Melancholy Baby

14

I called Richie on his cell phone. “I have to go out of town for a few days,” I said. “Could you take Rosie?”

“Sure, bring her over,” Richie said. “It’s time for my custody days, anyway.”

I didn’t want to bring her over. I didn’t want to encounter my replacement.

“You’re in Marblehead now?”

“Yep. You need the address?”

I knew the address.

“Yes,” I said. “You’d better give it to me.”

He did.

“Are you coming out now?”

“Yes. Be there in an hour.”

“Okay,” Richie said. “I’ll wait for you.”

I knew why he was waiting, so I wouldn’t have to leave Rosie with his new wife, whom I’d never even met. Maybe she wouldn’t be there.

It took less than an hour, through the Ted Williams Tunnel and up Route 1A. I got there early. Richie had a big house up in the rocks with a view of the ocean. I had never been there. Whenever Rosie visited, Richie had always picked her up on his way home. I drove past the house and U-turned and parked where Rosie and I could look at the ocean near Preston Beach. I had left home at 9:15. It was now only ten minutes to ten. I would have died before I would have arrived in less than an hour. There were twenty-five minutes to kill. The day was brisk and sunny with some wind. The water looked bright and cold. Rosie had gotten down on the floor and curled up tightly, near the heater vent, and gone to sleep. A couple gulls lingered in the air above the interface of beach and ocean. There were always gulls.

At 10:13, I put the car in gear and backed out and drove to Richie’s house. At 10:17, I was parked at the top of his steep driveway. I felt as if my soul had fallen into something bottomless. Rosie knew where she was and pranced as we went to the front door, with her tail wagging very fast. When Richie opened the door, she was ecstatic and did several bull terrier spins. Behind Richie was a slender blonde woman. The blonde crouched down, and Rosie rushed over and squeaked a little. The blonde put her face down, and Rosie lapped it. Squeaks and a lap — Sweet Jesus!

“Sunny, this is my wife, Kathryn,” Richie said. “Kathryn, Sunny Randall.”

Kathryn stood. Christ, I thought, she looks like me. We shook hands.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” Kathryn said.

“And it’s lovely to meet you,” I said.

I hated her with every strand of DNA in my being. And, of course, she knew it.

“Would you care for a house tour?” Kathryn said. “We’ve just done some rehab upstairs.”

“I’d love to,” I said. “But I have to catch a plane to Chicago.”

“Oh, well, next time.”

“Sure,” I said.

“We’ll take good care of Rosie,” Kathryn said. “She’s a wonderful dog.”

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t she.”

Richie’s face had no expression. Rosie was on the couch now, lying on her back, with her short legs in the air. I went over and sat for a moment and rubbed her stomach and bent over and gave her a kiss.

“You be a good girl,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Rosie wagged her tail. I stood.

“I should be back by Friday,” I said. “I’ll call.”

“Rosie is always welcome,” Kathryn said.

“Thanks, Kathryn,” I said. “It’s been great meeting you.”

We shook hands again. I gave Richie a kiss on the cheek and left.

Kathryn seemed very nice. Richie loved her. And Rosie liked her. How bad could she be?

I drove to the airport, parked in the garage, and got a 1:30 flight to Chicago. I passed the two-hour flight thinking about ways to kill Kathryn without getting caught.