Polly hands Ruby a cup of water. Rests her other hand on Ruby’s back, rubs it a little, like a mother might rub the back of a heartbroken child. “I wish it hadn’t been so.”
Ruby nods. She’s got the Hitchhiker, whose name is actually Cross Cut Roundelay, on her lap and the dog is pressing herself into Ruby as if she is trying to hide. Ruby is getting no vibes from her, no thoughts, no scents or images. It’s as if hearing her real name has broken the spell. She’d cocked her head when Polly said her name, Roundelay. Daughter of Champion Cross Cut Roundabout by Champion Cross Cut Round Robin out of Champion Delta Dickens. The Hitchhiker, as Ruby will continue to call her until the moment the dog is wrested from her care, is not a champion. All of this Polly has gotten from the dog’s breeder in a six-minute phone call. Polly had made the call immediately, and Ruby knew that it was the old rip-the-band-aid method of getting it over with rather than anything more protracted. In a less than charitable notion, she wondered briefly if Polly was throwing up a deterrent against Ruby running off with the dog. Now the breeder knows who has her.
“What happens next?” Ruby crumples the paper cup. Tells herself to pull herself together and does.
“I don’t have the budget to drive all the way across the state to deliver the dog so I’m not sure.”
“Across the state? I thought someone local had her.”
“Yes, she was here in Harmony Farms, but the breeder…” Polly checks the note in her hand. “Mrs. Cross.” She pauses. “Huh, hence the Cross Cut kennel name. The breeder is in Stockbridge. Well, Mrs. Cross will have to arrange something.”
This gives Ruby a flicker of something that’s not quite hope. “But she will stay with me until such time. Right.” Not a question.
Polly nods. “I don’t see why not.” But even as she says it, Polly grasps Ruby by the wrist. “And you’ll be staying in Harmony Farms until such time. Right.”
Ruby has been a professional liar for so many years she knows that she can lie, even to this friend of hers, and not only be believed, but not even feel badly about it. But there is something else that keeps her from lying to Polly and bolting for parts unknown. Her FedEx package. “I will.”
If the package with her file arrives before the breeder can arrange for the Hitchhiker to be picked up, well then, all promises are null and void.
The Hitchhiker is as subdued as Ruby and doesn’t even sniff at the shrubbery as they head to the van. She hops in, jumps onto the bench seat, circles three times and tucks her nose under her tail as if exhausted by far more than a visit to the vet. Ruby wishes she could curl up beside her there. Instead she grinds the gearshift into reverse and pulls away without saying anything more to Polly.
Ruby holes up for the rest of the day in her van, now back in its spot in Bull’s side yard. Despite the warmth, she keeps the door shut and puts the screens in the sliding windows to catch the breeze. She shuffles and reshuffles her second-best set of tarot cards but doesn’t lay them out. She googles Cross Cut Cavaliers. The Hitchhiker leans over her shoulder as she studies the charming images of adult dogs and the adorable ones of puppies. The dog woofs softly, acknowledging the photographs in the same way she identifies dogs in television programs. Ruby doesn’t for a single moment entertain the notion that the dog is recognizing individuals as her littermates or her parents. She always barks at pictures of animals. Ruby clicks on the contact button, pulls down the email address, a phone number. Polly didn’t say anything about not talking to Mrs. Cross. In her role as dog officer, of course Polly would assume that she would be the contact person. What if? Ruby sits back and the Hitchhiker climbs onto her lap. What if she pleads her case to the breeder directly? Would a woman with a name like Cross be receptive to Ruby’s heartwarming tale of falling in love with this dog? For, Ruby realizes, that is exactly what has happened. With the exception of her family, this is the only sentient being Ruby can honestly say she loves.
Ruby’s cell phone chimes, pulling her away from her thoughts. Sabine calling a day earlier than usual. Their conversations tend to occur on Sunday nights, just before the kids are bustled off to bed. What Sabine calls that golden hour between intensive weekend activity and starting to think about what needs to happen in the upcoming week. She never sounds exasperated.
Sabine, never one for prevarication, jumps right in. “I’m getting a pretty strong sense that all is not well. Are you okay?”
“I love it when you think of me.”
“Mom, what’s going on? I keep getting vibes about discovery. But today I’m hit with a sense of loss.” Sabine must be really concerned; she almost never addresses Ruby as “Mom.”
“You are very good at what you are. How’s Molly coping with her new skills?”
“Stop. Talk.”
The Hitchhiker shoves her head under Ruby’s chin, kisses her cheek. “Something wonderful and something not so much. There is a file with my name, well, my old name, on it winging its way to me here from Sacred Heart, and Polly Schaeffer, my friend the dog officer, has discovered that my dog…”—yes, the Hitchhiker is her dog—“is supposed to go back to her breeder because the person who had her died.” Ruby feels herself choke on the words and isn’t sure she’s actually gotten them out of her mouth.
There is a pause, a breath. “Okay, first things first. What’s in the file?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to find, except that it might bring me a little closer to understanding how it is that we all have this, for lack of a better word, talent.”
“Okay. Second thing. Can’t you just keep the dog? I know how much she means to you.”
