Page 6 of Inherited Light
She shrugged a little and kept her gaze trained on Annabelle romping around the park. “It’s not so much I’m still grieving for Buster, as I’m unsure if I’ll be able to find another dog who could do the same things for me he did.”
“Was he a service dog?” I asked, absently soothing Poopsie in my arms.
She did the so-so hand. “Not by definition, but he somehow sensed I needed more help than the average person. He used to do all kinds of chores a trained service dog would do, but he never had any official training. I miss him like crazy, but I must be certain if I get another dog, it’s intelligent and observant. I can’t have a dog on my hands who doesn’t understand my situation.”
I nodded. “Sure, sure, I see what you mean which leads me to my next question.”
“If I don’t have a dog why am I here?” she asked and I laughed unabashed.
“And you read minds, too,” I said, winking.
“I’m a wildlife artist, Ren,” she said slowly and I hit myself in the forehead with my palm.
“Of course, duh, I’m sorry. I suppose this is a great place to find subjects to paint.”
She held up a camera and smiled. “I take pictures of the animals then download them to my computer so I have a reference point for the painting. You’ll never get a dog to sit still long enough to paint them, which means I have to rely on my camera and mind’s eye.”
I rubbed my hands on my pants, dog hair flying in the breeze from working at the shelter. “I understand because I do it, too. Sometimes, if I’m at an antique shop or flea market, and see a piece I like, I’ll take pictures of it with plans to recreate it.”
“I guess we both create art, huh?” she asked and I shrugged.
“I like to think I do, but what you do fits the definition far better than my efforts.”
She shook her head slightly and leaned toward me from her wheelchair. “I don’t think so, Ren. Art is art, in my opinion. My guess is you’re incredibly talented in woodwork or you wouldn’t be building the addition for the shelter when you’re barely out of school.”
I chuckled and let Poopsie go then leaned back against the bench. My tired back needed something to rest against after a long day. “You’ve been talking to Cinn.”
She threw her head back and laughed, her hands coming together and clapping once. My memory hit on a time when the same laughter spilled from her at my childhood home when I said something funny. Warmth spread through me at the memories of those times when she hung out with my sister and her little brother by default. I’m not so little anymore, and she grew into a knockout.
Her laughter faded and her gaze roamed from the top of my head all the way to the bottom of my Doc Martins. “Cinn brags about you nonstop, Ren. She’s incredibly proud of you and your success.”
“I had no idea,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat, wondering if they had tinged pink. “Cinn and I have always had a special relationship, which is why I struggle when she gets sick.” I stopped short of telling her exactly why. I wasn’t ready to share my inner secrets with her just yet. “I’m all grown up now, but sometimes Cinn forgets I’m not six anymore,” I said, more for her benefit than mine. I had to know if she saw the man I had become or the kid I used to be.
She shook her head and her eyes told me she had no doubt. “You’re anything but six, Ren. You’ve grown into an incredibly handsome man and I can’t stop thinking about you and your family,” she said shyly, glancing away toward the grass where Annabelle was sitting primly. “She’s a beautiful dog,” she said pointing, obviously changing the subject.
I called out and the pup ran, her salt and pepper colored ears flopping, toward me. “This is Annabelle,” I said, picking up the dog, so Cat could pet her. “She decided she liked my parents and didn’t want to leave their apartment.”
Cat gazed up at me. “She’s a shelter dog?”
I nodded. “She was transferred here from a different town and Foster found it odd she hadn’t been adopted. He let her roam the shelter rather than be in a kennel because she was well behaved and loved people. My parents live in the apartment above the waiting room and one day Annabelle found her way up the stairs. She scratched on the door and whenMa?aopened it, she marched in and made herself comfortable. She hasn’t left since.”
Cat made a cute ‘awww’ sound and rubbed the dog’s chin. “She has such expressive eyes. I would love to paint her.”
“You would?” I asked, as Annabelle craned her neck so she could snuffle my chin with her wet nose. “Mabel always had drawings of her dogs on the wall. Maybe my parents would love to have one of Annabelle, too. I would hire you to paint it as a housewarming gift. They moved in not too long ago, and I know they would love to keep the tradition alive.”
“Who’s Mabel?” she asked confused.
I moved so she could see the back of the bench I sat on. “Mabel,” I said, motioning to the inscription on the back of the bench which read, ‘In Loving Memory of Mabel Dalton’. “Mabel was my grandmother.”
It was like a light switched on and she put her hand to her mouth. “I remember hearing something about a woman who was killed over this park, but I had no idea it was your grandma.”
I nodded, setting Annabelle on the grass to play and leaned back again. “She was killed by a mobster who believed this land was where his father hid the family riches. He blackmailed my older sister Tabitha into poisoning the dogs at the park so the shelter would close it down and sell it. It backfired on him, in a big way.”
“And she did it?” she asked, shock and disgust filling her voice. “Why didn’t she go to the cops?”
I gave her the palms up. “She was scared. He had pictures of all of us, including one inside Cinn’s house, and at the hospital where Cinn was being treated. He threatened to kill Cinn if she didn’t do it. He threatened to hurt my parents and run me off the road. He isn’t a nice guy, and she was petrified of him hurting us. She swears she didn’t know antifreeze killed dogs; she thought they would get sick, but nothing worse. She was sick over it and when it all came apart, she was a mess. It doesn’t excuse her behavior; she had choices, but however he threatened her, she truly believed he would hurt us. Most people in town have forgiven her for her mistakes. She’s spent a lot of time making it up to the people of Little Ivywood by working with Foster to better the facility and educate others.”
“When you explain the situation, it makes it easier to understand.” She shook her head side to side. “I can’t even imagine how I would feel knowing someone killed my grandmother out of greed.”
