Solomon's Oak (18 page)

“Right,” Glory said, though she’d already tried that. “Hey, are you going to the Butterfly Creek Christmas party?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“What are you bringing?”

“The biggest bottle of vino I can find and a corkscrew. What are you making?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something.”

“Well, if you need any suggestions, let me know. Your biscuits come to mind. Or cake. There ought to be a traditional Christmas cake.”

“There’s stollen.”

“That’s German.”

“Marzipan?”

“Italian. But I wouldn’t kick either one out of bed.”

They said good-bye and Glory hung up the phone. Was she wigging out over a stupid pair of boots? She found a novel on the
NEW ACQUISITIONS
rack and sat down in one of the easy chairs the library had purchased circa 1980. The book was set in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and made her think of Joseph Vigil.

“I’m sorry,” Juniper said when they got in the car to go. She reached down to unlace the boots.

“Change when we get home,” Glory said, too tired to say more.

“So is this my third strike?”

“What?”

“You know, like felons. The pills were strike one, the money I swear I didn’t steal was strike two, and now the boots are strike three, and when we get home, you’ll call Caroline?”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then follow the rules, Juniper. Don’t take things, and tell the truth. If you’re worried you’ve done something wrong, come talk to me. I don’t count mistakes like the penal system. I’d rather concentrate on what you’re doing right, which is almost everything.”

“What I’m doing
right
? Really? You mean it?”

Glory, determined to look on the bright side, clicked on the turn signal and drove out of the library parking lot and said, “Yes, really.”

After McDonald’s drive-through for a Coke and fries, they stopped at the big-box electronics and appliances store to pick up Glory’s new camera. It cost enough money to make her knees knock as she stood at the counter waiting for help. She either had to learn to take better pictures or contract out that part of weddings, which meant putting money in someone else’s pocket. She also needed to upgrade her computer so it could run more sophisticated programs. If the business continued, the money she was spending here today would pay off. If not, there was always Craigslist. The salesperson who came to help her was probably sixteen years old, stocky, wore glasses, and walked splayfooted; therefore he was of no interest to Juniper.

“I hate this place,” Juniper said, fidgeting, and knocking over a display of Word program discs. She straightened them up, sighed, and finally said, “This is boring. Can I go to the pet store and look at the parrots?”

“Sure, go on. Be back in half an hour.” The clerk’s eyes gleamed when Glory told him everything she intended to buy. “Don’t get too excited,” she told him. “Before I write the check you have to show me how to use it all.”

Thirty minutes later her head was spinning with instructions, but she was positive she could use the camera. She bought two backup batteries, a charger, an upgrade to her current program, and
Photoshop for Dummies.
She took the clerk’s card and the schedule for classes. After she wrote the enormous check and waited for phone approval, whatever that entailed, she found Juniper by the DVD section, looking at horror movies for sale. “Don’t those give you nightmares?”

“They’re so fake.” Juniper put them back on the shelf and took one of Glory’s bags. “This is heavy.”

“I’m going to need your help with everything. I’m also thinking I could increase your allowance because of that.”

“Really? That’d be great.”

Could she tell that Glory’s heart was going ninety miles an hour? That she had no idea if the allowance increase would help Juniper get over stealing? Maybe they were both acting.

They drove home listening to NPR, both tired and hungry. “Does Terry Gross only interview authors of books about genocide and terrorism?” Juniper asked.

“Those are important things more people need to know about,” Glory answered. “I’m sure she covers a range of subjects.”

“Well, never when we’re driving places. Someone ought to tell her that not everyone wants to think about Rwanda driving home every night. How about talking to an author about regular people doing regular things?”

“Send her an e-mail,” Glory suggested.

“What’s the point? No one listens to people my age.”

Glory patted Juniper’s shoulder. “I listen to you. I’m sorry if me reminding you about the boots contributed to that. Or is it something else you want to tell me?”

Juniper didn’t answer.

“I’ll feed the dogs,” Glory said, “so you can get started on poor, doomed
Tess
.”

“It’s my night to make dinner. What are we having?”

Glory laughed. “Macaroni and cheese, I guess. Any remarkable parrots at Petco?”

“They’re all pretty great. I wish I could get an African grey. A baby I could teach to talk.”

“You could. You’re good with animals.”

“I’m not all that great. Ask Piper.”

“Look at how much Cadillac loves you.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Juniper said, looking out the window at the streetlights and Christmas decorations. “Probably he thinks I’m Casey.”

At home Glory needed the time it took to measure out dog food, vitamins, and additives to come to terms with Juniper’s remark. She’d immediately told Juniper she was wrong. That Cadillac had bonded with her that first night, not because Juniper was related to Casey. But deep down she had to admit he might remember Casey.
Never raise your hand to a border collie because they never forget,
Glory had read in a sheepherder’s book. Did that mean they remembered fear, or did they recall the actual trauma, the way a human would? Miracle of miracles, were Casey to come back, would Caddy dump Juniper to return to her? Caddy was smart, but some of Glory’s dogs in the past were big, dumb lunks, like Toyota, who wanted nothing more than food, a daily game of ball, and long walks where he could mark trees and roll in dead-animal stink. Others had affection to spare, like Dodge, who so desperately wanted that in return. Ford never did trust men. Glory had never hit any of them, although they tested her plenty by killing chickens and scratching doors to splinters.

