The Darkest Evening of the Year

while fully conscious.
    Frequently she passes the better part of the day in grooming activities. She is eternally fascinated by herself, and her body is her best defense against boredom.
    Sometimes she spends an entire afternoon washing her golden hair, applying to it a series of natural-substance rinses, slowly brushing it dry in the sun, and giving herself a long scalp and neck massage.
    A restless man by nature, Harrow is nevertheless able to watch her for hours as she grooms herself. He is soothed by her flawless beauty, by her bottomless calm, and by her perfect self-absorption, and she inspires in him a curious hopeful feeling, though he has not yet been able to identify what it is that he hopes for .
    Usually Moongirl grooms herself in silence, and Harrow is not sure that she is aware of his presence. This time, after a while, she speaks: “Have you heard from him?”
    “No.”
    “I’m tired of this place.”
    “We won’t stay much longer.”
    “He better call soon.”
    “He will.”
    “I’m tired of the noise.”
    “What noise?” he asks.
    “The sea breaking on the shore.”
    “Most people like it.”
    “It makes me think,” she says.
    “Think about what?”
    “Everything.”
    He does not reply.
    “I don’t want to think,” she says.
    “About what?”
    “About anything.”
    “When this is done, we’ll go to the desert.”
    “It better be done soon.”
    “All sand and sun, no surf.”
    With slow deliberate strokes of the brush, she paints a toenail purple.
    As the earth turns slowly away from the sun, the feathery pine shadows stretch their wings toward the house.
    Beyond the pocket yard, out of sight below the shelving slabs of granite, waves pound the beach.
    To the west, a gunmetal-blue sea looks hard, cold. It alchemizes the molten-gold sunshine into shiny steel scales, which churn forward like the metal treads of war machines.
    After a while she says, “I had a dream.”
    Harrow waits.
    “There was a dog.”
    “What dog?”
    “A golden retriever.”
    “It would be, wouldn’t it?”
    “I didn’t like its eyes.”
    “What about them?”
    She says nothing.
    Then later: “If you see it, kill it.”
    “What—the dog?”
    “Yes.”
    “It was in a dream.”
    “But it’s real, too.”
    “Not a dangerous breed.”
    “This one is.”
    “If you say so.”
    “Kill it on sight.”
    “All right.”
    “Kill it good.”
    “All right.”
    “Kill it hard.”

 
    Chapter
23
    A faint onshore breeze washed waves of golden grass up the meadow toward the hilltop, and the elongated oak-tree shadows rippled in the flow.
    The sweet grassy scent, the brightness that fell from the air, and the majesty of the oaks was as close as Amy expected to get to Heaven this side of death.
    Golden Heart had received these twelve acres from the estate of Julia Papadakis, who had fostered many a golden retriever between its rescue and its forever home.
    Julia’s only living relative, a niece named Linnea, unhappy with a thirty-million-dollar inheritance, had challenged the will, seeking to add this valuable land to her portfolio. Linnea had millions for attorney fees. Amy’s counterattack was mounted on a budget.
    Currently, even after years of operation, Golden Heart had no office other than Amy’s study, no care facilities for the dogs other than the volunteers’ homes. When she brought in more dogs than could be fostered by their members, she had to board them in the kennels of the animal hospitals that offered her a discount.
    She was loath to board a single rescue. Even if they didn’t arrive beaten or tick-infested, even if they were healthy dogs, they were nevertheless anxious and in need of affection in excess of what any ordinary kennel staff could offer.
    Here on this hill, in this meadow, with determination and the grace of God, she would oversee the construction of a facility where Golden Heart could receive new rescues, evaluate them, bathe them, and prepare them for their new homes. For those who couldn’t quickly be placed in a forever home or in a foster situation, heated and air-conditioned kennels of generous size, with clean bedding, would be staffed around the clock. There would be a simple clinic, a well-equipped grooming salon, a fenced playground, a training room, a playroom for use in rainy weather….
    Until the bequest was successfully defended in court, however, only Amy’s kids could enjoy this sunny meadow and the oak shade. Fred and Ethel bounded now through