CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
The letter to Emma feels heavy in my hand, its weight disproportionate to its actual material heft. I fold the note again, then look for an envelope in Aunt Charlotte’s room, where my aunt likes to sit at a rolltop desk to do paperwork and pay bills. I find an envelope but ignore the stamps. I need to hand-deliver this; I can’t rely on the mail to get it there in time.
Atop the pile of papers on her desk, I also see a photograph of a dog. A German shepherd with soft brown and black fur.
Gasping, I reach for it. Duke.
But of course, it isn’t him. It’s only a promotional postcard from a group that provides guide dogs for the blind.
It just looks so much like the picture I still carry in my wallet.
I need to get this letter to Emma. I need to investigate ways to help Aunt Charlotte. I should be moving forward right now. But all I can do is collapse onto her bed as the images come hard and fast, crashing over me like waves. Dragging me into the undertow of memory again.
My insomnia returned when Richard came back from Hong Kong.
He found me in our guest room at two A.M., the light on and a book splayed open across my lap. “Can’t sleep.”
“I don’t like being in bed without you.” He stretched out his hand and led me back to our room.
Feeling his arms wrapped around me and his steady breaths warm in my ear no longer helped, though. I began to wake up most nights, easing myself out of bed quietly, tiptoeing down the hall to the guest room, then I’d sneak back into our bed before dawn.
But Richard must have known.
On a bone-chillingly frigid Sunday morning, Richard was reading the Times Week in Review in the library and I was searching for a new recipe for cheesecake. We were hosting my mother and Maureen for dinner the following weekend to celebrate Richard’s birthday. My mother hated the cold and had never before come up north during the winter months. Instead, she visited every spring and fall to see me and Aunt Charlotte. During those trips, she spent most of her time touring art galleries and walking the city streets to soak up the atmosphere, as she put it. I didn’t mind that we spent so little time together; being with my mom required deep reservoirs of patience as well as unlimited energy.
I was unsure of her motivation for changing that pattern.
But I suspected it was due to a conversation we’d had in a recent call. She’d caught me on a bad day—a lonely day—when I hadn’t even left the house. The streets were crusted with old snow and patches of ice, and since I had no experience driving in winter weather, I wasn’t comfortable taking out the Mercedes Richard had bought me. When my mother phoned in the early afternoon and asked what I was doing, I was honest. I’d let down my guard with her.
“I’m still in bed.”
“Are you sick?”
I realized I’d already revealed too much. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” I thought that would appease my mother.
But it only made her ask more questions. “Does this happen often? Is there anything bothering you?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
There was a pause. Then: “You know what? I was thinking I’d like to come up for a visit.”
I tried to talk her out of it, but she was resolute. So finally I suggested she time it for Richard’s birthday. Maureen would be joining us to celebrate, as she did every year, and perhaps her presence would help dilute my mother’s focus.
When the doorbell rang that Sunday morning, my first thought was that my mother had decided to surprise us by arriving a few days early or had gotten the dates wrong. It wouldn’t have been out of character.
But Richard put down his paper and stood up. “That’s probably your present.”
“My present? You’re the one with a birthday coming up.”
I was a few steps behind him. I heard Richard greet someone, but his body blocked my view. Then he bent down. “Hey there, boy.”
The German shepherd was massive. I could see his shoulder muscles rolling as Richard took his leash and led him into the house, followed by the man who’d delivered the dog.
“Nellie? Meet Duke. This big guy is the best security you could ever ask for.”
The dog yawned, revealing his sharp teeth.
“And this is Carl.” Richard laughed. “One of Duke’s trainers. Sorry about that.”
“No worries, I’m used to Duke getting top billing.” Carl must have noticed my unease. “He looks fierce, but remember, he’s going to look that way to everyone else, too. And Duke knows it’s his job to protect you.”
I nodded. Duke probably weighed almost as much as I did. If he stood on his hind legs, he’d be my height.
