Catwalk (17 page)

thirty-five

Louise ushered Tom and
me into a kitchen that was half as big as my house. Alberta's dogs rushed us when we stepped over the baby
gate that kept them corralled, but yapping turned to squealing and wriggling as soon as they heard my voice. I'd spent a fair amount of time photographing them, and that always involved food and toys, so they liked me well enough.

Tom took a seat at the table across from Alberta. He reached down to pet Indy, Alberta's multi-titled champion Welsh Terrier, and as soon as the dog felt the hand on his head, he popped onto Tom's lap and settled in. Tom grinned at me, then turned his attention to Alberta, “Are you okay?”

“No, I am not. I'm mad as hell,” said Alberta. The expression on her
face backed her up. “If they think this will stop me, they'd better think
again. I'll
buy
that piece of land if I have to, and I'll put up a cat shelter right there by the pond.”

“Do you think it's the people who oppose the TNR program or Rasmussen's partners in the development?” I asked.

Alberta shrugged and said, “Yes.”

“No, I meant …”

“I know what you meant.”

Louise set a carafe of coffee and a plate of pound cake on the table and made a second trip for plates and two more mugs. In the wake of the day's events, I'd kind of forgotten that Louise was so newly widowed. I looked at her and said, “I'm sorry. We
…
I was so worried about Alberta, I wasn't thinking.”

She patted my shoulder and said, “Not at all, dear. I'm worried about Alberta, too.”

I looked around the kitchen and breakfast area. “Louise, is that one of yours?” I asked, indicating a luscious oil landscape over a buffet.

She followed my gaze and said, “The painting? Heavens, no. I don't paint.”

“But the studio?”

“Oh, that,” she snorted. “Charles thought it impressed people if he said his wife was an artist.” She touched the faint remains of bruising under her eye and said, “He made me take a couple of classes, but I was no good. He never forgave me for that.”

Louise might have said more, but the doorbell rang. She came back with Hutchinson in tow and set one more place.

“I don't think you should stay here tonight,” said Tom. “Either one of you.”

“Oh, come on,” said Alberta. “It was just a stupid bluff. As long as the window gets covered …” She looked the question at Hutchinson.

“Actually, I agree with Tom,” said Hutchinson. “If you have somewhere else you could stay tonight, away from here, I think it would be a good idea.”

“I'll tell you what would be a good idea, young man,” said Alberta, pointing her fork at Hutchinson's cheek. “Stitches would be a good idea. That's bleeding again.”

She was right, the cut below his eye was seeping blood. Hutchinson touched it gingerly and looked at his fingers. “Damn.”

“Let me drive you to the emergency room,” said Louise. “It's just down the road.”

“And I'm picking up the bill,” said Alberta.

That made Hutchinson laugh. “I have pretty good coverage.”

“You promise to stay somewhere away from here tonight, both of you, and I'll promise to go have this looked at.”

“Well, forget that,” Alberta said. “I can't go to a hotel with four dogs and four cats. You did call Handy Andy for me, didn't you?”

Hutchinson nodded.

“I have a place,” said Louise. “I mean, a place we can go.”

“What about the animals?”

I started to offer to take the dogs or Gypsy and her brood for a night or two. I knew that Goldie or Tom would take Jay and Leo for a while, and I could keep the terriers or the cats but not both in my small place. It would be chaotic, but I could manage. “I …”

Louise said, “Yes, the animals too. My dad's house. He still owns it and I have a key. It's not huge, but it's comfy and no one around here knows anything about it.”

That was a relief.

We left Hutchinson to help them pack a few things and a bunch of critters, and we headed back to campus for my van. The dark cloud that I had watched earlier on the horizon had found us, and
although it was no longer raining, the low black canopy of sky made it seem much later than it was. My mind wandered and I
wasn't really listening to what Tom was saying until I thought I heard, “I could list my house as a rental with the faculty housing service.”

“What?”

He proceeded as if I knew what he was talking about, which I would have if I'd been paying attention. Part of me wanted to ask him to start over, but my thoughts flew to the questions I had overheard about quarantines and titers, and I was afraid I didn't really want to know what was up. Not right then. My mood went darker than the sky as I tried to sort out what he was talking about without asking directly.

“The personnel office maintains a list, you know, to match up incoming or visiting faculty who need housing and faculty on sabbatical with property to rent or sell.”

