Tango: The Tale of an Island Dog (18 page)

Nestled in Augusta’s arms, Pup warmed up. When McKenna came back down, Augusta would surprise her. She’d tell McKenna that she’d decided to name the Yorkshire Terrier after Ulysses’ dog, Argus.

When McKenna asked why (since Augusta was certain the name would have no significance to McKenna), Augusta would direct McKenna to the bookcase. She’d ask McKenna to draw out Homer’s
Odyssey.
They’d drink hot tea, and Augusta would read the classic story aloud.

But when McKenna came down and curled herself into the armchair near Augusta’s bed, it was McKenna, not Augusta, who had a story to tell. And not just one story, but two.

At first, when McKenna told Miss Gustie that she’d discovered Pup—as well as a bunch of cats and dozens of small, wild animals—inside the Pitiful Place, Miss Gustie didn’t believe her.

“Why, that’s impossible.”

Augusta had an even harder time believing that Old Ada’s sad gray house had split apart and washed out to sea.

It would not be until the next morning, when the strange occurrences of the storm-filled night were the talk of the village, that Augusta would truly believe McKenna’s story. By that time, rumors were spreading, including one started by Big Bart Cody. He swore that when he’d searched the bay with the wharf’s emergency, long-range lantern, he’d seen four, maybe five cats clinging to the roof of Old Ada’s house as the receding tide carried the roof out to sea.

The second story was one that McKenna had held inside herself for so long that her words should have spilled out rapidly, mixed with tears and emotion.

Instead, McKenna told her story in a voice as steady as a boat rowed on a windless day. And Miss Gustie listened, as much with her eyes as her ears.

“My real mother abandoned me.”

“Your birth mother, you mean.”

“No note. No nothing. Left me, in the middle of the night, cold and naked, on Pamela Skye’s front lawn.”

“I see.”

“Wrapped in a fishnet.”

Miss Gustie’s eyes registered shock, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I was only a couple of days old.”

“Oh, my.”

“After Mrs. Gaspé caught me reading the report last winter, she decided that a half-truth was worse than the whole truth, so she told me everything she knew.”

“And, you say, this was later proven? That Mr. Skye was not your father?”

“I guess that’s why he was so eager to get rid of me.”

Augusta fell silent. She rubbed her chin,
momentarily deep in thought. “And where does Bart Cody fit into all of this?”

“The report said that Pamela Skye was a Cody. She had two brothers, once in the Coast Guard, who lived in Victoria-by-the-Sea.”

“You mean Big Bart and Little Art?”

McKenna nodded. She squeezed her stomach. She didn’t feel like talking about it anymore. “What difference does it make?” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late. I’d better be getting back.”

Miss Gustie’s voice was firm. “No. Go on. It’s important. You were saying that the Codys …”

McKenna sighed, allowing a deep breath of air to escape. “Big Bart and Little Art were at sea when the car accident happened. I went from one foster home to another. After Mr. Z. knocked me around, I headed in this direction. But one night, I took a wrong turn. When I saw that big blue sign for Victoria-by-the-Sea out there on the highway, it was getting late, and I was cold and really hungry. So I walked into the village. I asked this kid who was skateboarding on the wharf if he knew any Codys, and he pointed to their house.”

“So Bart Cody isn’t your real—I mean, blood—uncle.”

“No, but I guess he thinks he is.”

“It was good of him to take you in.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How sad,” Augusta said. “How terribly, terribly sad.”

The little dog was cradled in Miss Gustie’s arms, fast asleep.

Better to quit now, McKenna thought, before she had the chance to say anything else. She would put the silver heart on the chain and take Tango’s identity with her to Toronto. She’d leave tomorrow night; it was her last chance.

But wrapped in Miss Gustie’s robe, in the warmth of a candlelit room, McKenna’s heart was heavy, her feet felt anchored to the floor. She was so, so tired. She guessed she’d just sit there for a little while longer.

McKenna closed her eyes, but soon the picture of herself as a baby, netted like some unwanted creature pulled from the sea, returned.

McKenna opened her eyes, shaking her head to scare off the image.

Miss Gustie was watching her. “You must forgive your mother, McKenna. She was probably very young.”

“Yeah, so...”

