Earnest (7 page)

A little confusion never hurt anybody,
the house replied in Anna's heart—the exact words Grammy would have said.

What if we try to save you, house, but it all comes to a dead end?
Anna asked.

Anna nodded. That was true.

As so often happened in the turret, a memory came to Anna as if carried on the wind. One cold fall day she and Grammy had been driving back from a Huskies game. Grammy was cranky because they'd lost, and she kept muttering, “Blast! Drat! Crumb!”

A mist rolled in, and the windshield wipers squeaked across the glass. As the Chevy traveled along Alaskan Way, wisps of fog swirled before the headlights, slid like ghosts across the hood, and billowed behind the car.

No matter how hard Anna squinted or how many times she wiped the windshield with her fist, she could see only a few fearsome yards ahead. Grammy must have sensed her apprehension, because she patted her knee. “Don't worry. If we're careful, we'll be all right.”

“I hope,” Anna said.

To distract her, Grammy launched a philosophical discussion, as she did from time to time. “A drive through fog is like life, you know.”

“How come?”

“We're bumbling along in the car, and we literally can't see behind or ahead. It's the same when we go through life. As we muddle day to day, we can't see the past or future; they exist only in our memory or imagination. All we have to live is the present moment—in life and in this car. Understand?”

“I think,” Anna said.

“I can ponder today's wretched Huskies score till the cows come home. Same with wondering about next week's game. What matters is right here, now, with you. The fog forces us to focus on it.”

Grammy turned up the defroster so the fan whirred behind the dashboard. Anna felt the wipers' rhythm, steady as a pulse.

“One thing's for sure. Surprises are waiting for us out there in the fog of life,” Grammy added. “We must hope for the best and expect even more.”

That had been Grammy's mantra. Anna had heard her say it dozens of times. The words echoed in her mind when she got up and cleaned a circle of the turret's window with her fist, just as she'd cleaned Grammy's windshield to see out on that long-ago afternoon. For now, when Anna's future was uncertain, the present seemed a safer place to be. Predicting what lay ahead for herself
or
the house was as pointless as worrying about it. She'd try to muddle along in the present, a step at a time, and hope for the best. As for expecting even more, she wasn't sure.

C
HAPTER
10

J
eff raised a disapproving eyebrow as he looked around the apartment's living room.
What an awful place. But beggars can't be choosers.

He tried not to recoil from the walls—hot pink, shocking pink, tickle-me pink. Whatever you wanted to call it, the color prevailed like an infectious rash that had spread from the hot-pink bathroom. At least Mr. Ripley, the landlord and a retired Marine, had painted the baseboards and window trim a civilized white. In order to stay on Gamble near Anna, Jeff could make do here if he had to.

He could clean the last tenant's toothpaste off the bathroom mirror easily enough, and a little bleach could send packing the kitchen sink's mold. Though tattered, the red-and-brown plaid sofa was serviceable. Jeff didn't really want to look at the mattress—he could always set his sleeping bag on top of Mr. Ripley's ruffled pink taffeta bedspread. And there was a balcony for Earnest to loll around on. He wouldn't mind looking down on a gas station.

What mattered most was that the apartment was furnished. Without moving much from the condo, Jeff could stay here for however long—and he hoped it would be short. More important, he also hoped that Earnest could live here. Mr. Ripley, who had gray sideburns and a paunch, was the only Gamble landlord on craigslist willing to consider a pet, and Jeff had come running after work with Earnest's photo.

“Here he is. He's a fantastic dog!” From his wallet, Jeff handed Mr. Ripley the picture, which he took with the tips of his stubby thumb and index finger. He acted like Earnest had mange that might crawl out of the photo. “I can't bring him here right now because he's at the vet's. But you can see how handsome he is,” Jeff said.

“I don't care what he looks like. I care how he behaves. How do I know this dog won't rip up my apartment?” To Mr. Ripley, Earnest was surely fanged and bent on destruction.

“Earnest is a Lab. The friendliest, most well-behaved breed. He's at the clinic because he inhaled smoke. He's a hero. He rescued people in a fire.”

“The one on Rainier yesterday?”

“Yes.” Plant Parenthood was just two blocks from this apartment.

“Does the dog shed?” Mr. Ripley asked.

“I brush him every day.”

“Bark?”

“Rarely. The only time he loudly voices an opinion is when he's being protective.”

“How much does he weigh?”

“About eighty pounds, but he's surprisingly graceful. He doesn't break things. He's never attacked another dog.”

