All I Ever Wanted(102)

“Thank you, Poodle,” he said, tears in his own eyes. “Thank you for never giving up on me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IT WAS FULLY DARK when I left the funeral home, as we’d all ordered celebratory pizzas and started planning the wedding.

The night was cold…cold enough for frost, maybe. A thin slice of moon hung in the sky, and leaves rustled and fell from the trees as I walked down the hill. I checked my phone. No messages. I wasn’t sure what that meant regarding Ian and me, but as I said earlier—time for wild monkey make-up sex. Heck, if my parents could get together after all that, Ian and I could certainly get past this bump. I’d just nip home, check on Noah and Bowie, throw on some slutty underwear, then trundle out to Bitter Creek Road.

The lights of Georgebury were dark, as the sidewalks rolled up around 8:00 p.m. The Whoop & Holler showed signs of life, but the other storefronts were dark. Only Green Mountain Media had its lights on. Mark was still there. I could see his dark head in the window as he sat at his desk in the apex of our iron-shaped building.

I stopped, looking up at the office, the light golden and inviting. And then, just like that, I decided. Tomorrow, I was giving notice.

It was time.

A weight lifted from my heart. Yes. It was definitely time. I’d find something else soon enough. Could even start my own business, maybe, or help Noah for a few months ’til another opportunity presented itself. But it was time to cut whatever tattered strings kept me near Mark. He’d been in my life forever, always clouding the waters one way or the other, and finally…finally!…I was sick of it.

“What do you say to that, Michelle?” I asked aloud. The First Lady didn’t answer, but that was okay. I didn’t need her voice of reason when I’d finally found my own.

When I got home, Noah’s truck was in its customary space. As I went into the kitchen, I snapped on the light…the house was pitch black. And quiet. Where was my doggie? He usually greeted me at the door, alerted to my presence at the first whisper of my footsteps, quivering in joy. Tonight, though, there was nothing.

“Bowie?” I called. “Mommy’s home, buddy!”

There was only silence.

“Noah?” I said. My voice seemed to echo.

He must be out with Jody, I thought. And he took Bowie, that’s all.

But bile rose in my throat. My purse slipped from my suddenly sweaty hand. “Bowie?” My voice was quavery and weak.

Then came a small sound. It’s probably Noah, Betty Boop said. He’s in his bedroom with Jody, and they’re having geriatric sex, so make a lot of noise.

But I knew it wasn’t that.

The sound came again, a small, keening cry. It was my dog.

Turning on every light as I walked, my legs wobbling—because I knew, I already knew—I made my way through the kitchen, the great room. Then, my hands shaking violently, I opened the door to the workshop. Bowie whined again, louder now.

My hand hesitated as I reached for the light switch. I was absolutely certain I didn’t want to see what was in here. Without turning the overhead light on, I stepped into the workshop. I knew the way, after all.

“Grampy?” I whispered. Bowie’s tail thudded against the floor, the only answer.

Slowly, carefully, I made my way to the worktable in the corner and then, after a moment’s hesitation, turned on the old copper light. Its gentle light was more than enough to show what I already knew I’d see.

My grandfather sat in his old recliner, Bowie lying at the foot of the chair. My dog’s tail thumped once, but he didn’t get up.

Noah’s eyes were closed. More than ever, he resembled a skinny Santa Claus, the white beard and hair, the gentle, capable hands. Without his customary scowl, his face was sweeter and more relaxed. Those lines around his eyes…they were laugh lines. My grandfather had a wonderful smile. He’d always tried to pull off that grumpy old man persona, but I’d never bought it—not really. A person couldn’t hide a good heart, no matter how hard he tried.

He really looked as if he were sleeping. Such a cliché, but reassuring, because even though I’d grown up in a funeral home, I’d always been afraid of the dead.

Bowie whined again. “You’re such a good boy,” I whispered. “Such a good dog, Bowie.”

I covered Noah’s cold, stiff hand with my own and knelt by the chair, hot tears slipping down my face. He must’ve been here for a while, because the shop was chilly, no fire hissing in the woodstove. It was so quiet. “Oh, Noah,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Don’t be an idiot, I could almost hear him saying.

“Mom and Dad are back together,” I told my grandfather, my voice wobbling. “So you don’t need to worry about your son anymore, okay? And I’ll look after Freddie. He’ll be fine. He’s just young. He’s growing up, though. I know he’ll make you proud.”

I thought of my grandmother, the love of Noah’s life. Thought of Mr. Morelock and my uncle Remy, gone for so long. I hoped they were there for Noah. I was so glad I got to live with him and tease him and help him. Glad he’d found a little fun with Jody in his last weeks. Glad he died out here in the shop he loved so well, working until his last day, because an old Vermont Yankee wouldn’t want it any other way. Glad my excellent dog had been here, because Noah had so loved Bowie.