Gaits of Heaven

out of line. But I can’t help noticing that the two of you are still living together. That’s a good sign, maybe. And we’ve mentioned decontamination. A fresh start. George, I honestly think that your perspective has changed and that you really are sorry. Barbara, I’m sure he really will never do anything like this again.”
    "Never,” said George. “Barbara, if there were anything I could do...”
    “Such as what? To the best of my knowledge, even the best intentions won’t restore life to the dead, George.“
    “What I’ve been wondering,” I said hesitantly, “is whether there’s a possibility of redemption. And room for some compromise. Barbara, maybe if you agreed to some new policy about the squirrels at your feeders. Tolerate them? Even feed them. And George, you just said that if there were anything you could do... well, I wonder whether the two of you might be able to think of something.”
    George said, “Barbara, you need new bird feeders. With baffles. And we can get squirrel feeders. It’s what I should’ve done instead.”
    Barbara looked eager to speak. The second George finished, she said with great emphasis, “Urban wildlife.” She paused and then repeated the phrase in a tone of surprise and wonder as if it were a treasure she had discovered and was eager to display. Look what I’ve found! Urban wildlife! “George, the urban wildlife groups always need volunteers. In fact, I’ve thought about volunteering, not just donating, but—”
    George rose from his bench, stood in front of Barbara, and held out both hands.
    She took them in hers. “We could,” she said. “We could both volunteer.” Tears were running down her cheeks. George began to sob.
    I know when to disappear. I did.
     

CHAPTER 47
     
    In my eagerness to give the reconciling couple the privacy they needed, I made straight for the steps to the deck. Only as I entered the family room did I realize that I’d given no thought to where I was going. In any case, I couldn’t stay where I was. Wyeth was slumped down in one of the big leather chairs, and Peter York, Missy Zinn, and Caprice were engaged in an intense discussion. As I passed through the room, I caught only fragments.
    ”…no reason the two of you ever need... ,” Missy was saying. Then Caprice spoke angrily about the trip to Russia that Ted and Wyeth were to take in July.
    It happens now and then that two dogs in the same household or kennel come to hate the sight of each other so violently that they must be kept completely apart. At a guess, this group would offer the recommendation that Caprice and Wyeth have no contact with each other. I gave the matter only a moment’s thought. My attention belonged elsewhere, as did I.
    By elsewhere, I refer, of course, to dogs and specifically to Sammy and Lady, who had suddenly started to make noise. Pointers can and do bark in the normal fashion usually rendered as woof-woof or ruff-ruff. Alaskan malamutes are capable of barking, but they also produce yips and growls and howls, weirdly feline purrs, and the long strings of syllables that malamute fanciers refer to as “talking” because intonation marks these utterances as assertions, questions, exclamations, interjections, or commands. The most characteristic malamute syllable, woo, attains its maximum aesthetic potential when emitted repeatedly and operatically in an ecstatic woo-woo-woo-woo\
    At the moment, Sammy was not delivering himself of the malamute Ode to Joy. He was speaking rather than singing, but I couldn’t tell what he meant. Somethings up, perhaps? Lady was adding high-pitched, nervous barks that expressed agitation, excitement, or fear. I was more puzzled than alarmed. Both dogs were crated. Steve’s van was locked. It was hard to imagine what was triggering the outburst. Another dog? Maybe a loose dog had decided to sniff around the van or even jump on it. In any case, the dogs needed to be quiet. Peter and Missy were already throwing me questioning glances.
    I hurried out of the family room and through the kitchen, where the prescribing physicians were meeting. Vee Foote was once again shaking a pill from a prescription bottle into her hand. “Dander,” she explained in a thick voice.
    “Vee, are you sure you’re not overdoing it?” Quinn Youngman asked. He began to say something about antihistamines.
    When I’d passed through the front hall and reached the porch, I paused for a second not only to put on my shoes but to prop