Mr. Ripley eyed Jeff with misgiving. “Usually, I have to meet the pet in person.”

“You'd love Earnest. Everybody does. Really.”
No pleading. Keep the desperation under wraps.
“If you want someone to vouch for him, I can get a reference from his vet. It's Dr. Nilsen. Do you know him?”

“Never had a pet. Don't much like animals.”

“Right,” Jeff nodded.

Mr. Ripley studied Earnest's face with the focus of a general trying to decipher the secret code of an invading army. “I don't know. I guess he seems okay.”

He handed the photo back to Jeff, picked up his backpack by the door, and pulled out a legal-size paper. “I'll want a four-hundred-dollar deposit, and here's the year's lease you need to sign.”

Aargh.
On the phone Jeff had not asked about a lease. He'd hoped Mr. Ripley, like many landlords on their friendly island, rented with only a deposit and a handshake.

“Could the lease be month-to-month?” Jeff asked.
Otherwise, he'd have to break it to move back to the condo.

“The shortest I ever allowed was six months, and that was for my brother-in-law,” Mr. Ripley said.

“What if I paid a higher rent each month?”

“Like how much?”

“Say fifty dollars?”

Mr. Ripley seemed to consider this offer for a moment. “You could move out in a month or two and leave me stuck with this place in the middle of winter. Nobody rents in the rain.”

“Um . . .” As Jeff collected his thoughts, his gaze went to fly specks on the window. Eye contact was hard when he edged too close for comfort toward deception.

If he had his way, he'd move out of here in a week and forfeit the rest of this month's rent. Yet he valued honesty and decency, and he wouldn't want to leave this man in the lurch. On the other hand, Jeff didn't know how long Anna would take to come to her senses. He might have to live here for a couple of months or more. If his future truly were not definite, he wasn't misleading anyone.

“I want to live here. I'll keep it clean. I'll pay the rent on time. Earnest and I won't cause you trouble.”

When Mr. Ripley exhaled, his belly jiggled slightly. “Oh, all right.”

“Thanks.” Jeff clapped Mr. Ripley's beefy shoulder as he took the lease. He quickly looked it over, signed it, and wrote out a deposit check. Mr. Ripley gave him a key.

 

“Anna?” Jeff called.

He could tell just from stepping inside the condo that she wasn't home. Evening shadows darkened the living room, and something felt askew. Instead of the usual warmth, there was an unsettling emptiness. Now that Jeff wasn't exactly living here, the room itself didn't seem the same, either.

Sure, against one wall was the same white denim sofa he'd slept on, and, across from it, the same love seat with a whisper of pink like a blush. The his-and-hers wingback chairs. Anna's plants. Jeff 's landscape paintings. Earnest's wicker bed and its royal-blue pillow. The shelves where Jeff and Anna's books mingled together.

But Jeff felt like he was trespassing on someone else's property, and he didn't quite belong here anymore. Uneasy, he went to the bathroom and packed his toiletries bag, including Pepcid for stressful days like the last two, and ZzzQuil if the stress kept him awake. From the bedroom closet he got pajamas and a change of clothes. Tomorrow after work he'd come back for more.

He stopped in the kitchen and made a chicken sandwich, which he ate standing at the counter. In the quiet, he could hear himself chew. He felt slightly furtive. If Anna came home and found him, he should probably bolt out the door.

In the garage, he stopped at his and Anna's storage locker and rummaged through the camping gear. In a plastic bin he found their sleeping bags, and it did not escape his notice that they seemed to be snuggling, as he and Anna had on camping trips when they'd zipped the bags together.

Pulling his bag out of the bin and leaving Anna's behind depressed him.
Easy, man,
he comforted himself.
You'll be camping with her again before long.

He told himself again that his move was temporary. He would soon be back in his and Anna's bed. As usual, Earnest would start the evening snoring innocently on the rug. But as the night got cooler and Jeff and Anna's sleep got deeper, Earnest would sneak up on their bed and wriggle between them so they made a sandwich, Earnest the ham and Jeff and Anna the bread. Those were the coziest times, the three of them cuddled up together in their nest. Jeff warmed at the memory. What he wouldn't give to sleep like that tonight.

C
HAPTER
11

N
o one would have known that Earnest had inhaled smoke. He pranced down the hall the best he could with his burned paw and plastic cone, and he burst into Plant Parenthood to reclaim his kingdom. But then he paused, moved his head around, and peered out the cone at Anna's shop.

He looked up at her with a puzzled expression.
What the devil has happened here?

“The fire, Sweetie. Remember?”

