until Jim finished taking an order for wedding invitations. "Hello," she said, "I was in here the other day and you Xeroxed posters about my lost dog. I wanted to tell you he's back and to thank you for your kindness." Duncan panted at her ankles.
Jim looked confused for a moment then said, "Oh yeah, the dog with the ribbon. That's nice, ma'am. I'm glad for you."
"He's here," said Lillian and she picked Duncan up to be introduced. The dog blinked in the flashes leaking from the copiers.
Jim looked a little uneasy. "I'm happy for you, ma'am," he said and glanced past Lillian, who turned to see a line of customers lumping up behind her.
Page 46
"I'm so sorry. I just wanted to say thank you."
"You're welcome," said Jim. "Thanks for using Top Copy."
Driving home, Lillian remembered Jim's cat had just died. "How could I have been so thoughtless?" she asked Duncan and recalled the essential pleasure of the company of dogs: mute tolerance for all ramblings. She sank her right hand in the fur below his collar, steering with the other through thickening traffic to the house. "I'm sorry, Jim," she said. Duncan moaned. At a stoplight, she dipped her finger in the cream cheese and gave it to the dog to lick.
Lillian and Duncan entered the house in near dark. She filled his bowls and nudged him his favorite bone. "We're home, dear," she said. Duncan lapped some water and trundled from room to room, nose twitching at sofas, door frames, potted plants. "What are you looking for, boy?" she asked, walking behind him and switching on lights. "What is it?'' she asked. She hooked her thumbs in his armpits and lifted him. Fat and fur rumpled around his neck, front paws paddled the air. He panted. "Where have you been?"
Duncan panted louder. "Who took you?" He started to squirm. "Why did you go with them?" She shifted him into her arms and buried her face into his ears. Not a trace of someone else's perfume, strange food, an unfamiliar city. He must have spent a long time in a car, staring at a blur of New York, Ohio, Kansas. "Why did you go?" she asked him again, taking his snout in her hand. "Were you trying to come home?" He screwed up his eyes and sneezed. She put him back on the floor. In the kitchen, he circled his blanket three times and settled in to twitchy sleep.
She'd never know. How strange it was not to have any idea what Duncan had seen and done, listened to or eaten. Lillian found herself near tears and wondered why. Her dog was home. Her husband still her husband. Her boys alive and thriving. It was that woman in the alley again. The strangeness of not knowing why she'd died, why it wasn't someone else, a neighbor, an old
Page 47
man, a Serb general. You made her up, Lillian told herself. You made her up.
Sitting there in the kitchen filled with blue light, Lillian noticed the blink of the answering machine. Owen had rewired it and now they could receive the messages of the world. There they were. The inaugural calls. Lillian hesitated before pushing the button and was almost relieved that the first one was just a breath and a click. A captured hesitation. No news at all.
To her surprise, the second call came from Claudia Merchant. Lillian and Owen had always laughed at Claudia's molded hair, Bob's signet ring, their trips to exotic places that never seemed to change them. She was taken aback at how it pleased her to hear the thin voice. "Lillian," Claudia said, "I'm astonished you and Owen have one of these things. Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor about my Siberian iris. I left the corms in the garden and was wondering if you'd mind asking the new family about digging them up." She left her new number as if she'd never had another her whole life and said she'd call later.
"How typical," Lillian said to Duncan, who flicked an ear. Behaving as if she could make a sort of Xerox of her garden. That was Claudia's problem, trying to manage every last detail. No wonder she had a daughter so troubled she lived like a stunned
Jim looked confused for a moment then said, "Oh yeah, the dog with the ribbon. That's nice, ma'am. I'm glad for you."
"He's here," said Lillian and she picked Duncan up to be introduced. The dog blinked in the flashes leaking from the copiers.
Jim looked a little uneasy. "I'm happy for you, ma'am," he said and glanced past Lillian, who turned to see a line of customers lumping up behind her.
Page 46
"I'm so sorry. I just wanted to say thank you."
"You're welcome," said Jim. "Thanks for using Top Copy."
Driving home, Lillian remembered Jim's cat had just died. "How could I have been so thoughtless?" she asked Duncan and recalled the essential pleasure of the company of dogs: mute tolerance for all ramblings. She sank her right hand in the fur below his collar, steering with the other through thickening traffic to the house. "I'm sorry, Jim," she said. Duncan moaned. At a stoplight, she dipped her finger in the cream cheese and gave it to the dog to lick.
Lillian and Duncan entered the house in near dark. She filled his bowls and nudged him his favorite bone. "We're home, dear," she said. Duncan lapped some water and trundled from room to room, nose twitching at sofas, door frames, potted plants. "What are you looking for, boy?" she asked, walking behind him and switching on lights. "What is it?'' she asked. She hooked her thumbs in his armpits and lifted him. Fat and fur rumpled around his neck, front paws paddled the air. He panted. "Where have you been?"
Duncan panted louder. "Who took you?" He started to squirm. "Why did you go with them?" She shifted him into her arms and buried her face into his ears. Not a trace of someone else's perfume, strange food, an unfamiliar city. He must have spent a long time in a car, staring at a blur of New York, Ohio, Kansas. "Why did you go?" she asked him again, taking his snout in her hand. "Were you trying to come home?" He screwed up his eyes and sneezed. She put him back on the floor. In the kitchen, he circled his blanket three times and settled in to twitchy sleep.
She'd never know. How strange it was not to have any idea what Duncan had seen and done, listened to or eaten. Lillian found herself near tears and wondered why. Her dog was home. Her husband still her husband. Her boys alive and thriving. It was that woman in the alley again. The strangeness of not knowing why she'd died, why it wasn't someone else, a neighbor, an old
Page 47
man, a Serb general. You made her up, Lillian told herself. You made her up.
Sitting there in the kitchen filled with blue light, Lillian noticed the blink of the answering machine. Owen had rewired it and now they could receive the messages of the world. There they were. The inaugural calls. Lillian hesitated before pushing the button and was almost relieved that the first one was just a breath and a click. A captured hesitation. No news at all.
To her surprise, the second call came from Claudia Merchant. Lillian and Owen had always laughed at Claudia's molded hair, Bob's signet ring, their trips to exotic places that never seemed to change them. She was taken aback at how it pleased her to hear the thin voice. "Lillian," Claudia said, "I'm astonished you and Owen have one of these things. Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor about my Siberian iris. I left the corms in the garden and was wondering if you'd mind asking the new family about digging them up." She left her new number as if she'd never had another her whole life and said she'd call later.
"How typical," Lillian said to Duncan, who flicked an ear. Behaving as if she could make a sort of Xerox of her garden. That was Claudia's problem, trying to manage every last detail. No wonder she had a daughter so troubled she lived like a stunned
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