“Poor guy.” Grady crossed to the cage and knelt down.
“I know.” Alice stood behind him and tried to tear up—$5,000, $5,000 $5,000. In the next minute, her eyes were wet.
“Bear?” Grady called softly, and the dog raised his head slowly, and looked up at them. Then, all of a sudden, he freaked out, barking in fear and trying to get up. His back legs scissored, and his front clawed the blanket, yanking out the IV tube.
Alice knew he was reacting to her, but Grady leapt to his feet, flustered as the vet tried to calm the frantic dog, and two vet techs rushed over to help.
“Grady, back off,” Alice said. “He doesn’t remember you. You’re upsetting him. Let’s get you out of here.” She took Grady’s arm and hurried him through the double doors to the waiting room.
“I’m so sorry.” Flushed, Grady raked his hair back with his hands. “I thought he would know me. He did last night.”
“Last night he was barely conscious. Don’t feel bad. Maybe it’s the drugs they gave him.”
“No, it was me.” Grady pouted like a little boy, and Alice wished she could kiss him right there, tongue included.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was. I shouldn’t have gone in. He didn’t look good at all, did he?”
“He looked awful.” Alice blinked away her bogus tears.
“He seems even older than yesterday, if that’s possible. How old is he?”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. He’s really aged.”
“Poor old guy.” Grady gave Alice a hug, and she let her arms encircle his waist, looking forward to a rematch.
“I hate to see him suffering like that.”
“I know.” Grady released her and looked into her eyes. “So what do you want to do? He’s your dog, it’s your decision.”
“I know what to do. The right thing.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Alice managed a shaky smile.
It could be a whole new thing. Grief sex.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Mary sat cross-legged on her bed, working in her Donovan McNabb jersey, gym shorts, and glasses. The air conditioner rattled, a hot coffee cooled on the night table, and her brief glowed on her laptop. All systems were go except her brain. She kept thinking of Anthony and whether she should call him. She wished she could take back some of those awful words.
She didn’t know if she was right or wrong. She didn’t know if a house mattered more than a man, or if it was a house that she was standing up for. It was confusing. She hadn’t known the words would come out of her mouth until they did, but when she heard them, they sounded true. She was standing up for herself, right?
She put it out of her mind and read the last paragraph of her brief for the umpteenth time. The facts section was empty because Alice hadn’t done anything bad yet, but the case law in the legal section needed editing. She had to email the brief to Bennie tonight, then get to work on her own clients. She’d brought in five new ones last week and she had tons to do.
Then buy it, partner.
She forced herself to refocus and deleted a word, trying to smooth out the writing, then her mind wandered and she picked up her BlackBerry. There were new emails from clients, but none from Anthony. No texts or calls from him that she’d missed by accident. She thought about calling him but she didn’t know what to say, and texting him would be so middle-school. Instead, she called Judy, who sounded out of breath, with salsa music blaring in the background.
“What’s that?” Mary asked. “You at a club?”
“No, home. Frank is teaching me how to samba.”
“Frank can samba?”
“Oh, there’s nothing that man doesn’t know.”
Mary smiled. “Catch you later. I just wanted to see how were feeling.”
“No more evil eye.”
“Congratulations, see you tomorrow.” Mary pressed END and set the phone back down.
She stared at the computer, feeling night falling like a closing curtain. She was betwixt and between, lost between apartment and house, associate and partner, boyfriend and late husband. She thought about calling her parents, but they’d ask about Anthony and she was the worst liar in the bar association. She would bet her father was hurt about what she’d said to him, but she couldn’t take that back, either. She wished she could talk to her sister, who was on yet another mission, a twin trying to prove she was unique.
Her gaze fell on the brief, and she wondered what it was like to be Bennie and have a twin who disliked you. It would be like warring with your very self. Bennie didn’t deserve that kind of pain, not after all she’d done for Alice.
DiNunzio, I appreciate you.
She read the paragraph again, reenergized. She didn’t have time for a pity party. She was a professional and she had a job to do. Bennie was her client, and anybody who wanted to hurt her would have to get through Mary.
She took a slug of warm coffee and got busy.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Bennie counted one, two, three, and the wood splintered with a cracking sound. The hole had gone from a quarter to a fist, and it had blackened like a solar eclipse, so she knew it was dark outside. The animal would be back soon. She pounded harder than before, smashing the heel of her palm against where the wood splintered. It cracked again. She grabbed the wood with her bandaged hand and pressed up. The piece broke, but was still hinged to the wood.
“HELPPPPP!” she screamed. She didn’t know how far underground she was, but it couldn’t be that far, judging from the light through the hole. Maybe somebody could hear her shouting. She wrenched the wood back and forth until she could tear the piece off. She thrust her arm through the hole, threw the chunk of wood out, and started all over again.