Earnest aimed his charcoal-lump nose toward the floor and tried to sniff his way to what had been Anna's houseplant jungle. Now only Edgar and Constance greeted him, with sagging leaves and withered fronds. Earnest circled the half-filled garbage bags, the empty flower buckets, and the chests and tables, now denuded of their merchandise. He bumped his cone against the base of Anna's sink, where sooty metal Buddhas were soaking in soapy water.

Anna held up Earnest's gray lily pad so he could see. “Smoke got your bed. I'm going to throw it out, but don't worry. Last night I ordered you a new one online.”

For now, Anna set her sleeping bag on the floor and patted it to encourage Earnest to nestle in for a nap. She did not mention that she'd gotten her bag from the storage locker that morning, and Jeff 's had been missing. Or that she'd not seen him at the condo last night. Later today Earnest would get home and realize that his family was divided. She dreaded the distress that would cause him.

Her own distress was enough for them both.Two days after learning of Jeff's deception, shock and resentment still churned through her—but now also sadness, and sometimes she felt numb. Her feelings must have emanated from her with an odor as arresting as ammonia because Earnest cocked his head and watched her, his face somber.

His pensive eyes informed her that he had noted her unhappiness, and his conclusion was,
I smell a rat.

“You get some rest, Sweetie. That's your job right now. You've had a huge ordeal.”

What's going on? What are you not telling me?
asked his forehead furrows.

“Here, Earnest. Lie down.”

 

Winston Somebody—Anna didn't catch his last name—looked like a hedgehog. He had small round eyes, a pointed nose, and a salt-and-pepper flattop that grew in the manner of freshly mowed grass. He walked into Plant Parenthood and introduced himself, but shrank back to the doorway when Earnest came to greet him.

Winston glared at him as he would have at a weevil. “Does he bite?”

“In that cone, he couldn't if he wanted to. He's just trying to say hello,” Anna said.

“Get him away.” Winston waved his arms. He could have been fanning poison gas.

How absurd.
“Here, Earnest. Come back to the sleeping bag.”

Earnest looked insulted. From deep inside his cone, he shot Winston a black, distrustful look. Earnest sat with his front paws extended so his body made a tripod—the better to spring forward and bark if Winston tried anything funny.

“At least he obeys,” Winston sniffed. He edged back into the room, as far away as possible from Earnest. “I'm an adjuster for Seaco Insurance. I need to estimate the damage here.”

“Be my guest.” Anna picked a Buddha out of the sink. As she squeezed a soapy sponge over his head, gray dribbled down his robe and left behind shiny brass trails. Anna dunked him back into the water and wiped the sponge over his face and arms.

Slinking around the windows, Winston glanced repeatedly at Earnest to make sure he wasn't gearing up for an assault. He walked the shop's perimeter, then stepped behind Anna's counter, a protective barrier in case Earnest decided to lunge at his throat. He smoothed a hand over the wall and grimaced at the residue. “Looks like the main problem in here is from smoke.”

“That's true of the whole house except the kitchen,” Anna said.

“It's going to need a lot of fixing.”

“When will you do it?” Anna asked, though she assumed Mrs. Blackmore didn't intend to fix anything.

“I don't do repairs. I estimate them.”

“So you have no idea when the electricity will be turned back on?” Anna asked.

“That's an easy question. Not till the house is rewired.”

Disappointed, Anna groaned and gripped the Buddha. If a fig had fallen from his Bodhi tree and bonked him on the head, his scowl would not have been as dark as hers. “We're desperate for power,” she said.

“Lady, you don't want power here till the wiring's repaired. It's not safe. It caused the fire in the first place.”

Winston's news danced down the counter and brushed Anna's face with the pleasure of a long-desired kiss. “The
wiring
caused the fire?”

“According to the investigator's report.”

“So it was faulty!”
Our Mr. Coffee is innocent! Mrs. Scroogemore can't sue us! Maybe we can sue her . . . but, then, she'd never sell us the house.

Winston fixed his beady hedgehog eyes on Anna. “Look, I'm not supposed to talk with you about this stuff.”

“I'm glad you did.”

“Forget I said anything. And forget turning on the electricity. Trust me. The wiring needs to be brought up to code.”

 

At the end of the day, when Anna left for home with Earnest, they paused at Lauren's poetry post for her latest September poem. Each month she usually put up only a single poem, written by one of her many community contributors. But this poem was her own, posted without delay, she said, because she wanted to make an important point. Anna pulled a copy from the Plexiglas box and read: