Whom Dog Hath Joined (5 page)

In that way, Lili was a much better match for me than Mary.
My ex-wife needed the validation of the outside world, had to be with people,
share her opinions with them, meet friends for drinks and colleagues for
coffee. I was happiest when I was at the computer by myself, shutting out the
rest of the world.

Though I knew Mary and I had been happy together at times,
all I could remember were the bad things about my marriage – dragging behind her
on slow shopping expeditions for the perfect sofa for the living room; listening
to her endless complaints about her mother, who was cold and listened to too
much AM radio; and her rants that I didn’t have enough ambition, didn’t make
enough money. But had those been my problems all along, and would I end up in
the same pattern with Lili?

5 – Baggage Claim

I woke about an hour later to Rochester sniffing my face. I
sat up, yawned and looked at the clock. Lili stirred beside me. “Dinner time?”
she asked.

“Rochester thinks so.”

“Well, then, we should get cooking.” She sat up and smiled.

“I keep thinking about that sneaker,” I said, down in the
kitchen, as I sliced a couple of zucchini. “I wonder if I can find anything
online that might help Rick establish when it was made.”

“I can email you the pictures I took of it after dinner,”
Lili said. “I got a bunch of good close-ups of the shoe and the markings. I
figured they’d be useful to Rick.”

“Only Rick?”

“Well, I knew you’d help him.”

Neither Lili nor Rick minded my dabbling in online
investigation, as long as I didn’t break any laws. I cleaned up the zucchini
debris and retrieved a package of boneless chicken breasts from the fridge.
Then Rochester accompanied me outside, where I fired up my portable grill and
he stretched out on the grass beside it, hoping for some stray bits of chicken
to fall his way.

Early twilight settled around me, birds chirping in the
stand of sassafras out front, sounds of vintage Springsteen floating past from
a neighbor’s stereo. The sights, smells and sounds of my childhood, constantly
making connections between the boy I was and the man I had become. I had never
imagined coming back to Stewart’s Crossing after college; back then, I wanted
nothing more than to make a quick and permanent exit from the stultifying
suburbs. Years in Manhattan of constant hurrying and a crush of humanity, when
at times I’d been desperate to find bits of solitude in the middle of Central
Park or along the Hudson River, had made me long for my quiet countrified hometown.

It wasn’t the same place, of course. When I was a kid,
people had roots in town, all kinds of connections. My friend Mary Lou’s ex-aunt
ran the local real estate office, and her name was on signs all over town. My
mother had grown up next to the family that ran the butcher shop, my father
belonged to the Masons with the owner of the hardware store. My classmates’
parents were doctors and lawyers with offices downtown, teachers at the
elementary school or secretaries at Town Hall.

Now most of my neighbors in River Bend were from somewhere
else, with only the shallowest roots in town. They commuted by car or train to
Philadelphia or New York. They preferred the chain restaurants and big-box
stores out on US 1 to the mom-and-pop places in the center of town.

I went to those big stores, too, of course; a high school
friend of Rick’s and mine managed the electronics mega-store, and the mother of
a girl I’d gone to elementary school with was still a cashier at  Pathmark. I
wondered about the little kids I saw trailing behind their parents at the mall,
wearing princess dresses or karate robes or Boy Scout uniforms. Would they have
the same sense of place I did? Or would their parents pick them up and move
them every few years, following opportunity and the sense that there was always
something better in the next town?

Would my life have been different if I’d never left
Stewart’s Crossing – or at least, come back after college instead of moving to
New York for graduate school? If I’d never met Mary, moved to California,
suffered through her two miscarriages?

Even though my experiences had shaped me, I knew that down
deep I was who I was. I’d been reading mystery novels and solving crossword
puzzles since I was a kid, possessed by a desire I barely understood to search
for clues, to see things others didn’t. My curiosity was tinged with ego and
hubris, and I was sure that if I’d never become a computer hacker I’d have
found some other way to get in trouble.

