The Blessings of the Animals_A Novel

CHAPTER Thirty-One

DUBEY BEAT ME TO THE FARM. HE WAS ALREADY IN THE barn, where I’d told him to find Booker (shut in Muriel’s stall, since she never used it).
Dubey squinted into the light when I said hello. “Hey.” He stood up from where he sat with Booker. “Wow. You look different from when I last saw you.”
I swear, I felt the damn mottles in my legs.
“Wow,” he said again, looking me up and down. “What’s the occasion?”
“My parents’ fiftieth anniversary party.”
“You look . . . amazing.”
“Well, thank you.” The blotchy rash went into overdrive.
“Thank you. For Booker.” He hugged me. I wasn’t prepared for his fingers on my bare back.
The poor man probably hadn’t expected to touch skin, either. He looked away, flustered, then bent to ruffle Booker’s ears.
Moonshot nickered, peering in the back door of his stall, and my heart fell to my shins. He had yet to stay in the stall; I don’t think I’d ever once changed his bedding since he’d been here.
“I need to visit my friend,” I said to Dubey. “I can’t come down here and not speak to him. It would be rude.” I took a box of sugar cubes from the shelf, shaking three out into my palm.
I hiked the skirt of my gown and slipped through the fence. “You’re a tough man to find,” I said to Dubey as I fed Moonshot his treats.
“I apologize. I kind of wanted to disappear for a while. I’ve been staying with my sister.”
Moonshot rested his muzzle on my bare shoulder, his whiskers tickling my skin. I was not prepared to lose this horse. “I was pretty unraveled, too, for a while,” I said. And this horse helped to bring me back. “I can relate.” I’d simply chosen a different way to disappear.
As I scratched Moonshot’s tail, I told Dubey the story of his ex at my clinic. When I finished, he shook his head, horrified.
I patted Moonshot’s rump. “Would you like a drink?” I asked Dubey.
“That would be great.”
I led the way to the house, hyperaware of my bare back, feeling naked but bold.
Dubey admired the kitchen. “These colors. I would never be brave enough to try this. They’re great.”
He opened a bottle of wine while I took out cheese and crackers from the fridge. I’d bought romantic food, thinking Vijay would be here. Blue-cheese-stuffed olives, Brie, smoked almonds.
He raised his glass. “To your parents,” he said. “Fifty years. That’s longer than we’ve been alive. How come some people pull that off and some people end up with nothing but a maimed piano? No, that’s not true. I have my dog.” He bent to rub Booker’s face.
“You know, when you told me she took a hatchet to the piano, I wasn’t sure if you were serious, but now that she tried to kill your dog, I believe you.”
“I’ll show you when you come over.”
I’ll show you when you come over? Of course, I would be coming over.
“She was a plate thrower. A photo ripper. She came to UD once and drove her car into mine. All that melodrama is perfect for the opera but unbearable in real life.”
“My ex threw kitchen appliances,” I said. “He once threw the waffle iron out the back door.”
Dubey laughed and popped an olive into his mouth. “It’s not really fair. You’ve met Susan, so you have a visual. I wish I’d met your ex, so I could picture him.”
“You ever eat at Tanti Baci?”
He tipped his head. “I used to play there all the time. With a jazz trio. For a while we were there every Friday night.”
I’d most likely seen Dubey before. “Then you probably know my ex. Bobby Binardi.”
“The owner? You were married to him?”
I nodded, watching his eyes roam around the kitchen as if seeing it anew. “Huh. I always thought he—” He shrugged.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. What were you going to say?”
“Well, since you insist, I always thought he was with this other woman.”
My spine stiffened. “A young woman? With red hair?”
He nodded.
“Well, apparently he was with her. Is still.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged and whispered, “What does it matter now?”
“It matters.” He whispered, too. Both dogs lifted their heads from where they’d been slumbering as if they noticed the change in the room. “It’ll always matter. Betrayal hurts.”
He leaned across the island toward me. I leaned toward him.
The back door opened and we both jumped. Gabriella walked in, followed by the Davids. I pressed a hand to my chest. “You scared me! The dogs didn’t bark.”
Gabriella squinted her eyes at Dubey, then at me. “They only bark at strangers.”
I felt the mottles. Damn it. We weren’t doing anything wrong. We were just talking.
I was about to introduce Dubey when Muriel clicked into the kitchen on her little hooves.
“Who didn’t close the door?” Gabriella yelled.
Muriel bolted for the stairs.
