goddamn short this time of year,” he said.
Noah looked back at the tree, wanted to continue but said, “You know best.”
They left the wheelbarrow and started back for the house.
They were almost to the cabin when Noah saw something moving close to the ground in the yard. It had crawled out from under the truck. Noah flinched, dropped the saw on a pathside rock, and froze. “What the hell is that?” he whispered.
“What?” Olaf said, startled himself by the thud of the saw on the stone.
“That,” Noah whispered again, pointing at the bushy shadow. “Is that a wolf?” he asked. He bent down and picked up the saw. “Is that a goddamn wolf?” he asked again, this time in a louder whisper, turning his head but not taking his eyes off the shadow in the yard.
“What are you talking about?” Olaf said.
“There. Sitting right there, by the firepit.”
“That’s not a wolf,” Olaf said, elbowing Noah aside. “That’s my dog. That’s Vikar—come here, Vikar.” And he whistled. The dog came bounding around the truck and ran a circle around them.
“Jesus Christ,” Noah said, all of his held breath coming out in one relieved rasp. “Jesus,” he said again, watching the huge dog roll on his back as Olaf scratched its stomach. “Where has he been?”
“Wandering around the woods, I’d guess. Comes home when he wants. Must’ve heard the chainsaw.”
The dog was enormous, a malamute or husky a hundred and fifty pounds or more. It had long, coarse hair and ears and forepaws the size of Noah’s own hands. “He scared the shit out of me,” Noah said. “I thought it was a wolf.”
“That’s what you said.”
Noah let the dog sniff his hand.
“How long have you had him?” They were standing in front ofthe house now, the dog jumping and twisting under Olaf’s snapping fingers.
“Couple years.”
Noah sat on the step and the dog came up to him, eye level, ears submissively fallen, to be petted. “Any more surprises?” he asked, scratching the dog behind its ears.
“Surprises?” Olaf replied. He stepped behind Noah, onto the porch, took the top off a tin garbage can, and filled an empty ice-cream bucket with dog food. He put it down beside the steps and the dog set to eating.
“D O YOU REMEMBER your mother playing the piano?” They sat in the rusted steel lawn chairs on the grassy beach, an oar’s length from the lapping water, darkness cascading down the sky. Vikar lay at Olaf’s feet, his legs outstretched, a stream of groans muttering from his black lips.
“Of course I do,” Noah said.
“She played beautifully.”
“It used to drive me nuts.”
“Why?” Olaf asked, his chin on his shoulder, his long white beard pointing out toward the lake.
“Because I could never listen to my records.”
She used to play the Acrosonic upright for hours at a time, in summer especially, when her long evenings alone went on endlessly. Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Grieg were always drifting through the house on High Street while Noah and his buddies pitched pennies outside against the garage door. Solveig played, too, in her mother’s style but without any of her elegance.
Olaf was teasing a sprig of brown grass. He sighed, cleared histhroat, and put the grass between his lips. “She always wanted to play at your wedding.”
“My wedding,” Noah said, stiffening at the mere mention of it. “I’m surprised you’d bring it up.”
“That was a long time ago, Noah.”
“Five years now,” Noah said, feeling his anger rising. His father’s worst performance ever had come on the eve of Noah’s wedding. He hated to remember it. And here was talk of his mother again, Noah’s sacred subject.
“You know, I was on my way home when she died,” Olaf said, seemingly oblivious.
“I remember when she died,” Noah said, wondering now if his father really was looking for a fight.
“That’s the only time I’ve ever been on a plane in my life. I had to leave my boat in Toledo, take
Noah looked back at the tree, wanted to continue but said, “You know best.”
They left the wheelbarrow and started back for the house.
They were almost to the cabin when Noah saw something moving close to the ground in the yard. It had crawled out from under the truck. Noah flinched, dropped the saw on a pathside rock, and froze. “What the hell is that?” he whispered.
“What?” Olaf said, startled himself by the thud of the saw on the stone.
“That,” Noah whispered again, pointing at the bushy shadow. “Is that a wolf?” he asked. He bent down and picked up the saw. “Is that a goddamn wolf?” he asked again, this time in a louder whisper, turning his head but not taking his eyes off the shadow in the yard.
“What are you talking about?” Olaf said.
“There. Sitting right there, by the firepit.”
“That’s not a wolf,” Olaf said, elbowing Noah aside. “That’s my dog. That’s Vikar—come here, Vikar.” And he whistled. The dog came bounding around the truck and ran a circle around them.
“Jesus Christ,” Noah said, all of his held breath coming out in one relieved rasp. “Jesus,” he said again, watching the huge dog roll on his back as Olaf scratched its stomach. “Where has he been?”
“Wandering around the woods, I’d guess. Comes home when he wants. Must’ve heard the chainsaw.”
The dog was enormous, a malamute or husky a hundred and fifty pounds or more. It had long, coarse hair and ears and forepaws the size of Noah’s own hands. “He scared the shit out of me,” Noah said. “I thought it was a wolf.”
“That’s what you said.”
Noah let the dog sniff his hand.
“How long have you had him?” They were standing in front ofthe house now, the dog jumping and twisting under Olaf’s snapping fingers.
“Couple years.”
Noah sat on the step and the dog came up to him, eye level, ears submissively fallen, to be petted. “Any more surprises?” he asked, scratching the dog behind its ears.
“Surprises?” Olaf replied. He stepped behind Noah, onto the porch, took the top off a tin garbage can, and filled an empty ice-cream bucket with dog food. He put it down beside the steps and the dog set to eating.
“D O YOU REMEMBER your mother playing the piano?” They sat in the rusted steel lawn chairs on the grassy beach, an oar’s length from the lapping water, darkness cascading down the sky. Vikar lay at Olaf’s feet, his legs outstretched, a stream of groans muttering from his black lips.
“Of course I do,” Noah said.
“She played beautifully.”
“It used to drive me nuts.”
“Why?” Olaf asked, his chin on his shoulder, his long white beard pointing out toward the lake.
“Because I could never listen to my records.”
She used to play the Acrosonic upright for hours at a time, in summer especially, when her long evenings alone went on endlessly. Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Grieg were always drifting through the house on High Street while Noah and his buddies pitched pennies outside against the garage door. Solveig played, too, in her mother’s style but without any of her elegance.
Olaf was teasing a sprig of brown grass. He sighed, cleared histhroat, and put the grass between his lips. “She always wanted to play at your wedding.”
“My wedding,” Noah said, stiffening at the mere mention of it. “I’m surprised you’d bring it up.”
“That was a long time ago, Noah.”
“Five years now,” Noah said, feeling his anger rising. His father’s worst performance ever had come on the eve of Noah’s wedding. He hated to remember it. And here was talk of his mother again, Noah’s sacred subject.
“You know, I was on my way home when she died,” Olaf said, seemingly oblivious.
“I remember when she died,” Noah said, wondering now if his father really was looking for a fight.
“That’s the only time I’ve ever been on a plane in my life. I had to leave my boat in Toledo, take
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