She pounded on the hole, ignoring the pain. She had to get free, she felt it like a wild desire, a natural force that fueled her, propelling her upward. She didn’t smell the filth anymore, only the earth that kept falling inside the box, shaken loose. She heard the splintering again, busted off another piece and pressed it backwards, grunting with exertion. It gave way and broke off, widening the hole to the size of her shoulder. She let the wood piece fall and started pounding next to it, bashing as hard as she could. The animal could come back any minute.
Sweat poured over her face but she kept breaking the hole until it was almost big enough for her head. Dirt fell onto her eyes, and she heard a shuffling above. A shadow chased across the hole, maybe three feet from her face. The animal was back, growling. Terror struck. Her throat and face lay exposed. She shrieked.
Suddenly the animal jammed his snout through the hole, frenzied and growling. Jaws snapped inches from her nose. Saliva dripped on her cheek. She squeezed herself against the side of the box. She screamed again and again.
The animal rammed his snout farther down, frenzied. His breath reeked of carrion. She kicked the lid to scare him, but he kept coming, driving her against the side of the box. She fumbled for the piece of wood she had dropped. She prayed it had a jagged edge.
She heard somebody roaring, like a war cry, and it was her. Her fingers found the wood piece. She stabbed the animal, slicing his lip. He writhed in pain. His head got caught in the hole. He couldn’t back out. It was do or die for the both of them.
The animal bit down. Sharp teeth raked her fingers and ripped her bandage. She stabbed again. She cut his nose, and he roared in protest, throwing his head this way and that, the movement trapping his head inside.
She stabbed again and again, finally jamming the knife into his mouth, where it stuck. His terrified yelp gave her an opening. She punched his snout again and again. The animal backed out of the hole yelping in distress.
She reached up, grabbed the edge of the hole, and wrenched the wood back and forth frantically until it cracked off. Still the hole wasn’t large enough for her. She attacked the hole again, desperate. Another piece splintered off, a skinny shard shaped like a spike.
Yes.
br />
Dirt fell in the box. The animal yelped and cried on the surface, about a foot over head. A circle of black sky glimmered above her. She waited for the right moment. The animal ran back and forth over the hole. The cries and scuffling came closer.
Go.
She launched herself upward, leading with the spike. Her head exploded through the hole to the surface. The animal screamed. It was a skinny wolf, brown and gray in the moonlight. But she felt like a wolf now, too. Lethal, primal. She embedded the wood in the fur of his underbelly, his skin hot against her knuckles.
The wolf whipped his head around, his canines bared. The whites of his eyes showed terror and fury. She let her arm drop, and the wolf bolted away, yelping.
She scrambled out of the hole and reached the surface, panting hard. Listening for the wolf. His cries sounded farther and farther away. She felt an urge to go after him, hunt him down, and finish him off. She ran a few steps but she suddenly didn’t have the strength.
She fell to her knees and collapsed, utterly exhausted. Bloodied. Shaking, as her adrenaline ebbed away, leaving her lying face-down in the grass. In the middle of an open field, under a night sky and a full moon.
Alive.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Alice sat in the passenger seat of the car, trying to look stricken. She couldn’t make herself cry, so she aimed for numb with grief, which was more like Bennie anyway. Luckily it was dark, so no Academy Award performance was required. Grady steered the car from the Penn campus, heading home in silence, his eyes glistening like a complete loser.
“I know how hard a decision that was for you,” he said, his hands on the wheel.
“We did the right thing. It’s selfish to make him suffer.”
“That’s true, but it’s the passing of an era.”
No, it’s the passing of a dog, dude.
Grady hit the gas as the light was about to turn red, and the Lexus cruised forward in light traffic. “You know what’s bugging me?”
Let me guess. Why you can’t get it up?
“It’s bugging me that he’ll be alone while they put him down. All by himself.”
Oh, please. “I can’t stay with him. I couldn’t take it.”
“I know.” Grady slowed the car, cranked the wheel to the left, and made a U-turn. “I want to be with him. I want him to know that we loved him. Wouldn’t you feel better, knowing I was with him?”
Alice suppressed an eye-roll. “But you upset him.”
“Maybe I just surprised him. He used to be my buddy, remember, we ran together? I’ll go and be there with him, so he’s not alone.”
Alice tried to think of the Bennie-like response. She didn’t want to make him suspicious, after Mary’s phone call. “Okay. I really appreciate it.”
“Good. I just hope I get there in time.”
“Me, too.” Alice forced a little hiccup that would sound like a stifled sob. “This is really great of you.”
Grady hit the gas, slid his cell phone from his back pocket, and flipped it open. “Perfect. My battery’s dead.”
You’re telling me.
“I didn’t charge it last night. Do you have your phone with you? I want to call the hospital and tell them not to do anything until I get there.”
“Good idea.” Alice fumbled in Bennie’s messenger bag, but there was no BlackBerry. “I forgot it this morning. I was too distracted. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, we’re only a few blocks away. Hang on.” Grady sped up Spruce Street, running a red light, and they were at the vet hospital in less than five minutes. He parked in the emergency parking, cut the ignition, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You sure you’re okay here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell him you love him.”
