it back home before there're any drifts the Rover can't handle.' They
shook hands, and Jack said, 'Don't you forget, a week from tomorrow,
dinner at six. Bring a guest if you've got a lady friend.' Travis
grinned. 'You look at this mug, it's hard to believe, but there's a
young lady willing to be seen with me. Name's Janet.'
'Be pleased to meet her,' Jack said. He dragged the fifty-pound bag of
dog chow away from the Rover and stood by the driveway, watching the
vet turn around and head out.
Looking in the rearview mirror, Travis Potter waved. Jack waved after
him and watched until the Rover had disappeared around the curve and
over the low hill just before the county road.
The day was a deeper gray than it had been when the vet arrived. Iron
instead of ashes. Dungeon gray. The ever-lowering sky and the
black-green phalanxes of trees seemed as formidably restricting as
walls of concrete and stone. A bitterly cold wind, sweetened by the
perfume of pines and the faint scent of ozone from high mountain
passes, swept out of the northwest. The boughs of the evergreens
strained a low mournful sound from that rushing river of air, the
grassy meadows conspired with it to produce a whispery whistle, and the
eaves of the house inspired it to make soft hooting sounds like the
weak protests of dying owls lying with broken wings in uncaring fields
of night. The countryside was beautiful even in that prestorm gloom,
and perhaps it was as peaceful and serene as they had perceived it when
they'd first driven north from Utah. At that moment, however, none of
the usual travel-book adjectives sprang to mind as a singular and apt
descriptive. Only one word suited now. Lonely. It was the loneliest
place Jack Mcgarvey had ever seen, unpopulated to distant points, far
from the solace of neighborhood and community.
He hefted the bag of dog chow onto his shoulder. Big storm coming. He
went inside. He locked the front door behind him. He heard laughter
in the kitchen and went back there to see what was happening.
Falstaff was sitting on his hindquarters, forepaws raised in front of
him, staring up yearningly at a piece of bologna that Toby was holding
over his head.
'Dad, look, he knows how to beg,' Toby said. The retriever licked his
chops.
Toby dropped the meat. The dog snatched it in midair, swallowed, and
begged, for more.
Isn't he great?' Toby said. 'He's great,' Jack agreed. 'Toby's
hungrier than the dog,' Heather said, getting a large pot out of a
cabinet. 'He didn't have any lunch, he didn't even eat the raisin
cookies I gave him when he went outside.
Early dinner okay?' me,' Jack said, dropping the bag of dog chow in a
corner, with the intention of finding a cupboard for it later.
'Spaghetti?'
'Perfect.'
'We have a loaf of crusty French bread. You make the salads?'
'Sure,' Jack said as Toby fed Falstaff another bite of bologna.
Filling the pot with water at the sink, Heather said, Travis Potter
