Chapter 24.

The ER nurse lifted the oxygen mask from Josh’s face to check his lips and tongue. “Pink—good.” She added, “Blue would mean there was cyanide in the smoke. Bad stuff.”

Josh tried to come up with an adequate response. “I guess I could have died.”

As the nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm, Josh struggled to take in what had happened: He’d woken up with the cottage on fire. He’d thrown his backpack through the screen and plunged after it.

Dragging his backpack, Josh had stumbled away from the cottage and into the glare of headlights. Behind him, the fire roared and parts of the cottage fell in.

“Anyone else in there?” shouted a fireman.

Josh shook his head dumbly. Rick shouted, “Nope!” holding up his terrier for proof. EMTs lowered Josh onto a stretcher. And here he was in a hospital.

Through the curtain dividing the ER gurneys, Josh heard a familiar voice. “Pepper! What’d you do with Pepper? Where’s my dog?”

“Your dog is safe, sir,” said a female voice with a Middle Eastern accent. “The EMT’s should not have allowed you to bring him here.”

“Pepper is not a ‘him’!” Rick’s outrage dissolved into a spasm of coughs.

Josh was suddenly outraged, himself. “Hey, Rick,” he called. “The fire— You smoked in bed. Didn’t you?”

“Smoke in bed?” More coughing. “What kind of an idiot do you think I am?”

The ER doctor, a woman with the sober gaze of a Greek Orthodox icon, stepped into Josh’s side of the curtain. “You, too, escaped a fire without burns?” She examined his hands and arms. “Oh, but many surface wounds here, and here.”

“I had to crash through the screen,” explained Josh.

“You are fortunate to be alive.” The doctor gave him a tetanus booster shot and left, directing the nurse to admit both of the fire survivors “for observation.”

But as soon as the medical personnel left, Rick’s walrus mustache appeared around the curtain. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking getting out of here before the charges go through the roof.”

Startled out of his dazed state, Josh focused on the expensive high-tech equipment near his gurney. Now that he was off of Tanya’s medical insurance, he had large deductibles for ambulance and emergency room treatment. And a hospital stay could dig even bigger chunks out of his funds.

Out at the desk, as Rick and Josh signed medical releases, Josh’s smoke-addled brain circled back to the question of the fire. “If you aren’t the kind of idiot who smokes in bed, how did the fire start?”

“Been thinking about that,” said Rick. “Must have been the dryer, that piece of crap. Did you clean the lint screen?”

Josh was dumbfounded. “Clean the—”

“There must have been months of lint in there,” Rick went on. “Just waiting for a spark from that broken-down excuse for a dryer.”

Rick was blaming Josh for not cleaning months of Rick’s lint out of the dryer? As Josh groped for a sufficiently caustic comeback, the receptionist managed to catch their attention: Did Josh and Rick have someone to pick them up from the hospital?

Pulling his phone from his backpack, Josh thumbed through his contacts. Who did he want to call for a ride at 2:17 a.m.? Not Vicky, certainly not his mother. None of his friends from Westham. As for contacts around Mattakiset: not his former landlady, Barbara; not his disgruntled employer, Erica; not his disillusioned romantic interests, Rune or Danielle. Josh wished he had an Uber account.

Meanwhile, Rick was talking to a balding man whose volunteer’s badge rested on his slumped belly. It seemed that the EMT’s had handed Pepper over to this volunteer, Warren, and he’d stowed the dog in his car. “Yeah, I guess I could give you a ride to the Dreamland. On Route 6, Mattakiset?”

In the volunteer’s Chevy sedan, Pepper and Rick had a frenzied reunion while Josh pictured the Dreamland Motel, next to the Sincere Garden. It looked like a dump, but maybe it was the best choice for tonight. Then it struck Josh that he might still have a car. “Wait a minute, could we swing by the cottage first, to check something?”

Rick was all for checking on his truck, too, but Warren was getting the look of a Good Samaritan who hadn’t intended to be that good. “It’s kind of out of my way,” he said.

“We appreciate that,” said Rick. Tapping Josh on the shoulder, he rubbed his thumb and fingers together and nodded toward the volunteer.

Rick expected Josh to come up with money for the extra distance to the cottage? Josh hesitated, weighing how much he wanted his car, right now. He pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tucked it into the cup holder. “We really do appreciate your extra trouble.”

Half an hour later, the headlights of Warren’s car shone on the blackened skeleton of the cottage, roofless except for the corner with the unharmed satellite dish. The hospital volunteer gave a long whistle. “You guys were lucky to get out of that alive. I’d think about suing your landlord, if I was you.”

“You bet your ass,” said Rick, opening the car’s back door. Pepper scampered ahead of him to the landscaping truck, not a blackened skeleton but its whole self, complete with dried mud on the red paint.

