“And it was business as usual in the management tent,” Marna added.
“But the kids are OK?” Abbie asked.
“Yeah,” Marna said. “It says they were taken to the area hospital for assessment.” Marna stood. “And with that good news, I’m heading home. I have the morning shift at the hospital, and I need to soak my feet.” She patted the pocket on her hiking pants, then pulled out her keys. “Sommer, I’ll take a raincheck on that lemonade. Abbie, are you coming with me or staying here?”
Abbie turned to Sommer. “I thought since I’m here, I’d take a look at your doorbell video of the howling and see if there’s anything we can do with it.”
“Video of Goth-hound?” Sommer asked. “Sure. And I have a frozen pizza and some salad stuff for dinner. Just let me know when you want me to drive you home.”
Sommer walked Marna to the door. When she came back to her living room, Abbie had her cell phone queued up a video of a woman singing a princess song with her chihuahua. “See the likes? People love this shit.”
“That is so darned cute. I don’t think Goth-hound would have the same appeal.”
“No? Can I see?”
As Abbie watched the black-and-white video of the dark silhouette of a man standing in front of the graveyard with his dog tipped back, howling, Sommer pulled the pins from her bun, then dragged the elastic from her ponytail.
“Your hair looks great,” Abbies said. “Leaving it in a bun for so long gave you soft, pretty curls. If you pulled on a dress, we could make a video of your singing for me to splice.”
Sommer strolled to her room, calling over her shoulder, “I’m going to have to warm up before I can sing anything for you to tape.” She went back to the living room a moment later, buttoning up the romantic dress that she thought had a modern-witch look which might go with the name “Goth-hound” without going overboard. Sommer held out the noise-canceling headphones, and as she launched into her routine, Abbie worked on editing the doorbell video and setting up the room, lighting candles, decorating the alcove with rocks and other nature treasures that Sommer liked to carry home in her pocket when she was out on an adventure.
With the camera on a tripod, Abbie moved Sommer into the frame, angling her and adjusting her hair so she was unrecognizable. “Ready?”
“I’m singing this acapella?”
“I think you have to. We can’t use copyrighted music,” Abbie said. “Do you know the section that the dog was howling?”
“Yes. I need to sing myself up to that point. Your ears will just have to bleed a little.” Sommer centered herself and began to sing.
A few minutes in, once again, came the howling.
“Goth-hound.” Abbie jumped up and down, clapping her hands like they were back in high school again. “Keep singing, keep singing!”
Sommer sang as she followed Abbie and her camera up the stairs to the window in Sommer’s room.
She sang until the man got down on the road and pulled the dog into his lap.
She shut her mouth and turned to Abbie. “Do you see that?”
“The dog stopped howling.”
“Why is that guy sitting in the road?”
Abbie put her camera on telephoto lens. “He’s petting his dog. He doesn’t look sick or hurt or anything.”
Sommer reached for the phone. “Can you see his face?” She looked at Abbie’s photo. “I can see his ear and some hair.”
“He’s got a nice build. Do you want to go for a walk?” Abbie asked. “We can stroll by him and see what he looks like up close and personal. Maybe say hi.”
“No.”
“We don’t have to stop. Two friends out for a walk. Put Squiggles on a lead and take him with us.”
“I’m not going for a walk with you. I don’t want him to see me. I don’t want a confrontation. I want to live my life quietly without a fight. I’m so damned tired of fighting.”
“You are. Can you listen to my whole thought, please?”
“Fine,” Sommer grumped.
