Part Three

 I also know there’s something just beyond the edge of everything, something ready to burst forth and disrupt complacent vision. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s as sure and unrelenting as this pain in my breast. I’m not like Lyddie, who wants to be rich and constantly promotes merchandise at her shop. 

         Tans. Handbags. Shampoos guaranteed to make hair shine, grow, or get rid of frizz. 

         Nonsense.

         Her head’s in the clouds, but I looked down and that’s how I saw the earth open. And that’s why I pushed Pace so hard during last year’s Indian summer because a change was coming for me. Whether it would plunge me into the heart of everything or devastate my soul I didn’t know, but I was going to be prepared. Since Pace would be the only one affected, he was going to be ready as well.

         My resolve peaked one morning in late spring. I’d fed Pace earlier, then started getting ready. I took the last red pill and a general health vitamin loaded with C and got dressed in a sweater and jeans. I put on an old pair of fleece lined boots, (I hate socks), but didn’t bother with a coat because no matter how cold I am, wool makes me sweat. 

         I opened the gate of Pace’s run, stepped back, and whistled. When he didn’t move, I said, “Come to me.”

         He did.

         “Run free!” I waved my arms.

         Pace hesitated. His nose quivered with the smells beyond, but he didn’t want to leave. The hounds were yelping, running in circles inside their pens, but I wasn’t going to offer them anything. They’re clueless to freedom. We’d be trying to catch them until nightfall, and Lucky would have a fit.

         Pace continued to gaze toward the north pasture, then nudged my thigh and knocked me off-balance. I righted myself. “Go now. I’ll whistle before he gets home.”

         I added the last part for me.

         He took a few steps, stopped, but when I gave him a whack on the rear, he took off without looking back. I watched that dog race across the pasture, his coat gleaming in the sunlight, the muscles working beneath his skin, and when he disappeared into the tree line, I thought, why can’t that be me? 

         Yes, Pace was the reason I’d run out in the mornings all through last winter and in the chill of a merciless spring, half-dressed but for once glad to be alive and out in the sticks. After I fed him, he’d burst out of his pen in any kind of weather.

         Yes, Dr. Veach had guessed right, but only half. I wasn’t feeding the hounds. I didn’t care about the hounds, but Pace was mine. Lucky still hadn’t caught on, although he’d complained that the dog wasn’t taking to him as it should and he’d never buy anything from foreign soil again.

         He might even sell it.

         Over my dead body. 

         But back to my office appointment. After Dr. Veach gave me the prescription, I went to Brenda who’s been with him forever, and also runs his pharmacy in the back. 

         She took one look at what Dr. Veach had prescribed and returned with a bottle of bright red pills. She told Mary Lee, the new girl (at forty) to type the instructions, and then Brenda read them to me, using the same tone as Dr. Veach. They’ve been together too long.

         “Nonna, there’s sixty antibiotics in here, strong ones, take two a day, and you have to take the full course. When you run low, come in and get your refill. He’ll want to check your lungs, too.” She paused. “What have you been doing to get yourself so sick?” Before I could answer, she did it for me. “You don’t have to say a word. It’s those dogs, isn’t it? Now that Lucky’s brought in that one-day wonder from Mexico, he’s finally got his hands full.”

         “Brazil,” I corrected.

         “Same thing,” she shrugged. 

         I told her I’d be sure to follow the instructions and slid over my insurance card.

         She studied it. “Lucky’s got good dental. Do you want me to phone Dr. Curry?”

         “I’ll do it.” Brenda looked up at me over her glasses. She’s shrunk over the years. So I added, “I promised Dr. Veach.”

         “Well, all righty, Ms. Nonna. Don’t forget, twice a day and never on an empty stomach. Come back in six weeks.”

         “I promise that, too.”  I thanked her and headed home. I usually stop by Lyddie’s shop when I come to town, but that day I drove straight home. Pace was still in his pen.

         I started on the antibiotics, and sure enough, I coughed up gunk the color of the sickly faded leaves on the couch, and started feeling better. It was no longer painful to breathe. I’m coughing up the sickness, along with the hatred for Lucky’s mother’s furniture, I told myself and didn’t give a second thought to the lump on the outside of my left breast. It had to be part of the infection, because if it wasn’t, Dr. Veach would have told me. Then, I remembered he’d only listened to my lungs. I’d let him look at it on my next visit. Of course, I thought of cancer, but I remembered something I’d heard in Lyddie’s shop. If it hurts, it’s not cancer. Ramona King had said that, and she’d had both breasts removed. Well, this pea-sized lump hurt plenty, especially when I raised my arms to shampoo.

         I took those pills and did feel better. Summer started, or at least ended the cold spring, and I had energy, not just in the mornings, but throughout the day. I got busy around the house, freed Pace as soon as possible, and forgot about my six weeks visit and my promise to call the dentist. 

         Pace was going out of sight now, running up into the hills, behind the Scotch pines and into the deep woods, but when I’d whistle, (one high note, one low), he’d come streaking down the hill, tongue lolling, froth pouring from the sides of his mouth. Once I ran with him to the tree line but only once. It winded me, and again I thought of Dr. Veach. What had happened to me? I’d always kept my promises, but once I freed Pace, I’d forgotten everything else. 

         I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my life, with my subscription to Contempo, the fact that my daughter is a regular, if not willing, attendee at youth bible study, Pace, and even with this pesky pea of infection.

         Sometimes the pain drives me crazy, but going back and facing Brenda would be worse.  Besides, it will dry itself up when the summer gets bigger. It’s fighting its last battle against my natural immunities before letting go.

         I’ve also changed my mind about Lyddie. There’s no reason to blame her for putting me on the spot. She saw — it’s painful to admit – a sprout of greed I didn’t know existed. She was only trying to help. I don’t know much about buying and selling, but I know how to get started. Tonight, instead of walking the floor, I’ll make a list for the flea market. I know I’ve got something somebody wants. 

Next story: The Flea Market

A Harshbarger Mills Story. ©Joan Heck Spilman. All rights reserved.