The buzz of the plane faded and the quiet descended again like a bell jar over the forest. The hollow thock-thock-thock of a woodpecker drifted up from the valley far below. A trio of crows grated to one another in the pines, and a hawk carved a lazy spiral against the sky.
She sipped her coffee, heard herself swallow. The coffee smelled and tasted like nothing, just hot and brown. Then, something—a soft, tan blur—moved out of the corner of her eye, off to the right. She tossed a quick glance, not expecting anything more exciting than a squirrel or maybe a chipmunk.
So the dog was, well, kind of a surprise.
2
She froze.
The dog was lean but muscular, with a broad chest, black mask, and sable markings. It looked like a German shepherd but was much smaller, so maybe not fullgrown? A bright blue pack was snapped around the dog’s middle, and a length of choke chain winked around its neck.
From somewhere down the trail came the faint scuffle of leaves. The dog’s ears swiveled, though its dark eyes never left Alex. Then a man’s voice drifted over the rise: “Mina? You got something, girl?”
The dog let out a low whine but didn’t budge.
“Hello?” Her throat was very dry, and the word came out more like a croak. She slicked her lips, tried swallowing past a tongue suddenly as rough as sandpaper. “Um … could you call your dog?”
The man’s voice came again. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, she won’t hurt you…. Mina, down, girl.”
The dog—Mina—instantly obeyed, sinking to its belly. That was encouraging. The dog didn’t look half as ferocious lying down.
“She down?” the man called.
And if she wasn’t? Then what? “Uh-huh.”
“Excellent. Hang on, we’re almost …” A moment later, a weedy man with a thatch of white hair labored over the rise, a walking stick in his right hand. He was dressed like a lumberjack, right down to the black turtleneck beneath a red flannel shirt. A sheathed hatchet dangled from a carry loop attached to the frame of his pack.
The girl—a kid with blonde pigtails—was a step or two behind. A pink Hello Kitty daypack was strapped to her back, and she wore both a matching pink parka and a scowl. A pair of white earbuds was screwed into her ears, the volume so loud that Alex caught the faintest thump of bass.
“Hey there,” the old guy said. He nodded at Alex’s coffee press. “Smelled that halfway down the trail and decided to follow my nose, only Mina beat me to it.” He stuck out a hand. “Jack Cranford. This is my granddaughter, Ellie. Ellie, say hello.”
“Hi,” said the girl, colorlessly. Alex thought she was maybe eight or nine and already had way too much ’tude. The kid’s head bobbed the tiniest bit with the throb of her music.
“Hey,” Alex said. She didn’t make a move to take the old guy’s hand, not only because this guy, with his hatchet and dog and sullen granddaughter, was a complete stranger, but because the way the dog stared made her think that it would be just as happy to take her hand first.
The old guy waited, his smile wobbling a bit and a question growing in his eyes. When Alex didn’t volunteer anything else, he shrugged, took his hand back, and said, genially, “That’s okay. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t trust me either. And I’m sorry about Mina. I keep forgetting there are a couple packs of wild dogs in the Waucamaw. Must’ve scared the bejesus out of you.”
“That’s okay,” she lied, and thought, Wild dogs?
The silence stretched. The kid bobbed and looked bored. The dog began to pant, its tongue unfurling in a moist pink streamer. Alex saw the old guy’s eyes flick from her to her tent and back. He said, “You always talk so much?”
“Oh. Well …” How come adults got away with saying things that would sound rude coming out of her mouth? She groped for something neutral. “I don’t know you.”
“Fair enough. Like I said, I’m Jack. That’s Ellie and that’s Mina. And you are …?”
“Alex.” Pause. “Adair.” She wanted to kick herself. Answering had been a reflex, the way you didn’t ignore a teacher.
“Pleased to meet you, Alex. Should’ve known you had a wee bit of the Irish with those leprechaun eyes and that red mane. Don’t run into many Irish in these parts.”
“I live in Evanston.” Like that answered something. “Uh … but my dad was from New York.” What was she doing?
The old guy’s left eyebrow arched. “I see. So, you by yourself up here?”
She decided not to answer that one. “I didn’t hear your dog.”
“Oh, well, I’m not surprised. That’s her training kicking in, I’m afraid. Actually, she’s not mine. Technically, she belongs to Ellie here.”
“Grandpaaaaa …” The kid did the eye-roll.
“Now, Ellie, you should be proud,” Jack said. To Alex: “Mina’s a Malinois, actually … Belgian shepherd. She’s a WMD, working military dog. Used to work bomb-detection, but she’s retired now.” He tried on a regretful smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “She belonged to my son, Danny … Ellie’s dad. KIA. Iraq, about a year ago.”
The girl’s lips drew down and an edge of color flirted with the angle of her jaw, but she said nothing. Alex felt a little ping of sympathy for the kid. “Oh. Well, she’s a really nice dog.” Which, as soon as she heard the words leaving her mouth, made her cringe. She knew how awkward people got when they found out you’d lost a parent. Even the word made it feel like, somehow, it was your fault.
The girl’s eyes, pallid and silver, slid from Alex’s face to the ground. “She’s just a stupid dog.”
“Ellie,” Jack began, then bit back whatever else he’d been about to say. “Please take out your earplugs now. You’re being rude. Besides, it’s too loud. You’re going to ruin your hearing.”
Again with the eye-roll, but the kid uncorked her ears and let the buds dangle around her neck. Another awkward silence and then Alex said, impulsively, “Look, I just made coffee. Would you guys like some?”
The girl gave her a duh, hello, I’m a kid look, but Jack said, “I’d love a cup, Alex. We can even make a contribution.” Jack winked. “You won’t believe this, but I packed in some Krispy Kremes.”
“Grandpaaaaa,” the girl said. “We were saving them.”