“He spent a year at the Sherman Canine Academy. He understands a dozen commands. Here—I’ll tell him to sit.” At Carl’s word, the dog sank down on its haunches. “Up,” Carl instructed, and the dog rose fluidly.
“Try it, sweetheart,” Richard urged.
“Sit.” My voice sounded scratchy. I couldn’t believe the dog would obey, but he fixed his brown eyes on me and touched his bottom to the floor.
I averted my gaze. Rationally I knew the dog had been trained to follow orders. But hadn’t he also been trained to attack when he perceived a threat? Dogs could sense fear, I remembered, shrinking back against the wall.
I was fine around little dogs, the fluffy breeds that were common in New York City, sometimes tucked into purses or dancing along on the end of brightly colored leashes. I even stopped sometimes to offer them a pat, and I’d never minded sharing the elevator in Richard’s apartment with Mrs. Keene and her bichon frise with the matching hairstyle.
Big dogs like this one were rare in the city; apartment sizes simply didn’t make them practical. I hadn’t been near one in years.
But when I was a child, my next-door neighbors in Florida had owned two rottweilers. They were kept behind a chain-link enclosure, and whenever I rode my bike past their yard, they lunged at me and crashed into the fence as if they wanted to break through it. My dad told me they were just excited, that the dogs were friendly. But their deep, throaty barks and the sound of that rattling metal terrified me.
Duke’s unnatural stillness was even more unnerving.
“Do you want to pet him?” Carl asked. “He loves being scratched behind the ears.”
“Sure. Hey there, Duke.” I reached out and gave him a quick stroke. His black-and-brown fur was softer than I’d expected.
“I’ll go grab his supplies.” Carl headed back to his white truck.
Richard gave me a reassuring smile. “Remember what the security guy told us. Dogs are the number one deterrent to intruders. Better than any alarm system you can buy. You’ll sleep well when he’s around.”
Duke was still sitting on the floor, staring up at me. Was he waiting for me to tell him he could stand again? I’d only ever owned a cat, back when I was a child.
Carl returned, his arms full of a bag of food and a bed and bowls. “Where would you like me to set him up?”
“The kitchen’s probably best,” Richard said. “It’s through here.”
At another clipped word from Carl, the dog followed them, his big paws padding almost soundlessly on our wood floors. Carl drove off a few minutes later, leaving behind his card and a laminated list of the words Duke knew—Come. Stay. Attack. He’d explained that Duke would react to those words only when they were directed at him by Richard or me in a commanding tone.
“He’s a smart boy.” Carl had given Duke’s head a final rub. “You picked a good one.”
I’d smiled weakly, dreading the next morning when Richard would leave for work and I’d be alone with the dog who was supposed to make me feel safe.
I kept to the other side of the house for the first few days, only entering the kitchen to grab a banana or dump some food into Duke’s bowl. Carl had instructed us to walk him three times a day, but I didn’t want to fumble with the leash’s catch around Duke’s throat. So I simply opened the back door and told him to Go—another of his commands—and then I cleaned up after him before Richard came home.
On the third day, as I read in the library, I looked up and saw Duke standing silently in the entryway, watching me. I hadn’t even heard his approach. I still feared meeting his gaze—didn’t dogs interpret locked eyes as a challenge?—so I stared back at my book, wishing he’d go away. Richard, right before he went to sleep every night, took Duke for a short walk. Duke had plenty to eat, fresh water, and a comfortable bed. I had no reason to feel guilty. Duke had a great life, with everything he could possibly want.
He padded over and flopped down next to me, putting his head between his big paws. He looked up at me and sighed heavily. It was such a human sound.
I snuck a peek at him over the top of my novel and saw furrows form above his chocolate-brown eyes. He looked sad. I wondered if he was used to being around other dogs, to being surrounded by activity and noise. Our house must seem so strange to him, I thought. Tentatively I reached down and patted the spot behind his ear, the way his trainer had said Duke liked. His bushy tail thumped once, then stilled, as if he didn’t want to make too much of a commotion.
