“I love it,” she said, and she did. It was quiet, the light was fine, and the hanging vines made her feel like she was still in the middle of nature. It would be great for yoga in the mornings, too. She just needed some sort of reading chair, and a stereo for her relaxation tapes, and it would be perfect.
“Well, don’t make up your mind before you see your other option.” They walked to the other room, and Bill pushed open the door with a grand sweep. Inside was a sun-filled space, twice the size of the first room, painted a creamy yellow. There were two huge windows on one side, plus another screen door, and the ceiling was encased almost entirely in skylight; the room felt almost entirely transparent. There was a wide, antique desk with a full set of drawers, and a bookshelf next to it, each row full of thick, hardcover books except for an empty one, which was clearly earmarked for Christina’s books. An oversized leather chair—its golden brown leather seemed like a pool of butter in the direct sunlight—sat in the corner next to a small entertainment center, complete with stereo system, television set, and DVD player. A stack of yoga DVDs perched on top of the television set. She picked one up and looked at the cover.
“I just bought a bunch, I didn’t know what you liked,” offered Bill.
Christina paused, read for a moment, and then said, “No, these are fine.” She looked up at him, bewildered, and then she burst into a smile. “God, of course. They’re perfect. This is amazing. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” She hugged him, kissed him so fiercely that their lips emitted a joint smacking sound.
“And you can see my workspace over there,” he said, pointing through the screen to an alcove jutting out from the house on the property. It ended next to a cherry tree. Kong paced beneath it. “So we can be near each other without, you know, being near each other. But we’ll always know where the other person is. So we don’t get lonely.”
“Alone but together,” she said.
“Never far apart,” said Bill.
“THE TIBETAN MASTIFF is an exceptional breed,” said Bill, his voice lowered even further, into what Christina recognized as the voice he used when giving lectures or readings. They were walking through the woods that filled out his property to the peak of the mountain. “They were bred for centuries as guard dogs, yet are still considered quite primitive because there aren’t that many of them in existence. The female mastiff can breed only once a year, usually in the fall.”
Christina ducked under a tree branch and felt cobwebs brush onto her forehead. She wiped them off with her hand, then rubbed it on her jeans.
Bill continued. “They simply haven’t had the chance to evolve in ways that other dogs have, and yet they’re highly intelligent and independent. So yes, they’re difficult to train, but I think Kong is worth it. He makes me feel safe—there are mountain lions in these woods, and they will attack. And I’ve always felt a distinct connection with him. I appreciate the challenge he presents, I suppose. But there can be but one king of the mountain, eh, Kong?”
“He’s calm out here,” said Christina. “This is the best I’ve seen him behave since I’ve gotten here.”
“He’s great on the leash,” said Bill. “And I think he likes the idea of protecting us. That’s half the reason I got him, because of the mountain lions.”
“Could he take a mountain lion?”
“Absolutely. And they’re all over the place.”
“Good to know,” said Christina.
They walked another ten minutes, Bill pointing out madrona and manzanita trees along the way, with their slick skin underneath the peeling skin, and various promontories where Kong insisted on stopping and surveying the woods. In fact he stopped frequently along the way, at a stray crackle of branches or a rustle in nearby bushes. It was a little tiresome, but Christina played along.
Finally the trees became shorter and sparser, and Bill announced that they were nearing the top. He directed Christina to turn and when she did she saw another mountain range, clear as day, facing them, and another one, hazier, to the south.
“It’s beautiful,” said Christina, beaming.
“I wanted to show you something.” He carefully put his arm, slightly damp with sweat, around her and gently guided her north. “Do you see that, there?” He pointed.
“What?” She squinted.
“All those solar panels? That’s Robin Williams’s house.”
“Really? Robin Williams. Huh. I enjoyed him in Awakenings.”
“So did I,” said Bill. “And the other one, where he dresses up like an old woman.”
“Mrs. Doubtfire,” said Christina.
“Yes, that’s it! Fine work in that film.”