Still Life with Shape-shifter (26 page)

“That’s excellent news!” I said, shaking the dealer’s hand. His grip was firm and his intense green eyes were hard to look away from. He wasn’t that much taller than I was, so I had the feeling that he was looking straight into my own eyes and all the way into my soul. A peculiar sensation. “Although I think we’re committed to Gallerie Adele for the moment.” I didn’t know how this art business worked, but I did know I was going to be loyal to Crystal.

Evan Baylor looked amused. “We work with Gallerie Adele to make sure everyone receives an appropriate commission,” he said. “Including, of course, the artist himself.”

“Evan isn’t just a dealer,” Crystal said. “He’s a collector.”

He gestured at the wall—at the images of the boy and the wolf. “I bought these two for myself the minute I saw them this evening,” he said. “Quite beautiful.”

“So you’re the one,” I said with a smile. “I met a couple of people tonight who were very disappointed that they hadn’t gotten here first.”

“I’ve got to get back to the front,” Crystal said. “But Evan, ask her anything you want about the artist. She’s his manager, but she’s also his girlfriend.”

“I thought we were going to try to be more professional than that,” I said with a mock frown.

She smiled. “Evan likes the personal angle,” she told me. “He says that’s how customers develop a sense of connection to artists, and that’s what keeps them buying.” Someone on the other side of the room waved to her, and she nodded briskly. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said, and hurried off.

I turned my attention back to the disconcerting but intriguing Evan Baylor. “So!” I said. “What would you like to know about Cooper?”

“Only one thing, really,” he said. “Am I right in thinking this is a self-portrait?”

“The boy?” I said.

“The wolf. Am I right in believing he’s a shape-shifter?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

MELANIE

T
he summer is a disaster.

At first I think it will be all right. The first month goes more or less as planned. Ann and William stay away for four full weeks, long enough for me to start worrying, even though I tell myself every single day that this is what I wanted for her, this is normal, she has been gone for far longer stretches, and everything has been just fine. Then one night they show up just as I’m getting home from work, loping down the two-lane road just ahead of the Cherokee. I honk in excitement and race them to the house. I’m barely out of the car before Ann’s jumping up to put her forepaws on my chest and trying to lick my face. William sits on his haunches nearby, panting slightly, his mouth agape in a canine grin.

“Come in, come in!” I exclaim, waving them toward the door. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some good leftover roast. And I bought special dog food, the
expensive
kind, because nothing’s too good for my sister. And her boyfriend.”

I give them food and water, call Brody to tell him they’ve arrived, and he can come down tonight anyway as we’d planned. “Maybe tomorrow or the next day,” he says. “You guys could use a little time together.”

William wanders off before nightfall, but Ann sticks close beside me all evening. At dinner, I sit cross-legged on the couch, a TV tray on my lap, and tell her everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks. Brody’s excited about a new series assignment he’s picked up, interviewing ten regional philanthropists about what they expect to be the most important charitable causes worldwide over the next decade.

“He loves all that do-goody stuff,” I tell her. “And I have to say, I’m starting to get more interested. They’re doing all these cool experiments with energy, did you know that? Like, if cars go across a bridge, they make it shake, and you can—can capture that motion and turn it into electricity. Or something.”

I tell her Debbie’s big news. “She’s pregnant. She and Charles had decided two was enough—he was going to get his vasectomy
the next week
. Debbie’s still kind of stunned, but the boys are delighted. And I think Charles is, too, or he will be once he gets over the shock.”

I fill her in on all the details of my life. “Another offer from Kurt! Three hundred thousand dollars this time. Can you imagine? I think Daddy paid ten thousand for the whole thing. Let’s see, work is fine—a little boring, but there are days boring is not a bad thing. Brody is great—he’s so upbeat all the time. You know me, I can be irritable and tense and just—just not a lot of fun. He makes me happy. I like to have him around.” I spread my hands in an I-can’t-explain-it manner. “We’re good.”

We watch TV together, me stretched out on the couch, Ann lying across my feet, her nose resting on her paws. I’m not sure how much she’s actually taking in of the dialogue or story lines but, hell, I’m not really absorbing much either. I’m just feeling peaceful, relaxed, content. I’m just thinking,
This is good enough. I can do this for the next ten years.

But it’s not good enough for Ann. She’s still sleeping when I leave for work, but she’s awake and restless when I get home that night. She follows every step I take from the front door to my bedroom, where I kick off my pumps and change my dress pants for sweats, and back to the kitchen. I offer her the uneaten half of my lunchtime sandwich, but she doesn’t want it. She presses against my calves and begins an anxious whining.

