The Summer We Lost Alice (31 page)

He was pacing now.

"Why mosquitoes?" Heather said. "Why not flies? Or chiggers? Why did I hear the one word—okay, one of the
two
words—that referred directly to this Skeeter Barnes?"

"It didn't refer directly to
Skeeter Barnes! You said 'mosquitoes'!"

Heather rose. She handed the photo to Ethan as if serving divorce papers. "Spoken like a true denier," she said.

Ethan followed her into the hallway. He was about to say something, although he had no idea what, when Flo called to them from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm going to the pound," she said, "to get the dog."

"I'm coming, too," Heather called.

As was his custom with Alice, Ethan tagged along.

* * *

"You do understand the,
uhm, nutritional requirements of a dog this size?"

"If you mean that he eats like a Clydesdale, I do," Flo said. "I've had a large dog before."

The animal shelter attendant
uhm-hmmed
and presented papers for Flo's signature.

"Will you be paying with a check or credit card?" she asked.

"My sanity, most likely," Flo said, smiling, as she handed over her card. The attendant's mouth smiled but her eyes were narrow and serious.

"You aren't doing this for the children, are you?" she asked. "Because you know, they make promises, but it always falls to the adults in the house to do the feeding, the grooming,
the walking—"

"Oh, I know, I know."

"Good." The attendant processed Flo's card and returned it to her. She made a few notes on the adoption papers, gave Flo instructions on vaccinations, and started to hand the papers over. She paused at the last moment, something on her mind. She quickly scanned the room for eavesdroppers.

"You know," she said, "this seems to be a very sweet dog. We couldn't make him bite us. But—"

"Yes?"

"Well—" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He's very stupid. And he eats poop."

"Valuable information," Flo said.

* * *

Heather and Ethan stood in the grassy commons where dogs and prospective owners were allowed to socialize. They watched Boo, as he was now officially known, nose around from one fascinating patch to another, pausing regularly to make his mark.

"There's a connection between us," Heather said. "Did you see how he came right up and rubbed against my leg?
"

Boo abruptly flipped onto his back and squirmed, kicking his big legs in the air.

"Oh, look. He's just connected with a piece of poo."

Heather slugged Ethan's shoulder.

A young man carrying a scoop and shovel emerged from the shelter. He took one look at Boo and halted. He stood still for a moment, then turned with military precision and hurried back into the building.

"Did you see that?" Ethan said.

"Let's go."

They found the young man standing with his back to the wall, all color drained from his face, his breaths coming quick and shallow. It took a minute to calm him down and a few more to draw him out. The boy was aware of Ethan's show, said he'd seen it a time or two, but he didn't really believe "that stuff." Ethan used his cold reading skills to convince the boy that Ethan knew far more about him than he did, including his name, Trey, engraved on his name tag. It didn't hurt that Heather stood close to the boy and stroked his arm sympathetically. Eventually the boy opened up.

"What upset you about seeing that dog?" Heather asked. "He's been here for the last three days."

"I've been gone.
To Colorado. I like to see the aspens this time of year. This was my first day back."

"You've seen him before, then," Ethan said.

"Yeah."

"You have a history with him.
Something disturbing. Frightening. He threatened you."

"No, never.
He was a good dog. A mutt to the bone. But he wasn't right. He'd been abused or something. He just sat in the corner of the cage when people'd come by. Didn't know how to get adopted. I'd take him out now and again and walk him around. He stuck close, once he learned to trust me."

"Then why are you afraid of him now?"

"'Cause I'm the one that killed him," he said.

That comment gave them pause. Heather squeezed Ethan's hand, urging him to say something, to do his thing.

"I don't believe that, Trey," Ethan said. "I don't think you have it in you to kill any animal more self-aware than a cockroach." It wasn't a stretch. Most people who work at animal shelters love animals. Trey obviously wasn't a veterinarian, and it takes a vet to euthanize animals at a shelter.

"I didn't give him the shot, if that's what you mean. But I led him out of his cage—like I said, he trusted me. His time was up, more than up, and he was big and expensive to keep. Nobody was ever going
to adopt him, shy as he was. He followed me into the room, never suspecting. I petted him while the doc gave him the shot. He went to sleep never knowing how I'd betrayed him."

Tears ran freely down Trey's cheeks
. He didn't bother to wipe them.

"
It's my job to take all the bodies to be cremated. After awhile you get used to it, sort of. Jaded, like. But I couldn't do it with Buster. That's what I named him. I couldn't just throw him in with the rest. I put him in the back of my truck. I was going to bury him on my dad's farm. I'd taken him out there once, to see if my dad would take him, but he had too many dogs already. Buster liked it, though. He ran around like—" The boy paused to swallow a lump in his throat. "Anyway, I figured he'd like to be buried there. That's stupid, I know."

"It isn't stupid," Heather said. "It's never stupid to honor the dead."

The boy gave Heather a quick, grateful smile.

"Anyway," he said, "I got to the farm and got a shovel. I had a spot all picked out. I drove him there and stopped and got out. I was about to open the tailgate when I looked at Buster, and his eyes popped open. He scrambled to his feet. Not all wobbly like you'd think, but sudden-like. He just sprang up and looked at me.
Puzzled, like. Not mad, though I kind of wish he'd at least snarled at me or something. He just had this funny kind of look."

"He didn't attack you?"

