accelerator. The car was rocketing along the freeway. He eased back on the
pedal.
Wherever the dog was, with whomever it had found shelter, it was in jeopardy.
And those who had given it shelter were also in grave danger.
SIX
1
Through the last week of May and the first week of June, Nora and Travis— and
Einstein—were together nearly every day.
Initially, she had worried that Travis was somehow dangerous, not as dangerous
as Art Streck but still to be feared; however, she’d soon gotten through that
spell of paranoia. Now she laughed at herself when she remembered how wary of
him she had been. He was sweet and kind, precisely the sort of man who,
according to her Aunt Violet, did not exist anywhere in the world.
Once Nora’s paranoia had been overcome, she’d then been convinced that the only
reason Travis continued to see her was because he pitied her. Being the
compassionate man he was, he would not be able to turn his back on anyone in
desperate need or trouble. Most people, meeting Nora, would not think of her as
desperate—perhaps strange and shy and pathetic, but not desperate. Yet she
was—or had been—desperately unable to cope with the world beyond her own four
walls, desperately afraid of the future, and desperately lonely. Travis, being
every bit as perceptive as he was kind, saw her desperation and responded to it.
Gradually, as May faded into June and the days grew hotter under the summer sun,
she dared to consider the possibility that he was helping her not because he
pitied her but because he really liked her.
But she couldn’t understand what a man like him would see in a woman like her.
She seemed to have nothing whatsoever to offer.
All right, yes, she had a self-image problem. Maybe she was not really as
hopelessly drab and dull as she felt. Still, Travis clearly deserved—and could
surely have—better female companionship than she could provide.
She decided not to question his interest. The thing to do was just relax and
enjoy it.
Because Travis had sold his real-estate business after the death of his wife and
was essentially retired, and because Nora had no job either, they were free to
be together most of the day if they wanted—and they were. They went to
galleries, haunted bookstores, took long walks, went on longer drives into the
picturesque Santa Ynez Valley or up along the gorgeous Pacific coast.
Twice they set out early in the morning for Los Angeles and spent a long day
there, and Nora was as overwhelmed by the sheer size of the city as she was by
the activities they pursued: a movie-studio tour, a visit to the zoo, and a
matinee performance of a hit musical.
One day Travis talked her into having her hair cut and styled. He took her to a
beauty parlor that his late wife had frequented, and Nora was so nervous that
she stuttered when she spoke to the beautician, a perky blonde named Melanie.
Violet always cut Nora’s hair at home, and after Violet’s death, Nora cut it
herself. Being tended by a beautician was a new experience, as unnerving as
eating in a restaurant for the first time. Melanie did something she called
“feathering,” and cut off a lot of Nora’s hair while somehow still leaving it
full. They did not allow Nora to watch in the mirror, did not let her get a
glimpse of herself until she was blown dry and combed out. Then they spun her
around in the chair and confronted her with herself, and when she saw her
reflection, she was stunned.
“You look terrific,” Travis said.
“It’s a total transformation,” Melanie said.
“Terrific,” Travis said.
“You’ve got such a pretty face, great bone structure,” Melanie said, “but all
that straight, long hair made your features look elongated and pointy. This
frames your face to its best advantage.”
Even Einstein seemed to like the change in her. When they left the beauty shop,
the dog was waiting for them where they had left him tethered to a parking
meter. He did a canine double-take when he saw Nora, jumped up with his front