Hometown (16 page)

A quiet house. What was different?

“Pooch,” Jacob called. “Time to go out. Do your thing, Pooch!”

No woofing and howling, no seventy-pound barrel of dog bursting out of anywhere.

“Pooch?”

Liz appeared in the basement doorway. “Jacob, come here.”

They all followed her down the steps. She switched on a light. Pooch was lying on her doggie bed in the corner.

“I got home an hour ago and she didn’t come when I called. I found her here.”

“Is she sick?” Border asked.

“She’s dead,” said Liz.

They all sat down by the dog. Border touched her. Cold. Stiff and cold.

Dana tucked her hands under her arms.

“She must have been dead all day,” said Liz. “All day alone, dead.”

Jacob hadn’t said a word, hadn’t touched the dog. Just stared.

“Call the vet,” said Border. “They know what to do.”

“No,” whispered Jacob. He turned to Border, eyes narrowed. “You know what they do? They call a garbage truck.”

Liz and Dana made noises.

“I got Pooch for my sixth birthday,” said Jacob. “She’s not going out in a garbage truck.”

“They can cremate, can’t they?”

“She’s not getting burned up.”

“Okay, we’ll find a pet cemetery,” said Border. “I’ll go upstairs and call.”

“I don’t think so,” said Liz. “Our neighbor paid hundreds for her dog’s plot. And it was a small dog. Mom and Dad were amazed. They’d never pay.”

“Then check with the vet,” said Border.

“I know what they do,” said Jacob, “and they aren’t doing it to my dog. Pooch gets a grave. I’ll dig it myself.”

“We’ll help,” said Dana.

“If Mom and Dad get home first,” said Liz, “they’ll call the vet. We’d better hurry up.”

“Besides,” Border whispered to his sister, “she might start to smell.”

Last Ride
—

Put that other bag over her head. Is it tied? Get the shovels. We only have two. We’ll stop at our house, I think we have one. Geez she’s heavy. Dead weight. Don’t joke. Take her rubber duck, she loved that. Does rubber decompose? Watch it, I hit the table. Sorry. I’ve got the heavy end. She’s slipping. This plastic is hard to hold onto. We should’ve used those bags with handles. Let me do this alone, just get the doors. Keys, please. Not in the trunk! Pooch always loved car rides. Who’s got the shovels? Can I put
those
in the trunk? I’ll sit with Pooch. She loved it with the windows down. Roll down the windows, it’s her last ride, after all. Take her out of the bag, why don’t you, and prop her head up in the window. Cut it out, this is sad. This is
weird.
Don’t turn so fast, she’s sliding off the seat. Hold on. I am, but the bag’s ripping. Oh gosh I see an eye. Is that what you call a rolling stop? Don’t do anything to attract a cop. Is this illegal? Oh gosh I see a paw. There’s Connie. Maybe she won’t see us. Fat chance. Everybody wave. Don’t come over, please don’t come over. She’s coming. Forget the shovel, back up. Everybody wave again. Where are we going?

Good-bye Pooch
—

“Preserve your pets at Porter’s Park Preserve,” said Border. He laughed alone. He said it under his breath three times fast, lips moving slightly.

“Stop it now,” Dana hissed. “This is not a joke.”

The parking lot of the preserve was empty.

“No one else here—that’s lucky,” said Border. “I don’t know how we’d explain what’s in the bag if anyone saw us.”

“It’s getting dark,” said Jacob. “Let’s get started.”

“Now wait,” said Border. “I don’t want to seem insensitive—”

“You don’t seem,” said Dana. “You are.”

“It’s just that I don’t want to walk around with a dead dog on my shoulders while we look for a place to bury her. Let’s find it first, then I’ll come back for Pooch while you guys start digging. Okay?”

“Good idea,” said Jacob.

“Okay,” said Liz, “but lock the car doors.”

Jacob thought the forest trail would be best, but Liz wanted the prairie land. Border flipped a coin and prairie won. They followed a trail for a quarter mile, then started walking over grass. “The creek is this way,” said Liz. “That’s good,” said Jacob. “Pooch loved water.”

Fifteen minutes through grass and mud. The ground got even soggier when they reached a grove of trees and bushes. “This might work,” said Border.

“Too close to the trail,” said Liz. The others agreed. They kept on walking. More grassland, more mud.

Another grove. When they sat and rested on a fallen tree, they could hear water. “This is it,” said Jacob. His sister nodded.

“Are you sure?” asked Border. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and move while I’m getting the dog? It’s pretty dark, and I have to be able to find you.”

“This is it. This is a good spot. I owe you, Border.”

“Yes, you do, Jacob. Supper, at least. And I pick Chinese.”

Border was strong, but hiking off-trail with a stiff, dead dog on his shoulders was hard to do. He rested often, which slowed him down, and he fell once, tripping over a stump. His right arm slid into mud up to the elbow. When he got up, he wasn’t sure which way to go, so for a while he was certain he was walking in circles.

He heard voices and headed toward them. Hoped it was his friends, but he knew it could be anyone. A Saturday night party under the stars; who’s bringing the beer? He thought how freaked the partygoers would be when he stumbled in, mud-covered, dead dog on his back.

Madman of Porter’s Preserve. He’d be a legend.

“Border, over here!” Liz’s voice reached out and grabbed him. He stumbled again. Under his hand the plastic stretched, pulled, ripped open. Pooch slid out.

“Sorry,” said Border, “but I’m tired.”

They had dug a hole several feet from the stream. Pooch fit perfectly.

“Hope it’s deep enough,” said Border.

“We hit rock,” said Liz. “It will have to do.”

Liz started shoveling in dirt. “Wait,” said Jacob. And he pulled the duck from his jacket pocket. “I don’t care if it doesn’t decompose. Pooch loved this duck.”