“Very young, very afraid, and very alone—an act of desperation, I’m sure.”

McKenna rested her head on her hand. “Miss Gustie, do you think my mother’s ever been sorry?”

“I’m quite certain your birth mother has felt more sorrow than either of us could ever imagine. I’m also certain that you gave Pamela Skye more joy than you know.”

“Really?”

“Truly, that’s what I believe.”

McKenna shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Really,” Miss Gustie said. “But now, we must go to sleep. Mother always said that, no matter what happens, things will seem better in the morning. ‘Sleep on it,’ that’s what she always said.”

McKenna didn’t know whether she could sleep on Tango’s story any longer. If McKenna didn’t tell Miss Gustie now, she never would. Wasn’t everyone always telling McKenna to tell the truth? Wouldn’t Miss Gustie
expect
her to tell the truth?

“Well, now you know, Miss Gustie, why I have to show you what I’m going to show you.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Augusta looked tired and confused. “Show me what?”

McKenna uncurled her legs and put her bare feet on the floor. She bent down and removed the silver link chain from her ankle. The little dog opened one eye, watching her every move.

“Miss Gustie, look.” McKenna laid the silver links on the end table, right next to the enchanted candle.

Miss Gustie gave the chain a blank stare.

“Now look.” McKenna took the small, silver heart out of the bathrobe pocket and laid it next to the chain.

Augusta squinted at what McKenna was trying to show her. McKenna demonstrated how perfectly the silver heart could be connected to the silver chain, and how easily the silver heart could slip out of the ring that once held it secure.

Then McKenna handed the heart to Augusta, who brought the charm close to her face. “Tango,” Augusta read.

At the sound of his name, Tango squirmed, his eyes widening.

“Pup had this silver heart in his mouth—when I found him.”

Augusta turned the charm over. “It’s some kind of identification tag.”

“I know,” McKenna said, wondering how long it would take Miss Gustie to put two and two together.

Pup crawled over Augusta’s body. The little dog seemed intent upon sniffing the pieces of silver.

“But... but ...”

McKenna wrapped the chain around the little dog’s neck. “See, it’s a perfect fit.”

“No, I don’t see,” Miss Gustie responded.

How could she not? McKenna wondered. It was so obvious!

McKenna dangled the chain in such a way that Miss Gustie
had
to see the truth. “The clasp must have broken when Pup washed ashore. That day, on the beach, you know—in the lobster trap.”

Suddenly, the little dog lost interest in the silver charm and chain. He focused his eyes on the enchanted candle’s burning flame, seemingly entranced by the candle’s light.

“Don’t you understand? It’s a dog collar and tag.”

“No,” Augusta snapped, looking off to the side. “I don’t understand.”

Miss Gustie didn’t want to know the truth. McKenna sighed, shook her head, and moved to the end of Augusta’s bed.

McKenna broke the dog’s concentration. “Tango?”

The little dog cocked his head. “Tango!” McKenna called.

The dog’s ears perked. And then, without the slightest hesitation, the dog now known as Tango scrambled away from Augusta, straight to McKenna, his docked tail wagging as much as a docked tail can wag.

Now, McKenna Skye’s stories were not the kind of stories that Augusta Smith wished to be told. The retired schoolteacher put her hands over her face. She would not, she could not, believe what McKenna was trying so hard to tell her.

To be sure, Augusta had never been the kind of woman who hid from the truth. So finally, when her mottled hands dropped into her empty lap, Augusta did what she knew she had to do, what she must do.

Augusta patted the bedsheet right next to her hip. “Tango,” she called.

Just like that, the little dog left McKenna’s side and plopped down in the exact spot that Augusta had patted.

Augusta’s heart sunk. Oh my, the little dog wasn’t Pup, or Nipper. He wasn’t a Caesar or Ulysses. And he’d never answer to the name Argus.

His name was Tango. Like the dance.

Much to her surprise, Augusta started to cry. And what you need to understand is that when a woman hasn’t allowed herself a good cry in an extraordinarily long time, the tears are very big.

“I’m sorry, Miss Gustie,” McKenna said, her eyes glazed with tears. “I really am. But don’t you see—I
had
to show you the charm.”

