Page 9
Back down the stairs, quicker this time. Around the corner and down again.
The theater room door is half open. Inside, the room smells faintly of the popcorn seasoning Renny loved even though I said it left a film on my tongue. The large sectional faces the screen. A row of old movie posters lines the wall.
The room is dim, the last of the evening slipping around the blackout curtains. I can make out the couch, the remotes on the side table, a folded throw blanket over the arm.
This room has memories too. Every room does, but the theater room asks less of me.
I lie down before I can decide not to and pull the throw blanket over my legs.
Upstairs, a soft bark.
“Baxter?”
Nothing.
Then comes the faint tick of claws on hardwood. The sound gets closer, pauses at the threshold, retreats, then comes back.
A small gray shape appears in the doorway.
Barret.
Of course. Baxter is too proud to make the first move.
Barret looks at me. Then at the hallway. Then at me again.
“I don’t know where he is either,” I say.
Barret’s ears shift.
“I mean, I do. Technically.”
He takes one step into the room. I lift the edge of the blanket. An invitation and a test.
Barret approaches the couch cautiously. He sniffs my shoe, then the edge of the couch.
Then he jumps up. He’s not a graceful dog, no matter what Renny claimed. He steps on my stomach with one sharp foot, circles twice, and settles against my chest with a sigh so dramatic it should come with applause.
I put a hand on his back.
For a few seconds, I can do nothing but feel the rise and fall of him under my palm.
The tears come differently this time. Quiet. Hot. No great break in the body, no collapse.
Barret inches closer until his chin rests against my collarbone.
I pull the blanket over both of us.
The room darkens slowly.
At some point, Baxter barks once from upstairs, either offended or lonely. Barret lifts his head, listens, then drops it again.
“Well,” I say into the dark, “he knows where to find us.”
Chapter two
The Box
Clint
