Stepdog (31 page)

I
don't know how he had managed it. But I was no longer surprised.

It was the first time I'd seen them in physical proximity. Sara had Cody on a supershort leash right beside her. Cody was sitting obediently, but also straining her head toward Jay. Jay was higher on the trail and his presence prevented Sara from pushing past him to come back up. The only other hikers were several levels down. Sara seemed very stiff and constricted, as if wrapped in Sellotape. Her eyes looked enormous and were locked on Jay's face.

Irrational fear gripped me: What if she went back to him? He had such a commanding presence, he was handsomer than I, by far, and richer, and clearly cleverer. They knew each other well. They liked the same artwork. They never argued about the importance of the dog—who, I have to say, was sitting there looking back and forth between them with nothing short of pure bliss on her face. She was with her two original people. There was some intense emotional
something
going on, which meant hormones were
firing, which gave her lots of interesting things to smell and pay attention to. What could be better than that?

I almost shouted out, but then thought I'd done enough damage this morning with my shouting, so clamped my mouth shut and listened instead. The voices came floating up with unexpected clarity.

“. . . done nothing at all to wrong you,” Sara was saying woodenly. “Leave him out of this.”

“He's even worse than you are,” said Jay mildly. “You never understood the harm you were doing. He does—yet he's still doing it. That's cruel. I have no qualms about this. You're just collateral damage.”

My body, without instructions from me, began storming down the limestone trail toward them. It was tricky footwork, and I lost sight and sound of them along one stretch and then another, as they were three full sections down the trail. My gait was ungainly, awkward, because of the steep angle. I rounded the third hairpin and came back into view of them, tottering down the incline, my toes jamming into the toe box of my Doc Martens. Sara met my gaze with a strange, involuntary gesture, jutting her chin out. Jay paused in whatever he was saying and turned to look up at me. He was, for the first time in our acquaintanceship, without a jacket. My choices at that moment were to stop resisting gravity and hurl myself into him, or else to check my speed sharply. I wanted to do the first, of course, but I'm not a total eejit, so I went for the second.

“Ah,” said Jay. “Welcome, Rory. We were just having a little reality check.”

“I would like to join my husband now,” said Sara carefully, almost mechanically. “Please let me pass.”

“Of course I will,” said Jay, an indulgent kindergarten teacher. “Just a moment, though, I need Rory for this part, since it's going to have an impact on the rest of his life.”

“What is?” I asked just as Sara said, pleadingly, “Don't ask.”

“You've been on my mind,” said Jay. “How disappointing it is when someone has the opportunity to do the right thing, and elects not to do it.”

“The only right thing to do here is for you to leave my wife alone and get the fuck out of here,” I said.

“I don't have to get the fuck out of a public park,” Jay said. “And I'm not in any way molesting your wife.”

“You're bothering her,” I said angrily. “Your very existence bothers her.”

“If my
existence
bothers her, then it really doesn't matter where I
am,
does it? She's going to be bothered. So I think I'll just stay here.”

“Then we're not staying here. Come on, Sara,” I said, gesturing and turning to go back up the trail.

“May I continue what I was saying?”

“No,” I said. “She's sick of listening to you.”

“Mm,” said Jay. “Hearing the truth can be hard sometimes.” He turned his attention back to Sara. “I could have forgiven you. You never really understood your faults. If you'd just realized, and apologized, I'd have taken you back.”

“Stop it!”
I said. Sara stood quietly with eyes averted and shoulders slightly stooped. I realized, with a sick feeling: this was their
dance. This was how he'd treated her; this is how she'd taken it. It wasn't the Sara I knew. But it was the Sara Jay knew, and that's why he was doing this. What he really wanted, all along, was to take the dog
from Sara
—from
this
Sara, the one who had betrayed him.

“I never wanted you to take me back,” said Sara with a nervous tinge to her voice that was utterly unlike her—as if she were afraid of saying the wrong thing and somehow losing. As if she were walking on eggshells. But at the same time, busting out to speak. “And you've never had the right to take Cody from me. You brought her home unannounced and said I had to train her for you because you were too busy, and when I said, ‘Why should I train your dog?' you put a bow on her collar and said, ‘All right, she's your dog, now train her.' And I did. And I did a great job. And if I'm the one she's around all day, of course she was going to listen to me more than to you, she
knew
me better.
I
was the one making the effort.
I
was the one bonding with her.”

