Say That Again (14 page)

“Kim, what seems to be ...?” The Magic One stopped mid-sentence.

I barked louder.

“I don’t know. I think the kitten set him off. But why won’t he stop?”

The Magic One pulled a phone from his pants pocket, jabbed a finger at it several times, and put it to his ear. “Hey, it’s me ... Everything’s good. Really good. I just wanted to tell you that you can bring her here any time... Yes, now’s fine. Hannah will be very, very happy... Uh huh. Bye.”

Hannah? I stopped barking. If there was one thing better than the floaty feeling I got from magic water, it would be seeing Hannah.

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—o00o—

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T
he day I went home with Hannah was the first good car ride of my life. It was a fresh start. The beginning of something wonderful and glorious. A journey to paradise.

Those feelings were so against what life had thus far taught me to expect that I tamped them down whenever they threatened to overtake me. What proof did I have that this bond would last? That she and the Magic One, whose name I learned was Hunter, wouldn’t just toss me out the moment I became an inconvenience? That there was such a thing as a Forever Home?

Still, I wanted to believe it was possible. And when I gazed into her eyes, I knew that no matter what happened, that she would always love me with all her heart.

That was a lot to take stake in, especially when I had nothing to go on except the way she looked at me, the way she wrapped her arms around me as I sat shaking in the backseat, the way she laid her head over mine and whispered, “I love you, Echo.”

What more did I need?

Yet my nerves got the better of me. As Hannah started up the front steps to their home, the two of us joined by the leash, my legs locked up. She slipped nubby fingers beneath my collar and tugged, but I couldn’t move.

This was all so ... new. So unbelievable. From the clean inside of Hunter’s truck, to the bacony treats that Hannah had hand-fed me at the clinic, to the big, well-kept yard stretching to either side of the house and the sheep grazing in the distance. It overwhelmed all my senses. Every noise, every movement sparked an overload of new information that I had to process. How could I sort the familiar — the flock of crows alighting in the trees, the wind rushing down from the hills, the sun high overhead — from all that I had never seen before and did not know?

Hunter held the front door open, waiting. Inside stood an older girl and a woman.

“Why isn’t he moving?” the older girl said.

My body trembled. Flushed with embarrassment, I fought the urge to run. Where was my newfound courage?

With more patience than anyone had ever shown me, Hannah sank down to sit on the bottom step next to me. “It’s okay, Echo.” She took my face in her hands and kissed me on the nose. “I don’t like new places, either.”

Then she twisted at the waist and said to her father. “We’ll stay here for now.”

Hunter looked at the woman. Arms crossed, she nodded and they all went inside. Except Hannah, who stayed with me.

We sat there for hours, the warm summer air thick around us as the sun dipped behind the ragged hills, the lightning bugs flickering across the lawn. Hannah’s mother, the woman, brought her dinner and set it on the porch behind her. Hannah crawled to the end of the leash to reach it. She tore the corner from her grilled cheese sandwich and put it on the ground.

“For you, Echo,” she said.

Sniffing, I crept closer. My mouth watered. My stomach growled. I stared at it for a long time before I took it. It melted on my tongue. She put another piece down, then another. Before I knew it, we were sitting right next to the front door. I wasn’t shaking any longer. Curiosity begged me to look through the screen door inside the house, so I did.

Hunter looked down at me from inside. “Good work, Hannah. You made it ten feet in just under two hours. Is he ready to come inside?”

“Yah, I think so.”

That night I slept beneath Hannah’s bed. It was the closest I could be to her and yet still feel safe from all the newness. Eventually, my sleeping place became the rug beside her bed. There, I had a clear view to the door. No one could get to Hannah without first stepping on me.

I followed her everywhere, a silent shadow standing guard. The leash became a forgotten thing that was taken out of the closet and used only when we went to public places, and then more to comply with public expectations than to keep me within range. Hannah and I were bound to one another more strongly than any rope, chain, or length of leather could ever manage.

For weeks, I lived with the fear that Mario or Earl or Mavis would show up to claim me, and life would go back to being a series of letdowns. Yet with each passing day, that fear faded and trust grew.

