THE COLLIE LEAPT INTO the air and caught the frisbee in one mid-flight twist, then dropped, pranced and wagged its way proudly back to Ruth.
Jimmy and Flossy leaned on the windowsill watching them play in the lane. A fresh breeze was blowing the curtains in around them this morning, a welcome break from the humidity of past days.
Outside, beneath the bright sunlight, Ruth was unaware of them watching, unaware of anything but the little black and white sheepdog dancing around her. Flossy heard her giddy laughter and observed the young woman’s athletic grace as she threw, ran and played with the young dog. Nothing like a puppy to turn a woman into a girl all over again.
Jimmy O’Reilly had pushed through the screen door earlier with two Sobeys bags splitting with too many tomatoes, cucumbers, beans and beets.
“This is Ruth,” Flossy said as he made his way to the sink to deposit his cargo. Jimmy nodded to Ruth who gave an indifferent wave, scarcely lifting her head from the newspaper, until she heard a single yip from the truck. She was on her feet, then, asking if she could see the dog.
“Does he have a leash?” she asked.
“Don’t need one,” Jimmy said. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Flossy dragged her finger along a line of dust on the windowsill, but her gaze was drawn back to the activity outdoors. Any photographer would capture that blithe face and the springing dog in this brilliant morning light as a millisecond of perfect happiness. How innocent and easily-come-by, a youngster with a dog.
“You know, Jimmy, that’s the happiest she’s been since she arrived.”
He nodded his head. “Ain’t she a pretty little thing,” he said. “No bigger’n a wishbone, so she is.” He stepped over to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee then came right back to the window and settled in beside her like a chicken on a nest.
“She got a dog at home?” he asked, sipping his coffee.
Flossy shook her head. “Jack has allergies and her mother has no time.”
“Kid needs a dog,” he said, scratching his temple.
“You wouldn’t want to leave Logie for a couple of weeks,” she said, looking slyly at him from the corner of her eye.
“Oh, heh, heh, that ain’t to say an old feller don’t need one too,” he grinned.
Watching this radically altered youngster laughing and playing, Flossy thought of Virginia and the diary she was so close to finishing. When the Woolfs’ house was bombed in London, it was the diaries Virginia and Leonard had gone back to dig out of the dust and debris. Blessedly, she thought, because they were Virginia, her personality much more so than the other writings. Keeping a journal, Virginia had said, made her comb through each day to find the encounter that allowed her to see things in an entirely different light. These transformative moments were, she claimed, her grasp of reality.
Flossy looked across at her brother. The lads would be waiting for him at the general store but he was in no rush to be on his way. Nor was he talking about all the sprains and indigestion to strike the village since Flossy saw him last Friday.
No, Jimmy’s old blue eyes were crinkled. He rubbed the back of his hand over his cheeks and his chin as if he’d just finished shaving. She could see his grin, the chip on the edge of his front tooth, the white scar along the jaw that he’d come back with from the war and his cupful of contentment as he leaned on the window, perfectly happy to stand there all day watching a youngster vaulting about with his dog.