Whippoorwill (7 page)

It was my mom's best day, I always imagined. One of her best, anyway.

I was still thinking of Mom, dozing almost, when I heard Danny and his father fighting. It sounded crazy and loud, and I couldn't conceive of being awake and so violent at that time of night. I had heard them plenty of times before; everyone had, but no one talked about it much. Elwood was a bitter man, a man not to be trifled with, as people said, and their voices went careening around their house and yard and then went quiet suddenly. In the absence, I almost wondered if I had heard the argument at all. It reminded me of thunder, something you hear far away but approaching, and I held on to my stuffed dog, a Dalmatian I had named Dougie years ago, and I listened to hear them again, but everything gave way to the peepers, and finally I did too.

I
MET HOLLY
before French class. She came speeding through the hallway, her books pressed against her chest, her Uggs too thick for spring. I wondered that her feet didn't sweat off into pools of water, but I figured she liked the way they looked for some reason, so she went with them. She wore her hair differently too, pulled back and up, so that it gave her cheekbones every advantage. Although it wasn't charitable to think it, I always thought she looked a little like a crazy squirrel, stopping and starting and sitting on its tail, her hands small and fidgety. She was under five feet tall and was finished growing, and now, as she said herself, the only thing left was to get wider.

She didn't really listen, was the thing about Holly. She talked without hearing herself, or reading the person trying to take it in, but that made her funny at times. She had no filter; whatever she thought flew right out of her mouth. The squirrel metaphor worked because wherever she went she dropped an acorn of conversation, hardly listened to whatever the other person said, then went on her way.

But I loved Holly. She was my friend, my bud, and I would have done anything for her. She had a fairly solid home life. Her dad owned a Jeep dealership down in Plymouth, and they had cars the way some rich people had horses. Her mom sold plastic signs—banners and flags, anything that needed stenciling—and she always had reams rolled up in the pantry off the kitchen, waiting for delivery. They had a fully stocked refrigerator and didn't think twice about ordering out for dinner. They were the only family I knew who went on actual get-in-a-jet-and-fly-away vacations.

“Such a fashion faux pas,” she said as soon as she was in range, a piece of gum snapping around back in her jaws. “I mean, I thought they looked good, but now I see they look ridiculous.”

“What does?”

“My Uggs. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“They look warm.”

“Do you have an extra pair of flip-flops?”

“At home.”

“I don't know what I was thinking.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“I have got to go shopping soon. I need some cute sandals for summer.”

“No one's going to notice the boots.”

“Yes, they will. People do. Did you hear about Julia?”

Then she was off to the races, telling me what was supposed to be a juicy piece of gossip about Julia Fields, one of the cheerleader types rumored to be pregnant. I didn't care one way or the other, but I listened because Holly liked telling the story, and she bent close to me and whispered when she got to the grimiest parts, and her breath smelled of cinnamon. Then the bell went off and we both plunged into French class, where Mrs. Baboo, not her real name, greeted us all with a big, phony “
Bonjour.
”

After school Holly snagged me again. She had talked to her mom, and they were going to the mall, and did I want to come? It was Friday afternoon. The weekend was here.

“I have to get home,” I said. “I'm taking care of a dog.”

“A dog?” Holly asked. “What dog? This is the first I'm hearing about a dog.”

“It's our next-door neighbors' dog.”

“Are they away or something?”

“Yes,” I said, agreeing because it was an easier route to follow with Holly. “They're away.”

On the bus ride home I wondered why I didn't tell Holly about Danny. Didn't mention Danny. It wasn't as though either one of us went out with boys often, or even had a date.
If it was a date,
I reminded myself. Tied up in it was my own confusion about what I wanted. Then gradually the herky-jerky motion of the bus, all the stops to let kids off, started making me sick. I put my forehead against the window and closed my eyes. The coolness from the glass made me feel better, and in a little while my stomach settled.