Dana slipped her arm through his. He tossed the toy into the hole.

No one talked on the way back to the car. Dana and Jacob walked quickly and were out of sight when Liz and Border arrived.

“Think they’re gone for good?” he asked.

“My brother is lazy. He won’t walk home.” They stowed the shovels and bags in the trunk.

“What will you tell your parents?”

“I have no idea.”

“They won’t make us dig her up, will they?”

“I doubt it. We’ll just say we buried her somewhere. They probably won’t want to know more. Want to go climb the rock?”

“Red Cedar’s mountain? No thanks. I’m kind of tired.” They walked that way anyway, strolling slowly in the dark. They bumped, then each stepped away. Liz stopped. He turned around and looked at her.

“Border Baker,” she said, “you really are different.”

“My hair, right?”

“I want to tell you I appreciate the fact that, well. .. most guys would take this opportunity to make a move on a girl. I mean they’d go ahead and assume it would be welcome. Not you.”

He slid his hands into his back pockets. “Sounds like you’ve got some experience.”

“You know what else? It just bugs me when people see a guy and a girl together and leap to conclusions.”

“Who’s been doing that?”

“Girlfriends.”

“And sisters?”

“Especially them. Wait—have they said anything to you?”

“Not really. I think maybe you give me too much credit, Liz. I am perfectly capable of making a move on a girl. It just hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Hey—don’t hurt my self-esteem!” They both laughed. “When I came to town,” said Border, “I didn’t know anyone. And these past few months I think I’ve just needed a friend more than a girlfriend.”

“You don’t have to explain. I told you I appreciated it.”

“So did I crush the self-esteem?”

“It’s just fine, thanks.”

They reached the boulder. Liz ran her hands over the letters on the metal plaque. “Do you still feel like you don’t belong?”

Border heard sounds from nearby—Jacob, maybe swallowing sobs, Dana’s soft voice.

She tapped his shoulder. “Still think you’re a glacial erratic?”

“I’m erratic all right.”

She turned and leaned against the rock. “If you don’t belong here, then where?”

Good question. In Red Cedar, bagging groceries and burying dogs? Or in Albuquerque with his friends, supporting a baby?

Something itched, and Border rubbed his chin. Dried mud crumbled off his fingers. “The only place I belong,” he said, “is in the shower.”

Things Change
—

Did he smell? Dead dog, sweat, and mud—no way he couldn’t. All during dinner (where he devoured his chun gar fook and most of his sister’s lemon chicken) he imagined that other diners were sniffing suspiciously.

When Border got home he took a hot shower. He stood under the stream until the water wasn’t hot, then he dried and dressed fast, racing the chill.

Straight to bed; he was tired. Would he dream about dogs? Knock, knock.

“I’m asleep,” Border shouted. “Go away.”

The old man opened the door. “Sorry,” he said. “I saw your light go off when I drove up. Hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to say hello. Where were you guys tonight?”

“At the preserve with Jacob and Liz.”

“It’s nice out there.”

“Uh huh.”

“Son…”

Son?
Oh-oh. Talk time.

His father switched on the light and held out the box of photos. “Where did these come from? And I wasn’t snooping, so don’t accuse me of it. I was collecting laundry this afternoon and found the box under your bed.”

“I totally forgot. I’m sorry. Connie brought them over a few weeks ago. They belonged to your parents, I guess, and she kept them after they didn’t want them anymore.”

“Oh.” He sat on the bed.

Border pulled up his legs to make room. “You were pretty cute when you were little.”

The old man opened the box, pulled out a photo. “This is me.

“I could tell. That’s Uncle Brad, right? And that’s Jeff, and his brother, I bet. You know what’s funny—Connie had weird hair even back then. Actually, you all had weird hair.”

“You’re the expert. Look at this one—my tenth birthday. I got that gun for my tenth birthday.”

“Striped shirts were really popular in the fifties, I guess.”

“Davy Crockett hats.”

“You had a potbelly, Dad.”

“Whoa, look at this—I had no teeth.”

“These are your parents, right?”

“Yep. Looks like a happy family, doesn’t it?”

“I bet you were.”

“Mostly. Usually. Here’s a good one—Brad’s graduation from law school. This was taken about six months before I left. Last time we were all together.”

“Were you surprised how angry your dad was when you went to Canada?”

“Not at all. I knew he’d be furious. We’d been arguing about the war for months. It didn’t matter. I had to leave. I knew he’d be outraged, but I hoped one day he’d calm down. Hoped one day he’d be willing to talk.”

“Never did talk, right?”

“Never. One day he died. End of story.”

“No regrets?”

“Not about what I did. I avoided Vietnam and found your mother. And Dana. Then we had you.” Voice dropped to a whisper. “Best thing I ever did.”

“Don’t get maudlin, Dad.”

“I’d better leave then.”

“Sorry about the photos. I did mean to give them to you. Can I have a few? This one would be cool.”

“Yuk. It’s the worst one. That was taken for my confirmation. Ninth grade, right about when I hit six feet. I couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. And just look at my face. What a mess.”

“That’s why I like it.”

His father closed the box and rose from the bed. “One more thing, Border. I haven’t said this in a long time, but now I have to.”

More mush, he could feel it coming. Covered his head with a pillow.

“Clean your room.”

Alone again. He tacked the photo of his father on the wall, by Connie and Paul’s post card from Dallas. It really was an awful picture—goofy grin, gangly body, pimpled face, tight white pants, tight white shirt. An inspiration. A beacon of hope. After all, these days the old man wasn’t that bad-looking. For an old man.

Things change.

V

Hometown

Memorial Day—

Suit and tie, white shirt, new sneakers.

“You’re going like that?” said his father.

“The shoes, right? Do you think I should wear my old black ones?”