Other times, I’m pretty sure I dreamed the whole thing.
One thing is true: Being a dog changed me. I’ve become a pack animal. Family’s everything-Sam and Benny not only complete me; in some bone-deep way they are me. And not just them. The whole concept of family stretches out farther, farther, planets around the sun. It includes all my friends, Delia and her family, Charlie, and Monica, Ronnie Lewis, neighbors, the community, anybody I love, even Mr. Horton-we’re all a pack. With my little, immediate pack, Sam and Benny, I still have a faint but undeniable urge to roll around on the floor, but with the secondary and tertiary members, I mostly just want to have constant goodwill and cooperation. Which, believe it or not, works out well in the real estate business. Ronnie says I’m better than I used to be and, in all modesty, that’s saying something. It turns out that honesty, reliability, transparency, and kindness not only make good retrievers; they make good house sellers, too. News to me. I thought my profession was dog-eat-dog.
“Shall we go in?”
Sonoma backs up in the water, tail wagging. She loves transitions, anything new. I was the same way. I fold my chair, tuck my phone in my pocket, the real estate contract I was reading under my arm. Put on my water sandals. It’s such a pretty day. Maybe we’ll go on a hike this afternoon-Shenandoah National Park is our backyard. “Ready?” Sonoma and I set off across the rocky shallows, and of course I’m extra alert, setting each foot down with care, wary of slipperiness. We reach the shore without mishap.
Sometimes I try to catch her off guard.
“Who saved Monica, Sonoma? Hmm? Who saved her, girl, you or me?”
Her ears twitch at her name and my questioning tone. She looks at me in happy blankness.
We start the climb to the cabin. I think of another trick.
“Hey, Sonoma! How would you like to be spayed? Huh? Do you wanna be spayed?”
I can’t believe my eyes! Her tail sags-her ears flatten.
“No?” My heart skips a beat or two. “You don’t want to be spayed?”
She shakes her head so violently, her ears sound like cards shuffling.
“Okay,” I say, shaky-voiced. “Okay, then. Don’t worry; we won’t.”
Now what? Did that just happen?
“I’m actually having the same dilemma,” I tell her as we proceed up the path. “Not getting spayed-getting pregnant. Sam and I, we’re talking about it. He’s for it, but, you know, trying to sound neutral. What do you think?”
But she’s through communicating. She’s got her nose buried in something stinky on the ferny wood floor. When she finishes smelling it, she pees on it.
So I am left, once again, to imagine what my dog thinks. It’s not as satisfying as knowing for sure, but since she’s the best of me I can never go far wrong-in ethical quandaries, tough decisions, tricky situations. I just ask myself, “What would Sonoma do?”
Lost in Paradise by Mary Blayney
One
“We should not have come. The curse will never die.” Father Joubay blessed himself as he spoke.
“A curse? What curse?” Why in the world would he say that? Isabelle wondered. It was a gorgeous day. The boat chugged its way through calm water clear to the seabed, filled with fish and sea grass.
The sky ahead was as blue as a sky could be, the island they were headed to as lush as one expected in the Caribbean. The air was warm. The old fort that loomed over the bay was the only thing that kept the shore from looking like a postcard picture of a tropical paradise. The home of the mysterious Sebastian Dushayne. A man who owned an island and lived in luxury. But a man Google had never heard of.
When Isabelle Reynaud turned to question Father Joubay, she saw that he was not looking at their destination, but was mesmerized by something behind them.
Isabelle looked toward the wake of the boat and drew in a sharp breath of shock. The sky on the far horizon was darkening with astonishing speed. Even as she watched, the rapidly building clouds eclipsed the late-afternoon light.
“How can there be a storm from the west? The weather never comes from the west here.” Isabelle folded her hands in front of her heart. “It’s only a squall.”
The boat lost its smooth momentum. The engine still ran steadily but the increasingly choppy waves made the going rough.
“Squalls pass quickly.” Please God. Isabelle breathed the prayer as the waves around them grew.
“We will outrun it,” the captain called back to them as the small boat sped up noticeably. Lightning lit the storm clouds, and a dozen prongs of light chased after them.
“We cannot outrun this,” Father Joubay said, and Isabelle agreed with him. It was true that neither of them was a weather expert. They were, however, realists.
Isabelle turned from the storm to look toward the land, grabbing on to the strut that supported the canopy over the engine house.
The waves had grown from choppy to malicious. Not only was it a challenge to stand but the waves were so high Isabelle could not see the shoreline or the trees, only the fort rising over the harbor. It was more threat than comfort despite the lights that flickered through the dark.
The rain began, pushed by the wind, so that it fell like needles. Isabelle and Father Joubay moved to the partial shelter of the windowless cabin, bracing themselves against the wooden walls that gave scant protection.
Were there any life jackets? she wondered.
The captain yelled back to them, “Life jackets are in the covered bin.”
Isabelle found only two. The orange kapok was older than she was and bug infested, but better than nothing. “You take it. You and the captain. I can swim.”
“No!” Joubay shouted and pushed the life vest back to her as if it were too hot to handle. “I will make the right choice this time. This is my salvation!” Father Joubay threw the other life jacket to the captain, who ignored it.
A strong wave poured more water on them and they were thrown to the other side of the shelter. Father Joubay fell to the deck and Isabelle slid down to sit beside him.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, no, Isabelle.” He reached for his hat but the water swept it away. “May God help you, child. For me, I welcome death, but I pray, with all my heart, that you survive even if this place is cursed.”
“What curse?” she asked again, pointedly. “Father, you know there is no such thing as a curse.”
“My dear, do you think that only God can work wonders? So can the devil, for that’s what a curse is. The devil’s miracle.”
Isabelle saw no fear in his eyes even as the rain and wind grew stronger, whitecaps crowning the waves that were now taller than the boat.
“Tell me what you mean,” she insisted and did her best to ignore the fear. She would put her faith in God’s wisdom and her own ingenuity.
“You will learn eventually, Isabelle. There is not enough time now.”
She stood up to see if the boat could possibly reach shore before it fell apart, but she could not see to the shore. The waves and the rain defined their world.
The boat rode up high, very high, and before it slammed into the trough of the wave, she saw lights above them, much closer now, but still too far away for the boat to make landfall before the worst of the storm overtook them.
The wooden trawler rose and fell, shuddering and rattling as the boards loosened and water seeped through the seams. Isabelle struggled to her feet, and helped Father Joubay stand as water pooled around their legs.