Walking side by side, they passed hedges, dodged sprinklers and savoured the shade under trees.
Ernie glanced up the lawn to the brown screen door of a cream coloured bungalow. It was a glance as practiced and automatic as putting one foot ahead of the other. He saw the picture window, then his eyes moved on to the two smaller bedroom windows. He tried to guess which one was Lesley’s and hoped for a glimpse of her red hair. Lesley had grown up in that house. She had sat with Ernie in his grandfather’s living room and watched television for two glorious hours.
Another flashback felt like a blow to Ernie’s ribs. There was the knife blade at the bridge of his nose. Stainless steel was written on metal freshly licked by a whetstone. Uncle Bob Swatsky’s thick fingers probed him. Then Ernie heard, “I’ll cut your friggin’ nose off if you don’t’… ” The whisper was as cold as the knife.
Is this what it’ll be like from now on? Flashbacks of Bob crowding in on me? Ernie thought. Scout pulled him forward.
Up ahead, he spotted the Italian flag on the bumper of his grandfather’s red Dodge van. Next to the flag was ‘I’, a heart and Italia. Inside the sidewalk, a two meter high hedge created a green wall around three sides of the front yard. Ernie followed Scout through a gap in the hedge. On the other side, two spruce trees stood 15 meters high. Their branches touched. Scout turned left. Ernie reached over the white fence and opened the latch. Stepping down four stairs, he released the leash and lifted the branch of a raspberry bush. Thumb sized berries hid there. Ernie closed his eyes and remembered the calluses of his father’s hand, then his own thumb and forefinger picking the berries offered during long ago summers.
Deeper in the yard, next to the fence, a Cinzanno umbrella dropped a circle of shade over a table and three chairs. In one chair, with her back to him, wearing a pizza pan sized white straw hat and nothing else, sat the love doll. Her flesh was a healthy pink, her hair platinum blond and all of her nails were painted red.
“Nonno?” Ernie said. He leaned forward, looked over the back step and around the corner of the house. His grandfather was on hands and knees, fingers guiding an orange marigold from its green plastic pot into a hollow dug in the loam at the edge of the garden. The back of Nonno’s red and green T-shirt didn’t quite meet up with his green cotton pants. A plumber’s crack ran at right angles to his belt. Scout, trailing the snake of her leash, pranced up behind.
Ernie raised his right hand to signal the dog to stop. She paid no attention. Her nose had caught the scent of salt and sweat. Scout’s tongue slipped out and traveled along the crack from belt buckle to shirt.
“Son a ma bitch!” Scout backed away with her tail tucked. The marigold was launched into the air. Nonno threw his arms out to catch it but it was too far away. He fell face first into nasturtiums, marigolds and freshly turned earth.
Ernie felt something shift inside of him. A release of the tightness around his heart. For an moment he felt free of dread.
Nonno backed out of the garden. Keys and coins sang in the old man’s pocket as he ran across the yard. “Ernie!”
The boy looked up to see his grandfather’s nose blocking the sun. The old man’s eyes were as brown as the soil on his hands.
“Ernie!” Nonno’s fingers gripped the boy’s shoulders.
Through the tears in Ernie’s eyes, Nonno swam and laughter erupted in painful sobs. Ernie pointed helplessly at Nonno, “You… You.”
“Son a ma bitch.” The old man gripped the brim of his ball cap and slapped it against his thigh.
Ernie leaned back, laughing at the sky.
“You gotta watch that goddamn dog! Give me a friggin’ heart attack!” Nonno jammed fists onto hips and cocked his head so the boy saw a thicket of hair inside each of his grandfather’s nostrils.
Ernie wiped a sleeve across his eyes, “You looked so funny.” He laughed some more.
“Good to hear you laughing.”
The boy wiped a sleeve across his eyes.
“You want some wine?”
Ernie nodded.
Nonno turned.
A bee flew too close to Scout. She launched herself, hung in the air, curled back her lips and bit down on the bug. It spun to the ground. The dog pounced.
“How come she does that?” Nonno said as he opened the screen door, stamped the earth from his shoes and stepped out of them.
“Maybe cause she never gets stung,” Ernie said while pulling up a chair across from the doll. His eyes fell to the line of shadow running across the tops of her breasts where darker colours circled nipples. He crossed his legs, feeling the pressure of an erection.
“Say hello to your Nonna.” Nonno stepped out the back door with index finger and thumb stuck into two glasses. The other hand held a wine bottle.
Shame and a strange kind of revulsion hit Ernie low in the belly. He looked at the old man and tilted his head to the left.
“Go on.” Nonno set three glasses on the table. “Say hello to your Nonna, your grandmother.”
“Hello, Nonna.”
Nonno smiled and filled both glasses. Ernie caught the wine’s rich scent and remembered the weekend they’d spent carrying, sorting and pressing the grapes down in the basement where the air remained thick with fermentation. Grandfather held his glass up, allowing the sun to shine through the red. “Almost one year old.” Nonno took a sip and smiled.
Ernie drank, catching the faint promise of the future at the tip of the tongue and the back of the throat.
“Good for the heart.” The old man slapped a palm against his ribs then lifted his cap and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “A hot one, today.”
“The police are at Nanny’s. What’s going on?”
Nonno’s eyes, deep set behind sagging skin, locked onto the boy. Then he looked at the doll. A breeze wiped blonde hair across her face. Her blue eyes appeared to be focused on Scout. The dog was on her back attempting to catch her tail. Nonna’s elbows rested on the arms of the chair, her hands open, thumbs angled away from fingers. “Your grandmother and I got it all figured out.”
Ernie sipped at his wine and tried to avoid looking at her perfect breasts.
“Nonna tells me, ‘The boy has his whole life ahead of him. Up to us to protect the boy.’ That’s what she says to me.”
“But… ” Ernie began.
The old man held up his hand to halt conversation. “Drink your wine.” He pointed at the doll before pointing at himself, “Let us take care of the rest.”
Ernie spotted the SWATSKY’S FORD logo. It was veiled by a layer of mustard coloured dust collected at the rear of the grey Taurus. On the bumper, a blue sticker warned, THIS VEHICLE INSURED BY SMITH AND WESSON.
Scout growled.
Ernie’s mouth turned dry. He studied the men inside. They sat in the front seats. Their shoulders came within a finger’s width of touching. The back of the driver’s head was like wet, black plastic. Heat rose off the roof and made the air waver.
A cigarette arced out the nearest window and landed near Scout’s nose. The butt rolled and caught in a crack in the cement.
The shock of Scout’s lunge almost turned Ernie’s elbow inside out. She hit the end of the leash. Bent at the waist, he stumbled behind her, struggling to rein her in. Scout rose up on her hind legs only centimeters from the open passenger window.
The tanned elbow of the man in the passenger’s seat disappeared inside of the car. “What the hell?”
Ernie leaned back, reeled in the dog, and ended up sitting on the grass looking through the window at the passenger and driver. He grabbed Scout’s collar with his right hand. The dog’s rage telegraphed its way to Ernie’s fingers. He stood up, then his mouth fell open when he saw the driver leaning forward. A gun flopped forward against the satin lining of his grey sports coat. “What’s your problem, kid?” His face was round as a pizza. Ernie counted four chins. The guy in the passenger seat was bald.