“There you go again,” Jay said sadly. “Giving yourself so much credit.”

“Stop insulting my wife!” I shouted.

“When you're dealing with someone who never admits her faults, it takes effort to make her really appraise herself. She's just a self-aggrandizing pathetic narcissistic masochistic victim,” said Jay blithely. I realized too late that he was stringing unflattering phrases together just to upset me. I only realized this was his goal as he succeeded at it—as I grabbed his shoulder, spun him around to face me, and landed the most satisfying punch of my life squarely on the left side of his face—I hit him right in the sweet spot.

“Rory,
no
!” shouted Sara as my fist landed.

It felt
fucking great
. I wanted to do it again.

Jay winced, cringed, brought his hands to his face . . . and then stood up straighter and smiled lazily at me with a twinkle in his unhurt eye.

“Thank you,” he said. “That'll do perfectly.”

“Oh,
Rory,
” Sara moaned, so intensely that Cody tried to jump up on her. Sara pushed her down with morose aggravation, distracted. Cody, who of course assumed this was about her, groveled slightly, too leery of the steep drop so close at hand to just fall into tarty dog.

Jay reached into his pants pocket with his free hand and pulled out his cell phone. He pressed call for what was obviously a preset number. “This'll just be a moment,” he said.

I gave him a dumbstruck look.

“I need to call the ranger station to tell them I've been assaulted by an Irish male driving a MINI Cooper with Massachusetts plates, who just stole my dog. The Irishman only has a conditional green card, so I think he's going back to Ireland. Unless he wants to give me my dog, of course, in which case, I don't need to make the call.”

Sara, in a rage, grabbed the phone out of his hand and flung it over the hairpin turn and into the Canyon. She took in a deep lungful of air and was about to start screaming at him, when the worst thing in the world—really the absolute worst thing in the world—happened:

Cody, instinctively responding to Mom Throwing Something, chased the phone right over the edge of the cliff.

Her leash jerked out of Sara's stunned hold and flew out behind
her, and she disappeared from view before Sara could begin to scream. We heard a screech and a whimper from below, instantly drowned out by Sara's hysterical cry.

The next few events happened very fast: Sara, also acting on instinct, actually tried to jump over the edge to get to Cody. I grabbed her, shoved her away—right into Jay's arms, actually—and went after Cody myself. Rather than diving headfirst, which I swear is how Sara was about to do it, I went feetfirst, but it was frightening all the same because I had no idea what, if anything, was below.

I slid down a vertical slope, creating billows of pale dust that kept me from clearly seeing all the scree and boulders and roots as I approached them.

There were tiny precarious outcroppings sticking out from the canyon wall—roots, stones, eroding ledges. Cody had miraculously fallen, or scrambled, onto one such ledge, and looked like a mountain goat, all four feet taking up an area of less than a square foot, the leash dangling below. She was horribly upset, making Chewbacca-like protests. The whites of her eyes were enormous even through the dust. I landed on an outstretched tree root, a less reliable perch than hers, about five or six feet to her left, shuddering with fright until I realized it was strong enough to hold me. But I had to literally hug myself to the canyon wall to keep from toppling over and plunging farther down. Some ten feet below us both was another ledge, larger, sticking out maybe five feet and twice that in length, hardly a safe place to fall to.

Cody turned on her tiny ledge and saw me. Right away she squatted awkwardly in preparation to hop across a distance I knew she couldn't span.

“Cody, stay!” I said, pushing myself against the canyon wall. “Calm down. Stay, girl, good girl!” She was making desperate little mewling sounds the like of which I'd never heard before, and trying to figure out how to get close to me. Thank God she was still with us, but how was I going to get her back up to Sara?

In a new shower of scree and pebbles, Jay lumbered down on her far side, landing on a rocky outcropping, closer to her than I was. Had his, like mine, been a blind leap—was it pure luck that he hadn't just now thrown himself to his own demise? Jesus,
nothing
stopped that fucker!