I bend down to cup her muzzle in my hand. “What’s wrong, girl? Timmy fall down the well?” She barks, an indignant sound, but then she whines again, meeting my eyes straight on with her icy-blue ones.

Oh, I can read the thought in her head.

I drop to my knees, my hand still under her chin, my eyes now fierce as they gaze into hers. “Don’t do it,” I warn. “You promised. It hasn’t been three months yet—it’s only been a month! Don’t do it. Don’t you dare.”

She reaches out one paw and scratches at my thigh, a pleading gesture. I shake my head, implacable. “No. It’s not okay. No.” I lean closer, speak directly into that alert white ear. “Hold tight, baby. Hold tight. Stay the way you are.”

Clearly disappointed, a little sulky, she drops her head to my knee and rests it there. I bend down far enough to keep speaking in her ear. “And if the temptation is too much for you, then leave. Go find William and run wild again. Don’t stay very long if you’re just going to want to be human.”

Now she utters a heavy sigh. I read it as acquiescence. I pat the top of her head and push myself to my feet. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. You’ll feel more cheerful after you’ve chased a few rabbits.”

We pass another quiet evening, but it doesn’t feel as contented. I can tell she’s feeling strain, and that raises my own level of stress. In the morning, she trots out the door beside me when I leave for work, and I bend down to ruffle the fur around her face.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” I inform her. “You’re leaving. You won’t be here when I get back. Good. Have fun. Come back when you can.”

And she has, indeed, vanished by the time I return from work. I’m a little sad, and Brody’s disappointed when he arrives an hour later, but I know it’s for the best. Apparently, we’re going to have to restrict ourselves to short visits, or she will not be able to resist becoming human. And much as I miss her, I cannot have her take that risk. I would sacrifice anything to keep her alive.

It’s another three weeks before she reappears. I manage my worry by reminding myself how dangerous it is when she’s actually at the house; I tell myself that she’s keeping away to avoid giving in to temptation. I even, finally, put up the countdown sign in the backyard, and change it every day before I leave for work. Seven weeks down, five to go, before the first three months are up. Before, even though it’s still risky, she can take her alternate form. Before she’s my sister again.

But I’m still at the office one Wednesday afternoon when Brody, who’s been working from my house, calls my cell phone.

“Ann and William are here,” he tells me.

“Great! Did you feed them? How are they?”

“Human.”

“
What?
Both of them? Ann, too?”

“Ann, too.”

I close my eyes and lay my head on my desk, the phone still pressed against my ear. Ann must take the cordless from Brody’s hand, because the next voice I hear is hers. “Don’t go all tragic on me,” she says, her voice brimming with laughter. “We arrived this morning, and it just felt right to change.”

“Ann, you
know
you aren’t strong enough to—”

“Oh, pooh. I feel fine. Don’t be so negative all the time.”

“Don’t be so—how can you
say
that to me? When you know—”

“Listen, Brody and I are going to make you a big ol’ scrumptious dinner. Anything you’re in the mood for, or should we just surprise you?”

“Oh, you’ve already surprised me.”

She laughs again. “All right. We’ll come up with something fabulous. See you later. Kisses!”

I’m so anxious about Ann that it’s impossible for me to enjoy the meal that night—though it actually
is
very good, roast pork, twice-baked potatoes, asparagus, strawberries, homemade chocolate cake. I don’t want to poison the time we
do
have together by fighting with her, but I cannot simply let this transgression slide.

“You’re killing yourself, and I want you to stop,” I say to her bluntly as we sit on the patio while the men clear the dishes. “If you were smoking cigarettes or drinking too much alcohol, I’d tell you the same thing. I love you too much to let you keep indulging in self-destructive behavior. And I’m telling you. Don’t. Be. Human.”

It’s past eight o’clock, and the approaching sunset is laying a golden sheen on every leaf in the nearby woods, every blade of grass in the half-wild yard. Ann herself looks like a study in gold and gray, partially obscured by shadows, partly lit by the sun. I’m sitting tense and upright in my newly purchased patio furniture, but she’s sprawled back on her chair, relaxed and drowsy. She makes a lazy gesture.

“I can’t do it,” she says. “I can’t be here and not want to slip into this part of my life. The minute I see the house, I want to change.”

“That’s not even true! You’ve spent
thousands
of hours in this house shaped like a dog, and you were perfectly happy! In fact, when you were growing up, there were plenty of times I wanted you to be human, and you refused, and we were right here. In this very house. So don’t give me that crap.”

She laughs, but it’s a sleepy sound. She looks like she could drift off right here if I would be courteous enough to stop talking. “What can I say? It’s different now. I don’t think I can come home and see you and not change shapes.”