The chicken breasts sizzled and I flipped them over. My
parole officer, Santiago Santos, had classified mine as an addictive
personality, though I’d never had problems with alcohol, tobacco or drugs.
Yeah, I did get a rush from snooping around in places I wasn’t supposed to be,
but until I went to prison I’d never thought of it as an addiction. During the
year I’d been incarcerated, I hadn’t missed hacking – I was too busy figuring
out my new environment, learning the personalities of the other inmates and the
guards, understanding how the system worked and how you could game it if you
were clever enough.

My two-year parole was about to end, and I had a nine
o’clock appointment Monday morning at the parole board office for my exit
interview with Santos, who had been monitoring my conduct for the two years
since I left the California state penal system.

As far as I knew, there wasn’t any way he could keep me on
parole; the interview was just a formality. Santos had installed tracking
software on my home computer – but after Caroline died I had discovered her
laptop, and installed my hacking software on it so I could help Rick discover
her killer. I kept that laptop hidden from everyone, and rationalized that
whatever I did was in service of a greater good – digging around for clues in
an identity theft scheme, hacking a website that featured stolen artifacts, and
so on. After the intervention, I had given it to Rick to hold for me.

I finished grilling and carried the food in to Lili, who
arranged the chicken strips artfully on top of the salad. As we sat down to eat,
she said, “I keep thinking about that body. You expect to see that kind of
thing when you’re in a battle zone – but not right in the middle of Stewart’s
Crossing.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “And it seems such a
violation to find a body there, in the Meeting House, when the Quakers are all
about peace and non-violence.”

“Do you think you can find anything online about the shoe?”

I thought it was interesting that Lili suggested I go
online, knowing what she did of my history. “No idea. But you know how it is –
people post all kinds of stuff. I know there are sneaker collectors; I’m hoping
one of them put up a picture of a shoe that matches the one we found. And I
promise you I’ll only look in places that are open to the public.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“I know. And I’m not saying I’ll never hack again – I’ve
learned from my support group that I can’t make promises like that. But what I
can promise you is that I won’t go behind your back. If I want to snoop around
somewhere, I’ll talk to you, and we’ll make the decision together.”

Though Lili had no addictions that I knew of, she was
familiar with the addictive personality – many of the journalists she’d worked
with over the years were adrenaline junkies. “I can work with that,” she said.

I hoped that I could, too.

* * *

I woke before Lili Sunday morning and after I took Rochester
for a long walk around River Bend, I prepared a brunch of chocolate-chip
pancakes, bacon, and orange juice. Rochester sat on his haunches next to the
stove, waiting for bacon bits.

Lili walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air. “What’s the
special occasion?”

“That you’re here to make breakfast for.”

She sat down and I delivered a plate of pancakes with a side
of bacon, the aroma of sizzling fat permeating the air and making Rochester
nuts. The juice was already on the table, and she poured herself a glass as I
sat down across from her with my plate. Rochester wouldn’t sit still,
constantly nosing at us both for bits of bacon.

“Speaking of my being here,” Lili said.

I cut into my pancakes, elbowing the dog’s head away. “Which
is my pleasure.”

“How would you feel about increasing that pleasure?”

I looked up to see her watching me. “In what way?”

“My lease is up at the end of October,” she said. “I’ve been
thinking about whether I want to renew or not.”

“It’s a great apartment.” I fed a piece of bacon to
Rochester, who wolfed it down, then I went back to my breakfast.

“Are you fully awake this morning?” Lili asked after a
moment had passed. “I’m saying that I love you, and I want to spend more time
with you. How would you feel if I moved in here when my lease is up?”

We had been dating for about six months by then. We spoke on
the phone every day, sometimes more than once. We spent every weekend together,
and the occasional weeknight. We said, “Love you,” to each other all the time,
and I meant it when I said it. But were we ready to take the next step?

I looked at Lili and my mind was a blank. “I’m sorry,” I
said. “I know I love you, but moving in together? I need to think about that.”

