To review: I had just driven sixteen hours, stopping in Manhattan long enough to make a bad impression. I hadn’t washed in days, or hardly slept, and had eaten very little on the road, none of it healthy. I had three and a half days’ growth of beard on my face, I could not remember when I’d last combed my hair, and (a new detail) I had spilled my last cup of coffee, leaving New Zealand–shaped stains on my shirt. I was about to meet a man I didn’t know—an accountant–slash–army vet, so probably very disciplined and tidy—and, in my state of dreck, I had to show him I was a respectable bloke. Ha.
I got out of the car and walked up the brick path past a red Ford pickup to the door. I saw no sign of a motorcycle. Maybe he’d moved on to a new hobby. When I rang the doorbell, a volley of high-pitched fierce barking erupted from the other side. Must be terriers? Jack Russells?
I heard a booming male voice calling off the dogs; then various doors opening and closing; the barking continued, muffled, and unhurried footsteps finally approached the door. Alex Craggs paused on the other side and took a moment before opening the door—maybe, like me, preparing his “greeting face.”
The door finally opened.
Beaming down at me through the screen door was a muscly and fair-haired bloke, grinning with a jocular smile worthy of a toothpaste advert. He was big—not as tall as Jay, but brawnier. Extremely clean-cut, smooth face and neat short hair, jeans and a button-down shirt opened at the collar. More Accountant than Army Vet. I realized I had been clenching all sorts of muscles because now I felt them all start to relax. This would be grand. We’d have a quick chat and then be off to get the dog. I’d even let her sleep in the same room with me tonight.
“Hello, there, sir,” said Alex Craggs, with a hint of some generic southern accent. He stared at me for a moment with glittering-bright green eyes. “You must be my new cousin-in-law. Want to come in?” He pushed opened the screen door. Those eyes—the one physical attribute he shared with Sara—did not leave off staring at me. I suppose he was noticing my strong resemblance to a homeless bum.
“Thanks,” I said, and held out my hand as I entered. “I’m Rory. Sorry we’re meeting under these strange circumstances.”
He shook my hand with a firm grip. Then he grinned, then laughed, then cuffed me on the shoulder. I couldn’t tell if it was a gesture of affection or aggression. “Yes, sir, they are strange circumstances, but I’ll tell ya, they’re not that strange,” he said in a friendly, comforting voice, and then without a beat immediately went on to say, “Certainly not as strange as Sara going off and marrying an undocumented foreign gentleman without even telling anyone about it.”
“That happened pretty fast,” I said, flustered.
“I’ll say.” He laughed like a friendly but all-powerful sheriff in a comedy western. “My jaw just about dropped to the floor when she told me about you a few hours ago.”
I decided not to say the feeling was mutual. His energy was so big, I felt almost pinned to the tiled wall of the foyer.
“I understand your marriage had something to do with . . . placating certain governmental agencies.” His gaze was piercing and his voice loud, as if he wanted to be overheard by his neighbors. I was clueless how to interpret his tone—it could as easily have been approval for beating the bureaucracy as condemnation for trying to scam Uncle Sam. I should have acknowledged the statement and followed up immediately with a tribute to how madly in love with Sara I was. If I’d done that, the whole evening might have gone so differently. But I could not convince any of my speaking-aloud neurons to fire, which is quite the rarity with me, as you might have heard. I just stared at him, taking in his bigness.
“Well, make yourself at home,” he said. He gestured vaguely to the open-plan innards of the house. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“I’d love a glass of water, thanks.”
“Yes, sir, glass of water coming right up. Have a seat.” We crossed the carpeted living room to the kitchen area, and the barking began again behind a door down the hall. Alex ignored it. He gestured toward the kitchen table. Everything about this house was perfectly normal, like what you’d see on a television show depicting normal American suburban life. If a pretty wife and 2.54 healthy kids came around the corner at that moment, I would not have been surprised. His was a Neil Diamond sound track. Played very loud.
The barking dogs finally stopped barking, and after a final irritable scratch at the door, down the darkened hall, they were quiet. Cody never barked.
Alex set down a glass of water on the table. “Want some ice with that?” he asked, reaching for the freezer door of the humming white Frigidaire.
“No thanks,” I said. I considered making the frequent European jab about how Americans are obsessed with ice, but thought it would be sounder of me to wait till we knew each other’s humor first.
“You Europeans generally find the American obsession with ice a bit peculiar, don’t you?” he said, giving me a knowing look. What? Okay, that was weird. “Have you been in the States long enough to still hold that opinion?”