“Ah.” I was no closer to comprehension and we had arrived at my van. I should have asked for clarification, and I started to do just that. Better to know what was going on, even if the news was bad. The parking lot was nearly empty, and I thought about asking him to back up and repeat whatever I hadn't heard, but the rain had started again and the way it pinged against the glass told me it was turning icy. I wanted to get home.
You want to curl up in a fetal lump,
said my Janet demon. Really, though, I wanted to curl up with Jay and Leo. And I knew with a certainty that brought tears to my eyes that I wanted Tom and Drake there, too.

“Why don't I pick up some Chinese and we'll talk about it in the comfort of home?” He put his van in neutral and took my hand in his. “Your home, since it's closest and your kids are there.”

“Pizza,” I said. “And cheese cake.”

Tom had a few things to do at the office before he called it a day,
so we agreed that he'd see me in a couple of hours. “But if this
really turns to sleet, just come, okay?” I said. I transferred Drake to my van and Tom drove off to the faculty lot. I started the car and just sat there for a moment. I turned on the radio and landed in an NPR program on the blues. Robert Johnson wrapped up “Crossroads,” and the reporter began to speak about the story linked to the song. “Some people say that Robert Johnson really did sell his soul,” he said, and I pushed the button for an oldies station in search of lighter fare. Although I didn't expect to meet the Devil there, I felt we were barreling toward a crossroads of our own, Tom and I. Or maybe I was alone in this maelstrom of indecision. Maybe Tom saw the road ahead as straight and smooth. He always seemed to know what he wanted, but I couldn't decide which I wanted more,
me
or
us
. Since I had met Tom, I had managed mostly to have both.
Why does anything have to change?

Drake whined and whacked his tail twice against the side of the crate, and when I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if I could see him, I noticed a white SUV idling in the drive. There were two people in the front seat and I thought someone was moving in the back seat as well. That seemed odd, since there were plenty of open spaces. Maybe the driver was just giving me a chance to back out. “Okay, you're right, Drake,” I said. “Time to go.” The white vehicle didn't take my space, and when I stopped to turn onto the road out of the campus, it was right behind me.

Normally I would have turned left onto Coliseum, but the SUV made me nervous, and although it seemed silly to change my route, I drove straight onto Anthony instead. The other car was still with me, but I reminded myself that that didn't mean anything. A lot of people used North Anthony to get in and out of campus. I pulled into the Firefly Coffee House parking lot and slid into a space. The other car also turned into the lot, but parked on the other side, in front of the health food store. No one got out.

My heart started to beat a little too fast, and I whispered,
I don't need this crap.
I went into the Firefly and ordered a mocha. I was fourth in line, so it took a few minutes to get my drink. When I came out, the other car was gone, or at least I couldn't see it. I set my mocha in the cup holder and got Drake out of his crate and had him lie down on the floor in front of the back seats. I kissed him between his eyes and said, “I know you're basically a big friendly lug, but I feel better with you not locked up.” Besides, I knew from experience that he would try to protect me and Tom if necessary. Drake slapped my mouth and nose with his sloppy warm tongue, and I felt safe, body and soul.

I drove south out of the parking lot and made a left onto East State. The freezing rain was coming harder now and starting to stick,
and the back window wore a curtain of icy water drops, fog, and lights from
the next car back. I pushed the anti-fog button and turned on the rear wipers long enough to clear the glass. The road ahead had the
dull sheen of a well-used nickel and all I could see of the cars coming toward me was their headlights. Drake sat up and lay his head on my arm rest, his muzzle touching my coat sleeve just hard enough so say, “I'm right here.” The light changed, and as we accelerated away from the car behind us, I got a look in the mirror. It was the white SUV.

thirty-six

The white SUV was
still behind me when I reached Georgetown Square. Part of me, egged on by my Janet demon, wanted to hit the brakes and have it out with the driver right in the middle of East State. Another voice whispered,
Janet, Janet, tut tut. There's more than one white SUV in Fort Wayne.
Which was confirmed when I checked my driver's side mirror. It showed another one coming up on my left. Still, my inner wimp said,
Pull into the shopping center. Don't lead a stalker into your badly lit neighborhood.

I signaled for the right lane and checked my rearview mirror again. The road behind me was empty for a block or more. The car on my
left had stopped in the turn lane, and there was no one on my right. I let out a long breath and Drake nudged my arm lightly as if to assure me that all was well.
Except my mind, which I seem to have left somewhere,
I thought.

