down to details like the optimal care of fangs. Rose shut out all traitorous suspicions of Violet and called Miles instead, hoping to at least soothe him.
No answer, but she couldn’t just sit in the van worrying. She scanned the stores in the strip mall, rejected offering herself up for ritual staking at the church, fretted some more, and gave up in favor of the only outlet she could think of: a run. She scrunched her ponytail under a ball cap, tucked a note under the windshield wiper, performed minimal stretches, grabbed the walking stick she routinely carried for protection, and took off through the parking lot onto the main road. So what if she accidentally ended up near Linda Dell’s? Even Jack couldn’t object to her jogging along a public street.
Forty minutes’ gentle run later, through a well-lit neighborhood of aging brick ranch houses, Rose passed what should have been Linda Dell’s house for the third time. For the third time also, she passed the house before it and approached the house after, gritting her teeth and clutching the walking stick. Still no dachshunds. She’d passed a growling retriever in one fenced yard and a feisty little Yorkie in another. In any case, this couldn’t possibly be Linda’s house. On a porch swing under a yellow bug light, a couple now sawed back and forth, cuddling close, sharing a beer and whispered conversation in the cool evening air.
Rose slowed to a walk. He really fooled me. Jack had deliberately pointed out the wrong house, because he didn’t trust her. She seriously hadn’t thought he would lie. Make excuses for himself, sure, but downright lie…? Disappointment and relief jostled each other, and relief should have won, but annoyingly, disappointment pricked her.
A torrent of yapping careened into the night and hurtled across the lawn. Rose swiveled, clutching the walking stick, terror riding up into her gullet. Two snarling, yapping dachshunds tossed themselves against the fence and Rose clutched harder, her chest heaving, fighting her fangs.
They’re just dogs.
Noisy little dogs behind a fence.
Grow up, Rose.
So he hadn’t lied after all. That comfy scene on the porch meant a reconciliation, and Jack was probably back at the van. Just as Rose had calmed herself enough to walk with dignity past the little fiends, all hell really did break loose at the house next door.
Jack hovered inside Linda Dell’s house, camouflaged against the curtains, watching Rose approach for the third time.
Enough, he decided. Enough of listening to Linda weep all over the man who only this morning had beaten her almost senseless. Enough of the man’s slobbering apologies and excuses. I need you, Linda. I need you. You have to stay with me. Till death do us part. Which it surely would before long. Whatever had transpired between this morning’s desperate call to Gil and now, she was back with her husband, her one chance gone. She’d have to turn to others: police, women’s shelters, groups that helped victims get new lives. If Jack left now, he could cut through the woods and get to the van about the same time as Rose. Maybe they’d talk a little on the way back to the store. Maybe he’d convince her that he really wasn’t as hateful as he’d seemed. Maybe he’d find away to help her. Start regaining the balance, even if it took years. According to some cultures, he would never stop owing her. She had almost certainly saved his life. Up till now, he’d thought owing his father was as bad as it could get.
Next door, the neighbor let the dachshunds out for a run. They barreled across the lawn, barking furiously. Tall and pale under the streetlight, Rose whirled, gripping her stick. He hadn’t thought of Rose as the easily startled type. Quickly, though, she relaxed her posture, glancing from the dogs to Linda and her husband on the porch swing.
“Goddamn!” Bingo Dell sprang off the swing, toppling his wife with a thrust of one fist and grabbing his shotgun with
No answer, but she couldn’t just sit in the van worrying. She scanned the stores in the strip mall, rejected offering herself up for ritual staking at the church, fretted some more, and gave up in favor of the only outlet she could think of: a run. She scrunched her ponytail under a ball cap, tucked a note under the windshield wiper, performed minimal stretches, grabbed the walking stick she routinely carried for protection, and took off through the parking lot onto the main road. So what if she accidentally ended up near Linda Dell’s? Even Jack couldn’t object to her jogging along a public street.
Forty minutes’ gentle run later, through a well-lit neighborhood of aging brick ranch houses, Rose passed what should have been Linda Dell’s house for the third time. For the third time also, she passed the house before it and approached the house after, gritting her teeth and clutching the walking stick. Still no dachshunds. She’d passed a growling retriever in one fenced yard and a feisty little Yorkie in another. In any case, this couldn’t possibly be Linda’s house. On a porch swing under a yellow bug light, a couple now sawed back and forth, cuddling close, sharing a beer and whispered conversation in the cool evening air.
Rose slowed to a walk. He really fooled me. Jack had deliberately pointed out the wrong house, because he didn’t trust her. She seriously hadn’t thought he would lie. Make excuses for himself, sure, but downright lie…? Disappointment and relief jostled each other, and relief should have won, but annoyingly, disappointment pricked her.
A torrent of yapping careened into the night and hurtled across the lawn. Rose swiveled, clutching the walking stick, terror riding up into her gullet. Two snarling, yapping dachshunds tossed themselves against the fence and Rose clutched harder, her chest heaving, fighting her fangs.
They’re just dogs.
Noisy little dogs behind a fence.
Grow up, Rose.
So he hadn’t lied after all. That comfy scene on the porch meant a reconciliation, and Jack was probably back at the van. Just as Rose had calmed herself enough to walk with dignity past the little fiends, all hell really did break loose at the house next door.
Jack hovered inside Linda Dell’s house, camouflaged against the curtains, watching Rose approach for the third time.
Enough, he decided. Enough of listening to Linda weep all over the man who only this morning had beaten her almost senseless. Enough of the man’s slobbering apologies and excuses. I need you, Linda. I need you. You have to stay with me. Till death do us part. Which it surely would before long. Whatever had transpired between this morning’s desperate call to Gil and now, she was back with her husband, her one chance gone. She’d have to turn to others: police, women’s shelters, groups that helped victims get new lives. If Jack left now, he could cut through the woods and get to the van about the same time as Rose. Maybe they’d talk a little on the way back to the store. Maybe he’d convince her that he really wasn’t as hateful as he’d seemed. Maybe he’d find away to help her. Start regaining the balance, even if it took years. According to some cultures, he would never stop owing her. She had almost certainly saved his life. Up till now, he’d thought owing his father was as bad as it could get.
Next door, the neighbor let the dachshunds out for a run. They barreled across the lawn, barking furiously. Tall and pale under the streetlight, Rose whirled, gripping her stick. He hadn’t thought of Rose as the easily startled type. Quickly, though, she relaxed her posture, glancing from the dogs to Linda and her husband on the porch swing.
“Goddamn!” Bingo Dell sprang off the swing, toppling his wife with a thrust of one fist and grabbing his shotgun with
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