Chapter 42 #3
Cherry followed him. There were several dog prints over here. The snow was falling so fast, it was filling everything in.
“Do these seem small?” Cherry asked.
“Yeah . . .” Tom said. “Maybe.” He went looking in the other direction.
One of their neighbors was out shoveling his walk. Why couldn’t people just let the snow finish falling?
“Have you seen our dog?” Tom asked him.
“The big white one?”
“Yeah.”
“Not today. Boy, she’ll be hard to spot in all this.”
“Thanks.” Tom was walking back to Cherry. She could tell he was irritated. “She has a black head,” he muttered. He took his
keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go back for a car. We’ll cover more ground.”
“Will we?” Cherry said. “The roads are a mess.”
“The sidewalks aren’t great shakes, either. And you’re freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
He motioned at her. “At least button your coat.”
Cherry buttoned one button. She was shuffling back toward their house, trying not to slip. “Stevie!”
Tom’s dad’s car was parked out on the street. An old Volkswagen Jetta.
“Let’s take the Forester,” Cherry said. It had all-wheel drive. She unlocked the doors, then, after a second, handed the keys
to Tom.
He took them.
Cherry got in the passenger seat. She watched Tom get behind the wheel and push back the seat. She wanted to scream again.
She turned toward the window and buckled her seat belt. “You should follow the path that you guys usually walk.”
“We mix it up,” he said.
“She always tries to pull me toward the park.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
Tom drove slow.
They both rolled down their windows and shouted Stevie’s name.
You couldn’t get to the park without driving downhill. Tom took the hill cautiously, riding the brakes. It was a controlled
slide. Cherry held her breath. They spun slowly sideways when they got to the bottom.
It took a minute or two for Tom to work the car back in the right direction.
“Stevie!” Cherry called out the window. She was crying again. “I can’t believe I left the door open. I never leave the door open.”
“You thought she was with me.”
“Because she didn’t come to the door when I walked in. She always comes to the door.”
“She was probably upstairs. She goes straight up to look for you as soon as I let her off the leash. If the baby gate is open.”
“Stevie!” Cherry called.
Tom pulled up next to the park. “Should we get out and look?”
“Yeah,” Cherry said. She opened her door. “Stevie?”
“Stevie!”
“She might have gone the other way,” Cherry said, stumbling over the curb. “She likes the Dalmatian’s house.”
“She might have,” Tom said, pulling gloves out of his pockets. “Stevie!”
It was a sprawling park, with pathways that wound through tall fir trees. There were picnic tables and a playground at one
end, and a basketball court at the other. Everything was blanketed in three days of snow, and no one had shoveled the trails.
Snow was coming in over the tops of Cherry’s rain boots.
“Jesus,” Tom said.
Cherry looked up. Another car was coming down the hill—in a much less controlled slide. It careened toward Cherry’s Subaru,
then spun and jumped the curb.
Tom broke away from Cherry, jogging toward the car.
The driver was already trying to back up. His front wheels were spinning in the snow. Tom ran to the front of the car and
leaned over to push, throwing his weight against it. His boots slid back. The tires whistled. Cherry thought of John Henry
and locomotives. She wondered if she should try to help.
The car finally lurched backwards. Tom followed it, still pushing. Then he stood up and watched the driver steer back onto
the road. The man waved at Tom.
Tom raised his hand.
He looked back at Cherry and called out, “Button your coat!”
Cherry buttoned another button. Her fingers were so cold that she could hardly feel the hole.
Tom was walking back to her.
“What if Stevie got hit by a car?” she said when he was close enough to hear her. “They wouldn’t even be able to see her.”
“She has a black head,” he said again. “And remember, she doesn’t have any trouble getting around in this weather. She was
made for it.”
Cherry nodded.
Tom was standing next to her now. He took off his hat and held it out to Cherry.
She took it and wrung it between her fingers.
He motioned at her head.
She put on the hat. It was still warm from Tom’s head.
Tom turned away from her. “Stevie!”
“Stevie!” Cherry shouted.
They walked deeper into the park.
“Stevie?”
“Stevie!”
There were fading dog tracks in the snow. And fading people tracks.
Cherry was crying. Her face was numb. She took a wrong step in her rubber boots and started to go down—Tom caught her arm.
“I think we should go back,” he said.
“We have to keep looking for her.”
“I think we should go back, and you should stay home, in case she shows up.”
“I don’t think she knows the way home. She’s very dumb for such a smart dog.”
“I still think we should go back.”
Cherry tried to wipe her eyes. She couldn’t feel her fingers or her face. “This is my fault. If anything happens to her, it’s
my fault.”
“It’s not your fault, Cherry.”
“Then whose fault is it?”
“Does it have to be someone’s fault?”
“No,” Cherry said, wiping her face. “Unless it’s mine.”
Tom pulled one of his gloves off and reached for her hand. “Jesus,” he said, squeezing it. “You’re freezing.”
He tucked his other hand under his arm to pull off his glove. It dropped to the ground. He took both Cherry’s hands between
his and chafed them. His skin was cool and dry. “We’re going back home now.”
“We can’t give up on Stevie.”
“We’re not giving up on her.”
Cherry’s face crumpled. Her head tipped forward.
“Hey . . .” Tom hauled her closer. He wrapped an arm around her. Cherry fell against his chest. “Stevie’s built like a polar
bear,” he said, “and she loves everyone. She’ll play until she gets tired, then she’ll walk up to someone’s house and bark
until they let her in. She might already be in one of these houses, eating beef stew and drinking warm milk.”
Cherry could see it. She was still crying. “They’ll probably try to keep her.”
“That’ll solve one of our problems . . .”
Cherry laughed a little.
Then Tom laughed a little. His chest hitched. “Let me take you home,” he said.
Cherry cried a bit more. She felt cold everywhere. Her feet were wet. She might have frostbite. How would she get to the hospital
in this weather if she had frostbite? “Okay,” she said tearfully.
Something thumped against the back of Cherry’s thigh. For a second, she thought it was another slow-moving car. She looked
down. It was Stevie.
“Stevie!”
Stevie jumped up on Cherry. Then jumped off.
“Stevie Nicks!” Tom shouted.
“Steven!” Cherry cried out.
Stevie was already running away from them. She had a special galloping run for moments like this, when she was playing and wanted to be caught.
She ran toward Tom, then bolted away when he reached for her—looking back at him, absolutely grinning.
“You terrible dog!” Cherry yelled.
“See?” Tom said. “She’s fine. She’s having the time of her life.”
“Stevie!”
“Stevie, come.” Tom made a fist and drew it toward him.
Stevie stopped galloping and looked at him.
“Come.”
She trotted back his way.
Tom stood very still, to show he wasn’t playing.
As soon as Stevie got close, he held out his fist. “Sit.”
She sat.
Tom leaned over and hooked his fingers around her collar. He looked up at Cherry. “Grab my gloves?”