McKenna proceeded to explain, stumbling on her words. “Tango’s real mother—his real owner, I mean—gave him this heart. And even if he’s just a dog, a dog belongs with the person who chose him.” McKenna’s voice raised a pitch. “You understand, don’t you? You’re not mad at me, are you? You wanted to know his real name, didn’t you?”

With a tissue, Augusta wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. “No, no, of course not. I’m not mad. You did the right thing. It’s just, it’s just …”

“You got pretty attached to him, didn’t you?” McKenna’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

Augusta rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t see that well without my glasses. Where is Tango from?”

McKenna answered, “New York City.”

“And his owner?”

“Some lady with a fancy name.”

How in the world, Augusta puzzled, did a little
dog from New York City get tangled in a lobster trap in the Northumberland Strait?

Augusta would soon find out, it seemed.

Augusta squinted at the Baby Ben clock ticking away next to the enchanted candle. It was two o’clock in the morning. The enchanted candle’s wax had melted considerably. If the flame wasn’t blown out soon, the hot wax would flow over the edge of the candleholder and leave a pool on the furniture. Oh, what did it matter?

Augusta felt unbelievably tired and undeniably sad. Maybe because she was old, and maybe because she’d been lonelier than she’d ever been willing to admit, at this moment, the loss of the little dog seemed worse than losing Albert—worse than losing her mother.

“Miss Gustie, are you okay? Are you going to be all right?”

Augusta didn’t respond.

McKenna buried her head in her hands. Oh, how could Augusta comfort McKenna when she didn’t know how to comfort herself?

Augusta hugged the terrier now known as Tango and placed him in a cozy spot next to her pillow. “Normally, I don’t approve of dogs sleeping in people’s beds,” Augusta told the little dog. “But since to night might be one of your last nights in Victoria, I suppose it won’t do any harm.”

Tango rested his head on the edge of Augusta’s pillow. He seemed perfectly at home—as if he’d been sleeping there all of his life.

“You go on upstairs, McKenna. It’s too late to go back outside, even if the storm has ended. You can sleep in the room on the right at the top of the stairs.”

“I don’t know if I should. I left that three-legged cat in my shed.”

“That black-and-white one? The poor thing’s probably never had it so good. He’ll be there in the morning, mark my words.”

As Augusta bent over and blew out its flame, she wondered if the candle might possibly be enchanted.

If it was, Augusta knew exactly what she would wish for.

McKenna hadn’t moved.

“Go on up now, McKenna. It’s time.”

In the dark, Augusta reached across the night-stand, and with the tips of her fingers, searched for the silver heart. Feeling like a child who’d lost a tooth, Augusta slid the silver heart under her pillow.

“Mother always said I should sleep on it, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”

Small, silent tears touched her cheeks. “Good night, Tango,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Now you would think that Tango would have slept luxuriously in Augusta’s bed. Wasn’t he exhausted from his duel with Malachi, the big white rat? Wasn’t his heart full of relief now that McKenna had made the connection between the silver charm and the silver chain that he’d once so proudly worn as a collar? Hadn’t his wish come true? Wouldn’t he soon be back in the arms of his mistress, the beautiful Marcellina?

Yes, Tango should have slept like a—well, like a dog.

But Tango did not.

Something in his life had shifted.

Tango couldn’t believe how connected he could feel to someone, animal or human, who called him by his given name.

“Tango? Your name is Tango?” McKenna had
asked, but in such a way that it was not a question but a statement of fact.

“Of course your name is Tango,” she’d said. “You look like a Tango. You act like a Tango. The name fits you to a T.”

No suit of clothing, no costume, no disguise—his name sufficient, a perfect fit.

Oh, our little dog was troubled. Because while McKenna and Augusta had been exchanging the truth about who he was, Tango had seen something, brief and brilliant, in the enchanted candle’s burning flame.

Inside the flickering light, Tango saw the glowing face of his beloved Marcellina. Marcellina held a Yorkshire Terrier, like Tango, except smaller and younger. The dog was wearing a tuxedo—not black, but white.

When Tango blinked his eyes, he saw something else. Now Diego stood by Marcellina’s side holding a dog who looked exactly like his mother, Sadie, wearing a crown of tiny white roses.