She was a little more than curious about that. He was talking about -people who were older than America, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t expect them to be like normal -people. Well, normal mortal -people, anyway.
Justin was silent for a minute and then shrugged helplessly. “They’re a nice, happy -couple who love each other and their children and do their best to be good -people.”
“Hmmm.” Holly pursed her lips at that. The description sounded like an average everyday -couple to her, and it just didn’t seem to her that -people who had lived as long as Justin’s parents had could be nice and normal.
“Here we are,” Justin announced suddenly, and Holly glanced out the window to see that they were turning into a driveway that wound through what appeared to be a forest of trees. She eyed the woods they drove through curiously, amazed to find they went on for more than a -couple hundred feet before giving way to a large front lawn. But a quick glance showed her that the same woods appeared to surround the clearing where the house and manicured lawn sat.
“So are the woods to keep -people out or in?” she asked dryly.
“Out,” he assured her. “Mom and Dad haven’t had to move for decades thanks to those woods. Neighbors can’t see who lives here and don’t notice they aren’t aging. They can just stay here, changing the land title every fifty years or so to be sure that some government worker doesn’t notice anything that might seem fishy to a mortal.”
“Clever,” she decided, shifting her attention to the house itself. It was a very large one--story stucco building painted a sand color. Elegant arches gave way to what appeared to be a shady terrace that ran along the front of the house, giving glimpses of darkened windows in the late afternoon as the sun made its downward journey.
“There was another house here when I was born,” Justin said as he parked the car to the side of the driveway. “They tore it down and built this one about ten years ago.”
Holly nodded at that, and opened her door to get out. She had just straightened in the V between the car and the door when a bark made her glance toward the house. Spotting the large bear of a dog barreling toward them, she released a startled squeal and threw herself back inside the car, pulling the door closed firmly as she went.
Thirteen
Justin peered from the dog galloping toward him to where Holly had been standing a moment ago, and then bent to look into the front seat to see her staring out, wide--eyed with terror.
“Holly, what—-?” he began with bewilderment. Then he heard his mother’s shout of warning and instinctively turned just as Samson reached him. Unprepared for 120 pounds of dog hitting him in the chest, Justin went down like a pin under a bowling ball, his back hitting the ground hard to the sound of Holly’s hysterical shrieks.
“Samson! Cut it out! Dammit Samson!” Worried by the alien, high ululating sounds now coming from Holly, Justin tried to push the amorous dog off of him to get up, but Samson was determined to lick his face. He’d pushed the big black beast away and started to sit up, only to be knocked back as the dog crawled onto his chest to try to get in another lick.
“Yes, hello,” Justin muttered, pushing the dog’s head away again. “What the devil’s wrong with you? You have better manners than this.”
“Octavius! Heel,” his mother barked, and the dog immediately leapt off of Justin and moved to sit beside Matild Bricker.
“Octavius?” Justin asked with surprise, sitting up in the dirt to eye the dog with amazement. The last time he’d seen Octavius was six or seven months ago. The dog had been a fluffy little ball of black fur then. Born half the weight of his littermates, he hadn’t been expected to live, but Justin had been visiting when Octavius’s mother had given birth and he’d nursed the little guy, bottle--feeding him several times a day. By the time he’d left, the dog had doubled in weight and been as happy and exuberant as his brothers and sisters.
“He’s grown a bit,” his mother said dryly, bending to pet the dog, who sat quivering excitedly beside her, his adoring gaze firmly on Justin. “And he’s usually very well behaved for a puppy, but it looks like he remembers you.”
“This is really Octavius?” Justin asked with disbelief as he got to his feet and brushed himself down.
“It is,” his mother assured him with a faint smile. “Eight months old and he weighs more than his father, Samson, now.”
Shaking his head, Justin moved forward to pet the big fellow, smiling with pride at how well the puppy had turned out. It had been worth every bottle--feeding, he decided now.
“Perhaps you should look after your friend,” his mother said solemnly. “I’ll take Octavius to the kennels while she’s here.”