The Darkest Evening of the Year

out the container of potato salad and says, “You too.”
    Without hesitation, he spits in it.
    She smiles at him.
    He dares not return the smile. She will take it as mockery.
    A third time, she spits in the potato salad, then returns the lid to the container and places the container on the tray.
    She says, “Maybe I’ll let you strike the match.”
    He is not sure of the safe reply, so he says nothing.
    “Tomorrow night,” she says.
    “You’ll want to do it.”
    “You won’t?”
    “I will if it’s what you want.”
    “What do you want?” she asks.
    “You.”
    “Why?”
    “What else is there.”
    “Boredom,” she says.
    “Yes.”
    She picks up the tray.
    “I’ll carry that for you,” he says.
    “No. You go ahead, unlock the door.”
    He precedes her through the house.
    Behind him, she says, “We’ll have a little fun now.”

 
    Chapter
28
    F rom the back of Amy’s Expedition, Fred and Ethel and Nickie watched solemnly as Mandy and the nameless dog were loaded into Dani Chiboku’s SUV.
    A few clouds had materialized. Although at ground level the air hung as still as old clothes in the back of a closet, at the higher altitude white cloaks were flung across the sky, billowing eastward, tattering to the west.
    With the dogs safely aboard, Dani closed the tailgate and said, “Seriously, Amy, five years.”
    “Something will happen. We’ll have more and better fund-raisers. I’m applying everywhere for grants.”
    “But the number of dogs that need to be rescued keeps rising in direct proportion to the amount of money you generate.”
    “So far, yeah, but it’s not an economic law. Eventually the need and the resources are gonna come into balance. People just can’t keep throwing so many dogs away.”
    “Look around, girl. The world’s never been meaner. It’s going to get worse.”
    “No. I’ve known it worse than this.”
    Amy seldom spoke of her past and always with circumspection. She sometimes wondered if friends accepted her as merely a private person or if instead they suspected her of having secrets.
    The sharp interest in Dani’s eyes and the curiosity that pinched and dimpled every feature of her face answered that question.
    When Amy offered nothing more, Dani said, “You should start to think about getting a job.”
    “This is my job. The dogs.”
    “It may be a passion. It may even be a calling. But, girl, it isn’t a job. A job pays you. ”
    “There’s nothing else I can do, Dani. I’ve been doing just this for like ten years. I’m unemployable.”
    “I don’t believe that. You’re smart, you’ve got drive—”
    “I’m a spoiled little rich girl living off an inheritance.”
    “You’re not rich anymore, if you ever were, and you don’t know what spoiled is.” Dani shook her head. “Love you like a sister, Amy.”
    Amy nodded. “Me too.”
    “Maybe someday you’ll open up to me like a sister would.”
    “I’m afraid what you see is what you get. Nothing to open up.” She kissed Dani on the cheek. “I’m not a book, I’m a pamphlet.”
    Buttering her words with sarcasm, Dani said, “Yeah, right.”
    “Tell Mookie I’m grateful for him taking Janet Brockman’s case.”
    Opening the driver’s door of her SUV, Dani said, “What’s the story with the little girl?”
    “Theresa? I don’t know. She may be some kind of autistic or just traumatized from…the way it was in that house.”
    “Mookie says a strange thing happened at the office.”
    Amy raised one hand to the locket at her throat. The pendant featured a cameo carved from soapstone, but instead of the classic profile of a woman, the subject was a golden retriever. She never wore other jewelry, nor owned any.
    “The girl goes straight to Baiko,” Dani said, “sits on the floor with him, pets him.”
    The previous night, as Amy had carried the sleepy child into Lottie Augustine’s house, Theresa had reached up and touched the locket.
    “Later, when they’re leaving the office, she says to Mookie, ‘No more cancer.’”
    The wind, Theresa had said so softly, fingering the locket. The wind…the chimes.
    “Mookie hadn’t mentioned that Baiko had just gone through chemo. Didn’t say a word about the cancer.”
    “Maybe Lottie told them,” Amy suggested.
    “Not very likely, is it?”
    Twenty years ago, Lottie had lost her only child to cancer. Five years later, her husband died of the same malignancy. As if cancer were the secret and the truest name of the devil,