Cody, seeing him, began to complain to him as well. He took a moment to get his footing, recover, register the three of us in a row like that. On reflex he held out one arm toward Cody as if calling her.

“Don't do it,” I said as she looked at him pleadingly for help, yelping. She was getting hysterical.

He wobbled on his perch. “Cody,” he said urgently. It wasn't malevolent, just instinctual but stupid. “Come here, girl.”

“Don't!” I shouted. “Cody, don't!”

She almost jumped toward Jay, but hearing the intensity of my voice, stopped herself, looked over her shoulder, and started trying to arrange her feet on the tiny outcrop so that she could turn and jump toward me instead. She was losing control of her footing, as if the ledge was covered with lard.

“Stop! Stay! Cody, don't!” I shouted. I risked letting go of the wall with one hand, holding the flat of my palm toward her. She yipped and whined more intensely, panting, anxious, terrified—but above all, wanting to please. She was trying to figure out what her humans wanted so she could please us.

“She's a strong jumper, she can reach me,” Jay insisted.

“No, she fucking can't,” I said. “Don't risk it.”

“Cody! Good girl! Come here, girl!” said Jay, leaning over more, patting his thigh.

I couldn't let him summon her to jump; she'd never make it. But if I kept shouting over him, she would get so hysterical she'd try to turn around and jump toward me, who was farther away, and that was even worse.

“Come, Cody! Good girl! Come here! I'll catch you, girl!” He was barely audible over her frantic shrieks.

I saw her draw her weight back on her haunches as she prepared to spring toward him. Without thinking, I did likewise. I leapt half a heartbeat before she did and I landed on her small foothold as she was departing it. The moment she was airborne it was clear she wasn't going to make it. Jay, realizing this, look shocked, then mortified.

I threw my weight forward after her, and wrapped my arms around her as I reached her. We were a foot short of Jay's ledge. So once I had her firmly in my grasp, we did the only thing we could do next. We fell.

It was a slithering, nasty, bumpy fall to the larger ledge below, and I felt something crack inside me as I landed. Cody was hysterical, struggling against my grip as if against an ocean whirlpool, yelping piteously. I lay there, winded and pained, and tried cooing to her softly until she realized we were both alive and still. We took up most of the ledge—inches ahead, above, and below, endless Canyon air opened up all around us. “Good girl,” I croaked, releasing my grip enough to stroke her head. She still scrambled
to get away, but I held on. I rubbed her ear vigorously, and that got through to her. She looked at me, made wary eye contact, and finally stopped struggling.

“Good girl,” I repeatedly voicelessly, and smiled. “Good girl. You're okay now. Let's get you back up to Sara.”

“Is she all right?” Jay called down, in a shaken voice.

“She's fine,” I called back. He heaved a sigh.

I squeezed her against me and kissed her between the eyes. She struggled a little again, but without the frantic fear of a moment earlier; now it was more like a child trying to avoid the affections of an elderly auntie. I loved that dog so intensely in that moment; I had not known I could love her so much. I was responsible for her being alive. This time I'd gotten it right. If the story was always going to be about the dog, at least I was the hero.

Very gingerly, arms still round her, I started to rise. Everything hurt. I tried to take a deep breath and everything hurt more. I flexed the fingers of each hand in turn while holding Cody with the other. My hands were scratched and abraded but undamaged. Except the right-hand knuckles hurt from smashing Jay in the face, but that was a
good
hurt.

Because I moved so carefully and slowly, Cody calmed, paid attention, adopted a somber attitude. I released her but kept the leash short, got to my feet successfully, and looked up. Looked right past Jay—I hardly registered his presence now. Above him was Sara, looking down anxiously from the hairpin corner of the trail. Had she been screaming the whole time, and I simply hadn't heard it? I moved cautiously to the other end of the ledge, underneath the tree root I'd been on, as far away from Jay as possible.
Above, Sara shifted her position on the trail so that she was exactly above me. I pointed up the cliff. Sara waved. “See, Cody? There's Sara. Go to Sara.”