“You like that? It’s okay, boy. You can wag as much as you want.”
I slid off my chair to sit beside him as I continued to stroke his head, finding a rhythm he seemed to enjoy. It soothed me, too, to feel my fingers gliding along the warm, thick fur.
A little later, I stood up and went into the kitchen and found his leash.
Duke followed me.
“I’m going to put this on you. Be a good dog and sit, okay?”
For the first time, I equated his stillness with gentleness. Still, I attached the silver clip to his collar as quickly as possible so I could withdraw my hand from the vicinity of his teeth.
The crisp winter air pinched the tip of my nose and my ears as soon as we stepped outside, but it wasn’t so chilly that I was in a rush to return home. Duke and I probably walked close to three miles that day, exploring corners of our neighborhood I’d never before seen. He matched my pace, standing by my side the entire time, only stopping to sniff grass or relieve himself when I paused.
Unclipping his leash wasn’t as intimidating when we arrived home. I filled his water bowl and poured a glass of iced tea for myself, drinking it down thirstily. My legs felt pleasantly heavy from the walk, and I realized I’d needed it as much as Duke had. I began to return to the library, then paused in the doorway and looked at Duke.
“Come.”
He ambled over and sat down beside me.
“You’re such a good boy.”
On Richard’s birthday, we picked up my mother at the airport and brought her back to the house. By the time Maureen arrived a few hours later, my mother had already scattered her belongings through the rooms—her purse in the kitchen, her shawl slung over the back of a dining room chair, and her book splayed open on Richard’s favorite ottoman—and had turned up the heat an extra five degrees. I could tell this irked Richard, even though he didn’t say a word.
Dinner went smoothly enough, even though my mother kept slipping Duke pieces of her steak—she’d already abandoned vegetarianism—under the table.
“He’s an unusually intuitive dog,” she declared.
Maureen shifted her chair a bit farther away from Duke and my mother, then asked Richard a question about a stock she was considering buying. She wasn’t a dog person, she explained, though she’d gamely given Duke a pat.
After I served the cheesecake, we all went into the living room to open gifts. Richard opened mine first. I’d gotten him a framed Rangers hockey jersey signed by all the players—and a matching Rangers collar for Duke.
My mother presented Richard with the new Deepak Chopra book. “I know you work so hard. Maybe you can read this on your commute?”
He politely opened it and flipped through a few pages. “This is probably exactly what I need.” When my mom went to find the card she’d left in her purse, he winked at me.
“I’ll get you the CliffsNotes version in case she asks you about it,” I joked.
Maureen gave him two floor seats to a Knicks game the next night. “We’ve got a sports theme going here,” she laughed. She and Richard were both basketball fans.
“You should take Maureen to the game,” I said.
“That was my plan all along,” Maureen replied lightly. “I remember Richard tried to explain goaltending to you once and I saw you zone out.”
“Guilty as charged.”
My mother’s eyes flitted from Maureen to Richard, then they landed on me. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m up here. Otherwise you’d be left home alone, Vanessa. Why don’t you and I go into the city tomorrow and we can have dinner with Aunt Charlotte?”
“Sure.” I could tell my mother was surprised Maureen hadn’t gotten three tickets. Maybe she thought I felt left out, but the truth was, I was happy Richard’s sister wanted to be with him. He had no other family.
My mother stayed for two more days, and although I braced myself for her usual unfiltered declarations, they never emerged. She came with me whenever I took Duke on his walks, and she suggested we give him his first bath. Duke submitted to it with his usual dignity, though his brown eyes seemed reproachful, and he got revenge by shaking water on us after he stepped out of the tub. Laughing with my mother then was the highlight of her trip for me. I think it may have been for her, too.
When we said good-bye at the airport, she hugged me for much longer than she usually did when we parted.
“I love you, Vanessa. I’d like to see you more. Maybe you could come to Florida in a month or two?”
I’d dreaded her visit, but I found myself surprisingly comforted by her embrace. “I’ll try.”