“Thanks a million,” said Josh, shaking Warren’s meaty hand. “All set.” The air stank of wet ashes, but Josh’s Honda Civic waited beside Rick’s truck, right where he’d parked it an eon ago. It, too, was undamaged except for its old injury of a dented left rear bumper.

“See you at the Dreamland,” said Rick to Josh over his shoulder. “Where I should have gone in the first place, instead of renting from that prick Harrison.”

“Wait a minute,” said Josh, picturing an object: the disk of a wall-mounted smoke alarm. In Barbara’s apartment? Yes, but also in the living room of the cottage. “Why didn’t the smoke alarm go off? It should have gone off.” Had Gardner Harrison carelessly—or cold-bloodedly—neglected to change the battery?

“Oh, that,” said Rick, starting his engine. “I had to take the battery out. It was driving me crazy. Every time I lit up, annh, annh, annh.”

While Josh sputtered, Rick leaned out the truck window. “See you at the Dreamland,” he said again. “Want to share a double?”

“No.”

So that was the kind of idiot Rick Johnson was, thought Josh as the truck drove away. He opened the back door of his car and peered at the floor. There was no reason for Molly’s carton not to be in the backseat, but he was reassured to actually see it. “Good girl. That was a close call, huh?”

Rick had rattled off down the lane, but the volunteer’s headlights were still trained on Josh. Waving more thanks, Josh slid into the driver’s seat and turned his key in the ignition. He’d assumed he’d follow Rick to the Dreamland, but as he reached the paved road, he changed his mind. It was hardly worth checking into a motel for the few hours left of the night.

Josh found himself driving his usual route to work, with a hazy idea of waiting in his car until the kennel opened. But by the time his headlights picked out the Coastal Canines sign, he’d changed his mind again. Even pulling into the parking lot would arouse the boarding dogs and worry the overnight caretaker, who might call the police.

And come to think of it, Josh knew of a place in the town where you could sleep undisturbed in your car: Mattakiset Neck. The Neck was a state park, but from what Uncle George said, it wasn’t much patrolled. The town police considered it the state’s business, and these days the state didn’t have the resources to keep a close watch on one small spur of land.

Josh took a turn toward the river and drove across the bridge, along the marsh to the shore road, and over the causeway. There were a few other cars in the Mattakiset Neck parking lot: an SUV, a couple of sedans. The old pickup truck with a canvas camper shell must belong to the vet (Iraq War, according to Uncle George) who more or less lived on the Neck.

A small fire flickered on the bayside curve, and Josh heard laughter and the rhythm of traded insults. That must be the high school kids who gathered here to drink and mate. If they didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t bother them. He just wanted to recline his seat and sink into sleep.

But he couldn’t recline, because the backseat was stuffed full against the upright driver’s seat. In a way, that was lucky, Josh realized. If he hadn’t been too lazy to take most of his stuff out of the car, it would have all gone up in smoke with the cottage. As it was, he’d only lost sheets, towels, his sport jacket—and oh shit, all his underwear except the pair he’d already been wearing too long.

Josh stretched out, as best he could, across the bucket seats and console. His head ached. The air was chilly here by the water; he wished for the warmed blanket that the nurse had draped over him in the ER. An expression floated through his mind: You’ve made your bed; now lie in it.

Josh had screwed up royally, in so many ways. His failings crowded him, as lumpy as his makeshift bed. How could he have been so thoughtless, so reckless, at the kennel? Erica’s business seemed to be struggling as it was, and Josh’s behavior in the obedience class might have pushed it over the edge.

And oh my god, what about Carol Harrison? Josh hadn’t even thought about her until just now. How badly was she hurt? Much as Josh wanted to blame Tricia, that accident wouldn’t have happened if Josh hadn’t, in spite of warnings, brought a cat to the kennel.

Squirming, Josh tried to find a better fit between his back and the cup holder. No wonder Vicky thought her brother was a self-absorbed jerk. How could he have even considered asking her for money—a large amount of money—for risky business with some guy he’d just met?

Josh remembered the story he’d repeated to Vicky, about his mother and the fellow resident who’d asked her to walk around the grounds with him after dinner. She’d liked this guy, and she was really looking forward to the walk.

At the time Martha Hiller told him the story, Josh had been eager to go along with her humorous slant. “Didn’t he even send you roses the next day, or something?”

“Actually . . .” His mother’s smile faded. “He had to move to the nursing facility.”

No, it wasn’t so funny. Martha Hiller lived with daily reminders that she was sliding into “the wrong side of the grass,” as Erica’s Uncle George put it. The assisted living residents either got more and more decrepit and disappeared into the nursing wing, or they died suddenly, their departure announced by ambulance sirens in the middle of the night.

Josh wasn’t even sure, any more, that Tanya owned 75 percent of the blame for their failed marriage. The women he’d met in Mattakiset, Rune and Danielle, didn’t seem so impressed with him, either. And why should they be?