Oh, my God. The goat was in the house. This was my life.
I hiked up my skirt to follow her. She clattered through the bathroom, through Gabby’s room, over my bed—where I finally tackled her, but she squirmed away—then back down the stairs.
Gabby held the back door open and Dubey herded the goat out onto the porch. “Well done!” Davy said as Gabby shut the door.
“This is Stuart Duberstein,” I said, when I’d caught my breath. “He’s Booker’s owner.”
Everyone made introductions. Gabby looked at the clock. Yes, he called two hours ago.
Davy grabbed a wineglass and went to pour some for himself. “Oh,” he said. The bottle was empty. Gabby raised her brows. She looked like my mother.
“I should get going,” Dubey said. “Thank you. Truly. I can never thank you enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He slipped quickly out the door with his dog.
When I turned back to the room, Gabriella had her hands on her hips.
“What?”
“What are you doing with him tomorrow?” Gabriella asked.
I blinked. “I have no idea.”
“Do you know it’s after midnight?” Gabriella scolded.
Big David said, “He’s cute.”
“He is,” Davy agreed. He poked his niece in the shoulder. “Come on, admit it, he’s cute.”
She smiled, sort of, but said, “Did Vijay ever call?” The Davids hooted and laughed.
“Actually, no, he did not. Why are you acting like this?” I asked her.
“You blushed,” she said, pointing at me.
“Okay, listen, this is weird,” I said. “He came to get his dog, we started talking and—”
“—and drinking wine,” Davy pointed out.
“—and the time just flew. He’s a nice guy. We have a lot in common.”
“And you look like a million bucks,” Big David added.
“Thank you.” I curtsied.
Gabriella started laughing. “Except for all that goat hair.”
I looked down at my gorgeous new gown, covered now in coarse white curly hairs.
THE NEXT DAY, DUBEY ARRIVED WITH BOOKER AND A GIANT picnic. “I want to show you the piano and where I live right now. Would your daughter like to come?”
His invitation expanded through my chest as if I’d swallowed warm cider. I went into the house to ask her.
“Really?” Gabriella looked suspicious but pleased. She came outside to chat for a while. She ended up saying that she needed to stay home to study, but she seemed charmed.
Dubey drove me to his sister’s farm about half an hour away—past beautiful sage-green fall pastures filled with puffs of sheep. He pulled into the drive, approaching an old stone house, then parked near a magical little guest cottage about two hundred yards from the main house. I loved its hardwood floors and expanse of light-streaming windows. The front room was mostly taken up by a majestic grand piano that, sure enough, had big ugly gashes cut into its top and legs.
“She did that the day I told her I was leaving.”
So he was the leaver. I was curious, as if he might have clues for me.
We walked up a rise behind the cottage, where some twisted apple trees still clutched a few of their vibrant leaves. Bees floated among the fermenting apples on the ground on this unseasonably warm November day. Dubey spread a quilt out on the ground and unpacked a picnic basket of grapes, cheese, wine, good bread, and tart apples. A breeze carried the sheep’s murmurs up to us. Booker napped beside us.
“Why’d you leave her?” I asked Dubey. “What was it that made you finally do it?”
He took his time, his expression as if he listened to music in a distant room. “I caught myself staring out the window all the time,” he said.
I stopped the apple on the way to my mouth.
“That’s exactly what Susan’s father did. Susan’s mother is just like Susan herself, and when we first started dating, I felt sorry for him. I’d watch him stare out their patio doors, like a man in jail. I caught myself doing that and it scared me. I thought I’m way too young to have settled for this misery. I wanted joy and a partner to celebrate with. A few days after I recognized her father in me, I worked up the courage to tell her.”
I looked up at the clouds—whiter versions of the sheep below them—and thought about Bobby. Had he felt that way? That he’d settled for misery?
“I was dying,” Dubey said.
Bobby had thought about suicide.
I wanted joy and a partner to celebrate with.
We sat, our arms wrapped around our own knees, bees buzzing around us. I breathed the hint of beer in the fallen apples, the spice of dried grass, the warm musk of the sheep.
I lifted my wineglass. “To beautiful days.”
He clinked his glass to mine. “To beautiful days.”
“I CAN’T BE YOUR PARTNER FOR THE LAST DANCE CLASS TOMORROW,” Davy said on the phone.
I felt my happiness deflate. I no longer even pretended Vijay would show up. “Why?” I asked, hating the childish whine in my voice.
“Because . . . David and I have an interview with another prospective mom.”