Over the weeks the dog has been in her life, Ruby has sent Sabine and the kids pictures of her posing in front of the van, or in the van, curled up. Sitting in the passenger seat like she’s giving directions. Bright eyed and photogenic. Sabine once remarked, a little acerbically, that she could never recall Ruby ever having taken so many candids of her. Ruby reminded Sabine that cameras weren’t quite as handy in those days, and film was expensive. “You’re right. I’m going to talk to the breeder myself. It’s just that I’m afraid that my lifestyle might not work for her.”
Another pause, another beat. Ruby knows where this will go. Any time that Ruby encounters a difficulty, or makes a complaint about something, Sabine’s default is to say Stop. Stop traveling; stop being the roaming fortune-teller. Stay put. Stay here. Maybe this time she’ll say yes.
Indeed, Sabine does say, “You know the answer to that problem. Listen, I don’t have any advice, but I’m here if you want to talk. Well, actually we’re heading out to dinner with friends, but you know what I mean.”
“I do. And, Beenie, thank you for calling. For knowing that something was off kilter. You really don’t have to worry about me, but I’m glad you do.”
“Let me know what you actually find out from the file. After all, whoever she was, your mother was my grandmother.”
“Did I say that’s what I was hoping for?”
“You didn’t have to.”
It is so warm that Ruby just throws a light sheet over herself and settles on the bench seat without unfolding it into a proper bed. She’s short enough that she can stretch out. Despite the heat, the dog is beside her and Ruby falls asleep stroking her soft fur.
In the dream Ruby is waiting for the arrival of a Greyhound bus. She is in a cavernous space, and she needs to find the right dock. She is walking down the middle of a ramp. She is a young girl and is wearing tattered Keds on her feet. Bus after bus pass her by, stopping and disgorging its passengers. Ruby doesn’t know who she’s meeting but knows that none of these people, all of whom are dressed in business attire, is the one. Finally a bus moves past her, close enough she feels a draft of air. Suddenly she has to run, desperate to catch the fast-moving vehicle. She knows that this is the right bus. That whoever gets off of it will be the one she is looking for. She is out of breath, running with arms flailing, Keds falling off her feet. The bus comes to a stop. Masses of people debark, more than any real bus could ever hold. Ruby approaches the door and it closes with a snap. The dream Ruby bangs on it and it creaks open. Standing on the stairs is a woman’s shape. Faceless, it drifts toward Ruby, glides over her. Vanishes.
Ruby wakes in a sweat. Gathers herself, grabs the glass of water she’s set on the table. Says out loud, “If I were an interpreter of dreams, I’d have to say that one was pretty significant. Although…” She strokes the dog, who is clearly puzzled at this midnight wakefulness. “It was a pretty trite one.” She slips back under the sheet, closes her eyes, and hopes that her mother will begin to take a more substantial shape once that file arrives.
It had been such a good day yesterday, at least until Polly showed up with her disheartening news, that Ruby decides she’ll spend the next couple of days at the Dew Drop. She can use a shower and a change of scenery. She knocks on Bull’s back door to thank him and let him know where she will be and asks if she can come back on Tuesday just to wait for her package. Tuesday being optimistic, she knows.
Boy pushes past Bull’s legs to get outside to greet the Hitchhiker. Noses meet, tails swish, the little dog practically crawls under the big one to gain the best sniffing advantage. Greetings accomplished, they bound off to where the edge of Bull’s property meets the scrubby woods.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Great,” Bull says, scrapes his Red Wing boot against the step trying to dislodge something. “I heard what happened, what Polly did.”
“She’s only doing her job, Bull. I don’t blame her.”
“She’s pretty upset by all of it.”
Ruby shrugs. “Yeah. Me too.”
With an awkward but gentle pat on her shoulder, Bull conveys his sympathy and Ruby finds herself comforted by his shy gesture. “When I was going through a rough patch, back when the boys were little, Polly was very good to them, to me.” Bull coughs, reaches for a cigarette, and then thinks better of it.
“I’m not mad at Polly. She’s still my friend.” Ruby is just going to try to avoid her for as long as possible, but she doesn’t say that.
Ravi was thrilled to see her back, and also offered his thoughts on Polly’s actions.
“How did you know?” Is Ravi a psychic as well as a concierge?
He gives her one of his sweet smiles and laughs. “Polly has been talking to anyone and everyone. I heard it at the coffee shop from Carrie Farr.”
Ravi bends over to give the Hitchhiker a pat. “You should see if you can keep her. She belongs to you.”
“She does.” As if they have agreed to a pact, Ruby sticks out her hand to shake on it. Ravi takes hers and then covers it with his other hand. “Go for it.”
If everyone seems to think this will work, who is she to believe otherwise? Even if her own psychic senses are telling quite another story.
A long shower beforehand soothes away the tension from Ruby’s shoulders. When she comes out of the tiny bathroom, the dog is ensconced on the bed, always happy to be at the Dew Drop. “Okay, no more waiting. Let’s make a call.” The dog’s feathery tail beats an encouraging tattoo on the coverlet.
The kennel may be located in the last town in Massachusetts, but it is not all that far if she thinks about it. Sixty, seventy-five miles, if that, from where she is now. A couple hours’ drive. What if, instead of making her case over the phone, Ruby just showed up? Presented herself as the dog’s best option. There’s no way that file folder with her history is going to show up before Tuesday, at best. If she started now, she could be there and back by dinner tonight. Assuming the Westie holds together.
A dark vision clouds her mind. A long drive home without the dog.