Full dark had all but settled in for the night by the time I pulled into my driveway. I had knocked the garage door opener off the visor earlier, so I put the car in park and fished around on the floor. When I finally pushed the button, nothing happened. I held the gadget at arm's length and pushed the button again. Nothing. A few choice words that I've been trying not to use shot out of my mouth as I shook the remote and tried again. Drake's tail banged against the back of my seat when the overhead door finally opened.

I took the dogs out back and they raced off in a joyful chase, Jay in the lead, as always. Goldie's house was dark but for the front and back porch lights and I smiled. After successful cancer treatment, which she had hidden from me for months, she was healthy again a
nd taking full advantage. Bird walks two or three mornings a week,
a new book club, a writing class to help her work on her cookbook. Tuesday, if I remembered correctly, was figure drawing class, which she claimed was about much more than the naked young man who modeled for them.

A thin film of ice glittered on the patio, so I stepped carefully back to the door. The doggy boys were playing keep-away with a long rope toy, so I left them outside. I put a kettle on for tea, changed into my only not-too-ratty gray sweat pants and a deep-raspberry fleece top that always made me feel warm and secure. I started back to the kitchen, but caught a reflection in a picture-frame glass and backtracked to the bathroom. I brushed my hair into a semblance of control, and put on some eyeliner and light shadow per an article I'd read in a waiting room a while back. I think the title was “Make Up Tricks for Mature Eyes.” I stepped back and assessed the results.
Better
, I thought, despite the blue puffiness that proclaimed my exhaustion from the past few days. I smeared some tinted balm onto my lips just as the kettle began to whistle.

The dogs were on the patio, but I figured they could wait while I put my tea to steeping. Jay thought otherwise, and just as I put the
lid on the teapot, the back door banged open and the two galoots slid into the kitchen, their wet paws like skates on the vinyl floor. Jay stopped mid-kitchen. Drake banged into a table leg, pushing the
table sideways, knocking over the salt and pepper grinders and launching the tabasco bottle into a fatal roll. I almost managed to snatch it from the brink.

“Okay, you guys, in here.” Jay and Drake had both sobered up at the sound of glass breaking, and they obeyed my directive with ears back and heads low. “Down.” They lay down. I tried to give Drake a stern look, but it's very hard to be upset about a little spilled hot
sauce caused by pure doggy joy. “It's okay, guys. I just don't want you
to cut yourselves.” Their eyes brightened and they both smiled and
wagged at me.

I was pulling the dust pan from under the sink when “From Me to You” announced a call from Tom. I dampened a sponge, opened the phone, tucked it between my chin and shoulder, and got down on my knees by the table.

I meant to say “hello,” but it came out as more of a grunt.

“What's wrong?” asked Tom.

“Cleaning up a mess your dog made.”

“My dog? My dog wouldn't make a mess. What kind of mess?”

“A small mess.”

“Best kind,” he said, and I could hear the soft sparkle I knew would be in his eye. “So, I'm going to call in the pizza order in a few minutes. What do you want on it?”

We sorted that out, and I told him to be careful of the ice that was starting. I figured I had three-quarters of an hour, so once I got the table back in place, I freed the dogs, poured my tea, and sat down to check my email and Facebook page.

Most of my emails were various newsletters and other missives that I had signed up for but never had time to read. I scanned topics, saved a handful to read later, and moved the rest to trash. There was one from Robin Byrde, whose email moniker was “rockinrobin,” inviting me to the “Wetlands and Woods in Winter” teach-in on Sunday morning. I wrote her back and told her that I would regretfully have to pass because my cat and I were competing in feline agility this weekend. Just writing that made me smile. I invited her to my Facebook page, Animals in Focus, signed off, and sent it.

I was about to shut down my computer when I saw that I had a new email from Norm, which made my heart go pitty pat because Norm never emails me and I figured it was trouble. Besides, the subject line was “Lawsuit.”
Don't open it,
I thought.
It can wait until morning. Things look better in the sunshine
. But I knew I wouldn't be able to get it out of my head, and certainly wouldn't sleep if I didn't know what it said, however bad.

Then another new email popped onto the list, this one from Jade Templeton at Shadetree Retirement Home. That didn't worry me. Jade emailed me pretty frequently with updates about events at
Shadetree or to arrange photo shoots, which we had been doing every
couple of months lately for the residents who wanted better-than-cell-phone photos with their kids and grandkids. Then I saw the
subject line, and let my body slide low in my chair to match the sink
ing I felt inside.