Shade wagged his tail harder.
“Do you think he understands English?” she asked Tyler, who was noting that the tracks were indeed those of a large dog.
“Among other languages,” he answered absently.
Her laugh caught his attention, and he smiled. “One of the gifts of dogs, you know. Our words don’t matter. And even our tone of voice may not count for all that much with the brightest of them. They read our gestures and expressions, the way we hold ourselves. They probably smell our reactions as well. There’s an old saying, ‘You can’t lie to a dog.’ I believe it.”
“Oh, so you have to be truthful with Shade.”
He stood up. “I can be sure Shade will return the favor.”
She fell silent. He realized she was studying him in a blatantly assessing way.
“I wonder…,” she said.
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath. “I understand you’re involved with grief counseling.”
“Not…professionally,” he said cautiously. “I just try to be of help to people whose deaths are imminent. And of help to their families.”
“Are you planning to go back to the hospice?”
“Yes, I’m going over there again this afternoon.”
“I’d like to come with you.”
“I’m not sure-”
“Please!”
He raised a brow. “It’s not a place most people are anxious to visit.”
“I don’t know if you can understand this, but-there’s one thing I want more than anything else.” She drew a deep breath, as if screwing up her courage. “I want to be useful.”
He started to make a glib reply, saw how earnest she was, and instead said, “Tell me what you mean.”
“I mean-having some purpose, doing some good. Not just being a locust.”
He smiled. “A locust, is it? I haven’t seen a lot of signs of you being an überconsumer.”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s see-how much of your spare time is spent shopping?”
“Not much,” she admitted.
“Your car-solid and dependable, but not new?”
“True.”
“I don’t mean to stick my nose into your finances, but I have the impression you could be chauffeured in a Rolls if you wanted to be.”
“I could be, yes. I’m a trust funder. I’ve never had to work a day in my life and never will. The idea of taking a job from someone who needs one bothers me. I say I’m a locust because I’m living off the harvest someone else brought in-the money my great-grandfather and grandfather worked to earn.”
“Not your father?”
She glanced around, making him wonder if she had heard someone approach. He glanced around as well, but no one else was nearby.
“My father wasn’t a very serious person,” she said. “You’ve seen the photo. He was handsome, my mother was beautiful, and they were the life of any party they were invited to-and they were invited everywhere. They flew on private jets to go to parties on other continents.” She paused. “They usually teamed up with Brad and Rebecca’s parents. Two gorgeous couples, full of life and fun. When they ended up with me, they must have thought someone swapped babies on them in the hospital.” She looked up at him. “Are your parents living?”
“No. You, Ron, and I have that in common.”
“Tell me about them.”
“My parents?”
She nodded.
He thought of giving her the story he usually told, a set of half-truths that kept others from asking further questions. Instead he said, “I never knew my mother-she died giving birth to me.”
“Oh!”
“My father and I didn’t see much of each other before I moved away from home. I didn’t understand then-well, I suppose I expected to be able to spend time with him in a future we weren’t destined to have together.”
“I’m sorry-”
He shook his head. “No, no need to be. I’ve found that grief eases over time, but regret has real staying power. All those things you wish you had said to the ones you loved.” He paused, then asked, “Do you miss your parents?”
He tried to read the look that came into her eyes when he asked that-almost one of amusement, he thought, and he wondered why.
“To be completely honest,” she said, “they’ve always been-I mean, they always were difficult people to live with. The adults who knew them thought they were a lot of fun. For me, as their kid, they weren’t so fun. They drank a lot. They were so crazy about each other, I think they just didn’t have much room left over for me. They were away from home more than they were here, so, for the most part, I was raised by a succession of nannies-none of the nannies could put up with the carnival atmosphere here for more than two years at a time. It probably sounds crazy, but for all of that, I loved them, knew they loved me in their own weird way, and I wish to God I could talk to them.”
“They died in a car accident?”
She nodded. “We were all at a party. The one in the photo, as it happens.” She blushed again, and he couldn’t figure out why. She went on quickly, “When we were leaving, I was the only one who was sober, and I tried to convince the adults to let me drive. They insisted that my learner’s permit only allowed me to drive before eleven at night. I pointed out that I could drive at any hour when one of my parents was in the car, but Aunt Cynthia-Brad and Rebecca’s mom-said I was wrong. She insisted on driving.”
She swallowed hard and looked off into the distance.
“We didn’t have far to go, just a few miles. But the few miles were through the canyon. I don’t really remember the accident itself, or much of anything that happened after we left the party, but I’m told the car went over an embankment. I was the only one wearing a seat belt. I was told the others were killed instantly.”
“You had a head injury?”
“Yes. They say that’s why I don’t remember the accident.”
“It’s common, you know, that type of memory loss.”
“That’s what they say, but-it’s hard to walk around with that piece missing. Brad and Rebecca have a theory that I caused the accident and I’m repressing it out of guilt.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She shrugged. “Who knows? I never will. I woke up in the hospital. A concussion, three broken ribs, and a broken ankle. My father’s aunt told me what happened. Ron visited me every day.”
Ron. He swore to himself that he would not interfere in their relationship. He stepped away from her.
“Anyway,” she said resolutely, “that’s all in the past. I want to move on with my life. I can’t just sit around being useless. I’ve been thinking about what you do, and it seems so important. I’d like to see if it’s something I could do one day, if I got training, and some experience. I’m not afraid of being around people who are sick or dying. Maybe-maybe I could even be of help to you.”
He had a dozen excuses to offer her, a dozen more ways to put her off doing this at all. But he had made the mistake of watching her face, and he had seen the longing there. He tried glancing away, only to find that Shade was staring at him, too.
He had spent too many years with the dog not to be able to read that particular look-he was being compelled. He sighed. Apparently I’m the one trained to be obedient.
“Tyler?”
“I suppose so,” he began.
“Thank you! Oh, thank you!” She launched herself at him and held him in a fierce hug. He managed to keep his balance, at least physically, by awkwardly returning the embrace.
“You don’t know what this means to me,” she said, “but I promise-I promise!-I won’t get in your way. And if-if someone doesn’t want me to be in the room with you, then I won’t argue or say a word. I’ll-I’ll just wait in the hallway until you’re done talking with them. And-”
“All right, all right,” he said, laughing.
She leaned back in his arms, smiling up at him. Suddenly she frowned and let go of him. “Your ribs! Oh my God! Oh, did I hurt you?”