Part 4 (1/2)
”Why?”
”Because your dad wants you to. You don't have a problem with that now, do you Brian?”
”Nah. Where do you want us to put all this stuff?”
”Throw it in the dump trailer. If it's small and burnable, put it in the burn barrel. You'll need some gloves. There's a few pair out in the barn. You feed the dogs yet?”
”It's Peggy's turn.”
”Peg?”
She sighed again. The girl was big on sighing these days.
”Oh, all right. I'll feed the dogs. I'll get the gloves.”
”Good girl.”
Belle watched her trudge up the stairs.
”Are there mice down here?” asked Darlin'.
”Could be,” Chris said.
”Should I get some cheese?”
Chris patted her head. Even Belle had to smile. Their daughter was pretty adorable.
”Nah, honey,” Chris said. ”I don't think that's a good idea.”
He turned to Belle. ”You organize things down here, okay? With the three of you? Shouldn't take too long. Keep this little one out of trouble. I've got things to do upstairs.”
”Chris? Why are we doing this? I mean...”
”You'll see. Trust me on this one.”
She repressed her own urge to sigh. Trust me Trust me was one of his favorite phrases. Usually she did - and things worked out okay in the end. But there was something really odd about this. was one of his favorite phrases. Usually she did - and things worked out okay in the end. But there was something really odd about this. Why now? Why now? She guessed he was off on one of his little projects again. When that was the case there was no stopping him. She'd known Chris Cleek for over twenty years and was fully aware that for a lawyer her husband could be a highly impulsive man. Only last summer he got it into his head at ten in the evening to paint the barn doors a darker shade of red than the rest of it. Thought it would look better. So there he was, working under the floodlights until well after twelve, coming to bed smelling of Dutch Boy and turpentine.
She called to him on the stairs.
”Check the oven, will you? Maybe do a basting for me?”
”Will do, cap'n,” he said.
Agnes, George and Lily greeted Peg warmly. To say the least. They were all over her when she stepped into the cage - the entire north side of the barn - to retrieve their food and water dishes, presenting heads and necks and floppy ears for scratching and three warm wet tongues. They were big dogs. Forty to fifty pounds at least she guessed. You had to watch your balance when they got up on their hind legs on you. She indulged them awhile. In truth that while she griped at having to do the ch.o.r.e she didn't really mind. How could you hate handling a dog?
Even Agnes, the mother, who could be nippy - who could be who could be d.a.m.n d.a.m.n nippy with everybody but Peg, even with her own pups nippy with everybody but Peg, even with her own pups - elicited a kind of warmth in her exceeded only by her affection for Darlin'. Peg didn't question it. It was just there. - elicited a kind of warmth in her exceeded only by her affection for Darlin'. Peg didn't question it. It was just there.
Dogs were like big sloppy children.
Unless of course you f.u.c.ked with them.
When she stepped outside the cage to hose off the dishes and closed the chain-link door they all set to barking. She thought that nothing else on earth has a voice like a c.o.o.nhound. It was a voice bred to command the night. To be heard from literally miles away, trailable in full darkness. In the enclosed s.p.a.ce of the barn they were like a series of small sonic booms.
They quieted again when she returned with the dishes, snuffing at her legs and heels as she set them in their given places along the concrete floor. Then shrunk away when she brought in the hose. The dogs were wary of the hose. The hose meant fresh water or a clean floor but it could also mean a bath, which they didn't particularly want. Or under higher pressure, in the hands of Brian or her father, occasionally worse.
She didn't like to think about that.
She filled the three water dishes and the one inside the doghouse, rolled the hose up and draped it on its hook, pried open the lid of the metal food bin and set to scooping out kibble. The dogs dug in. She filled the dish inside the silent doghouse too - filled that one carefully and gingerly.
She shut the cage door and found three sets of work-gloves neatly stacked on a shelf amid her father's tools.
She left the dogs amidst chomping sounds and flying drool.
They were always hungry.
As always she felt a twinge of guilt at closing the barn doors on them. Cutting them off. There was a time they were allowed free run of the yard. Now they only got out on nights when her father and his friends wanted to do some c.o.o.n hunting. Which wasn't all that often anymore. And these guys were meant to run.
They were hunters. Her dad said they could pull down a deer if he let them.
As always she put those thoughts behind her.
She had other ch.o.r.es to do. She had not the slightest idea why.
First things first, Chris thought. He dialed Betty's number from the kitchen. Betty was his paralegal, his office manager, his secretary. And she never minded him calling on a Sunday.
She had caller ID and picked up on the second ring.
”Hi, Betty,” he said. ”Just want to run a few things by you, okay?”
It was okay. It was always okay.
Betty was a treasure.
”I won't be in until after lunchtime tomorrow. If at all,” he said.
Anything wrong? she said. Real concern in her voice, bless her. Real concern in her voice, bless her. No, there was nothing wrong, nothing at all. No, there was nothing wrong, nothing at all.