What kind of idiot are you? Josh had asked Rick. The real question was, What kind of an idiot was Josh? The kind of idiot who’d move in with an idiot like Rick. Who’d seriously entertain a “business opportunity” with a guy Rick knew. My god! Josh went cold, thinking of it. He’d actually intended to gamble with his retirement funds.

Why should anybody, anybody Josh could think of, think well of him? They shouldn’t; they didn’t. Except for one young exuberant black-nosed, flop-eared retriever mix. If only Tucker were here right now, licking Josh’s face, curling up on the floor of the front seat with a contented sigh.

Josh must have slept at last, because he woke up to daylight. For a disorienting moment, he didn’t know why he was blinking through his windshield at sunshine chasing morning fog. He was lying on his back, with his head pushed against the passenger door and his knees propped on the steering wheel. He’d slept in his car, like a homeless person. He was homeless.

Creakily Josh unfolded himself, stumbled out of the car, and ducked into the scrub oaks for a piss. He glanced down at his feet and did a double take. He was wearing hospital slippers. Holy shit, had anyone noticed that?

As Josh came out of the trees, he dropped the slippers in the trash barrel. Luckily there was only one other person in the lot who could have observed Josh shuffling around like an escapee from an institution. A man with an absent look sat in the pickup, smoking a cigarette. He nodded politely to Josh, as one homeless guy to another.

Josh nodded back but hurried to his car, desperate to get away from here. What time was it? Six-seventeen. If he arrived at the kennel on time and started the day as usual, he’d be back to normal.

Digging under the bags and boxes in his car, Josh found a pair of beat-up sneakers. His almost-new sneakers, of course, had gone up in toxic smoke in the fire. His Coastal Canine T-shirt was ripped and streaked with grime, but presumably the dogs wouldn’t care.

Josh started the car. Once he reached Cumby’s and coffee, he’d be back in his regular routine.

Half an hour later, in the kennel office, Uncle George looked up from a list on the counter. He gaped at Josh. “Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph. What happened to you?”

As Josh gathered himself to answer, Barbara Schaeffer and Lola trotted into the office. Barbara, too, gaped at Josh. “Oh, my goodness.”

Uncle George pointed at Josh. “You were in that fire last night! One of Harrison’s cottages, right? It was on the news feed.”

Lola sidled up to Josh and began an extensive sniff-search. Barbara said, “That was your cottage? Oh, Josh.”

Erica stepped from the kennel into the office, caught sight of Josh, and stopped short. “Josh! What happened?”

“He looks like he slept with a raccoon, don’t he?” asked Uncle George. “With a raccoon, in a fireplace.”

Josh was getting the message that he looked much worse than he’d thought. That explained the funny stares he’d gotten in Cumby’s. “I guess I should wash up,” he said to Erica. Talking made him cough. “If I can take a few minutes?”

“If you can— Of course, but do you think you’re okay to work? What about smoke inhalation?”

“No, they checked me out at the hospital,” said Josh. “Pink.” He tried to smile. He wished they would let him start his work day as if nothing had happened.

Barbara was still standing by the office counter, staring at him. She took a breath as though she was about to speak, took a step toward him, and stopped, biting her lip. “Josh,” she said. “You know, I’m sorry that— If you need a place to stay now, you could move back in.”

Josh squinted at her. Was she kidding?

Barbara’s light blue eyes squinted back at him, perfectly sincere. “As long as—you know: no pets.”

“Well . . . thanks,” muttered Josh. “I would like to. I definitely would.” He managed a smile. “So—I’ll see you tonight.”

Handing Lola’s leash to Erica, Barbara said, “Actually I might not see you tonight, because I’m going to the selectmen’s meeting to speak up for the wind turbine. But you can let yourself in. You’ll remember where the spare key is, this time?”

As Josh turned toward the staff bathroom, Erica said, “Wait a minute.” She grabbed a new Coastal Canine T-shirt from the pile on a shelf and handed it to him. “Change your shirt, too.”

In the bathroom, Josh leaned on the sink and looked into his bloodshot eyes. The kennel people were being so kind to him, it brought a lump to his throat. Even Uncle George had restrained himself from saying, “I could have told you what would happen if you roomed with Rick Johnson. A piece of work, always has been.” Although that might come later.

Josh still had to face Rune, he realized as he washed soot off his face and arms and changed out of his ripped, dirty T-shirt. With her Tarot cards, Rune had pegged him as the Fool, feather-headed, not even looking where he was going. She was right.

But when he joined Rune in the exercise pens, she only shook her head sympathetically. “I’ll put some aloe ointment on those scratches.”

Again Josh felt overwhelmed with gratitude. The day care dogs milled around him, nudging, licking, sniffing. Tucker shoved the rest of them aside and began cleansing Josh’s scratched arms with his tongue in a proprietary way.

 

 

 

 

i have had my ups and downs

But wotthehell wotthehell

Don Marquis, archy and mehitabel