Wally looked beautiful in the afternoon sun. I watched him out of my bedroom window. He didn't fuss, didn't move around or try to be anyplace he wasn't. He didn't sleep, either, but simply stared ahead, just being. Dogs are a little Zen that way, and I watched him until he stood up, circled, and sniffed at the corner of his house. He peed at the edge of his chain length. Then he heard Danny come out, his door slamming, and Wally jumped up and dangled on his chain. Danny came over and thumped Wally's ribs, but I saw he kept Wally from jumping on him. I had to duck down and watch from the edge of the window, because Danny glanced up at our house, patted Wally some more, then glanced up again.

Before I knew what I wanted to do, I knocked on the window with my knuckle and raised my finger to tell him I'd just be a minute. Danny smiled and nodded. He kept petting Wally.

“I got him some stuff,” Danny said, waggling an orange plastic bag at me. “At the pet store. I got him a tag with his name on it, so if he gets lost or gets away, someone will know he belongs to me. See? It says Wally and my phone number. And a collar called a gentle leader and some biscuits and a long training lead. The lady there knew about Father Jasper. She says he knows what he's talking about.”

“Wally want a biscuit?” I asked, bending close to the dog.

Wally looked good and happy, not quite as spazzy as he had been. The warm sun had heated his fur and he seemed to enjoy the decent weather. Danny already had him off his pole. He made him sit before we gave him a biscuit.

“That Father Jasper guy says you should always attach a reward to anything he does,” Danny said. “Even just a simple sit.”

“Did you read the whole thing?”

“Yep. It was good once you got into it. It makes sense. It's all obvious once you know about it.”

“Wally could be a great dog,” I said.

“Sure he could. You want to work on him awhile?”

Danny did most of the work, because Wally's strength made him a risk to knock me over. But we worked together, coaching each other and coaching Wally, too. We started with simple sit, crossing our hands in front of our waist in a slicing motion. Hand signals were important because a dog can't always hear you, or there might be a loud noise covering everything, and so we did sit about a thousand times until Wally began sitting as soon as we crossed our hands close to our belt line.

Then we made him go on our left side, and we walked in circles, stopping now and then to sit. Wally got that pretty easily, so then we did sit-stay, making him sit while we walked to the edge of the lead, waited, then called him and let him come. The first couple times he wanted to climb up Danny, but Danny was consistent and kept Wally on the ground and Wally got the knack of things readily. Despite his appearance as a kind of goofy lug, Wally seemed pretty smart to me. Father Jasper was correct: Dogs want to have some direction. Without direction they don't know how to behave, or how to get along with people, so they act every which way and get themselves into trouble. Inside of a half-hour, Wally acted more confidently, did not jump up in neediness, behaved as a companion, not a nut.

We were still working with him when Dad popped around the stockade fence.

“Hey, there are the dog trainers,” he said. “Or should I say, the dog whisperers?”

“Hi, Mr. Taylor,” Danny said.

Dad came over and stood, watching. I felt blood come into my face. I had to open my mouth to get enough air. I couldn't believe my dad would simply show up. It was so obvious what he was doing that it made me flush and go quiet.

“Show me what you guys have been doing,” Dad said, too cheerful. “This dog looks a million times better.”

“Clair gave me the book by Father Jasper,” Danny said. “Written by him, I mean. He lays it all out, pretty much. It's not that hard once you start looking at the world from a dog's point of view.”

“I guess not,” my dad said. “So put him through his paces. I'd like to see.”

Dad didn't meet my eyes. He didn't seem to want to embarrass me, but he felt he needed to be there, to check things out, or something. Maybe he simply wanted to send a message to Danny. Either way, he watched attentively while Danny put Wally through sit, sit-stay, heel. Wally performed well and Dad walked up and petted him afterward, saying, “Goodboy, goodboy, nicedog.”

“Wow, that's some progress,” Dad said. “Nice job, Clair Bear.”

I cringed. But Danny didn't seem to notice.

“We did mostly sit stuff today,” Danny said. “Tomorrow we're going to move on to down-stay and recalls. Recalls are the toughest, because once you let this dog off a leash, he will vanish.”

