medical care but for drinks, dinner, conversation.
Travis knew the vet was trying to say he wanted to remain a part of Einstein’s
life, wanted to participate in the magic of it. “Jim, believe me, we’ll be back.
And before Christmas, you’ll have to come out to our place, spend the day with
us.”
“I’d like that.”
“So would we,” Travis said sincerely.
On the drive home, Nora held Einstein in her lap, wrapped in a blanket once
more. He still did not have his old appetite, and he was weak. His immune system
had taken severe punishment, so he would be more than usually susceptible to
illness for a while. He was to be kept in the house as much as possible and
pampered until he had regained his previous vigor— probably after the first of
the year, according to Jim Keene.
The bruised and swollen sky bulged with saturated dark clouds. The Pacific Ocean
was so hard and gray that it did not appear to be water but looked more like
billions of shards and slabs of slate being continuously agitated by some
geological upheaval in the earth below.
The bleak weather could not dampen their high spirits. Nora was beaming, and
Travis found himself whistling. Einstein studied the scenery with great
interest, clearly treasuring even the somber beauty of this nearly colorless
winter day. Perhaps he had never expected to see the world outside Jim Keene’s
office again, in which case even a sea of jumbled stone and a contusive sky were
precious sights.
When they reached home, Travis left Nora in the pickup with the retriever and
entered the house alone, by the back door, carrying the .38 pistol they kept in
the truck. In the kitchen, where the lights had been on ever since their hasty
departure last week, he immediately took an Uzi automatic pistol from its hiding
place in a cabinet, and put the lighter gun aside. He proceeded cautiously from
room to room, looking behind every large item of furniture and in every closet.
He saw no signs of burglary, and he expected none. This rural area was
relatively crime-free. You could leave your door unlocked for days at a time
without risking thieves who would take everything down to the wallpaper.
The Outsider, not a burglar, worried him.
The house was deserted.
Travis checked the barn, too, before driving the pickup inside, but it was also
safe.
In the house, Nora put Einstein down and pulled the blanket off him. He tottered
around the kitchen, sniffing at things. In the living room he looked at the cold
fireplace and inspected his page-turning machine.
He returned to the kitchen pantry, clicked on the light with his foot pedal, and
pawed letters out of the Lucite tubes.
HOME.
Stooping beside the dog, Travis said, “It’s sure good to be here, isn’t it?”
Einstein nuzzled Travis’s throat and licked his neck. The golden coat was fluffy
and smelled clean because Jim Keene had given the dog a bath, in his surgery,
under carefully controlled conditions. But as fluffy and fresh as he was,
Einstein still did not look himself; he seemed tired, and he was thinner, too,
having lost a few pounds in less than a week.
Pawing out more letters, Einstein spelled the same word again, as if to
emphasize his pleasure: HOME.
Standing at the pantry door, Nora said, “Home is where the heart is, and there’s
plenty of heart in this one. Hey, let’s have an early dinner and eat it in the
living room while we run the videotape of Mickey’s Christmas Carol. Would you
like that?”
Einstein wagged his tail vigorously.
Travis said, “Do you think you could handle your favorite food—a few weenies for
dinner?”
Einstein licked his chops. He dispensed more letters, with which he expressed
his enthusiastic approval of Travis’s suggestion.
HOME IS WHERE THE WEENIES ARE.
When Travis woke in the middle of the night, Einstein was at the bedroom window,
on his hind feet with his forepaws braced on the sill. He was barely visible in
the second-hand glow of the night-light in the adjoining bathroom. The interior
shutter was bolted over the window, so the dog had no view of the front yard.