“Precisely.”
“Precisely.” She helped herself to the bottle and refilled her glass and lifted it in a toast to her husband. “Case closed.”
The boys were already seated at the table, quietly waiting for the start of dinner. The oven timer buzzed, and Tim retrieved a pan of biscuits and set in motion the whole process of clattering bowls and spoons and fetching the milk from the fridge and getting dinner on the table. They all tucked in, and in those first moments, appetite trumped conversation, and they ate as though this meal was their first in ages.
Tim speared a chunk of potato on the end of his fork and blew to cool it down. “It looked like it was asleep, all curled up like they do, in the bottom of the trunk.”
“If you cut them open to let the steam out, you wouldn’t have to blow on your food,” Holly said. “Potatoes stay hot a long time.”
“That’s what I like about living in a small town. Mighty nice of that young policeman to keep us informed.” He fanned his open mouth with his free hand.
Jack Peter blew on his potato.
“Same goes for you,” she said. “Let the steam out, so you can eat them sooner.”
“At first I didn’t believe him,” said Tim. “About a big dog, but the more I got to thinking, the more it makes sense.”
She buttered a biscuit and ignored him. “Jack, Miss Tiramaku said you and she had a good talk, is that right?”
When he heard his name, Jack stopped chasing a pearl onion around the bottom of his bowl and stared at his mother.
“Says she wants to talk with you some more. Would that be all right, son?” Holly sank her teeth into the biscuit, and Jack nodded and resumed his game.
Tim waggled an empty fork at her. “I’m not sure it’s all right with me.”
“It doesn’t have to be with your approval, Tim. He needs somebody. I don’t think there’s any harm in her talking with the boy.”
“Bunch of superstition.”
Her spoon clattered when she dropped it into the bowl. For the next few moments, they ate in deep silence.
“Didn’t seem real at first,” Nick said. “A make-believe dog. Like something Jack Peter would dream up.”
*
They all made their peace after supper, managing a few hands of cards before bed. On the calendar in the boys’ bedroom, Nick drew a big black X through another number and calculated how long it would be until his parents returned. Just a few more days. While Jack Peter was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, Nick changed his clothes. He stripped off his shirt, and as he undid his belt buckle, he felt the lump in his jeans pocket. He pulled out a wad of papers, the torn strips from the drawing adhering together like a ball of yarn, ragged and matted. The drawing. The babies. It seemed so long ago in retrospect, and with all of the strange visitors, Nick had forgotten to ask Mrs. Keenan about it, and he had not dared mention the drawing to Jack Peter. From down the hall came the sound of the bathroom door opening with a burst. He would be back soon, so Nick shoved the pulpy mass under his side of the mattress.
He was tired, oh so tired.
When the lights went out, he had hoped to go straight to sleep, but instead, Jack Peter rolled to his side and faced him in the darkness, wanting to talk. Nick could smell the mint toothpaste on his breath and the scent of soap on his skin. Go away, he wanted to shout, but he said nothing and tried to will his friend to sleep.
“What do you want, Jack Peter?”
Up on one elbow, he was eager to talk. “I wasn’t scared of the lady with one eye.”
“She had two eyes. A cataract on one. My nana in Florida has ’em all the time. She had a surgery to cut one out.”
“They cut her eyeball?”
“With a knife. A scalpel.”
“I would not want a knife in my eye.”
“Me neither. I’m glad you weren’t scared of her.”
“She was nice.” There was an air around Jack Peter’s sentence, a kind of wistfulness that Nick associated with school when one of the boys or girls had a crush on a teacher. A teacher’s pet.
“You should talk to her,” Nick said. “Tell her everything, all your secrets.”
No reply. All was still for a while, quiet enough for Nick to hope their conversation was over and he could sleep. He had nearly dropped off when another question disturbed him.
“What about that dog?”
“It was a big white dog, big as a wolf. Kinda scary to look at since it was dead.”
“I wonder what it is like being dead.”