Not A Sound

“Go ahead,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest, conscious of the fact I’m not wearing a bra. Jake slides the door open and an arctic blast of air rushes in. If anyone is looking scared at the moment it’s Evan Okada. His black hair is plastered to his head and his uninjured eye is wide with alarm. Water intermingled with blood is running down his face in pink rivulets. He looks at me pleadingly and begins to speak, his mouth moving so rapidly that I have no idea what he’s saying. Bennett elbows him in the ribs, and Evan’s mouth shuts into a tight grimace. Cole begins to speak and I turn to Jake, who does his best to translate for me.

“They found him at the edge of the woods over there moving away from your house. He didn’t stop when they ordered him to so they grabbed him.”

“You’re not going to arrest him, are you?” I ask in alarm.

I watch as Jake says something to Cole and Bennett. With a hand on each of Evan’s elbows they lead him to the squad car and unceremoniously insert him in the backseat. Whoever ends up having to clean the mud off the interior of their car has quite the job in front of them.

“I don’t believe it,” I say as they drive away.

“How well do you know this guy?” Jake asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“We just met the other day,” I explain. “I really don’t think...” Just then a silver flash darts through the open door and skids across the linoleum floor, leaving a streak of mud in his wake. Stitch has come back. Rookie stands and begins barking, teeth flashing, his tail tucked and his ears pressed flat against his head. I’m certain that Rookie is about to tear Stich’s throat out. I’m transfixed by the ferocity of the dog that just a moment ago was dozing languidly by the fire.

Jake turns toward the frenzied dog and suddenly Rookie’s posture completely changes. His jaws close and he drops to the floor, his tail waving lazily back and forth. For his part, Stitch, whose wet, silver coat clings to his bony frame, is shaking uncontrollably. I kneel down at his side.

“Where were you?” I murmur into his ear. “Bad dog, bad.” I scold him, but tenderly, tears pricking at my eyes.

Jake turns his back to me and gives me a moment to compose myself. That’s one of the great things about Jake, he knows when to leave well enough alone. He knows how attached to Stitch I’ve become, how much I rely on him not only as a service dog but as a companion. After all, he can relate. After Sadie leaped from Five Mines Bridge, Rookie did the same for him.

He hands me the damp towel he used to dry his own head and I begin to softly rub Stitch’s fur dry. Fine-spun scratches line his already scarred belly as if he had been running through thorny thickets. Had he been chasing Evan Okada through the woods? Or someone else? The thought that Evan really could have been lurking outside my house makes no sense to me.

When Stitch’s fur is somewhat dry and his tremors cease, I stand. Another pair of officers arrives and we watch while they dust the sliding glass door for fingerprints. For some reason this makes everything seem too real to me, and tears burn my eyes. If Jake notices, he thankfully doesn’t say anything. He knows I hate to cry. Once when we were kids I fell off my bike while trying to keep up with Jake and my brother and ended up dislocating my elbow. As if put out, Jake and Andrew stopped to help me and though I was in excruciating pain I didn’t cry, but simply climbed back up on my bike and on wobbly legs, holding my injured arm close, pedaled home. Jake’s expression of admiration when he saw my cast and his exclamation of, That had to hurt like hell, Earhart. Why didn’t you tell us? made it all worthwhile.