To beautiful days. “That’s wonderful!” I said, actually doing a little hop.
“We’ll see,” Davy said. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”
But I heard the hope already in his voice. “Are you working with Helen again?”
“Hell, yes.” His vehemence leaped through the phone line. “Listen, I know it’s short notice for class. Any chance Vijay could come?”
“Please. Vijay who? The workaholic?”
“I can’t believe he didn’t come to Mom and Dad’s party.”
“I know. I’m getting used to it.”
“No. Don’t get used to it. ‘The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little.’ ”
“Who said that?”
“I don’t know. It was in my tea bag this morning.”
We laughed.
I dialed Dubey’s number. “Do you like to dance?” I asked him.
THE DAY AT THE CLINIC WENT LATE WITH AN EMERGENCY (A German shepherd had swallowed an entire bathrobe sash), so I rushed to get ready for dance class. As I stood at the mirror, curling a strand of hair I’d left hanging down from my French twist, my phone buzzed. Vijay.
I wanted to hear that chocolate pudding voice. But . . . I looked at the clock. No time. I let it go. As much as I hated “keeping score,” let him have a message unanswered for a while.
Gabriella came to my bedroom door and narrowed her eyes at me. “You look really hot.”
“Thanks. I think. Why are you glaring at me?”
“You never dress like that for Uncle Davy.”
“I’m taking Dubey tonight.”
“You can’t be dating a man named Dubey!”
I laughed. “It’s a nickname. It comes from Duberstein. And we’re not dating.”
She played with the doorjamb with one pink fingernail and wouldn’t make eye contact. “I thought Vijay was supposed to dance with you.”
“So did I.” While I applied lipstick and mascara, my phone buzzed again. Vijay. I slipped it in my purse.
“Who was it?”
“Helen. I’ll call her later.” This time I was the one not making eye contact.
TURNS OUT DUBEY COULD DANCE. VERY WELL. I THINK THE musician in him gave him a natural rhythm and ease. At the last class of the course, he was far better than any of the other guys who’d been there for the entire six weeks.
“Where is your husband?” Opal asked, looking down her nose at Dubey.
I laughed (we’d signed in with the same last name, after all) and said, “Davy’s my brother. He couldn’t make it tonight, so I brought a substitute.”
My purse buzzed as I set it down. I checked, out of habit, but it was Vijay again. Sometimes he didn’t call me back for days; was he going to call me every hour now?
Dubey and I took to the dance floor, standing expectantly before each other as Opal gave instructions. So far we’d done formal dances like the waltz and the fox-trot, with a little swing. For the final class, we were spicing it up with salsa and merengue.
Dubey’s face changed when he listened to music. You could see him absorb it with his whole body. We fit together well, and he led with confidence. I hated each time they shut off the music. When Opal announced the last dance of the night, I turned to check the clock. Dubey laughed at the disbelief on my face. “ . . . when you’re having fun,” he said.
We pulled out all the stops on the final salsa number. “More hip, Cami!” Opal encouraged and I delivered. Dubey looked at me when we danced, not at his feet, like my brother did. I wasn’t sure what to do with his gaze—it held a dare, a bit of boyish “Look at us!” and an invitation all at once. By the end, I was sweating, and more strands had fallen from my twist.
As we walked out to the car, I felt like I floated. Why hadn’t I been doing this my whole life?
“I’m sorry this was the last one,” Dubey said, holding the car door open for me. “We’ll have to find more classes somewhere else.”
“I’d love that.”
We pulled into the farm drive, which he remembered without being reminded. Another car sat by the garage, with Muriel standing atop it. “That goat is something else,” he said.
“Yes, she is,” I said, peering through the dark at the car. Whose car was it? Was Choo here? Bobby? It couldn’t be Ginger Avalon. She wouldn’t be here so late.
The kitchen lights were on. Muriel hopped off the car and came trotting to Dubey’s. She butted me in the knees and then stood on her back legs in a hopping dance.
“Want to come in?” I asked. “Have a glass of wine?”
Dubey hesitated. “I’d love to, but it’s late. Thank you for a lovely night.” He took me in dancer stance and did a series of underarm turns, spinning me down the walk to my back porch, Muriel following us, bucking and rearing. At the end, I thought, Here it is, here’s the natural place to kiss if he’s going to try it. He thought about it—I saw him, but he pulled away. “We’ll dance again,” he said as he walked to his car.
I stared after him a moment, then turned to go inside.
I jumped as if I’d touched the electric tape to see Vijay standing at my back door.