“Yes.” Wary.
“Boyd loves the beach.”
“Boyd would love Auschwitz if they fed him.”
“Anne wouldn’t mind if you took him with you. And he’ll keep you company so you won’t be all alone.”
“Boyd isn’t welcome at the town house?”
“It isn’t that he’s unwelcome. Lija’s landlor—”
From somewhere deep in the woods I heard Boyd’s frantic barking.
Seconds later, the barking was joined by a blood-chilling scream.
Then another.
4
I BOLTED FROM MY CHAIR, HEART THUDDING IN MY CHEST.
The picnickers around me appeared as on split screen. Those on the house side of the bluegrass quartet continued their milling and chatting and eating, oblivious to whatever calamity might be unfolding in the woods. Those on the barn side formed a frozen tableau, mouths open, heads turned in the direction of the terrible sounds.
I raced toward the screams, weaving among lawn chairs and blankets and people. I could hear Katy and others close on my heels.
Boyd had never harmed a child, had never so much as growled at one. But it was hot. He was excited. Had some kid provoked or confused him? Had the dog suddenly turned?
Sweet Jesus.
My mind scanned images of mauling victims. I saw gaping slashes, severed scalps. Fear shot through me.
Rounding the barn, I spotted a break in the trees and veered off on a trickling dirt path. Branches and leaves tugged my hair and scratched the skin on my arms and legs.
The screams grew shriller, more strident. The spaces between disappeared and the cries blended together in a crescendo of fear and panic.
I ran on.
Suddenly, the shrieking stopped. The sound vacuum was more chilling than the shrieks.
Boyd’s barking continued, frenzied and unrelenting.
The sweat went cold on my face.
Moments later I spotted three kids huddled behind an enormous hedge. Through a gap in the foliage I could see that the two girls were clutching each other. The boy had a hand on Bible Girl’s shoulder.
The boy and the younger girl were staring at Boyd, expressions of fascination/repulsion distorting their features. Bible Girl had her eyes shut, clenched fists pressed to the lids. Every now and then her chest gave an involuntary heave.
Boyd was with them on the far side of the hedge, lunging forward then backpedaling, snapping at something a yard from the base of the growth. Every few seconds he’d point his nose skyward and let loose with a series of high-pitched barks. His hackles were engaged, giving him the look of an auburn wolf.
“You kids all right?” I gasped, pushing through the gap in the hedge.
Three solemn nods.
Katy and Palmer and one of the McCranie sons raced up behind me.
“Anyone hurt?” Katy panted.
Three head shakes. A tiny sob.
Bible Girl ran to McCranie, wrapped her arms around his waist, and collapsed against him. He began stroking the crooked part between her ponytails.
“It’s OK, Sarah. You’re fine.”
McCranie looked up.
“My daughter’s a little high-strung.”
I shifted my attention to the chow.
And knew immediately what was happening.
“Boyd!”
Boyd whipped around. Seeing Katy and me, he loped forward, nudged my hand, then darted back to the hedge and reengaged.
“Stop!” I shouted, bending to relieve the stitch in my side.
When unconvinced of the wisdom of an order directed at him, Boyd rotates the long hairs that serve as his eyebrows. It’s his way of asking “Are you crazy?”
