Gaits of Heaven

Caprice and Dolfo.
    “Caprice, run!” I screamed. “Get out of the way! Run!”
    I had a clear view of the driver: Wyeth Green. Even if he somehow hadn’t seen Caprice and Dolfo, he’d have heard my desperate warning in time to put on the brakes. As it was, he ran that gigantic car into Caprice. His expression left no doubt that he had deliberately hit her. By the time he came to a halt, I was banging on the driver’s side window of the monstrous vehicle, which reminded me all too much of a hearse: long, wide, black, and deathly.
    I'm unsure of the exact sequence of my next actions, and my memory of the details has a weirdly kaleidoscopic quality. I wrenched open the car door and must have thrown myself on top of Wyeth as I made sure that the transmission was in park and as I yanked the key out of the ignition. Logic suggests that I first prevented the car—and its driver—from doing further harm and only then knelt on the cobblestones next to Caprice, who lay in a fetal position and was groaning in pain. Amazingly, she retained a tight grip of Dolfo’s leash. I took it from her.
    “It’s just my knee. I’ll be okay,” she managed to say. “Dolfo broke my fall. I fell on him. Is he all right?”
    I remember that Dolfo was leaning over Caprice and licking her face. I had to push him aside, perhaps before she spoke, perhaps after. I have a vivid image of the front wheels, the massive tires, and the oversized chrome bumper of the car, and of Caprice on the beautiful stone paving only a few feet away.
    “He’s fine.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
    I know that she told me that she didn’t need one. “I just have to catch my breath,” she said.
    After that, the sequence is clear to me.
    A small beige sedan pulled off the street and parked behind my Blazer. Out of it stepped a familiar-looking fineboned woman with short blond hair and pale skin. She wore beige linen pants and a pale linen top. I recognized her as Johanna Green not only because she fit the description I’d been given of Ted’s ex-wife but because I knew that Johanna had a papillon, and this woman had one tucked under her left arm. The little dog’s bright, eager expression was in marked contrast to Johanna’s. The woman had dark circles under her eyes, and her whole face seemed to droop.
    “Mom, it wasn’t my fault,” I heard Wyeth say.
    Only when Ted replied did I realize that he was on the front porch of his house. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
    “Wyeth,” said Johanna, “has apparently had a little incident. We were coming here to get his belongings.”
    “Mom got me my Land Rover,” Wyeth said, “and I’m not all that used to it. I accidentally bumped into Caprice.” Ted’s voice was suddenly strong. “Johanna, did you buy him that car?”
    “Ted, you and I have joint custody. I’m perfectly within my rights to mother him as I see fit.”
    “You are ruining him! He needs limits! Boundaries! He has to learn that there are consequences to his behavior! He threw his computer out the window and broke my ankle, and the consequence you’ve provided is a fucking Land Rover? Johanna, I’m going to see you in court for this. You are a vicious, destructive person and a terrible mother.“
    “Don’t talk to her like that!” Wyeth shouted. “Shut up! Just shut up!”
    Johanna ignored him and hollered at her ex-husband. “Ted, let me tell you something. What happened was that as usual, you blamed Wyeth for what was nothing more than an accident. He would never, ever have deliberately done what he’s accused of doing. He was heartbroken, and he was terrified. When he showed up at my door last night, he was shaking all over. I’ll see you in court, you abusive son of a bitch!”
    Ted remained on the porch, and Johanna had now moved to the open door of the extravagant gift Wyeth had received for breaking his father’s ankle. Wyeth was in the driver’s seat. Johanna reached in and rested a hand on his shoulder. Had Johanna and Ted been right next to each other, their voices would have been raised. As it was, they were a considerable distance apart, so they were shouting to be heard as well as to vent rage.
    “Johanna,” Ted bellowed, “you are a vain, selfish monster! I should’ve known! This is what I deserve for marrying the ultimate shikse! I’ve brought it on myself, and I’ve brought it on my son. Ai-ai-ai!”
    “I’m a shikse? You’re calling me a shikse?