“Then don’t come home,” I say, though the words have so many razor-sharp edges that they slash my lips to ribbons as they come out.

She shakes her head. “I can’t do that either.”

“Ann—”

She yawns. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Whatever will happen will happen.”

And, right under my eyes, she falls asleep.

And she sleeps for the next two days.

Of course I’m frantic. I call Dr. Kassebaum, who is kind enough to refrain from recriminations and invites us to meet her in Springfield if we’d like to make the drive. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to do much for her,” she adds. “My guess is she’ll eventually regain her strength—and she’ll be relatively well once she’s in husky shape again. But I’m afraid that you’ll see this pattern repeated every time she becomes human. And each time she’ll be weaker and take longer to recover.”

And eventually she won’t recover at all.
I can hear the words even though she doesn’t say them.

Brody and William and I sit around the dining-room table Friday night and run through our options. They aren’t many.

“I don’t think I can keep her from coming here,” William says frankly. “And I don’t blame her. She loves you.” He shrugs. Really, what else is there to say?

Brody’s drinking a beer from the bottle and playing with the condensation rings it leaves behind on the table. “What about a compromise—a neutral zone?” he says. “She wants to see Melanie. Okay, makes sense. Maybe they meet somewhere else? Where Ann doesn’t feel the same weight of memories pushing her back to herself?”

The suggestion makes me feel hopeful. “That’s a good idea. But where?”

“Debbie’s house? She knows about Ann, right?”

“Yeah, but Charles doesn’t. Oh, and Debbie’s having a rough time of it right now. Sick to her stomach
all
the time.”

“Maria’s,” William suggests.

I glance at him. He looks as rangy and disreputable as ever, like the world’s oldest juvenile delinquent; it’s hard to read on his face what emotions might be troubling his heart. But he loves Ann, too, and this whole thing must be as difficult for him as it is for me. I wonder if it’s harder or easier because he can understand, in a way I can’t, the contradictory and irresistible desires that drive her.

“That sounds perfect,” I say. “If it would be all right with Maria.”

He shrugs again. “I’ll ask her, but I know she’ll be fine with it. She likes Ann. And she knows about—” He can’t seem to figure out what words to use. “All this.”

“So you arrive at Maria’s, but you stay in dog shape, and Maria calls me, and we come visit,” I say, working it out as I go along. “And Ann gets to see me, and that makes her happy, but she’s in unfamiliar surroundings so she doesn’t feel the same impulse to become human. And then I go away, and you guys go away, and I don’t see her again until you go back to Maria’s.”

“It might work,” William says.

“I think it sounds great,” Brody says.

“As long as it’s not an imposition on Maria,” I add.

“She’ll be pleased we thought of her.”

*   *   *

A
nn, when she finally emerges from slumber Saturday morning, is suitably contrite and just a little scared. She is pleased and relieved at the notion of meeting at Maria’s and promises me she will not come back to our house before we’ve tried this experiment at a secondary location.

“But I still get to be human
some
of the time, right?” she says, as I French braid her hair before we all go out for pie. “Every three months? For a few days?”

“Maybe every six months,” I say, trying to make the words casual. “Christmas and Fourth of July. Won’t that be good enough?”

She frowns at me in the mirror. “
No
, it will
not
. Three months.”

“But Annie, you see how weak you got this time—”

“But it wasn’t three months. It wasn’t even two months.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid—”

“Three months. No more bargaining.”

I heave an elaborate sigh. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn brat?”

She laughs. “Only you.”

“Well, I think I’m the one who’d know.”

The forty-eight-hour nap has refreshed her wonderfully. Her spirits are high, her color is good, and our outing to Slices is delightful, despite the fact that William says very little, eats very little, and looks so much like a street person that our waitress is clearly afraid of him. But once we’re back at the house, he joins the rest of us for a few hands of hearts—Ann cheating, as she always does, and getting caught, as she always does—and the evening ends with much merriment.

“Sometimes I actually think everything’s going to be okay,” I murmur into Brody’s chest that night as we curl up together to fall asleep. “Times like today. When she’s so happy, and she looks so good. I think it’s going to be all right after all.”

“Maybe it will be,” he says.

I sigh, but I don’t answer, just lay my mouth against his collarbone. He presses his lips to the top of my head. Sometimes a kiss is better than a conversation; sometimes it’s the only way to communicate at all.

*   *   *

A
nn and William leave Monday morning, already in their animal incarnations. Well, William had slipped into his habitual setter shape Saturday night as soon as he’d called Maria and gotten her instant agreement to our new plan. He’d spent the rest of the weekend prowling the backyard and sleeping on the front porch, seeming perfectly content.