“Invisibility, for one. How is it that I never saw him any of the times I visited you here?”
“He was with me,” Tyler said.
“That’s not the whole truth,” Ron said. “I asked him to keep Shade out of sight whenever you were visiting. I told Tyler that you were afraid of dogs.”
She glanced self-consciously at the guard, whose face remained a polite blank. Tyler caught the look, though, and said to the guard, “Thank you for your help-I think we can manage from here. Would you please tell the others that we are not to be disturbed?”
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Amanda said, “Tell the world, why don’t you, Ron?”
Tyler said, “I’ve told no one else, Amanda.”
“I doubt that guard is as deaf as he pretended to be.”
“Lots of people are afraid of dogs,” Ron protested.
Shade made a sighing sound.
They rode to the second floor, where Ron’s rooms were. As they exited the elevator car, Ron took hold of Amanda’s arm, a plea for forgiveness as much as a request for support. She laid her hand over his and said, “It’s okay.”
She looked up to see Tyler watching her. He looked away.
Tyler had given Ron the rooms Ron had always occupied, a suite that consisted of a spacious bedroom, a bathroom, and a large adjoining room that Ron used as both an office and a sitting room. It had a stone fireplace, bookshelves, a television, a computer, a small refrigerator, two couches, and several big comfortable chairs. Also adjoining Ron’s bedroom was a smaller bedroom, now used as an office and medical-supply storage area by the nursing staff.
Ron and Amanda sat on one of the couches. Tyler lit a fire, then sat in one of the chairs. Shade moved near him, then rested at his feet.
Unprompted, Amanda told Ron about their evening. Tyler did not interrupt her, intrigued by her view of events. She finished her story with their arrival here. “And I made the whole trip sitting next to Shade,” she said, not without a little pride.
There was a short silence. Ron and Amanda both looked toward Tyler expectantly.
Now or never, Tyler thought. Or-no, there were other choices, weren’t there? He wouldn’t lie to them, but he couldn’t risk the whole truth. Not yet. To buy some time to think over his options, he asked Amanda, “Why are you afraid of dogs?”
14
Amanda gave him a look that said she was onto his ploy but said, “The reason you might expect. I was bitten by one.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Ron said. “Tell him the whole story.”
Tyler waited.
“When I was nine,” Amanda said, “I was playing near our house, along the hillside. I believe I was building a fort, doing some digging. The sort of thing that always displeased my mother. Anyway, I was digging away with a toy shovel when a large stray dog came out of the trees and started growling at me. I stood up, told it to go home, to shoo, all the usual. It barked at me. I tossed the shovel at it and shimmied up a tree. It stayed and watched me. If I tried to get down, it barked and snapped at me.
“I called for help. No one came.”
She paused, remembering her terror, her unheard pleas.
“I began to get cold,” she went on. “I decided to snap off the biggest stick I could manage to find on the nearby branches. I got hold of a good one. I broke it off. Unfortunately, I also lost my balance and fell from the tree.” She smiled. “A klutz from an early age, you see. I’ve always thought that fall would have been the funny part if the dog hadn’t been there.”
“Well, it’s not funny,” Ron said. “And the dog was there.”
“Yes. At first, I think my falling like manna startled him, but it also knocked the wind out of me, and I broke one of my arms. He charged at me and I-well, I guess it was instinct that made me protect my neck, but he bit me hard on the face. I still had hold of the stick, and that was the arm that wasn’t broken, so I hit him as hard as I could with it. He didn’t let go. I hit him a second time, on his muzzle, I think, although I couldn’t really see by then, and that time he released me. I remember hearing him yelp and run away.
“I managed to get to the house. I must have nearly been in shock by the time I reached the kitchen door-our cook took one look at me and started screaming at the top of her lungs. That’s the last thing I remember very clearly before I got to the hospital.”
She traced the scar near her brow. “I guess the plastic surgeon did a good job. This is the only scar you can see now.”
“They didn’t find the dog,” Ron said tightly.
Tyler frowned. “Didn’t find it? But then-”
“Yes, I had to have the rabies shots.”
“Good God.”
She sighed, then looked at Shade. “I have tried not to blame all creatures in your species, Shade, and I know you and other dogs are good dogs, but it’s still very hard for me not to feel afraid.”
Shade stood and moved toward Amanda.
“Shade!” Tyler called to him, unheeded. “If you’d rather I put him up in my rooms-”
But Shade had dropped to his belly, as if to make himself smaller, and moved at a crawl toward her. When he reached her feet, he laid his head on her shoes and moaned.
“I think he just apologized on behalf of all doghood,” Ron said.
She hesitated, then reached down and stroked his long, soft fur. “Well, of course I see that you are nothing like that mean fellow in the woods. And yes, I’d like to be your friend. I just spook easily, all right?”
He wagged his tail.
She looked up at Tyler. “So now Shade and I have settled our business. I believe it’s your turn.”
A silence stretched. He walked over to the fireplace and, looking into the flames said, “You’ll have to forgive me for being hesitant. In part, that’s because it’s not just my story to tell. But I have been given permission by the others involved to explain what I can.”
“Was that the call you made in the van, the third one?” Amanda asked.
“Yes. Without boring you with the details, I helped a man in Missouri-call him Max-who was dying. He wanted to find a man who had once been his best friend, Sam. There had been a falling-out between them.
“I sometimes believe that the end of a close friendship can be as difficult or more difficult than a divorce. Think of the emotions-they are much the same. At the end, former friends feel betrayed. They act out of hurt and anger, take ill advantage of their intimate knowledge of each other, and sometimes divide whole camps of connected friendships in the wake of their separation. While couples will go to marriage counselors, there is really nothing adequate to help friends steer their way through difficulties.”
“That doesn’t mean there aren’t good reasons to end friendships,” Ron said. “If someone isn’t trustworthy, it’s smarter not to have anything to do with them.”
“Certainly, or if the friendship was destructive. But often differences arise out of petty matters.”
“Was that the case this time?” Amanda asked.
“Hmm. Not exactly. Years earlier, Sam had come to California to seek his fortune. Told his girlfriend he’d come back to Missouri to marry her one day, but he didn’t ask her to give up her life there when he might well be returning to her as a failure. A month later, he received a telegram from Max. His best friend had married the girl he’d asked to wait for him.”
“See what I mean?” Ron said. “Some friend!”
“So Sam thought. But unbeknownst to Sam, the woman he left behind was pregnant with his son. She knew that supporting a young family would be a financial burden for Sam, who didn’t seem ready to settle down with a wife, let alone a wife and child. Max married her and raised the boy as his own. He kept her secret until he was dying.”
Tyler moved back to his chair and sat down wearily.
“Are you okay? Do you need to talk to us another time?” Amanda asked.