Her eyes stung from smoke. Did Bobby and Joe even come out here? Why were they arresting Robert instead of putting out these fires and rescuing this dog? She opened the car door, inched gingerly out of her seat, and straightened up. Lord, she was stiff! Step, step, around tires, across trash, between the scrappy dandelions. Blood rushed through her head but she put one foot in front of the next and pressed forward. Pellets of mud and grit hopped into her old Pappagallos and gravitated below her sole, tormenting her, but she kept her gaze on the dog. Its horrific condition overwhelmed her. Sores ringed its neck and bugs crawled on its back. Jesus wept. She wanted to run. But she pushed on, good boy, good boy, and held the hamburger under his nose. The creature responded so slowly she wondered if he were alive. Pitifully, he took a tiny lick. She proffered the meat firmly, and the dog mustered a surge of life force and ate the entire half pound in one continuous bite.
“Good boy.” She slid her hand underneath the rope around the dog’s neck and felt her way along it to the knot without any plan in mind about what she’d do next. One thing was clear; she had to rescue it. But Dick loomed at the other end of her plan, forbidding a dog in the house. The immobility of the animal added to the difficulty.
A shout cut through the roaring of her own blood in her ears. “Get the hell off my land!”
Polly trembled. The trailer was shouting, spewing a string of curses. The screen door slapped and twanged, followed by louder shouting.
“This is private property! There’s a sign!”
Polly didn’t even look to see who was saying this. She made a fraught, bony run for the car. When the engine caught, she glanced over and saw a huge man flying a fist.
“Don’t come near here again!” he shouted. Ne-ya he-ya.
She mashed the accelerator and shot off, ducking low over the wheel in case of bullets. “What the hell?” she said aloud. She couldn’t shake the sensation of the dog’s lips, that hunger, oh that hunger, elemental and frank. She recognized it, but there was no time to think about it now. She raced to put distance between herself and the ugly scene, the menace. Finally she emerged from the road and turned onto Shore Road, where a field of grasses hummed and swayed, unperturbed by leaping butterflies. She pulled over and parked, laid her hand over her heart and took deep breaths. It was hard to believe what had happened—that she had seen Robert in handcuffs, rushed home the back way, and fed the starved dog. She couldn’t tell Dick she’d fed his dinner to a dog. Though he probably wouldn’t care about anything else once she’d told him about Robert. Polly hoped that situation was all straightened out by now.
An eagle hung above, hunting, no doubt, for helpless rodents. Did Robert’s arrest have something to do with his efforts to protect the eagles? Had he done something bad in the name of good? The bird swooped low. She gunned the engine in hopes of scaring it away. Fly, eagle, fly, she thought, and found in the phrase a reason to cheer up. It was the Philadelphia Eagles football team pep song. Dick and the boys—and Robert, who’d kept the Eagles as his team from his years in Philadelphia—would be belting it out together very soon.
Without deliberately making a choice of who to tell first, she let geography decide it and pulled into Agnes’s. She walked around the side, and spotted Sylvie in the kitchen. Sylvie poked her head out. “She’s not receiving. It’s work time. You know that, Polly.”
Sylvie unnerved her.
“It’s an emergency.” Polly meant to be firm, but her errand engulfed her with its enormity, and her voice quavered.
“What kind of an emergency?” Sylvie challenged.
“The real kind. It involves Robert.”
“Car accident?”
“No. He hasn’t been hurt. Will you please go tell Agnes I need to speak to her?” She clenched her fists at her sides.
Sylvie regarded her coolly. “You’re going to take the blame for the interruption.”
“Yes.”
“Go around to the porch. If she’s willing to see you, I’ll send her out that way.”
“Thank you so much, Sylvie,” she said with a touch of irritation, though it came out sounding sincere. She wasn’t sarcastic often enough to be good at it.
As she was already halfway to the porch, she kept going rather than turn back around to cross the driveway again. A flag path ran the perimeter of the house, on the outside of a ring of old dusty blue hydrangea. She ran her hand along the blowsy blossoms and felt a wave of nostalgia at the whisper of the petals on her palms. Just like that, there was Lydia! A few feet ahead, also caressing the blooms. She tipped her head and smiled at Polly. Her long light-brown hair slid over her arm. Having a nice day? Polly asked, in her mind. Lydia nodded. Polly knew to stay still, she knew how this worked, but she couldn’t help herself. She took a step forward: Lydia vanished.
It would always be so sad.
A few minutes later she arrived at the porch steps. Agnes rushed toward her.
“What about Robert?” She grabbed for Polly’s arm, a level of alarm that roused Polly’s tears. She gripped Agnes in return.
“Oh, Nessie, I do not know! I was in town, and I saw him in the back of the police car!”
“Robert? Are you sure?”
Polly nodded. “I spoke to Bob and Joe, but they wouldn’t speak to me. I told Robert it would be okay.”
“But what would be okay? What happened?” Agnes let go and began to pace. “Let’s think, Polly. He wasn’t here this morning, and he wasn’t at yours, either. He was probably at Archie’s. Damn her! I smell Seela Lee’s slime all over this!” She laid her face in her hands for a moment and lifted it up again. Polly saw a combination of resolve and bewilderment—a look she’d seen many times before. “Who shall we call first?”
“Maybe town manager?”
“Good idea. Come on, let’s go in.”
“I have to go make lunch for Dick.” Polly braced herself for a scowl. But Agnes only looked sympathetic.
“Go. Then come back.”
“At the usual time?”
“Anytime. I hope I’ll know more by then.” Agnes reached for an embrace. Polly registered her newly flat front. They clung for a longer moment than usual.
“Oh! I have a letter for you. It’s in the car.” Polly jerked her head in that direction.
“Set it on the steps, will thee? On your way out?”
Polly went home and barged in on Dick, too. How had she attached herself to two writers? She stood in the doorway of Dick’s study and told him she had news. He held up his hand—just a minute! She shifted from foot to foot, and then had the idea to slap the envelope that had come for him against her wrist—a recognizable sound. Crack, crack, crack. It worked. He twisted his swivel chair around.
“Mail?”
She handed him the envelope. As he read it, he pulled his hand down over his face. “Adam is not going to write a foreword to my book,” he said.
“Oh, Dick. I’m so sorry. After all you did. And the book is a classic. He should be thrilled to be associated…” She took in what she was saying as she said it. Adam should be thrilled. Why wasn’t he? Had something happened she didn’t know about? Maybe she should write to him privately to ask what was going on.