any other emergency ward. There was none. Nothing but a gashed chin when he was five and, of course, the incarcerated hernia operation last year.
But Barbara Nelms knew—as the surgeon, Dr. Mainwaring, had told her—that the whole hernia affair had been as routine as routine could be.
7
Suzanne Cole and her six-year-old daughter, Jennifer, shared an isolated, narrow two-story north of town with a fat, yellow cat named Gulliver (“… because,” Jennifer explained, “he likes to travel”) and a black Labrador retriever who seemed oblivious to any name.
The rooms in the modest place were cluttered and warm. Snow shoes, ski poles, tennis rackets, and even a pair of old stethoscopes hung on the smoke-darkened pine walls, interspersed with prints and original oils representing all manner of styles. There was a Franklin stove in the living room and a loom in one of the back bedrooms, as well as a battered spinet (“Mommy used to play a lot, but now she can only play ‘Deep Purple’ ”) and dozens upon dozens of books.
The spaghetti dinner, Zack had been proudly informed, was largely Jennifer’s creation, and she served it with a charm and enthusiasm that made almost as deep an impression on him as did her mother. She was a tall girl for her age, with an elegant nose, straight auburn hair that hung midway down her back, and Suzanne’s magical eyes and smile. She talked of school and animals and ballet, and seemed quite pleased to show off her collections of rocks and stuffed animals.
In return, Zack had promised to introduce her to Cheapdog and to teach her to fly his radio-controlled plane. He even completed a relatively smooth, Italian-style thumb palm and transfer, although when he was finished, Jennifer had smiled earnestly and said, “That one could use a little more practice, Zack. I could see the coin.”
By dessert—chocolate brownies with ice cream—what self-consciousness he had arrived with had long since vanished, and he found himself feeling more like a friend of the family than a guest.
If there was an uncomfortable edge to the evening at all, it was due to Suzanne, who seemed, at times, distant, distracted,and content to let Jennifer keep the conversation afloat.
But unwilling to find any fault with the woman, Zack read into her mood swings an introspection and vulnerability that only made her that much more interesting and attractive.
She was returning to the table with some coffee when Jennifer hopped up and announced that she was leaving to watch
M*A*S*H
and wash her hair.
“There’s only one thing that troubles me,” the girl said as she shook Zack’s hand.
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s your dog. I’ve heard of sheep dogs, but never a name like Cheapdog.”
“Well,” Zack said, “they’re sort of the same thing.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Suzanne stop and lean against the wall, watching. “You see, I was walking on the beach one morning in a place called San Diego. Do you know where that is?”
“In California?”
Zack nodded. “They have a great zoo out there and a killer whale who does advanced calculus and prepares his own tax returns. Well, there was this man on the beach—he was Mexican, but he was sort of … sleazy. Do you know that word? Well, it means, like, sneaky. Not all Mexicans are that way, by any means, but this guy sure was.
“Anyhow, there he was, with this big cardboard box, and in the box were a bunch of puppies—scruffy little mongrel puppies. He reached in and pulled this little fur ball up by the back of the neck. Like this. And hé held him up for me to see.
“ ‘Señor,’ he said, ‘how would you like to buy this leetle fellow. I geeve you my word, señor, he is purebred, ol’ Een-gleesh cheapdog. His papers are een my safe at home. Buy him now, and I breeng them to you tomorrow. Si?’”
“That means yes,” Jennifer said.
“Si.”
“And you said? …”
“Si.” The three of them said the word together,
But Barbara Nelms knew—as the surgeon, Dr. Mainwaring, had told her—that the whole hernia affair had been as routine as routine could be.
7
Suzanne Cole and her six-year-old daughter, Jennifer, shared an isolated, narrow two-story north of town with a fat, yellow cat named Gulliver (“… because,” Jennifer explained, “he likes to travel”) and a black Labrador retriever who seemed oblivious to any name.
The rooms in the modest place were cluttered and warm. Snow shoes, ski poles, tennis rackets, and even a pair of old stethoscopes hung on the smoke-darkened pine walls, interspersed with prints and original oils representing all manner of styles. There was a Franklin stove in the living room and a loom in one of the back bedrooms, as well as a battered spinet (“Mommy used to play a lot, but now she can only play ‘Deep Purple’ ”) and dozens upon dozens of books.
The spaghetti dinner, Zack had been proudly informed, was largely Jennifer’s creation, and she served it with a charm and enthusiasm that made almost as deep an impression on him as did her mother. She was a tall girl for her age, with an elegant nose, straight auburn hair that hung midway down her back, and Suzanne’s magical eyes and smile. She talked of school and animals and ballet, and seemed quite pleased to show off her collections of rocks and stuffed animals.
In return, Zack had promised to introduce her to Cheapdog and to teach her to fly his radio-controlled plane. He even completed a relatively smooth, Italian-style thumb palm and transfer, although when he was finished, Jennifer had smiled earnestly and said, “That one could use a little more practice, Zack. I could see the coin.”
By dessert—chocolate brownies with ice cream—what self-consciousness he had arrived with had long since vanished, and he found himself feeling more like a friend of the family than a guest.
If there was an uncomfortable edge to the evening at all, it was due to Suzanne, who seemed, at times, distant, distracted,and content to let Jennifer keep the conversation afloat.
But unwilling to find any fault with the woman, Zack read into her mood swings an introspection and vulnerability that only made her that much more interesting and attractive.
She was returning to the table with some coffee when Jennifer hopped up and announced that she was leaving to watch
M*A*S*H
and wash her hair.
“There’s only one thing that troubles me,” the girl said as she shook Zack’s hand.
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s your dog. I’ve heard of sheep dogs, but never a name like Cheapdog.”
“Well,” Zack said, “they’re sort of the same thing.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Suzanne stop and lean against the wall, watching. “You see, I was walking on the beach one morning in a place called San Diego. Do you know where that is?”
“In California?”
Zack nodded. “They have a great zoo out there and a killer whale who does advanced calculus and prepares his own tax returns. Well, there was this man on the beach—he was Mexican, but he was sort of … sleazy. Do you know that word? Well, it means, like, sneaky. Not all Mexicans are that way, by any means, but this guy sure was.
“Anyhow, there he was, with this big cardboard box, and in the box were a bunch of puppies—scruffy little mongrel puppies. He reached in and pulled this little fur ball up by the back of the neck. Like this. And hé held him up for me to see.
“ ‘Señor,’ he said, ‘how would you like to buy this leetle fellow. I geeve you my word, señor, he is purebred, ol’ Een-gleesh cheapdog. His papers are een my safe at home. Buy him now, and I breeng them to you tomorrow. Si?’”
“That means yes,” Jennifer said.
“Si.”
“And you said? …”
“Si.” The three of them said the word together,
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