"Just what this neighborhood needs-another maniac."
He kissed the back of her neck. "So what about you? Are you feeling maniacal yet?"
"Nope. Not me."
"Liar."
Elsie came over. "Who's the wimpy yuppie behind the brownies? He keeps staring at you two."
"He's staring at Lizabeth," Matt said. "She waved to him."
"Oh yeah? He wave back? He don't look like a pervert, but then you never know. Maybe I should go have a talk with him."
A wave of new guests arrived, bringing more potato salad and brownies, and someone brought a ham. It was semi-boneless in an orange glaze, dotted with pineapple slices and maraschino cherries. It was placed on the potato salad table, and before the first piece could be sliced away, Ferguson galloped in and snatched the entire ham.
Elsie, Matt, and Lizabeth saw the whole thing. "Ferguson!" they shouted in unison.
Ferguson dashed through the crowd with the ham firmly stuffed into his mouth. He dodged Matt and sprinted past John Gaspitch. He knew where he was going. He always took the same escape route. Down Gainsborough to the Wainstock house, then through the Wainstocks' backyard to the patch of woods between Gainsborough and High Street.
"Get that dog!" Elsie shouted.
A dozen children ran after Ferguson.
Ferguson loped across the side yard, ran between two cars parked at the curb, and bolted into the street. There was the sound of screeching tires, and a yelp, and then there was silence.
"Oh God," Lizabeth whispered. She was running, without thinking. Matt was ahead of her.
She reached the road and Jason threw himself into her arms. "Mom! We were chasing Fergie, and he got hit." Tears were streaming down his face, leaving smeary tracks In little boy's grime. He buried his face in her chest and sobbed, and she looked past him to the inert form lying on the road.
"Oh Fergie," she whispered. He was just a puppy. Big and foolish and homely. And she'd loved him.
Children sought out parents. Everyone stood in hushed knots, waiting.
Matt and Billy were bent over the dog. Billy's voice wobbled. "He isn't going to die, is he?" he asked.
The dog was unconscious. Blood was clotted on his hind leg. Matt stroked the dog's shoulder. Damn stupid dog, he thought. More trouble than he was worth. Stealing food, ruining soccer balls. "Jeez, Ferguson," he said, "why did you have to run off with the ham?" He swallowed back the emotion clogging his throat and burning behind his eyes.
Billy huddled closer to Matt and repeated his question. "He isn't going to die. Is he?"
Matt took a deep breath and pushed the possibility of death away. "Are you kidding? Ferguson's too ornery to die. Hell, this dog is strong. He can eat a whole pot roast. We're going to take him to the vet. You stay here and keep him quiet while I go get the truck." He found Lizabeth standing on the curb. "Get a blanket. We're taking Ferguson to the vet."
Fifteen minutes later, Matt, Lizabeth, Jason, and Billy stood in the waiting room of the Parkway Veterinary Clinic and watched the doors close behind Ferguson.
"They'll take good care of him," Matt said, bolstering himself as much as anyone else.
Jason held tight to his hand. "He looks awful hurt."
Matt took a seat and lifted Jason onto his lap. "We're going to wait right here until the vet's done fixing Fergie up. We're not going to leave until we're sure he's okay. Does that make you feel better?"
Jason nodded and leaned back in Matt's arms. His face was swollen and blotchy from crying, and his breath was coming in hiccups. "Dumb dog," he said. "Nothing but trouble."
Matt smiled, because it echoed his earlier thoughts. "Yup. Fergie's dumb all right. But we all love him, don't we?"
Billy sat between Matt and Lizabeth. His eyes were large and solemn. His hands gripped the sides of his seat. "Do you love Fergie?" he asked Matt.
"Yeah."
"Did you have a dog when you were a kid?"
"No. I always wanted one, but my father wouldn't allow it."
Billy looked at Matt with increased interest. "Really? My dad wouldn't allow us to have a dog either. What about your mom? Did she want a dog?"
Matt didn't answer immediately. "I didn't have a mother for a large part of my childhood," he finally said. "She died when I was seven years old."
"Didn't your dad get married again? Who took care of you?"
"My sister Mary Ann took care of me. And then when I was old enough I took care of myself."
Jason sat up straighter so he could look at Matt. His curiosity was aroused. "Did your dad take care of you too?"
"No. I hardly ever saw my dad."
"Just like us!" Jason said. "Was your dad rich like our dad?"
"My dad was a coal miner. We lived in a small wooden house on the side of a hill, surrounded by other small houses." It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and in all the years he lived there he couldn't ever remember the house getting painted, inside or out. He didn't tell that part to Jason. And he didn't tell him about the days when they had to beg a neighbor for food because his father had spent the food money on liquor. "I had two sisters and four brothers," Matt said. "Everyone called us the Hallahan Herd." Matt smiled. He hadn't thought about the Hallahan Herd in a long time. Usually he avoided talking about his childhood, but it wasn't painful to tell Jason and Billy. They took it on an entirely different level. It was ancient history, anecdotal, fascinating. There was no pity, no Judgment passed, no scorn.
"I've never seen a coal mine," Jason said. "Is it scary?"
"Sometimes. It's a dangerous place to work." Two of his brothers were still working in the mine. Both had lung problems. One was an alcoholic, like his dad. His sisters had married miners. Lucy was already a widow. He set that part of his history aside for another time. "I didn't want to work in the mines," Matt told the boys. "There wasn't enough money for me to go to college, so I joined the Navy as soon as I graduated from high school. When I got out of the Navy I wanted a job where I would always be outdoors, so I decided to build houses."
He looked at Lizabeth and found she was as fascinated as her children.
It wasn't the coal-miner stories that fascinated Lizabeth. It was Matt's willingness to dip into a painful past to take everyone's mind off Ferguson. She remembered the unopened envelope from his father and finally understood some of Matt's bitterness. He'd been neglected as a child, and now he was only remembered for the money he sent home.
Jason rubbed his eyes. "I'm thirsty. I got empty from crying."
"There's a convenience store down the street," Matt said. "I could go get some sodas."
Jason squirmed off Matt's lap. "Can I go with you?"
"You bet. I'll tell you about the time I was a boxer."
"Wow!" Jason said. "You were a boxer? That's so radical."
Matt shook his head. "I was the worst boxer ever. I didn't like hitting people, and I hated when people hit me. One time I had this match with Killer Gruzinsky from Jersey City…"
Billy slid off his seat. "Can I go too? I want to hear about Killer Gruzinsky."
They all looked at Lizabeth. "You guys go ahead," she said. "Ill stay here and wait for news about Fergie." Well, will you look at that, she thought. There go the men in my life. It was a brand-new experience. She couldn't ever remember seeing Paul go off hand in hand with his sons. It was such a simple thing-an excursion to buy sodas. She watched them walk away and was struck by a mind-boggling idea. Matt was carving the pie up for her. He was taking over some of the responsibility of parenthood and leaving her with time for herself. He loves me, she thought. He loves my children. He even loves my dog. Maybe their educational differences had evened out. She had a college degree, and he'd been a boxer. It was all life experience, she told herself. She slumped down in her seat and giggled, He'd been a boxer! "Lizabeth," she said, "your life is getting curiouser and curiouser."