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—o00o—

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H
annah and I spent most of our summer under the Crooked Tree. Hunter had bolted a swing from the sturdiest branch of the taller bough and Hannah spent hour upon hour kicking her legs up high and flying toward the clouds, then falling back toward earth again. Ever watchful, I lay between the sprawling roots, one eye always open, fighting sleep as she tirelessly swung and climbed and skipped and cartwheeled.

One day, the McHughs went on a picnic in the park. When they were done eating, Jenn urged the girls to go play. Maura leaped up and joined a circle of other children lobbing a softball in a circle, laughing and chatting. Hannah, however, lay down beside me, her head tucked against my chest, her hand wound in my leash.

Next to the merry-go-round, a dark-haired boy sat with a small fawn and white puppy in his lap. I wasn’t sure yet what to make of other dogs. I hadn’t been around any since I was a pup, and even then it was only other puppies. I stretched out beside Hannah, watchful.

“Hannah,” Jenn began, rubbing her daughter’s back, “why don’t you —?”

“Honey, she’s fine.” Hunter picked up the paper plates and set one down in front of me with a half-eaten biscuit and handful of carrots on it. The rest he stuffed into a plastic bag. “She
has
a friend now. Don’t push it.”

I gobbled the biscuit down in two gulps, then inhaled the baby carrots. I’d never known such food existed. Heck, I could have lived out of what was in the McHughs’ trashcan, although they threw out a lot that Hunter proclaimed wasn’t ‘good for dogs’. I begged to differ.

“I just thought,” Jenn said, “maybe Echo could use a friend.”

“Did you not hear him growl at that German Shepherd we passed on the trail? I’d say he’d rather not have other dogs in his space. It’s probably best that we respect that.” He gathered up the empty cups and dumped them in the trash bag. “You know, he and Hannah are a lot alike. That’s why they get along so well. And she’s doing a great job taking care of him, don’t you think?”

One brow arched, Jenn gave him a sidelong glance. “Honey, I could set my clock by Echo’s feeding times. Yesterday, I put his food bowl in the dishwasher and Hannah about had a conniption when she couldn’t find it for his breakfast time.”

One side of Hunter’s mouth crept upward.

Jenn slapped him lightly on the thigh. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me ‘nothing’. You were thinking something. What is it? Spill.”

He gave a half-shrug. “Just ... well, they make a good pair, don’t you think?”

Hannah turned her head toward her father and, throwing an arm over me, snuggled closer.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were right, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” Jenn lay back on the picnic blanket and rested her floppy sunhat on her face to block out the sun. “They belong together. Like peanut butter and jelly. One without the other’s just not right.”

“Yeah, I felt that way about Halo.”

“Who?”

“The dog I had growing up. When we had to move up North for a while, leaving her behind was devastating. But then she returned — and saved my life. Have I told you that story before?”

“Let me think ...” Pushing her hat back, Jenn made her hands into fists and unrolled her fingers one at a time. “Yes, you have. About a dozen times.” Rolling toward him, she kissed his cheek. “And it gets better every time you tell it.”

He sat up with a start. “I almost forgot.”

From the pocket of his jacket, which had been lying next to the picnic basket, he took out a ball covered in bright yellow fuzz. Standing, he tossed it from hand to hand. As I watched it land in his palm, I saw him not as a man, but a boy, about Hannah’s age. A boy with Hunter’s eyes, lobbing a yellow ball into the sky. And I remembered, or thought I did, chasing that ball over crisp autumn leaves, and bringing it back again and again, until ... he fell to the ground, not breathing.

Concern overcame me. I rushed at him, knocking him to the ground, and lathered his face with licks, only to discover it was not Hunter the boy lying lifeless on the ground before me, but Hunter the man, very much alive and not at all happy with my overly zealous behavior.

“Whoa, there! Get off.” Pushing me away, he wiped his cheek against his sleeve. “Calm down, will you? I haven’t even thrown it yet.”

I looked at his hand. The ball was still there, cupped in his palm. But peeking from the V-neckline of his polo shirt was the pucker of a scar, right next to his heart.

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H
unter stood on the front porch, one hand cupped above his brow as he stared into the afternoon sun. At the far west corner of their property, across the road, an older man was unloading boxes from a rental truck. Earlier that day, Jenn told him, an even bigger truck had arrived and a troop of burly men had taken furniture and appliances into the house.