This was the kind of thing Sara had warned me about. If I acknowledged how long I’d been in America, he’d want to know why I had only now gotten a green card, and then he’d grill me about having been undocumented all those years. I actually forgot about my performance visas for a moment, and felt a flush of anxiety, the way I used to feel in the early days, coming through Immigration at Logan Airport.
“I’ve been ice-obsessed since childhood,” I said. “Had to swear off the stuff for health reasons.”
Alex burst into a loud and hearty laugh, far louder and heartier than my quip deserved. “All right, then, sir,” he said, still aggressively friendly. He pushed the glass of water in my direction. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
“It’s been a rough couple of days,” I said.
“Want to acquaint me with the circumstances under which our mutual friend Jonathan ended up in possession of the dog of contention?”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought Sara already told you everything.”
“Oh, yes, sir, she did,” he said. “I’m just seeking verification, want to make sure I’ve got the whole story straight.”
The smile was both entirely genuine and yet also a challenge. I could almost see how he and Jay would have hit it off, according to the principle of opposites attracting. It would have been a mash-up of alpha maleness, though. I wasn’t a contender in that ring. I relied on peppery impish charm. Peppery impish charm flies right under the alpha male radar.
“Well . . . I first met him in a park in Boston,” I said. “I walked Cody every day and there was a group of regulars we got to know. One of them was Jay.”
“You’re saying that my cousin’s ex, who had bought her that very dog and was heartbroken when she took the dog away with her, just happened to be one of these regulars?”
That detail had been niggling at me. “Yes,” I said. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence. He had moved to the area recently, and now I wonder if he moved there because he somehow knew it was where Sara and the dog would be.”
“Yes, sir, I think you’re right about that,” said Alex Craggs. He was still talking as if he wanted his neighbors to overhear, but maybe that was just his normal speaking voice. “I happen to know he was aware she had moved to Jamaica Plain because I’m the one who told him that, back before I understood how desperate she was to break all ties with him. I didn’t realize what a schemer he was, because like a lot of schemers, he’s really charismatic. I mean, despite myself, I still like the guy, even after what he did. But I’m feeling a little bit responsible for what’s happened here.”
I laughed, pained. “I promise you, you’re not to blame. It’s all on me.”
“No, sir, I am a part of the bigger picture. Not saying that makes me guilty but it sure doesn’t mean I’m innocent. Anyhow let’s get back to the park.”
“I don’t really have much else to say,” I said, not wanting to get into the chocolate cake incident.
“He somehow won your trust,” Alex said meaningfully.
“Yes,” I said, realizing I was going to have to get into the chocolate cake incident.
“How?”
I told him about the chocolate cake incident. Including my theory that Jay had orchestrated it.
Alex grimaced, agreeing. “That guy always knows how to get what he wants.”
“Sure. So I really appreciate your helping me to get her back.”
He grimaced again. “Well, hold on now,” he said. “I didn’t say I was going to do that.”
What?
“What?” I said, more calmly than I was thinking it.
“I love Sara, but just because she’s my cousin doesn’t mean her interests here come first.”
“Oh,” I said, alarmed. In fairness, she had warned me about that.
“This is not about Sara. This is about Cody. Cody’s well-being comes first. Obviously.”
Right, so he really was Sara’s kinsman, if he put the dog ahead of his own cousin. I nodded agreement but kept my mouth shut.
“And more than that,” he continued, enjoying himself, “I need to get up to speed on you, my friend. I’m sure you can appreciate that this is all a lot to take on, and I need to be informed so I can act with integrity. So. Here’s what is going to happen. Earlier today, right after I got off the phone from Sara, I called Jonathan—”
“You what?”
“—and told him what he stood accused of, to hear his side of the story.”
“You what?” I repeated. “Why? Did you think Sara was lying to you?”
He held his hands out in a pacifying way. “No, sir, but a man’s got a right to clear his name. Just wanted to hear what he had to say for himself. He told me why he felt entitled to the dog, and explained how he went about getting her. I told him that his modus operandi was clever, but it was also rotten and underhanded. Now that I’ve heard his side of things, and Sara’s, too, I want to make sure I can endorse your being the dog’s rescuer.”
I was incredulous. “What does that mean?”
