Free Brute Strength by Susan Conant Page B

Vanessa opened the gate to her yard and welcomed Sammy and me, one of the first things she said was, ‘Thank you for offering food. I hope that Avery told you how gracious it was of you.’
    â€˜Of course.’ I mean, what else could I say? That besides training her dog in the rudiments of good citizenship, Vanessa should have been instilling those fundamentals in her daughter? Not that any self-respecting malamute would’ve refused a pan of lasagne. ‘Sometimes in these situations, people are overwhelmed with food. And offers.’
    â€˜We’re not, really. It’s not as if Fiona had really been part of the family.’ She paused. ‘Even so. Well, distraction is the best medicine, isn’t it? Ulla, look who’s come to play with you!’
    Ulla hardly needed to have her attention directed to Sammy, who was wiggling and waggling all over and straining at his leash in response to her adorable play bow. Is that the cutest posture in dogdom? Front down, rear up, tail swishing back and forth? And that let’s-play gleam in the eye?
    Correctly reading my hesitation, Vanessa said, ‘Fully fenced. Gates closed. You are paranoid, aren’t you?’
    I smiled. ‘I’m very careful.’ Then I admitted the truth: ‘Careful to the point of paranoia.’ With that, I let Sammy loose. And the chase was on! Ulla zoomed away with Sammy after her, and when she veered around, he streaked ahead, doubled back, and ran a little circle around her. By city standards, Vanessa’s yard was big, more than twice the size of mine, long and narrow, so the dogs had the space they needed to run full tilt, and a beautiful sight they were, speeding down and back, around and around in great ovals. Vah-vah-vah-voom!
    Vanessa and I had the sense to stay out of the dogs’ way. At first, we stood with our backs almost pressed against the fence near the gate, but when the dogs had slowed down a bit, we moved to a patio at the back of the house, an area paved with bluestone where we took seats on wrought-iron chairs that matched a long rectangular table. Overhead was an iron structure, a trellis or pergola, I suppose, with vines that hadn’t yet leafed out. Just in back of us were glass doors to an expensive-looking kitchen, the kind that’s all granite and glass and stainless steel. The day was mild and sunny, so we were comfortable outdoors.
    â€˜I’ve always liked this house,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know the people who were here before you, but I’ve walked by it hundreds of times.’ Like Max Crocker’s house, Vanessa’s was gentrified working class, but it blended more smoothly than his did with the surrounding neighborhood. Like his, it was painted in a warm shade of pale yellow, but it retained its original porch and hadn’t gained the kinds of window frames and outdoor partitions that architects love to add.
    â€˜You’ve never been in it? We’ll have to give you the tour. It was all redone about ten years ago, and the kitchen was done all over again maybe five years ago. The third floor has apartment possibilities. I may do something about that. For my father. Or maybe Avery or Hatch. We’ll have to see what develops.’
    â€˜Ulla is going to ruin your yard,’ I said.
    â€˜Fair enough. It’s hers. But she’s not a big digger, and if she starts, I intervene. The yard is one of the reasons I bought this house. The fence is high enough, and it’s sort of a bonus that everything’s lawn and mulch with shrubs and trees by the fence. There aren’t any flower beds to excavate. Just look at the two them! Bats out of hell!’ My yard isn’t heaven, but it’s hardly hell. Vanessa must have seen my expression. ‘No offense meant! I just meant . . .’
    â€˜I know. And this chance to run hell for leather is exactly what Sammy needs. Leah takes Kimi running, and Steve usually takes