And then one day when least expected, Wizard stopped doing his “business”—that repellent dog-manual euphemism — in inappropriate places. Not one to believe in undeserved good fortune, Leo obsessively searched the three rooms available to his charge, sometimes on hands and knees, before acknowledging that the puppy, whose name he had been thinking of changing, was not as dim as previously suspected.
Whenever Sara arrived — at times her knock at the door would be sufficient — Wizard would do a pirouette in ecstatic expectation, which made Leo jealous despite the murmurs of his better judgment. It was important of course that the puppy be fond of his trainer. Still, the 360-degree turn, sometimes restated, seemed a little much. Although Leo fed the puppy, doted on him, walked him in good and bad weather, early and late, he sometimes imagined that Wizard, in his faithless heart, actually preferred Sara.
So after a while, after a particularly good training session, after herbal tea and cookies, Leo wondered aloud if Wizard and owner weren’t sufficiently trained at this point to go it on their own.
“If that’s what you want,” she said, her stern cherubic face in unacknowledged collapse. “He still has a few things to learn, you know. You said he pulls on the leash when he sees another dog. We might do a few outdoor lessons. It’s much harder to get him to obey when there are distractions around.”
It struck Leo that Sara, though otherwise a bundle of positive qualities, had almost no sense of humor. Possibly her sense of humor was so subtle that his own crude radar failed to acknowledge it.
“You’ve done very well with him, “Leo said, trying not to sound condescending. “We’re both pleased, you know, with his considerable progress.”
His compliment seemed to distress her. “If there’s a financial burden,” she said, “I’d be willing to cut my fee. Would that make a difference? I think Whizzer is on the verge of his next big breakthrough.”
“Look, why don’t we take next week off,” Leo said, “as a kind of vacation for all of us. I’m doing a reading from my book on Nikola Tesla in Rochester and I’m thinking of taking Wizard with me to see how he handles the trip.”
“I have a sister who lives in Rochester,” Sara said.
“Do you?”
“Yes, and she’s been having a hard time since her divorce. I’ve been planning to go up and see her but then something always comes up that gets in the way. I’ll have to check my schedule but maybe I could go along for the ride and give you both a hand. Have you considered what you’re going to do with the pup when you’re reading whatever it is in front of an audience?”
Feeling trapped, Leo improvised a barely credible explanation as to why it wouldn’t work for Sara to accompany him. “I appreciate your offer,” he added.
“I’d better go,” Sara said.
Leo awakes the next morning aware that it was a mistake to have rejected Sara’s offer, a mean-spirited, self-protective tic. He would have to be some kind of wizard himself to manage the puppy alone.
Wrestling with his choices — the last of which would be leaving Wizard behind — he grudgingly decides to phone the trainer, apologize for his unintentional abruptness, admit that he needs her on the trip and ask her, virtually plead with her, to join them.
He has allowed himself to imagine Sara’s pleasure in getting this call from him.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’ve already made other plans.”
That is the not the answer he has anticipated, so he hangs on waiting hopelessly for better news.
“Is there something else?” she asks.
“That’s about it,” he says, noting out of the corner of his eye that Wizard has one of his shoes in his mouth, whipping his head ferociously from side to side as if it were a fearsome opponent.
“Stop that,” he calls to the dog.
“What are you saying?” Sara says. “What should I stop?”
“Not you. Wizard was chewing on one of my shoes.”
“Whatever. Leo, you never shout at your dog. A quiet command should be sufficient to deter him.”
“It’s only in the last few days that he’s started these life-and-death battles with my shoes. He gets so much pleasure out of it, it seems churlish of me to deny him.”
“I don’t know that you want to encourage bad behavior, do you?”
“Of course you’re right,” he says.
There are a few timid out-of-season snow flurries when they take off in the morning for Rochester, but several hours into the journey, Leo finds himself driving in blizzard conditions. Losing traction here and there despite his all-wheel drive Forester, he considers pulling over to the side of the road to wait out the worst of the storm. That the others seem oblivious to any danger makes it difficult for him to concede to the weather. Trussed into the passenger seat next to him, Wizard is staring out the window like a tourist. Sara, keeping company in the back with her cell phone, has been trying to reach her sister in Rochester, the phone failing or the sister not available, Sara unnervingly patient.
When Sara finally completes her call, Leo learns that the reading in Rochester has been postponed because of the unexpected storm. Exhausted from his unrewarded efforts, he suggests they stop at the Wanderer’s Motel in the near distance if only to wait for the storm to abate.
As they have no plans to stay the night, they agree for economy’s sake to take a single cabin. So as not to set off any false alarms, Leo registers Sara as his wife.
“You must be totally worn out,” Sara says as they move through the mix of sleet and rain to their accommodations. “Why don’t you sack out and I’ll get the pup from the car and give him his bathroom walk.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I appreciate the offer. It’s just that walking Wizard is one of the unsung highlights of my day.”
“Oh. go ahead, you look dead on your feet. I know how stressful it can be driving in treacherous weather. Leo. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
So, feeling anything but grateful, carrying an overnight case in each hand, Leo lets himself into the motel room while Sara takes the puppy on the stretch lease, the two wandering into the distance like snow ghosts. The boxy cabin is furnished, along with a low-slung three drawer dresser, a writing table with a Bible wrapped in plastic on its otherwise virgin surface, with two three-quarter-size beds barely a foot apart. Not bothering to remove his shoes, Leo throws himself on the bed farthest from the door.
He dozes or imagines he has and wakes to find himself still alone in the room. Where are the others?
He should have insisted on walking the dog himself.
There is a heavy green curtain over what seems like a back window and, though it takes awhile, he finally locates a device that parts the brocaded cloth.
He is surprised to discover a back garden with tables under umbrellas — a place to picnic perhaps — overwhelmed by the blinding whiteness of the still falling sleet. He has no idea what he is looking for, but as his eyes adjust, he sees something that speaks to the worst of his expectations.
He closes his eyes as if to return to a dream from which he then might shake himself awake. When after a moment of inconsequential reverie, he allows his eyes to open, nothing has changed or nothing has changed sufficiently to put his original perception in doubt.
As near as he can make out, Sara is sitting under one of the umbrellas in the garden with her back to him. At first he assumes that she has returned Wizard to the car, but then he sees that she is not alone. Something — a head, Wizard’s head most likely — is sticking out from the opening in her yellow down jacket and Sara’s hooded head is tilted forward so that the two heads seem at some point to converge. It is only when she returns to her original position that Leo can tell that Sara and Wizard have been — there is no other word to describe it — kissing. Sara’s head moves forward again and her mouth meets the dog’s — a suspicion of tongue flashing — which is more than Leo can bear to watch.