He was clearly entertaining himself. He was playing petty tyrant, and found the whole thing hilarious. “You might be a fine man, but at the moment I don’t know that, I only have Sara’s word and, nothing against Jonathan, or you, but Sara does not always make smart choices when it comes to her men. And let’s be honest, now: she married you so you could get a green card, she came clean to me about that. After, what, a week? Ten days? So obviously, no offense, but I need to see for myself that you pass muster.” A big, knowing, neighborly grin. “If not, I will send you packing, and I’ve already told Sara as much.”
“I’m Sara’s husband, that should be enough!” I said. “What needs to happen here is that we go get the dog—and right now, before Jay disappears with her again. Why did you tell him I’m here?” I tried to stay cool, but it was fucking aggravating to learn I’d pushed myself hard to get here in stealth only to have my arrival heralded. “He’s probably left town already, we need to act now.”
“No, sir, we’re not going anywhere tonight,” said Alex pleasantly. “My turf, my rules. I need to suss you out first.”
“I just drove fourteen hours to get here for Sara’s sake. To fix a problem I freely admit is my fault. How much more do you really need to know about me?”
“As I said, this is about the dog,” said Alex, firm but avuncular. “First I need to know if she’d be in good hands with you.”
I was almost too tired to suppress the stream of invectives that wanted to come hurling out of my mouth. This was just pure and utter bollocks. “I’m taking her straight to Sara,” I said with deliberate calmness.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Alex, cheerily. “No offense, but you haven’t really demonstrated to me that you’re worth a gnat’s gonads yet.”
“We’ve got to get her, now that he knows I’m here!” I said angrily, and stood up. “We’ve got to get her now. He’ll disappear again!”
Alex stayed seated and comfortably, almost smugly, said, “Already got that covered. Jonathan gave me his word as a gentleman not to leave town, and to meet us tomorrow at noon at the Clubhouse to settle matters.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “And you believed him?”
“He assured me he understands the consequences of fucking me over and not honoring his word, and he knows what a good shot I am.”
That last bit shocked me; I’d forgot he’d been a soldier. “This is ridiculous,” I said to the ceiling. “Just tell me where he is. I’ll go on my own.”
“My prospect Plugger is over at Jonathan’s cabin right now keeping watch on him, and Jonathan is fine with that.”
“Your what?”
“My junior associate. Also I’ve got my brothers for dozens of miles in every direction on alert. He makes a run for it overnight, he is asking to get his ribs crushed. For starters.”
“Your brothers?”
“My biker brothers,” said Alex seriously, looking every inch the accountant. (Caveat: the very large accountant.) “So he’s not going anywhere. Neither are we. Got it?” His toothpaste-advert smile was almost manic. He was cracking up over this scenario. It was all a joke to him, I was just his amusement for the evening, saving him from a boring night of watching the telly. “Might as well settle in.”
I stubbornly stayed standing, but gave up arguing, since it was pointless. Suddenly the cacophony of frenzied yapping began again from behind a closed door down the hall. Alex stood, wandered over to the door, and opened it, his gaze cast downward. I looked as well, expecting scrappy, fiendish-looking little terriers. Instead, two bratwurst-shaped dogs came waddling with feverish speed out the door.
I had not been expecting dachshunds, I admit. They were so quirky and cute, it was hard to reconcile them with the bloke who’d just casually said he’d shoot Jay if he didn’t keep his word. These two dachshunds, like most dachshunds, wore slightly concerned expressions. They trotted briskly past Alex as if they had no need of him now that he’d opened the door, and made a beeline for me.
I temporarily, with effort, pushed aside my irritation with Alex. To demonstrate I was a dog person—as that seemed to be part of what he was looking for—I leaned down and offered each of the dachshunds the back of one hand. Their damp noses probed me, and then, having determined that I was a human, they looked up at me, wagged their whiplike tails, and barked approvingly. Cody, of course, would not have barked; she’d have flipped over onto her back and given me a hopeful, submissive look. I felt my diaphragm tense suddenly. I actually missed her.
“They’re cute,” I said, hoping that was an appropriate term.
“Why, thank you,” said Alex. He ambled to the kitchen sink and opened a cabinet above it. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s the two of us get better acquainted.” He took out a lidded mason jar, filled with a cloudy, light brown liquid. I could easily guess what that was. So. That’s how you proved what kind of man you were: You got plastered. I was Irish, so I knew all about that.
“All right now,” said Alex happily. He placed the jar on the table. “And let’s get some munchies.” He turned to the humming white refrigerator with decorative magnets stuck on, opened it, and took out an oval plate on which was preset a variety of sliced cheeses, all colored variations of what is called “American cheese.” (That’s because no other nation will claim responsibility for it.) There were also other snack foods, mostly lots of chopped veggies, and hummus, and a serving of that American oxymoron “jumbo shrimp.” After Sara’s phone call, Alex must have gone out and shopped especially for my arrival. I felt oddly flattered, and very grateful that I’d soon have real food in my belly. Also: this gesture probably meant that he wanted to like me. So the game should be mine to lose.