And I intended to. But then everything changed again.
I quickly grew used to Duke’s solid presence in the house, to our brisk morning walks, to chatting with him as I cooked dinner. I brushed his fur for long stretches while he rested his head on my leg, and I wondered how I’d ever been frightened of him. When I took a shower, he waited like a sentry just outside the bathroom. Whenever I came home, he was stationed in the hallway just inside the front door, his ears perked up into triangles. He seemed relieved when I was back in his sights.
I was so grateful to Richard. He must have known that Duke would provide more than security. In the absence of the baby we so desperately wanted, Duke was my companion.
“I love Duke so much,” I told Richard one night a few weeks later. “You were right. He really does make me feel safe.” I recounted the story of how Duke and I had been strolling down our sidewalk, a dozen yards from our house, when the mailman suddenly emerged from a gap in the hedges surrounding a neighbor’s yard. Duke had quickly positioned himself between the two of us, and I heard a low rumbling in his throat. The mailman gave us a wide berth and continued on his way, and so did we. “That’s the only time I’ve seen that side of him.”
Richard nodded as he picked up a knife and buttered his roll. “It’s good to remember it’s always there, though.”
When Richard left for an overnight business trip the following week, I brought Duke’s bed upstairs and placed it next to mine. When I awoke in the night, I looked down to see that he was awake, too. I let my arm drape over the side of the bed so I could touch his head, then I fell back asleep quickly. I slept deeply and dreamlessly, better than I had in months.
I’d told Richard I was doing tons of walking with Duke to get rid of the extra pounds I’d put on since moving to the suburbs. It wasn’t just the fertility pills. In the city, I could easily trek four miles a day, but now I drove even to buy a half gallon of milk. Plus, we ate dinner so late. Richard had never commented on my weight, but he stepped on the scale every morning and worked out five times a week. I wanted to look good for him.
When Richard returned, I didn’t have the heart to move Duke back downstairs, to our cold, sterile kitchen. Richard couldn’t believe how quickly my attitude toward Duke had changed. “Sometimes I think you love that dog more than me,” he joked.
I laughed. “He’s my buddy. When you’re not around, he keeps me company.” The truth was, the love I felt toward Duke was the purest, most uncomplicated affection I had ever known.
Duke was more than just a pet. He became my ambassador to the world. A jogger we often ran into during our daily walks stopped to ask if he could pet Duke, and we ended up chatting. The gardeners brought him a bone, shyly asking me if it was okay. Even the mailman grew to love him, once I told Duke the mailman was a friend—another of the words Duke understood. On my weekly calls with my mother, I gushed about our latest adventures.
Then, on one of those early-spring days when every tree and flower seems about to burst into bloom, I took Duke to a hiking trail a few towns over.
Looking back, I would think of it as the last good day—Duke’s, and mine—but as we sat on a big flat rock, my fingers absently weaving through Duke’s fur, the sun warming us, it just seemed like a perfect afternoon.
When Duke and I returned home, my cell phone rang. “Sweetheart, did you get to the dry cleaner’s?”
I’d forgotten Richard had asked me to pick up his shirts. “Oh, shoot. I just need to pay the gardeners and then I’ll run out.”
The team of three had grown especially fond of Duke, and sometimes if the weather was nice, they would stay a little late to play fetch with him.
I was gone thirty, maybe thirty-five minutes tops. When I returned home, the gardeners’ truck was gone. The moment I opened our front door, I felt a coldness rush through my body.
“Duke,” I called out.
Nothing.
“Duke!” I yelled again, my voice trembling.
I ran to the backyard to look for him. He wasn’t there. I called the gardening service. They swore they’d closed the back gate. I ran around the neighborhood, calling for him, then phoned the Humane Society and the local vets. Richard rushed home and we drove through the streets, shouting Duke’s name through the open car windows until our throats were raw. The next day Richard didn’t go into work. He held me while I cried. We put up posters. We offered a huge reward. Every night I stood outside, calling for Duke. I imagined someone taking him or Duke jumping the fence to go after an intruder. I even googled wild-animal sightings in our area, wondering if Duke could have been attacked by a larger animal.