She stood up and pulled a plastic container from the kitchen
cabinet. “I’ll take my breakfast to go,” she said. “You need some time to
think, and I want to fiddle around with the pictures I took yesterday at the
Harvest Festival.”

She leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Don’t think I’m angry,
because I’m not. I know that I’ve dropped a bombshell on you and you need to
process it. And if you want to keep going the way we have been for another
year, that’s fine. I should have given you more notice, I know. But I’ve got my
own baggage, and it took me a while to realize that this is what I want. You,
and Rochester. Us.”

“I want that, too. Let me consult with my moral and
spiritual advisor and I’ll have an answer for you.”

“Not Rick Stemper?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding? Rick’s more messed up about his
divorce than I ever was about mine. I was talking about Rochester.”

She nodded. “Then I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.
When I get home, I’ll email you the pictures I took of the shoe so you can go
online with them.”

“Thanks. And I’ll think about moving in together.”

We kissed, and she went upstairs to get her bag. As I finished
my breakfast, I thought about what it would mean to have Lili live with me.
Would she worry every time I logged on to the computer? Take over Santiago
Santos’s role to make sure I stayed on the straight and narrow?

My cell phone began playing the theme song from
Hawaii
Five-O,
the ring tone I’d assigned to Rick. “Yo,” I answered.

“Yo-yo,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to work today, thanks to
you and your dog, and the guy who usually takes care of Rascal during the day
isn’t around.”

A few months after I adopted Rochester, Rick had gone to the
Bucks County Animal Shelter in Lahaska and picked up an Australian shepherd. Rascal
was hyperactive, bred to herd cattle, a sixty-pound bundle of energy and wiry
fur, slavering tongue, muscular legs, always ready to jump and lick.

Rick had quickly learned that leaving Rascal caged up all
day meant he’d be wild at night, when Rick needed to wind down. So he’d found a
retired guy in his neighborhood who did doggie day care. Rascal got to run
around all day, herding the other dogs, and then he was a sweetheart in the
evenings.

“I can’t leave him in his crate. Can I bring him over to you?”

I agreed and hung up. Rascal would keep Rochester occupied,
so I could think about what Lili had suggested. I also wanted to get some
computer work done, and though I knew that Lili trusted me, the habits I’d
developed of keeping my online snooping a secret were hard to break.

6 – An Old Friend

After Lili left, the house was spookily quiet. I had the
windows open, taking advantage of the last warm days, but there were no kids
playing out on Sarajevo Court, no birds calling or crickets chirping. No lawns
being mowed, cars being tuned, stereos blasting the latest hip-hop. Rochester
lay on his side on the tile floor, his legs splayed out, not making a sound.

Was this what my life would be like without Lili? Did I want
this kind of silence, or did I want the comfort of another human being? Was
Rochester’s company no longer enough for me? I picked up his favorite blue
ball, squeaked it a couple of times, and then tossed it across the room. He
didn’t even lift his head. “Some retriever you are,” I grumbled.

I was antsy to get online and look for information on the
sneaker, but I had to give Lili time to drive up to Leighville and send me her
photos. I paced around the house, stopping in front of the china cabinet that
had stood in my parents’ living room. My father had sold off most of the
knickknacks my mother had collected so the cabinet was a lot emptier than it
had been when I was growing up.

I opened the door and pulled out a glass perfume bottle,
about three inches high, with a lacework of sterling overlay. When my parents
were first married, my dad had worked as a kind of engineering temp, moving
from job to job every few months. He tried to come home every weekend from
wherever he was working, and he often brought my mother one of these bottles,
scavenged from antique shops where he was living.

I figured it was his way of saying that he was still
thinking about her even though they were apart. He called her his angel, and
signed his cards to her “all my love always.” I’d thought I loved Mary that
way, and it took me a long time to realize I never had. That we’d both settled
for each other because that’s what people did. I determined when my marriage
broke up that I wouldn’t do that again.