Ivory insisted on riding home with Thumps.
“Don’t read anything into it,” Claire told him. “She’s just looking for a fresh audience.”
Thumps wasn’t sure whether all seven-year-olds had eidetic memories. Maybe it was simply a matter of space. At this point of their lives, there wasn’t much in the garage that they couldn’t find quickly and with ease.
“There was Auntie Celeste and Auntie Easter and Auntie Ona and Uncle Melton and Uncle Billy and cousin Martin and cousin Pam and cousin Wilton and somebody named Andrew Shoots.”
“Must have been nice, meeting all your relatives.”
“I didn’t know them.”
Thumps smiled. “But now you do.”
“Do you like needles?”
“Depends.”
“That’s what Mom said.” Ivory picked at a thread on her shirt. “Mom says you don’t like to be called Dog.”
“I don’t mind.”
“That’s what she said you’d say.”
“It’s a good nickname. Maybe we should get you a nickname.”
“Something’s wrong with my brain,” said Ivory. “They’re going to put me in a big machine, so they can see my brain, but I won’t remember, because I’ll be asleep.”
There were any number of things on which Thumps had no opinion. Children in hospitals was not one of them.
“I don’t want to go back to Alberta. If we go back to Alberta, Mom will take me to that hospital, and they’ll give me needles.”
“Maybe the doctors will make you better.”
“I don’t want to be better,” said Ivory. “I want to stay home.”
CLAIRE BEAT THEM home, had the lights on in the house, was waiting for them at the front door. There was a warmth and a welcome to the still life. Even the Russian olive in the driveway seemed alive and happy to see him.
“Mom’s worried I’m going to die,” said Ivory. “But I won’t.”
“No,” said Thumps. “You won’t.”
“Are you going to stay overnight?”
“Would you like me to stay overnight?”
“Mom would,” said Ivory.
Claire stood at the door, her arms hugging her chest. “You two have fun?”
“Dog doesn’t like hospitals. Or needles.”
“What about hot chocolate?”
Ivory took Thumps’s hand. “He likes hot chocolate.”
IVORY DIDN’T want to go to bed. “It’s early.”
Claire gestured to the window. “It’s dark out.”
“Dark isn’t late. Dog’s not going to bed.”
“Thumps will go to bed later.”
“I want to sleep with you.”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
Ivory turned to Thumps. “That means no.”
“You have your own bed, young lady.”
“I’m not a young lady,” said Ivory. “I’m a baby.”
Claire dropped her head. “Remember what I said about having a second shot at raising a child?”
Thumps retreated behind his cup of chocolate.
“I may have been overconfident.”
“I’ll only go to bed if Dog reads me three stories.”
“One story,” said Claire.
“Two stories,” said Ivory. “And I get to pick them.”
“What about it, Dog?” said Claire. “That work for you?”
THUMPS KNEW HE had made a tactical error as soon as he stepped into Ivory’s room and saw the bookcase with its dozens of books. Big books, small books, picture books, word books, picture and word books.
Ivory sat down in front of the books and began going through them, as though she were perusing a menu at a Chinese restaurant.
“Hmmmmmm,” she said, making a noise like an engine that wasn’t about to start anytime soon. “Which ones to pick?”
Thumps took the skinniest book he could find. “How about this one?”
“Dog,” she said, “I’m seven.”
Ivory continued searching the shelves, taking out a book, putting it back. Thumps didn’t think about checking the time, but he was sure she was able to waste fifteen to twenty minutes making a decision.
“You need to choose something.”
“All right.” Ivory pulled two books off the shelf. “These.”
Getting conned by a seven-year-old was somewhat embarrassing. “This one is sixty-five pages. And this one is seventy-two. That’s too much. How about I read a chapter from each?”
“Six chapters from each.”
“Two chapters.”
Ivory sagged against the shelves. “You’re just like Mom.”
CLAIRE WAS WAITING for him at the kitchen table. “And how did you enjoy playing Scheherazade to her Shahryar.”
“As I recall, Scheherazade stopped the story in the middle, so she could keep her head for another night.”
“Your point?”
“What happened to short books for children?”
“When negotiating with a seven-year-old,” said Claire, “you have to be specific.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” said Claire. “Can you stay?”
“I can.”
“I’ll make a bed for you on the sofa,” said Claire. “She’s seven, but she’s still four. She’ll be in bed with me before the night is out.”
“No problem.”
“And Cooley called. Evidently, Cisco Cruz has set up shop at the sheriff’s office. Cooley says he’s using the office computer and the office phone and sleeping in the holding cell.”
“Cooley say why?”
“Don’t think he knows. You want to call him back?”
“Did he want me to call him back?”
“He was sweet,” said Claire. “Asked if he had called at a bad time. ‘Awkward’ was the word he used.”
Thumps went to the sofa, stretched out, tried to strike a languid pose. Claire stayed at the table.
“I take it you want to know about Alberta?”
“I do.”
“Ivory’s going to have an MRI. They did one in Helena, but they want to do another in Calgary.”
“You want help with the driving and the talking?”
“I do.”
“No problem.”
“What about Duke?” Claire paused. “How’s he taking Macy’s suicide?”
Thumps sat up.
“Word gets out,” said Claire. “I might have done the same thing. He’s not going to do something stupid, is he?”
“He’s got a dog. And there’s Deanna and Cooley. They’ll help look after him.”
“Archie?”
“The Greek grief counsellor,” said Thumps. “Yeah, Archie finds out, Duke won’t be able to keep him away.”
“Still,” said Claire, “he’s your friend. What if he needs you?”
“You and Ivory need me.”
Claire stood, came to the sofa. “You look like a man who wants to cuddle.”
“I’m that man,” said Thumps.
“What about Cruz? It could be important.”
“If it can’t wait until morning,” said Thumps, “Cooley will call again.”
“That sounds like a man who is hoping for something more than cuddling.”
“It’s been a while.”
Claire eased herself onto the sofa, snuggled up against him, put her back to him, so he could hold her.
“Yes,” she said, “it has.”
IVORY WAS UP at least six times in the night. Cooley didn’t call back. Around three o’clock, Claire left the sofa and went to the bedroom. Thumps looked in early in the morning. Claire was on one side of the bed. Ivory was lying sideways, draped across her mother.
He dressed quietly, carried his shoes to the door. He was just about to open it when Claire appeared.
“Sneaking away?”
“Figured I’d let you guys sleep. Probably should get in, see what Cruz is up to.”
“And check on Duke.”
“Absolutely.”
“I could make you breakfast.” Claire smiled. “That should strike fear in your heart.”
“No,” Thumps lied. “Sounds good.”
“Liar.” “Should I come back tonight?”
Claire brushed the hair away from her face. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose you should.”