Shiloh Season (13 page)

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There is not a sound from inside, but the door don't close. Shiloh's grown bigger and fatter and sleeker since he became my dog, but right now, burrowed down almost as far as he can get in my arms, he looks almost like a pup.

"We just came for a visit," I say, to make it plain right off that no way am I giving Judd this dog.

And finally, when the quiet gets almost embarrassing, Judd opens the door a little wider. "Well, come on in for a minute," he says. And it's Judd who's embarrassed. First time in my life I ever saw a look on his face that says he's ashamed of himself.

First time I been in Judd's trailer, too. And the thing I notice is it smells. Smells like the home of a man who don't empty his garbage or wash his socks when he should.

I see he's not wearin' the neck brace anymore, but he still walks stiff, and he's still got this big cast on his leg. He leans over and picks up some magazines on the couch, throws 'em on the floor. "Sit down, if you want," he says, and lowers himself into the straight-back chair beside the couch, broke leg out in front of him.

I'm trying to hold Shiloh as tight as I can to give him the message that he won't get loose. That I don't want him loose. But he's still shaking. Wouldn't surprise me none if he peed on my leg.

"It's good to see you up and around," Dad says, sitting on the couch beside me. "Things are healing all right, are they?"

"Doing okay," says Judd, his voice low. He don't take his eyes off Shiloh, though.

I wonder what he thinks about this scared, trembling dog, hunkered down on my lap, silent now and limp as a leaf. Wonder if he's thinking about when this dog was his

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the way he treated him then, the way Shiloh kept running away.

"So he's the one that found me," Judd says.

"Yeah," I tell him. "Just kept on making those noises till we come out and found your truck."

All the while I'm talkin', I'm rubbing Shiloh's silky head, scratching gently behind his ears, running my hand along his back, then starting all over again. Judd's watchin'. "I suppose he remembers me," says Judd.

I don't answer. The way Shiloh's shaking, there's no doubt.

Judd leans forward a little, and I think I see his hand move. Slowly he reaches out, and I can feel Shiloh flinch. I swallow as I see him shy away, drawing back from Judd's touch.

But Judd lets his fingers rest lightly on top of Shiloh's head, just the way mine did. And then, he begins to stroke my dog.

At first I think Shiloh's too numb to feel it, too scared to breathe. All he wants to do, I know, is get out of there, make sure he's not going to be left behind.

I figure that Judd's going to give him a couple more strokes and pull his hand away, but he don't. Just keeps stroking Shiloh's head, like he's found somethin' here he needs, and I can begin to feel Shiloh's body easing up some, feel his legs relax.

He sits real still, looks straight ahead. Judd's strokes get more even, not so jerky. The palm of his hand strokes lower now, down on Shiloh's nose, then slowly moves up over the forehead, before the fingers settle behind Shiloh's ears and do a little gentle scratching.

I glance over at Judd, a quick little look, and for just a

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moment, his eyes seem wet. I look down at my dog again. Don't want to embarrass Judd.

Does Shiloh know I wouldn't never leave him? That this is only a visit, and that he's mine forever and ever? I think he does, because the next time Judd's fingers come forward to stroke his head, Shiloh-for the very first time-reaches up and licks Judd's hand.

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