Rachel Alexander 02 - The Dog who knew too much

adoption counselor had told her the pup looked like a scent hound, and April, who had always taken advantage of her access to drugs, heard it as “cent hound.”
    But I never got to finish the course. One evening her brother called to cancel the last lesson. When April hadn’t shown up for her shift and hadn’t answered the phone, he’d been called. He’d gone to her house to find that his sister had reached the end of her ability to tolerate her troubles. He found her in bed, the cigarette she had been smoking burned down to her fingers, Penny pressed close against her side. After calling 911, he’d called the animal shelter and arranged to have his sister’s dog euthanized.
    I’d always wondered how she’d been able to desert Penny. Now I found myself wondering how Lisa had been able to leave her dog so unsafe. Lisa’s parents hadn’t even mentioned her. I wondered where she was and what would become of her. I sat on the bed, picked up the phone, and called Marsha Jacobs.
    “Marsha? It’s Rachel.”
    “Yes, dear,” she said. “Have you learned something?”
    “I’m calling about, um, well, you didn’t say and I was wondering , was Lisa seeing anyone recently?”
    “There was a young man she mentioned, a Paulie Wilcox. But we never met him, this Paulie person.”
    That made sense. Barring the use of torture or drugs, who would discuss their love life with their parents or sacrifice an innocent young man by bringing him home for the grand inquisition?
    “Do you know if she was still seeing him at the time, um, recently?”
    “I don’t know for sure.”
    “Oh, okay, and one other thing I wanted to ask was about the dog, Lisa’s Akita .”
    “Yes?”
    I hesitated, afraid of what I might hear. “Where is she now ?“
    “With Avram , dear. Why? Do you want her?”
    For a moment I listened to the sound of Dashiell breathing and the hum of the refrigerator from downstairs.
    “I’m sure she’s lovely, but I already have a dog.”
    “Maybe Avram will keep her. She’s used to him.”
    “One other thing, Marsha, about the note, Lisa’s note—”
    “Her apology?” her mother asked.
    “Um. Yes.”
    Now the silence was on her end of the line. I could hear some muffled conversation, as if the mouthpiece had been covered.
    “We didn’t mention it—”
    “Yes?”
    “Because we thought it was personal.”
    “I see,” I said. But I didn’t. I thought it was very queer that they hadn’t mentioned the note. Then again, they hadn’t said much else about the circumstances of the suicide, and Marty hadn’t thought that weird at all. Still, I’d ask about the note again, but only when I could see them.
    “Well, I’ll be in touch, okay, Marsha, and thank you.”
    “No, thank you, dear. We feel so much better that you’re helping us.”
    I put the phone back in its cradle and sat quietly on the edge of Lisa’s bed. A film of dust covered the top surfaces of all the furniture. I drew a small Akita head in it with my pointer. The only sounds now were the occasional noises of the traffic outside on Hudson Street , a horn honking or tires screeching because someone was in too big a rush to get to the next red light. Even the comforting smell of dog was no longer detectible by a mere human nose. Lisa’s apartment was a lonely place now. It had been deserted.
    I pulled the folded piece of paper out of my pocket. It had some chocolate stuck to one side, which I carefully peeled off and ate.
    “I’m sorry. Lisa,” it said.
    There was no date, no To whom it may concern , no By the way, could someone please be kind enough to give my dog a home. Just “I’m sorry. Lisa.”
    Had Lisa, once upon a time, expected her dog to protect her? Then shouldn’t she have protected her dog right back?
    What could have made her abandon her dog?
    What was it that troubled her so that it didn’t seem reparable?
    I surfed my mind for a possible explanation, but found none. There is a Zen saying I had once read. When you seek it, you cannot find it. Would I ever understand why Lisa Jacobs had taken her life? Like Zen, it seemed to make no sense at all.

I Stood Behind Hi m

    BY LUNCHTIME DASHIELL was shaking his head so much, I had to take him to the veterinarian. He had an ear infection, probably from getting water in his ear while he was swimming. I had neglected to dry his ears.
    One guilt attack and one hundred and thirty-two dollars later, we were home and I was making room on the small kitchen counter