. Scout curled like a fox around Ernie’s feet. The orange of sunrise was a pale line on the horizon.
“What was the nightmare about?” she said.
“Uncle Bob.” Ernie took a sip, then carefully set the cup down. A flashback would shake the burning liquid out of the china.
“What did he do to you?”
“I’ve already told you everything. Everything I remember!” “I mean, this time.”
“He told me to keep quiet and I screamed. He cut my nose.”
Scout scampered to the end of the deck and cocked her head so she could see around the edge of the house. She growled.
There was the sound of metal sliding over metal as someone worked the gate latch.
Ernie felt his heart beat accelerating, his bowels cramping. “Scout?” a familiar voice whispered.
Ernie forced himself to take a breath.
“Ernesto?” Beth said.
Half of Nonno appeared around the corner of the house.
“Helen said you would be up. She said Ernie and me should go golfing.”
The old man’s hand wiped a thumb under moist eyes.
Goose bumps sprouted along Beth’s arms and back. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Can Ernie go golfing? Please?”
“Ernie, Grab my ankles!” Nonno lay on his belly. The toes of his running shoes stuck into the sloping rough at the edge of the pond.
“What?” Ernie looked left and right down the fairway. The golf course Marshall had threatened to kick them out last month. Something about not using the proper etiquette, which really meant Nonno had been swearing. Nonno had said it was impossible to prove he was swearing because the Marshall couldn’t speak Italian. The two had gotten into an argument. Ernie looked back at the tee and ahead to the green. No other golfers in sight. How did he get himself into these predicaments? At least, he thought, getting up this early meant no one else was around.
“Hurry!”
Ernie took a step toward the edge of the pond where cattails swayed. The soles of Ernie’s running shoes slipped on the dew covered grass and he fell. “Shit!” He’d tried to warn his grandfather that the slope to the pond was too steep. He’d told Nonno to forget the ball embedded in the muddy bank. Now the old man had the golf ball but couldn’t move backwards on the slick grass.
Ernie crawled forward.
“Sonamabitch!” Nonno tried to put his right hand on the edge of the grass. It quivered with fatigue and slipped back into the pond. “Va… ” the remainder of the curse was lost as his head went under water.
Ernie scampered the rest of the way.
The old man’s calve muscles shivered with the strain.
Ernie reached out, locked his hands around Nonno’s ankles and leaned back.
“Whoof!” Nonno took a gulp of air.
The boy grabbed the cuffs of Nonno’s pants and pulled. Ernie held onto one cuff with one hand and reached out with the other to dig his fingers into the rough. Ernie pulled, dug and pulled until his right arm cramped. By that time it was easier to pull the old man who was like a seal being dragged over the ice in some Inuit documentary.