Jenn came out the front door to stand beside him, swishing flies away with her dishtowel. “How long has that place been vacant?”

He took the glass of sweet tea she offered and drank it halfway down. He’d just had a farm call two miles down the road, so when he was done he stopped at home for a late lunch. It was still forty minutes until he had to be at his next appointment. “Hmmm, Old Man Harmon died about this time of summer two years ago, didn’t he? I heard probate was a mess. That reminds me — we need to make sure everything’s spelled out in our will.”

“I take it he didn’t have one?”

“Harmon? Nope. And three greedy daughters, to boot. House itself isn’t worth much as it is, but it’s a nice piece of property.”

“Well, maybe he’ll fix it up. Whoever
he
is.” They watched for a while, flies buzzing around them, sweat dripping down the fronts of their shirts. Jenn fanned herself, then rolled her short sleeves up over her shoulders. “Say, you didn’t happen to see a woman over there, too, did you? A wife, or maybe an older daughter?”

“No, why?”

“I just thought it might be nice to have someone to talk to during the day.”

Finishing his tea, he set his glass on the porch rail. “You can’t talk to an older gentleman?”

“It’s not the same, Hunter. I was hoping someone would move in there that, you know, might be closer to our age. Maybe a nice couple with kids that we could invite over for dinner now and then. I love the country, but sometimes it would just be nice to actually see living, breathing human beings, instead of sheep and cows.”

She started to go inside, as if expecting him to follow, but Hunter went down the steps and turned around. “Want to go say ‘hi’ to our new neighbor?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Hunter. He’s probably terribly busy. We should wait a week. Let him settle in, don’t you think? Besides, a lot of folks move to the country because they want to be left alone. He doesn’t need some nosy neighbors butting into his business.”

“Or maybe he’s hoping we’ll introduce ourselves so he has someone to borrow a cup of sugar or gallon of lawnmower gas from when he needs it? I’m never sure what the protocol is. Does the new neighbor come over and say ‘hello’? Or is that our responsibility? I say we take the initiative.” He beckoned to her. “Come on, Jenn. It’ll only take a minute. If he’s buried in boxes, that’s the perfect excuse for us to bow out of there. If we wait and show up next week when everything’s unpacked, he might ask us to sit down for a cup of coffee.” He reached for her hand. “What do you say?”

Tossing the dishtowel over the railing next to his empty glass, she took his hand. “All right. I suppose you have a point.”

They were halfway down the lane when Jenn pulled up. “What about Hannah? We can’t just leave her —”

“Relax, Jenn. We won’t go inside. We should be able to see her from his front porch. But if it makes you feel any better, run and tell her to stay put for ten minutes. Anyway, Echo’s looking out for her. I doubt he’d let anyone jump out of their car and kidnap her.”

A look of horror flashed over Jenn’s face, as if the notion were a real possibility.

“Or ...” Hunter added, “you can ask her to come along and meet him? But you know how that’s likely to go over.”

Glancing toward the Crooked Tree where Hannah was playing, she huffed a sigh. “It won’t.”

“Sooo?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Two minutes later, Hunter and Jenn crossed the road. On the other side, Jenn turned to look back toward the tree. Hannah was still crouched over a pile of dirt.

“What exactly is she doing?” Hunter asked.

“Speaking to the ants.” Jenn gave him a slanted smile. “Because, you know, they have a lot to talk about and no one ever listens.”

Just then, the new neighbor came out his front door. He took a step back, as if he had just walked through the wrong door. Fine wrinkles framed a pair of deep brown eyes, and dark, nearly black hair was threaded with silver along his temples and sideburns, making him look to be in his mid-sixties. His slacks were pleated and he wore a crisp button-up shirt. He also had a meticulously trimmed goatee. Very metropolitan, Hunter thought. Not quite the look one would expect of someone who’d relocated to the outskirts of Faderville, Kentucky.

The man’s face tightened. “Can I help you?”

Hunter gathered from the tone that the question was merely a courtesy and he had no intention of helping them with anything. Maybe ever.