“How do you do it?” Dad asked, squatting, still petting Wally.

“You use a long training lead. I got one today. And we'll take him over to the tennis court . . . You know, the one down in Wentworth?”

“Sure.”

“Clair and I figured we might go there one of these days and work on his recall. In a tennis court, he can't run too far.”

“Well, that's great.”

“If you don't mind, that is. I mean, is it okay if Clair goes with me?”

My dad looked up at him. I wanted to sink into the center of the earth.

“Nice of you to ask, Danny. I think it's okay if you promise me one thing.”

“What's that, Mr. Taylor?”

“You'll drive carefully. Don't say yes and don't say no. Just think about it, okay? Kids can get a little crazy in cars.”

“I understand.”

“You, too, Clair. If Danny doesn't drive properly, will you give me your word that you'll get out of the car and call me?”

“Dad . . .”

“That's my one rule. Do you both promise me?”

I felt like a piece of livestock these men had decided to discuss, but I nodded. So did Danny. It was all exceedingly strange.

“Okay, Clair,” Dad said, “I'm going to start dinner soon. Don't be too long, okay? Good job with the dog, you two.”

He left. Weird did not begin to cover it.

Holly called me while I was setting the table to tell me about the pair of awesome sandals she bought. They were on sale, too. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder while I set out plates, folded paper napkins under the knives and forks. We left the back door open so we could get the kitchen aired out. Dad made BLTs, his favorite Friday night meal. Later, I knew, he planned to take a sunset ride with the Devil's Tongue guys and stop off and have a few beers at the Cattle Call.

“So what are you doing tonight?” Holly asked when she finished describing the sandals in painful detail. “I want to go see a movie or something. You up for anything?”

“I don't have any way to get around. Dad's going out.”

“I could probably talk my big brother into carting us over to Lincoln if we pay for gas.”

“I'm broke,” I said, mostly because I didn't want to go to the movies with Holly and her brother. “I think I'm going to hang and watch some TV and go to bed early. I feel tired for some reason.”

“My mom says it's the season change. She says whenever the season changes people get sleepy.”

“Maybe that's it.”

“Guess I'll see you, then. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I'm actually helping my neighbor train his dog.”

“
His
dog?”

“Danny Stewart,” I said, my voice a little lower so Dad wouldn't hear it over the bacon frying. “He's got a crazy dog that lives next door and we're trying to train him.”

“I don't know him. Does he go to our school?”

“No, he goes to the vo-tech.”

“Grease monkey? I can get into that.”

“He's just a guy.”

“You're full of secrets. The mysterious Clair.”

“Hardly.”

“Are you dating him?”

“No. Not even close.”

“Sounds to me like you are. If you train a dog together, I mean . . .”

“I've got to go, Holly. Dad wants to plate dinner.”

“Okay, toodles. Or should I say, poodles?”

I groaned and hung up. Dad started taking off the bacon. He wore his Devil's Tongue vest, its leather old and faded from the sun. As soon as the bacon left the pan, the noise was cut in about half. I realized it had made me jumpy. Now that it was gone, I heard the wind outside and the late-afternoon birds calling.

“Grab the mayo, would you?” Dad asked when he slid our plates onto the table. He hadn't seen that I had put out plates, so he lifted the empty ones off and set them on the counter beside the stove.

“And a beer,” he said.

“Bikers and beer.”

“You know it, Harley chick.”

I brought the mayonnaise and beer over to the table. He opened the beer with his key chain.

“I like the sideburns,” he said when I sat down. “Danny, I mean. He looks like a young Johnny Cash.”

“You're ridiculous, Dad.”

“I'm just saying. I hadn't seen him in a while. He looks good. I liked that he talked to me about taking you out.”

“Like I'm some horrible weight one of you has to support and care for.”

Dad grinned. He buttered his bread with mayo. He grinned wider.

“You sounded just like your mother then.”