“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because we’ve argued about it before. I say Alzheimer’s, she says old age. We’ve gone back and forth ad infinitum. If I say Dad confirms it, she’ll say I’m lying.”
“Anne?” he asks in disbelief. “Sunny Side Up Anne? She thinksmethe liar, not you.”
“She’s changed. When we were kids, she was cheery about everything. Then came that night—not even that night, but the years since. She still has sunny moods. But other times not so much, at least when it comes to Margo and Mom and me. She’s still naïve. But she’s also defensive. I thought she’d be happy that I was coming back to help. Only she doesn’t see it as help. She sees it as interference. So if Dad won’t see a doctor or consider medication, maybe there’s no point in telling her.” My mind races on. “But then when he gets worse, which we know he will, she may blame me for not saying something. And what about his breathing? The guy’s in lousy shape. He was totally winded walking up the hill.” I grimace at Jack. “Think something’s wrong?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re a doctor.”
“I’m a vet. Animals are different from people. Maybe he’s out of shape because he doesn’t get enough exercise?”
“Mom!”
I look back at the stairs to see Joy waving excitedly, then leaping from the second stair to the sand and running toward us with increasing speed as the sand hardens.
At the same time, Guy has broken from Jack and, with a growlthat is separate and distinct from the rumble of the surf, races to meet her.
Will he bite me?Joy asked yesterday.
If you pick up a stick and come at him, he might.
There was no stick, but in the dog’s eye, she is coming at him.
“No!” I cry, racing after the dog. “Joy! Stop!”
Jack is that much farther ahead, shouting orders to the dog, and when that does nothing, shouting them to Joy. As the distance between them shortens, I envision the dog leaping at my daughter’s throat with open jaws.
Either she heard us. Or she, too, remembers what Jack said yesterday. She stops short, her eyes on the dog, and holds her arms out at the sides. I’m guessing she is terrified. Or maybe it’s just me who is terrified.
Whatever, there is enough of a break in the action for Jack to reach Guy. One hand wraps around the dog’s collar, the other arm around his chest. I’m passing them to reach Joy if only to put myself between her and the dog, when Jack snags my waist.
“I have this,” he murmurs and pulls me behind him.
I’m not stupid. He is the pit bull expert, not me. That doesn’t keep me from shaking.
Jack’s voice is calm but firm. “Good Guy. Atta boy.GoodGuy. She won’t hurt you. She’s excited, is all.” He lifts his voice to Joy. It is gentle, but holds the same quiet command. “Come closer.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I’m holding him. He won’t hurt you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just had such a good time working at Anne’s and got to the house and Mom wasn’t there and then here you all are at the beach, and I just forgot—” She stopped short. Her large eyes are on Guy.
“Come closer, Joy,” Jack repeats quietly. “It’s important for Guy.”
The dog should be panting from the run, but instead stands still as stone. He is deadeye focused on Joy, who, despite the baby steps she takes, is nearly as still.
Not me, though. My pulse is racing, hands fisted against my throat. As I watch, all I can think, absurdly, is that we need a dog treat, why doesn’t Jack have a dog treat, where are the dog treats—and when none appear from the pockets of Jack’s shorts, I think of the gun that he claims my father has. If I had a gun in my hand, I wouldn’t feel so helpless.
“That’s right,” Jack coaxes as Joy nears. “Good Guy,” he murmurs at the dog’s ear. “See, she’s more frightened than you are.”
“He’s frightened?” Joy asks.
“Absolutely. Where he came from, someone rushing at him was not a good thing. He was trained to attack if he wanted to live. So now we have to retrain him. It’s about trust. He’s learning, but he has setbacks.”
“I’m sooo sorry,” Joy whispers, this time to the dog.