A neighbor claimed she had seen him on Orchard Street. Another thought he’d spotted him on Willow. Someone called the number on our poster and brought by a dog that wasn’t Duke. I even phoned a pet psychic, who told me Duke was in an animal shelter in Philadelphia. None of the tips materialized. It was as if the ninety-pound canine had vanished from my life as magically as he had appeared.
Duke was so well trained; he wouldn’t have just run off. And he would’ve attacked anyone who’d tried to take him. He was a guard dog.
But that wasn’t what I thought about at three A.M. when I crept down the hallway, putting distance between me and my husband.
Right before Duke vanished, Richard had called to ask me about the shirts. I’d assumed he was calling from work, although I had no way to verify that; he’d never given me the passwords to his cell phone and BlackBerry, and I’d never asked him, so I couldn’t check his call records.
But when I’d gone to the dry cleaner’s, Mrs. Lee greeted me with her usual exuberance: So good to see you! Your husband just called a little while ago, and I told him his shirts were ready, light starch, like always.
Why would Richard have phoned the cleaner’s to make sure I hadn’t gotten the shirts, then called me to see if I’d picked them up?
I didn’t ask him about it immediately. But soon it was all I could think about.
I grew hollow eyed from insomnia. On the nights when I managed to catch a little sleep, I often awoke with my arm dangling over the side of the bed, my fingers touching the empty space where Duke used to lie. Much of the time I was numb. I rose with Richard and made him coffee, downing several extra cups myself. I kissed my husband good-bye when he walked out the door to work, staring after him as he strolled to his car, humming.
A few weeks after Duke disappeared, when I was listlessly planting flowers in our backyard, I came across one of his favorite toys, a green rubber alligator he loved to chew. I clutched it to my chest and bawled as I hadn’t since my father’s funeral.
When I finally quelled my tears, I went inside. I stood in the mannered quiet with the alligator still in hand. Then I walked through our living room, not caring that I might be tracking mud on our pristine rug, and placed Duke’s toy on the table in the hallway where Richard always put his keys. I wanted him to see it the moment he came home.
Here’s what I didn’t do next: I didn’t change out of my dirty clothes. I didn’t tidy up the newspapers and fold the laundry and put away the gardening tools. I didn’t prepare the swordfish, snap peas, and tortellini I had planned to make for dinner.
Here’s what I did instead: I made myself a vodka and tonic and sat in the den. I waited as the light dwindled to dusk. Then I poured myself more vodka, this time without the tonic. I hadn’t been drinking much other than an occasional glass or two of wine. I could feel the strong alcohol coursing through my body.
When at last Richard walked in the door, I remained silent.
“Nellie,” he called.
For the first time in our marriage, I didn’t reply “Hi, honey” or hurry to greet him with a kiss.
“Nellie?” This time my name was a question, not a statement.
“I’m in here,” I finally said.
He appeared in the doorway, holding Duke’s muddy alligator with the tail half missing. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
I lifted my tumbler and drained the rest of my vodka.
I saw him take in my clothes—the faded jeans with dirt on the knees and the old, oversize T-shirt. I set down my glass, not caring that I hadn’t used a coaster.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He walked over and put his arms around me.
I felt his solid warmth and my resolve began to melt. I’d been so angry with him all afternoon, but now what I wanted most was to have the man who’d caused my distress to comfort me. The accusations that had been forming in my mind grew blurry; how could Richard have done such a horrible thing? None of it made sense again.
Instead of saying what I’d planned to, I blurted out, “I need a break.”
“A break?” He pulled back. “From what?” His brow furrowed.
I wanted to say, From everything, but instead I replied, “From the Clomid.”
“You’re drunk. You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I guess I am a bit tipsy, but I do mean it. I’m not going to take it anymore.”
“Don’t you think this is something we should discuss as a couple? It’s a joint decision.”
