“Like a rocket,” Grandpa said. “Hard to believe he got this far.”
“How long would you have gone, huh, Bailey? You doodle dog,” Ethan told me affectionately.
It was with great suspicion that I jumped into Grandpa’s truck, though—suspicion that proved justified, because while Ethan and Mom drove on, Grandpa turned around and took me back to the Farm.
Mostly I liked Grandpa. From time to time he’d do “chores,” which meant we’d go into the new barn, toward the back, where soft hay was piled, and take a nap. During cold days Grandpa had a couple of heavy blankets he’d wrap around us. But the first few days after the boy left, I sulked in Grandpa’s presence, punishing him for bringing me back to the Farm. When that didn’t work, all I could think to do was chew up a pair of Grandma’s shoes, but that still didn’t bring the boy back.
I just couldn’t get past the utter betrayal of it all. I knew that out there somewhere, probably back home, the boy needed me, didn’t understand where I was.
Everyone was infuriatingly calm, seemingly oblivious to the catastrophic change that had struck the household. I became so frantic I even dug into the boy’s closet and brought out the flip, running down and tossing it into Grandma’s lap.
“What in the world is this?” she exclaimed.
“It’s Ethan’s big invention,” Grandpa said.
I barked.
“You want to go outside and play, Bailey?” Grandma asked me. “Why don’t you take him for a walk.”
Walk? Walk to see the boy?
“I thought I’d watch a little of the game here,” Grandpa replied.
“For heaven’s sake,” Grandma said. She went to the door and tossed the flip out in the yard, barely sending the thing five yards. I bounded over, grabbed it, and then stared in absolute noncomprehension when she shut the door, leaving me outside.
Well, okay then. I spat out the flip and trotted past Flare, heading down the driveway. I went over to the girl’s house, which I had already done several times since Ethan left. I could smell her scent everywhere, but the boy’s scent was gradually fading away. A car pulled into her driveway and Hannah jumped out. “Bye!” she said. She turned and looked at me. “Well, hi, Bailey!”
I ran up to her, wagging. I could smell several other people’s scents in her clothes, but there was no sign of Ethan. Hannah did go for a walk with me back home, and when she knocked on the door Grandma let her in and fed some pie to her but not to me.
I often dreamed of the boy. I dreamed of him jumping into the pond, with me swimming down and down to play rescue. I dreamed of him doing the go-kart, how happy and excited he was. And sometimes I dreamed of him jumping out of the window, the sharp crack of pain rising in a shout from his lips as he fell in the flaming bushes. I hated those dreams, and I was just awakening from one of them one night when I saw the boy standing above me.
“Hi, Bailey!” he whispered, his scent flowing off of him. He was back on the Farm! I jumped to my feet, putting my paws on his chest to lick his face. “Shhh,” he told me. “It’s late; I just got here. Everybody’s sleeping.”
It was Happy Thanksgiving time, and life was back to normal. Mom was there, but not Dad. Hannah came over every day.
The boy seemed happy, but I could also feel that he was distracted. He spent a lot of time looking at papers instead of playing with me, even when I brought him the stupid flip to try to shake him out of it.
I wasn’t surprised when he left again. This was my new life, I realized. I lived on the Farm with Grandpa and Grandma, and Ethan only came home for visits. It wasn’t what I wanted, but as long as the boy always returned, I had an easier time seeing him leave.
It was on one of his visits, when the air was warm and leaves were freshly out, that Ethan and I went to see Hannah running around in a big yard. I could smell her, as well as other boys and girls, because the wind flowed off the yard and their bodies were sweating as they ran. It looked like fun, but I stayed by Ethan’s side, because it seemed that while we stood there the ache in his leg became more pronounced, spreading through his body. Odd, dark emotions swirled inside him as he watched her and the others run.
“Hey!” Hannah came over to see us. I licked her leg, which was salty with sweat. “What a nice surprise. Hi, Bailey!” she said.
“Hi.”
“My times are really coming down in the four hundred,” the girl said.
“Who was that guy?” Ethan asked.
“Oh. Who? What do you mean?”
“That guy you were talking to and hugging, you two seemed really friendly,” Ethan said. His voice sounded strained. I glanced around but couldn’t see any danger.
“He’s just a friend, Ethan,” the girl said sharply. The way she spoke his name, it sounded like the boy had been bad.
“Is it that guy, what’s his name, Brett? He’s certainly fast on his feet.” Ethan stabbed at the ground with his cane, and I sniffed at the tuft of earth that he overturned.
“Well, what is that supposed to mean?” Hannah asked, her hands on her hips.
“Go on back; your track coach is looking over here,” Ethan said.
Hannah looked over her shoulder, then back at Ethan. “I do, I do need to get back . . . ,” she said uncertainly.
“Fine,” Ethan said. He turned and limped away.