Smart ones such as Cadillac were always the most difficult to place because they needed variety in their days, lots of interaction, and challenging activities. She tried to match temperament to temperament with owners who understood that a bored, intelligent dog could become a destructive dog. Cadillac would still herd goats when asked, and he’d found Juniper’s glove, but he’d devoted himself to being Juniper’s companion. While she was at school, he spent his day waiting for the minute she’d walk in the door. If Glory was home, at three thirty
P.M.
he’d get up, stretch, go to the door, and ask to go out. Glory watched him from the kitchen window. When he caught sight of the bus, he started wagging his tail, and by the time Juniper came walking up the drive, his whole body shook with excitement. He was hers and that was all there was to it.

He still ate his meals with Dodge. Dodge raced around the yard, the horses staked out their hay flakes, but Glory could tell that Cadillac considered himself beyond all that. In the grand scheme of life, saving death-row dogs from euthanasia was next to nothing, but when Glory placed one successfully, it felt like the most important thing she’d done.

Across the way, the wind blew through the trees, and Glory pulled her collar up. She headed for the barn as a spattering rain started to fall. Because of the wedding, the tack, feed, and equipment had temporarily been relocated to Dan’s workshop. Five tables covered with white linen cloths stood in the place of sawhorses and saddles. In the center of each table she’d placed tall, mercury-glass hurricane lanterns with pale green candles that matched the poinsettias that would arrive tomorrow. A secondhand, red Oriental rug from the thrift store warmed the wood floor considerably and gave the place a threadbare, funky elegance. Earlier in the week, Juniper had helped her nail together a set of risers for the chapel, so that when the poinsettia plants were placed upon them, it would look as if the couple were standing in a winter garden. Flanking the flowers on both sides were potted, five-foot-tall fir trees she’d “rented” from the Christmas-tree lot. In two days she’d pack them into the truck and return them so they could be sold as Christmas trees. In the
Thrifty Nickel
, she’d found a used space heater to warm up the barn. Once she switched it on, it would be toasty in here, perfect for dancing and dining, and hopefully no gunplay.

“Is it okay that I made us hot dogs and baked beans for dinner instead?” Juniper said when Glory came to the table.

“I love hot dogs,” she said, reaching for the pitcher and pouring water into their glasses. She sat down. Juniper’s library book sat beside her plate.

“Okay if I read at the table?”

“Not right now. First I want to talk about Christmas.”

“That won’t take long,” Juniper said. “If it’s just us, it will be like a regular day, unless there’s a wedding. It’s not like we’re exchanging presents. Are we?”

“I may have picked up a little something for you.”

“But I don’t have anything for you! Will you take me shopping? Can we go to Target? I could shop while you’re working. Then maybe I could get you a halfway decent present. You should have told me.”

“How about the used-book store instead? But you can’t spend over a couple of dollars.”

“That’s not even the price of a decent paperback! I’ll need twenty at least. And how do I know what you like to read?”

“Calm down,” Glory said. “You’ll earn twice that at the wedding. I’ll give you a list of my favorite authors.” Then Glory dove into the difficult part. “We have two options. Lorna Candelaria has a yearly Christmas Eve shindig at the general store. And my sister, Halle, invited us to her place for Christmas Day. She lives a couple of hours north, so we’d have to leave early to get back to feed the animals. You’re going to meet my whole family, even my mom. There will only be one man there, Halle’s husband, Bart. Halle serves fancy food and you’d have to dress up.”

“In what?” Juniper asked.

“Nice jeans and a shirt.”

Juniper laughed. “Mom, you have no clue what goes on in the real world if you call that dressing up.”

Mom.
Glory tried not to smile. “Thanks a lot. I was thinking we might ask them over here on Christmas Eve. That way they can meet you in a place where you feel at home.”

“It’s your house,” she said, reaching for the ketchup.

“It’s our house. After that, maybe we could all go to Butterfly Creek.”

“Do you have to dress up for that?”

“You can get away with a clean shirt. Lorna usually has a band playing.”

“I’d rather do that. Now is it okay if I read my book?”

“Sure.”

They ate dinner quietly. Tomorrow Glory would cook the roasts and time things so that she could make the Yorkshire pudding just before serving, bring it tall and golden, steaming hot out of the oven. She told herself this wedding was no different from one of her old Christmas parties, when the neighbors gathered, except it wasn’t a potluck and most of the guests would not have horse manure in their shoe treads. And Dan wouldn’t be there to carve the meat.

Closet Time.

While Glory did the dishes, Cadillac lay by the fire soaking up the warmth. Juniper put down her book to play with Edsel, a first. He raced around the living room chasing a canvas toy, tied to a strand of yarn, that Juniper kept just out of his reach. It was shaped like a fire hydrant. When Glory didn’t recognize it, her stomach sank. “Where’d that come from?”

Juniper continued the game without looking up. “I bought it at Petco.”

Immediately Glory thought of asking to see the receipt. Would she doubt Juniper for the next four years? Was she willing to send her back into the system over a toy with a plastic squeaker that Edsel would break before the night was through? But if she’d been caught shoplifting, the store might’ve pressed charges. Called the police. Put this on her record—a second shoplifting offense made a pattern. The county could decide Glory wasn’t foster-parent material after all. She unwrapped the thawed cookie dough. It was ready to roll and cut into dozens of snowflakes. She mixed the powdered egg-white icing and added pale green food coloring drop by drop until she was satisfied she’d matched the poinsettias. It took maybe ten minutes, and by then she could stand it no longer. “Juniper, if you shoplifted that dog toy, and I pray that you didn’t, that could be a strike three.”

Juniper allowed Edsel to catch the toy and said, “Game over, little dude.” For a while, she petted Cadillac, taking his black-and-white head into her lap. He groaned with pleasure when she scratched his neck. “Suppose a person did steal a stupid ninety-nine-cent clearance dog toy. How would they go about making it right?”