“Was it a joint decision to get rid of Duke?”
With the release of those words, I knew I’d crossed a line in our relationship.
What stunned me was how good it felt. Our marriage, like every marriage, had unspoken rules, and I’d broken one of the most important ones: Don’t challenge Richard.
Now I realize my adherence to that mandate had prevented me from asking why he’d bought a house without showing it to me, and why he never wanted to discuss his childhood, as well as other questions I’d tried to push out of my mind.
Richard hadn’t made that rule alone; I’d been a willing accomplice. How much easier it was to just let my husband—the man who’d always made me feel safe—take charge of the direction of our lives.
I didn’t feel safe anymore.
“What are you talking about?” Richard’s voice was cold and measured.
“Why did you call Mrs. Lee and ask if your shirts were ready? You knew I hadn’t picked them up. Were you trying to get me out of the house?”
“Jesus!” Richard stood up abruptly.
I had to tilt my head to look up at him as he loomed over me in my chair.
“Nellie, you’re being completely irrational.” I could see his hand gripping the alligator, mangling its shape. His features seemed to tighten, his eyes narrowing and his lips folding inward; it was as if my husband was disappearing behind a mask. “What the fuck does the cleaner’s have to do with Duke? Or with us having a baby? Why would I want you out of the house?”
I was losing my way, but I couldn’t back down. “Why would you ask me if I’d gotten your shirts when you already knew I hadn’t?” My voice was shrill.
He threw the alligator to the ground. “What are you suggesting? You’re acting crazy. Mrs. Lee is old and always in a rush. You must’ve misunderstood.”
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was Richard again. The mask was gone. “You’re depressed. We’ve had a huge loss. We both loved Duke. And I know the fertility treatments are hard on you. You’re right. Let’s take a little break.”
I was still so angry at him; why did it feel as if he were forgiving me?
“Where is Duke?” I whispered. “Please tell me he’s alive. I just need to know he’s safe. I’ll never ask you again.”
“Baby.” Richard knelt down beside me and wrapped me in his arms. “Of course he’s safe. He’s so smart and strong. He’s probably just a few towns over, living with a new family that loves him as much as we did. Can’t you see him chasing a tennis ball in a big backyard?” He wiped away the tears running down my cheeks. “Let’s get you out of these dirty clothes and into bed.”
I watched Richard’s full lips move as he talked; I tried to read his eyes. I had to make a decision, perhaps the most important one I’d ever confronted. If I didn’t let go of my suspicions, it would mean everything I’d believed about my husband and our relationship was false, that every moment of the past two years was a hideous lie. I wouldn’t just be doubting Richard, I’d be dismantling my own instincts, my judgment, my deepest truth.
So I chose to accept what Richard told me. Richard loved Duke and knew how much I did, too. He was right; I had been crazy to think he’d do anything to our dog.
All the tension slipped out of my body, leaving me feeling as dense and heavy as cement.
“I’m sorry,” I said as Richard led me upstairs.
When I came out of the bathroom after changing, I saw he had drawn down the covers and put a glass of water on my nightstand.
“Do you want me to lie here with you?”
I shook my head. “You must be hungry. I feel bad that I didn’t make dinner.”
He kissed me on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. Get some rest, sweetheart.”
It was as if none of it had ever happened.
The next week, I signed up for a new cooking class—this one Asian themed—and joined a children’s literacy committee at the club. We collected books to distribute to schools in underserved areas in Manhattan. The group met at lunchtime. Wine was always served during those meals, and I was often the first to empty my glass and request a refill. I kept a bottle of Advil in my purse to offset the headaches that daytime drinking sometimes gave me. I looked forward to the meetings because I would take a nap afterward, filling a few more hours. My breath was minty and Visine had erased any redness from my eyes by the time Richard arrived home.
I thought about suggesting we get another dog, maybe a different breed. But I never did. And so our home—no pets, no children—shrank back to being just a house.
I began to loathe it, the constant silence that never let up.