Potshot

Chapter 34

PEARL WAS AGING. Her muzzle was gray, her hearing was less acute, her eyesight wasn't as good as it used to be and her left front shoulder was arthritic, causing her to limp when she walked. But she was a hunting dog, and the genes persist. She could still track an open packet of peanut butter Nabs across any terrain.

"Not too much longer," Susan said, watching Pearl ease up onto the couch. "Pretty soon we'll have to boost her."

We were drinking Iron Horse champagne in Susan's living room. Tomorrow I was heading to Potshot and the farewell supper that Susan had made waited on the counter in her kitchen, blocked off by chairs. Pearl hadn't lost that much.

"We won't mind," I said.

"No," Susan said.

"What's for supper?"

She smiled.

"Do you ask out of eagerness or fear?"

"Just looking for information," I said.

"Lobster salad and corn."

"Native corn?"

"Yes, from Verrill Farm."

"Prepared by you?" I said.

"I bought the lobster salad," Susan said. "I was hoping you'd boil the corn."

Pearl didn't like the position she had assumed on the couch. She stood and turned around a couple of times and lay back down, as far as I could tell, in the same position, and sighed with relief.

"I already have to boost her onto the bed."

"Isn't she kind of heavy?" I said.

"Yes," Susan said.

Susan usually hung around the house in sweats that cost more than my suit, and looked better. But she had her own sense of occasion and tonight, because I was going away for awhile, she wore a little black dress, and pearls. Her arms and shoulders and neck were strong. Her makeup was perfect. Her face was dominated by her eyes. Her face hinted strongly at intelligence and heat.

Excellent combination.

"I heard somebody define heaven once," she said, looking at Pearl, "as a place where, when you get there, all the dogs you ever loved run to greet you."

"As good as any," I said.

She sipped her champagne. Pearl shifted a little on the couch and lapped her nose a couple of times.

"Do you think there's anything after death?" Susan said.

"Yikes," I said.

"No. Talk about it. Surely doing what you do, you've thought about it."

"As little as possible," I said.

"But you've thought about it."

"Sure."

"And?"

I took in a little champagne.

"There are some scientists," I said, "who've discovered an element of light that is faster than light."

"Einstein said that's not possible," Susan said.

"It arrives at the receiver before it leaves the transmitter," I said.

"What about cause and effect?"

I shrugged.

"Afterlife is no less implausible than anything else," I said. "All explanations of existence are equally incredible."

"So you might as well believe something that makes you feel good as not," Susan said.

"No harm to it," I said.

We were quiet, drinking champagne, looking at Pearl, who had fallen asleep.

"Well," Susan said, "we'll find out someday."

"Or we won't;" I said, "in which case we won't know it."

Susan's glass was empty. She held it out to me. I took the champagne from the ice bucket and poured her another dollop.

"I don't know whether you've cheered me up or depressed me," Susan said.

"If your feelings are inspired by Pearl's forthcoming demise, I can offer a less-complex solution."

"I know."

"Mourn for an appropriate time…" I said.

"And buy another brown German shorthair," Susan said, "and name her Pearl."

"Reincarnation," I said.

"Maybe I'm not just thinking about Pearl," Susan said.

"Is it Margaret that you mourn for?" I said.

"No," Susan said.

"Does it have anything to do with me leaving for Potshot tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Would drinking and eating and making love ease your concerns?" I said.

Susan smiled at me.

"Oddly enough," she said, "it would."

It made me feel pretty good, too.