“No,it’s been a few years since Champ died. He never got a new one after that.Sweetheart, you know there are no bad dogs, only bad owners. And Charles Gradywas a terrible owner. Whatever happened to Reggie that day…”
“Mom,I don’t want to talk about it.”
Heturned to storm out of the room but realized he was still holding his plate. Hetossed it onto the counter where it clanged and vibrated for a moment beforefalling still. He was already out of the room by the time it finished itsvibrato dance on the countertop.
* * *
Thebedroom had cooled considerably, and Kevin found himself glad he hadn’t raisedthe temperature back up to the Faye Ellis setting. Sunlight streamed in fromthe slats in the blinds, but even with the windows partially obstructed hecould detect the storm clouds moving in over town. A thunderstorm wasdefinitely on the horizon, probably hitting sometime before sundown butdestined to linger throughout the night. The angels are bowling, hisfather used to tell him when he was young and the crash of thunderclaps shookthe house until he couldn’t sleep. They’ll tire out eventually and go tobed, just like you need to do.
Parentssay a lot of things to their children to pacify them.
Whatwould dad have said about hearing the dog this morning?
Kevinmoved over to the window, turned the rod until the slits on the Venetian blindswere fully open, and looked over the fence into old man Grady’s yard.
Theold, red doghouse was still there, only there was no dog in sight.
“Itlooks like Snoopy’s doghouse,” Reggie Acton used to say. “You know the one heflies around on like an airplane when he’s chasing the Red Baron?”
Thevoice was in his head, but it sounded so real that Kevin gasped and steppedback away from the window. He was almost certain the voice came from somewherebehind him, but that would have been as impossible as hearing a dog barkingthat wasn’t there…or seeing a faceless ghost standing in the backyard.
Please…Idon’t want to remember any of this!
Kevingritted his eyes tight, turned around, and then opened them slowly.
Therewas nothing in the room with him.
Hereleased the breath he’d been holding (he hadn’t even been aware his breathingstopped), and turned back to the window. The sky was growing dark rapidly asthe clouds passed like a razor’s edge across the last vestiges of blue sky. Hewas certain the temperature outside was going to fall fast, could feel thechange in the air and on his skin…
Justlike Carrie…she turned cold fast and without warning as well. How much time haspassed since she demanded the divorce?
…andswitched off the air conditioner. Kevin glanced down into the backyard one lasttime to see if the faceless thing had returned, and when he was satisfied thatit hadn’t, he twisted the rod until the slits were closed tight. Coming homefelt like an enormous mistake, just like it had with every previous trip. Theonly thing left to do was start inventing a new excuse to pack up and hit theroad early. Kevin lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and tried to concoctsome new fabrication to spring on Faye Ellis. In his mind, guilt was a thingwith no face—only an incessant weight that tried to squeeze his heart until itstopped beating. Maybe then he would finally find peace.
* * *
He’dfallen asleep.
Thenightmare resumed, just as he’d been certain it would. In the dream he wastwelve years old again and Reginald Acton was still eleven and still living inthe house next door. All the houses on Sparrow Drive were identical Cape Cods,as if the contractors responsible for developing the cul-de-sac followed the sameblueprints and merely changed paints to create any sense of individuality.Kevin’s home was green. Reggie’s was canary-yellow. But dreams never followrules, and in the movie in his head—the memory he was trying so desperately tonot remember—Reggie’s house was the same red as Butch’s doghouse. When Kevinsquinted his eyes to look at it, the red bled into a deep crimson that clung tothe back of his eyelids. In the dream, they were playing in Kevin’s backyard.
“Itlooks just like Snoopy’s doghouse,” Reggie said as they peered through theslats in the fence at the sleeping dog. “You know the one he flies around onlike an airplane when he’s chasing the Red Baron?”
Butch’sleft ear twitched, almost as if the beast was eavesdropping rather thansnoozing in the shade of the maple tree. Kevin could see the leather collarcurling tight into the dog’s neck, and the ratty piece of clothesline rope thatcinched from the collar to the big iron spike in the middle of the lawn. Therope was long enough to chase intruders to the fence and nab them down beforethey could get away. It occurred to him even back then that the only way toescape that damn dog was to get it to chase you around his doghouse a lap ortwo before trying to jump the fence again, and even that was a snowball’schance in hell. The years of having Grady for a neighbor meant any Frisbees orsoftballs or toys that accidentally sailed over the fence were losttreasures…unless old man Grady felt generous enough to toss them back overagain while out feeding Butch and cleaning up the festering piles of dog turds.
“Younever did get your glider plane back, did you?” Reggie suddenly asks—a questionthat has haunted him for more than three decades. The plane was a Styrofoam jetnearly two feet long, with wings and tailfins you could adjust to suit yourflight plan. The glider had been a birthday gift from Kevin’s father; one whichaccidentally passed over the Bermuda Triangle of their creepy neighbor’s backyard. “Grady never threw it over the fence so you could have it back.”
“Nope.”He nodded to the dying hydrangea bush, with the foam jet’s tailfins protrudingtoward the rear.
Inthe dream the thunderclouds roll in, and in the dying daylight Kevin turns toReggie and