Trey shook his head.

"Huh-uh.
But he didn't seem to recognize me, either. And he wasn't scared."

"What did he do, Trey?"

"He ran. His feet scratched on the bed of my truck for a second, until he got his grip, and then he just took off running. He ran right at me, but he jumped over the tailgate, past my shoulder, hit the road and ran like his ass was on fire."

"When was this, Trey?"

"After that boy went missing, and before the other one."

It was the way so many people in the area had come to mark time, in relation to the disappearances.

"So why are you afraid of him now?" Heather said.

"It was the shock, that's all, of seeing him again."

"There's something else. You're holding something back," Ethan said.

"It's just
... it's ... it wasn't a mistake. He wasn't just drugged."

"He's a big dog. The vet might've got the dose wrong."

"Huh-uh. She checked. His heart was stopped. He wasn't breathing. That dog was dead, Mister Opos. I lifted him into the truck a couple hours after. He was cold, getting stiff. I know a dead dog when I see one. Seeing him out there again, where we used to walk, alive as you or me—it isn't right. That dog has come back from the dead. I'd swear it on a stack of Bibles."

"Do you want to see him, if we go with you? Maybe it isn't even the same dog. Maybe he just looks the same."

The boy shook his head.

"That's Buster.
I'd know the way he moves from a mile away. If I went out and he remembered me, I'd feel bad. If he didn't, I'd feel bad, too. There's no point in it.

"
You adopting him?"

Ethan said they were. The boy nodded his approval.

"He's a good dog. At least, he was. You got kids?"

"He's going to a home with two children, yes," Heather said, "a boy and a girl."

"That's good. He can protect them. Here. Give him this."

The boy dug into his pocket for a dog treat. He handed it to Heather.

"Tell him it's from Trey. Tell him ... tell him I'm sorry, okay?"

Heather said that she would.

They thanked Trey for his time. They were leaving when Ethan paused at the door. He leaned against the frame for support.

"What's the matter?" Heather said.

"I'm getting something from the other side. I don't know who—"

Ethan shut his eyes and held up one hand.

"It's Buster," he said. "That dog out there ... isn't him. It's his body, but it doesn't have his soul. Buster's soul is on the other side of the veil."

The boy's ears pricked up. Heather tensed. Ethan was performing his act.
But why? Hadn't the poor boy been through enough? What more could Ethan want from him?

"
There's no words," Ethan said, "just feelings. He can't talk, so I have to ... connect—
feel
what he's trying to say."

Heather and Trey stood like statues, barely breathing. After several seconds, Ethan opened his eyes. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"He knows—you did what you had to do. He forgives you. And ... he's happy. He's very happy where he is."

The boy's throat tightened
. He smiled, a big smile this time, even as tears filled his eyes. He couldn't speak, but he nodded his thanks to Ethan.

Trey turned his back and swiped at his eyes. Heather opened the door to the grassy patch. The dog sat in the middle of the field like the lord of all he surveyed, tongue lolling.

Trey looked at them over his shoulder.

"Hey," he said, "what
... what're you naming him? Don't say 'Buster.'"

Heather said, "We're naming him Boo."

The boy thought about the name for a few seconds, turning it over in his head. Finally he pursed his lips and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Boo. That's good. That fits."

* * *

"Why'd you do that?" Heather said. They walked toward Boo who hopped up and loped toward them.

"What?"

"That last bit, with Buster and the boy."

"He needed it. He needed what we all need, someone to tell us it's all right. Forgiveness."

Heather spun around.

"You are such a phony!" she said. "You come on all hard and cynical, like the human race is something you want to scrape off the bottom of your shoe. Then you do your thing with Matt, and now this guy you don't even know, to make them feel better. When are you going to admit it, Ethan, the truth about yourself?"

"Which is?"

"That deep down, you're a really decent human being."

She pulled him close and kissed him. They relaxed into each other's arms and kissed until a big, dark shape bounded at them and, standing on its hind legs, started licking Heather's face.

* * *

Flo drove. Ethan sat in the front seat. Heather sat in back with Boo who stuck his head out the window and let the wind draw the drool in a string from his mouth. Ethan told the story about the boy and Buster. Flo took in stride the news that Boo had been resurrected from the dead.

"He was brought back for a purpose," she said.

"How do you know it's a good purpose? Not that I believe it
—I'm playing devil's advocate here—but maybe he's responsible for that little girl's disappearance somehow."

Flo shook her head.

"That boy. What was his name?" She knew perfectly well what the boy's name was. She was forcing Ethan to think.

"Trey."

"Trey. Which means 'three.'"

"So?"

"If you weren't such a damned atheist—! The Trinity, of course. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. It's a sign."

Ethan leaned back in his seat, exhausted. It wasn't enough that his girlfriend believed herself to be the reincarnated spirit of his cousin, or that the huge, sharp-toothed animal in the backseat was supposed to be literally returned from the grave, but now Jesus had horned in on the act. Ethan sighed, louder and longer than he'd intended.

"It's a good sign," Flo said. "It means God is on our side."

Heather leaned forward and stuck her head between the seats.

"That should make it easier," she said.

"We still have to do our part. God helps those who help themselves."

"If you're helping yourself, then why do you need God?" Ethan said, speaking before he thought. Flo looked at him as if a serpent had just slithered out of his mouth.