“There we are,” he said, setting the plate on the table. “I believe that should do us for a while.” He rubbed his hands together and planted himself in the creaky captain’s chair across from me.
Soon as he sat, the dachshunds lost interest in me and scrambled back across the floor to him. They looked up, a matched set, and he patted his broad thighs. In perfect synchronicity they leapt up onto his lap, landing one per thigh. They gazed at him as if for permission and then—again in hilarious unison—flopped onto their sides between his body and the wooden arms of the chair, so that they were cradled, and also cradling him. Granted Cody was bigger, but I couldn’t imagine even Sara having her dog on her lap while she was eating.
I looked at the food, grateful for the veggies and hummus. I didn’t know about that cheese, though. “Hey there, little cuties,” said Alex. He scratched each under its chin, and they both raised their heads to offer their necks. “Let’s get you guys taken care of first.” He reached over to the most fluorescent of the cheeses, tore the top square in half, then in half again, and offered a quarter of it each to the dogs, who licked their lips like starving orphans, eyes upraised solemnly. “There you go, snuggle bunnies.”
For a moment I thought he was speaking a foreign language, saying something that just happened to sound like “snuggle” and “bunnies,” because “snuggle bunny” was not the kind of word I’d expect from a big boisterous man like Alex. But there he was, saying “snuggle bunnies.” To some dogs. This man was definitely related to Sara. If he was a softy with his dogs, then he was a softy, period. Probably in Iraq he’d had a desk job or something; stupid of me not to realize that sooner.
“All right now,” said Alex, looking up. He reached for the moonshine. “Here’s a little homemade North Carolina truth serum to get the ball rolling. You’re probably not used to drinking out of a jar.”
“As a matter of fact,” I said, eager to gab my way to charming him, “there was a pub in Dublin called the Diggers, beside a graveyard, and all the gravediggers would come in on break, for a pint, but then take the glasses back out to the graveyard with them and leave them there, and the pub owner got tired of his glasses always going missing, so he started using jam jars so it wouldn’t be so costly, and that became the vessel of choice and now we say we’re ‘goin’ for a jar.’”
I’d said it all in one sentence because I had a feeling he would start talking over me if I didn’t. But it made me sound nervous. Then I realized that, in fairness, I was a little nervous. The man was waving moonshine under my nose and expecting me to drink it so he could get to know my character—I, who was such an unreliable character when I got lit. ’Course I was nervous. A bit.
He pulled his chin in, interested in my anecdote. Briefly. “Really? I like that story. We’re going to share this jar. Made this batch myself.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Apple-pie flavored,” he added. “With cinnamon.”
“Doubly wow,” I said. “But, sorry, I don’t drink.”
If I had said, “I don’t breathe oxygen,” or “I don’t eat solid food,” he’d have given me about the same look. This explained why Jay had been agreeable to the arrangement. Jay knew I didn’t drink—hadn’t I said so in his very home? That wasn’t gospel, but still, he knew Alex would measure me in part by how much I could put away.
“An Irishman who refuses to drink with his host?” Alex said with a delighted yet incredulous laugh. “Ha! I gotta tell you, brother, that’s just going to raise suspicions here, not relieve them any.” He was mightily amused by all of this.
Fuck.
I took a deep breath of both resignation and determination. But as I began to reach out for the jar, Alex pushed it aside. He stared at me for a moment with Sara’s intense green, dark-lashed, almond-shaped eyes. It was disorienting to see those eyes in such a different face. God, I missed her. I had to get her dog back safely. “Well, all right, then, sir,” he said. “We’ll ease our way in. You with me?”
I nodded once. I bet Jay had already hightailed it out of town and how the fuck was I ever going to find him now?
“This your first time in the South?” Alex asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, welcome. A lot of us are descended from a lot of you. Natural affinity. Which is interesting ’cuz there’s actually a lot in common historically, too.”
“Is there?”
“Sure,” he said. “What you guys call the Troubles over there in Northern Ireland? Just like the Civil War.”
“Really?” I said in a neutral voice, pretty certain that was bollocks.
“Oh, yeah. There are those who will tell you that the Civil War was all about slavery, but that’s just bullshit.”
Oh, fuck.