Chapter 4: Silences

Colin turned back to the yard and gave it a final once over. He heard the front door slam shut and imagined Sylvia standing in the middle of cul-de-sac turning left, right, left, scanning each horizon for the smallest burst of movement, the slightest hint of Jacob galloping after some ineffable scent. He could hear her calling the dog’s name—the summer light dimmed—“Jacob! Jacob!” with the simple lilting melody of a child’s song. He peaked under and behind the peony bushes, the holly, the yew, searching out the random holes that Jacob had dug in search of moles. The sun and its last rays of amber and orange slipped behind the gas station behind Mrs. Burleigh’s yard. Then, at the fence line, Colin saw the hole at the edge of a blooming pink peony. It slipped beneath their fence and into the adjoining yard.

Colin hopped the fence and surveyed their neighbor’s yard. A rusting swing set—a relic of the Burleigh’s long-departed children—caught one last glint of the summer sun. It was getting harder and harder to see. The song of Jacob’s name grew fainter and fainter as Sylvia picked a direction and followed it. Colin scanned the yard, checked around the above-ground pool and the raised flowerbeds sprouting the green stalks of carrots and the twisting vines of tomatoes. There was no movement, other than his own.

Out of the corner of his eye, Colin saw the slightest twitch of movement near a woodpile. He rushed over to the drying firewood and peered into the gaps. Tiny white teeth bared in threat. A bright pink tail. A possum. Jacob was long gone.

 He scanned the far edge of the property. In the corner between two raised flowerbeds, he found a kink in the chain-link fence he’d never noticed. He looked over the fence into the next yard. A bird alighted in the middle of the lawn.

Colin was exasperated. Night had made his eyes, without the aid of streetlamps, almost useless. He went to the fence near the backdoor and looked up. There were no lights on. Mrs. Burleigh was out, perhaps making a No Trump bid at her weekly Bridge tournament at the Senior Center or strolling through the aisles of a local discount department store. Colin wondered, momentarily, whether or not she owned a gun, and tried to think of a suitable explanation for his trespassing if someone passing through the neighborhood called the police. Colin emerged into the sudden light of the streetlamp-lit cul-de-sac where he saw Sylvia turning in place as if she had no idea what her next move ought to be.  

“Any luck?” Colin asked.

“No. Where have you been? It’s dark.”

“I followed a hole into Mrs. Burleigh’s yard. I think Jacob may have taken that route this time.”

“Was he in her yard?”

“No, there’s a kink in the fence. He went through her yard, but we do have a direction now.”

“He could be halfway across town by now.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“If we have to keep looking for him, it might be a really long night. I need some coffee.”

“Do you want me to make some?”

“No. Grab the car keys. We can drive up to the gas station and grab some of those fake cappuccinos. Then we can drive around the neighborhood and hopefully spot him.”

“I think the odds are against that working,” Colin said. “You said yourself he could be in Peoria by now.”

“I need some coffee. Period. What were you doing when he got away, anyhow?”

“Fine. Let’s give it a shot.”

Colin dashed inside and grabbed the keys to the late model subcompact they’d financed when both of them had jobs, before the unthinkable became, not just possible, but fact. They had bought the car new, at the height of $3.00-a-gallon gas prices, when the demand for smaller cars had shoppers looking to downgrade from SUVs, before the collapse of the auto industry was propped up by government incentives and subsidies. Worse, Colin had irrationally decided, after some slight pressure from Sylvia that they both “deserved” their first brand new car, so he ignored the low-mileage, used lots.

Now, the subcompact with its hefty monthly payments, was worth several thousand dollars less than they owed, but Colin couldn't help but think of it as his baby, as a symbol of what almost was, of how their lives might have been if they’d worked in different industries, lived in a different city, or been more pragmatic in their decision of undergraduate majors. Colin slid into the driver side seat, twisted up the air conditioning dial to full, and tried—as he did every time he entered the car—to assure himself that they wouldn’t repossess his car if he could somehow manage to keep the payments at a month behind, and then tried to juggle through the bills that could wait this month before realizing that this could be the month where his machinations finally amounted to nothing.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?” Sylvia asked.

Colin started the car and drove as if on autopilot to the nearest gas station, trying the entire time to focus on driving, on watching for a dash of movement in a neighbor’s yard, while Sylvia, peered out the window, humming a 60s-era pop song to calm herself.

After they’d fueled up on coffee, they drove around the neighborhood, circling their own block and several adjoining blocks for half an hour in relative silence. Only the sound of the air conditioning and Sylvia’s humming—interrupted occasionally by exclamations of “Jacob!”—filled the car’s enclosed cabin. Colin let his mind wander with the pulse of streetlamp light on the windshield: What if we never find him? That will save us a few dollars. I’m not sure if Sylvia could deal with losing our dog right now. I’m not sure if I could deal with losing our dog right now. Perhaps it would be for the best. He’d nuzzle up to a family with an acre of land on the edge of the city, offering the sadness of his eyes as evidence of his perpetual need of love. He’d hunt rabbits. He’d be taken to better vets.

Colin pushed the more horrible what ifs away from his thought and refused to entertain less comforting possibilities.

“Jacob!” Sylvia screamed before returning to her humming.

The car crawled forward over all-too familiar streets. Oaks rustled. Lights flicked off in the houses they passed. Colin spotted a deer stalking the edge of a lot that had been for sale for 6 months.

He pointed. “That’s probably what Jacob’s after.”

“What?”

“That deer. Didn’t you see it?”

“No.” They sank back into a semi-silence that was growing increasingly uncomfortable for Colin. The longer they rolled forward along the neighborhood’s empty streets, the more it felt like a rebuke. I hadn’t been paying enough attention, he thought. I should have made sure the fence line was more secure. I should have walked Jacob more. I should have trained Jacob more, so that he would come, immediately, when called. I should have been able to find a fucking job.

Colin wanted, desperately, to break the silence, but had no idea what to say. He wanted not to think about now. He wanted, deep within his body, to think about the novel. He wanted to fall into the rhythm of making, to clamber, somehow, away from this rhythm of endless search.

Sylvia yawned and continued her humming.

“Maybe,” Colin said, “we should call it a night. Jacob will probably find someone to give him food and water for the night. Or maybe he’ll find a dumpster with a cache of chicken bones. Remember, he was a stray. He should be ok.”

“Stop the car!”

Colin slammed the breaks. They both jolted forward.

“What? What is it?” He asked.

Sylvia pointed out the window. “Jacob.”

There he was, head down, tail up, sniffing violently around a batch of gardenias at a corner house.

Colin flicked on the hazards, hopped out of the car, and jaunted uphill into the yard. “Jacob! Heel!”

Jacob continued sniffing vigorously. Colin heard the other car door slam. Sylvia was right behind him. He could use her.

“Jacob! Heel!” The dog stopped and sniffed more vigorously at a particular spot in the flowerbed. His paws arched up and he began digging. Trails of near black soil shot onto the otherwise immaculate lawn of this neighbor they’d never met.

Colin charged at Jacob. “No! You sit!”

The dog juked one direction and then the next, darting past Colin in the direction of Sylvia.

Sylvia cooed at him. “Hey, buddy. You hungry? Want a treat? Some water?”

Panting, he stopped, looked at her and ambled over near her legs. She leaned down and picked him up gently.

“Someone had a big adventure, tonight,” Sylvia said.

“We should crate him when we get home.”

“He won’t understand, and I really don’t care anymore. Let’s just go home and have that drink.”

“And then what?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t care. We can talk about your novel or fuck like bunnies. Let’s just get Jacob home.”