“Thank you.” Alice was so bored with all this talk about the stupid dog. “Sorry I’m not coming in.”
“Try to rest, and hang in there.” Grady gave her a quick kiss, jumped out of the driver’s seat, and jogged to the entrance of the hospital, disappearing inside.
Alice breathed a relieved sigh. She switched on the radio and found a hip-hop station playing Usher, then Justin Timberlake and Ludacris came on, and if they played anything sexier she’d be rocking the car all by herself. Finally Grady reappeared at the hospital exit, leaving with his head down. She snapped off the radio and pretended to be dozing as he hustled toward the car and opened the door. She faked waking up and looked at him.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, drowsily. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“You’re exhausted from last night.” Grady gave her a hug, and she could feel wetness on his cheek.
“Was it horrible?”
“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Grady’s voice sounded husky. “You go back to sleep, and I’ll get you home.”
“Whatever you say.” Alice let herself slump backwards in the seat. She looked out the window as they steered from the parking lot and drove home in silence.
No talk and no sex. We’re practically married.
Chapter Forty
Mary shifted on the bed, her concentration refocused. The laptop had gotten hot so she had to rest it on a pillow, and its bright screen glowed in the darkening bedroom. She read the legal section one last time, then leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction.
Maybe I deserve to be a partner after all?
She lifted the computer and pillow off her lap, set it aside, and reached for her coffee, but it was long gone. She glanced at the clock, which told her that she’d spent way too long on the brief, especially when she had so many of her own cases. She logged on to her email and wrote to Bennie:
I’m attaching the brief. Let me know what you think, and I appreciate your kind words today.
She signed off with “Best, Mary,” because “Love, Mary” would get her fired, then attached the brief and clicked SEND. Anthony popped back into her head, the thought sent from the boyfriend lobe, which seemed to be waiting for her to finish work. She checked her BlackBerry. No email from him, no text or calls. He was waiting her out, playing love chicken. Or maybe he was letting himself cool down, or he had just gone to sleep.
The realtor’s business card was sitting on the bedspread, and she picked it up and ran a thumb over the blue embossed letters. She flashed on the house, which was perfect. True, it was a reach, but even her father had said it made sense to step up when you found the house you really wanted. Should she buy the house? If she did, would that be the end of them, or could they work it out?
She felt a pang of love and longing, and this time it was for Anthony. She wanted to live with him, and at times, she wanted to marry him. He was special, and years of dating had taught her that good men are harder to find than good houses. So why lose him for four walls and a roof? She didn’t need a gourmet kitchen for spaghetti and meatballs.
But why do I need his permission to buy something I want?
A hard nub of resentment lodged in her chest, and she knew it wouldn’t go away if she gave up the house. It would only grow, impinging on her heart, and in time she would blame him for a decision that she herself had made. She read the business card again and picked up her BlackBerry.
Wondering.
Chapter Forty-one
Bennie stood up as soon as she had the strength, swaying unsteadily. The moon shone surprisingly bright. The air smelled sweet and clean. A breeze caressed her battered body, rustling the tatters of her clothes. She wiped blood, tears, dirt, and sweat from her face, looking around the field.
It was dark around her, with no houses in sight. The grass had been cut for hay and lay in humped rows. In the distance was a tall treeline and a hulk of farm machinery. She remembered the shaking she’d felt in the box, the tornado she’d heard driving over her. It had been a harvesting machine.
It struck her then what must have happened. The hay in the field must have been tall when Alice had buried the box, but she wouldn’t have known that it would be cut at the end of the mon
th. The harvesting machine, and the wolf, had saved Bennie’s life.
She started walking, wobbly and weary, looking for a road. Her bare feet aching, her hand trailed its bloody bandage. She didn’t want to think about what she looked like. She hadn’t eaten in forever, her throat was dry and parched. She felt dizzy and weak.
She heard the screech of a faraway owl. The loud knocking of a woodpecker, echoing over the field. Crickets everywhere. She passed a herd of deer lying in the short grass. They spotted her, startled, and took off, their back hooves flying, white tails upright as surrender flags.
She kept walking, using the hayrow as a guideline. Above shone the stars, their whiteness brighter out in the country. They pierced a velveteen sky, a glittery whitewash of stardust. She remembered looking at the stars so long ago, when her mother was still alive. She had thought that her family was fixed as the constellations, but she’d been wrong. She’d learned that stars changed and so did families, hers when it belatedly acquired its darkest star.
She walked through another field, passing immense rolls of hay, lined up together like houses, two stories high. She followed the rows of mown hay when she could and her sense of direction when she couldn’t, stumbling and halting but going ever forward, and she saw a black ribbon of paved road that snaked along the fields, its canary yellow divider phosphorescent in the moonshine.
She almost cried with happiness. She staggered over, reached the shoulder, and walked next to it in the grass. It was only a matter of time until someone drove by. She’d call the cops and find Alice, no matter where she tried to hide. She’d charge her, prosecute her, and lock her away for good. Twin or no. Sister or no. Blood or no.