Gaits of Heaven

struck me as primarily expressive rather than communicative: when India barked, she sometimes seemed less interested in frightening off intruders or in warning us of potential dangers than in voicing her observations of changes in the environment. I’ve noticed something new, she seemed to say. And I’m curious about it! If she perceived a threat, especially a threat to Steve, she sounded serious and even menacing rather than simply alert.
    But on the rare occasions when India growled, she meant business. A few seconds earlier, she’d been meandering around our little yard. Now, she faced the driveway and was approaching the wooden gate with slow, deliberate steps. Lady cowered next to her. I was less concerned about India than I was about Lady, who was clearly caught between the desire to flee and the equally strong wish to plaster herself to India, her powerful protector: Lady’s entire body trembled as if set in motion by the almost inaudible rumble emerging from India’s throat.
    “That will do,” I told India. “Enough. Whatever it is, it’s my job and not yours.” As I moved ahead of India to reach the gate, she obediently stopped growling, but I could now see that her lip was lifted and that her dark eyes were ablaze.
    It was typical of Steve’s horrible ex-wife to reply with an accusation: “You aren’t answering your phone!”
    “I have nothing to say to you,” I told Anita in what I hoped was a tone of calm control. I didn’t care what Anita thought of me, but I wanted to assure India and Lady that I had the power to keep the Fiend out of their lives. Although India had obeyed me, her intelligent face wore an expression of what I am forced to describe as skepticism.
    “We need to talk," Anita said loudly.
    “Go away.” I took pride in keeping my voice firm and quiet.
    “I don’t like yelling through this gate.”
    “Then don’t yell. Just go away.” If I’d been alone, I’d simply have gone into the house and ignored Anita, but I couldn’t bear to sink in India’s opinion. Ludicrous though it may sound, I wanted India—and Lady, too—to see that I could make Anita turn tail.
    “I have to undo the wrongs I’ve done,” said Anita, a sliver of whose face was now visible through the narrow gap between the gate and the fence. The statement sounded rehearsed.
    Peering at Anita, I realized with sudden and foolish embarrassment that the pooper-scooper was still in my hand. Indeed, my fingers were gripping its handle tightly, as if my body intended me to use it as a weapon. With as much dignity as I could summon, I rested the implement against the fence. “Down,” I told India. “Stay.” Then I unlatched the gate, slipped out, and latched the gate again.
    Anita looked as beautiful as ever: tall, slim, and elegant, with even features and long, silky blond hair. She wore a beige trouser outfit and simple gold jewelry.
    “Make it quick,” I said. “India and Lady are on the other side of that gate, and your presence is bothering them.”
    “I need to make up for hurting people,” she said.
    “And dogs?”
    “What?”
    “Dogs.”
    “You must be joking.”
    “How do you intend to make amends to Lady?”
    Anita nearly spat. Truly, I’m sure that her mouth filled with saliva. She settled for saying, “If I knew of some way to undo the pain I’ve caused you...”
    “You haven’t,” I said. “I don’t know why you’re targeting me, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen what you did to Steve. To Gabrielle. And to Lady, who couldn’t defend herself. I hope you rot in hell. I never want to see you near me or near our dogs again. If you aren’t off my property in exactly sixty seconds, I am calling the police.”
    As I’d hoped, Anita retreated. I returned to the yard and led India and Lady up the stairs to the house. To my surprise, Caprice was in the kitchen.
    “I couldn’t help overhearing some of that,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
    “Yes. If she shows up again, don’t let her in. That’s Steve’s ex-wife.”
    “Anita Fairley,” Caprice said.
    “Please sit down.” I pointed to a chair, took one directly across from it, rested my elbows on the table, and put my chin in my hands. For once, I didn’t offer coffee, tea, or food. Caprice was now directly across from me. I looked her straight in the eye. “Fairley,” I said. “No one here ever calls her Anita Fairley. We seldom mention her. When we do, we use her first name.”
    “Leah