Underdog (4 page)

“I don’t want to go to boarding school,” I said right out. She said to tell her so I did but it was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I said it. Me and my big mouth.

She drew in her breath and took a couple of quick sniffs. “I’m afraid, Izzy
...
,” she began.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s okay.”

“You see, Izzy, it’s just that we can’t. Both of us work. I travel a great deal and there would be nobody to really look after you.”

“I’m used to it,” I told her. “I’m used to looking after myself. Dad always said ...”

“Yes, Izzy, I know. I have an idea what’s been happening. But your uncle and I want you to have a happy, rich life full of friends and good times now. What all children should have. We’re busy people, Izzy, and we decided not to have children when we were married because each of us wanted to devote all our time to our careers. It wouldn’t be fair to have a child
—the kind of people we are—busy all the time in our work.”

“My father was busy all the time,” I told her. “And Sandy made candles and sometimes I could be with her but lots of times when she was married to Dad she wasn’t home. And Karen, well, she got pregnant right away and she was sick and I tried not to bother her. And after Jeremy was born, she and Dad split. So I’m used to it, Aunt Alice.”

Aunt Alice pulled over to one side of the road and parked the car. Then she turned and looked at me. Very seriously. It’s hard not to laugh when somebody looks at you out of such a serious face. “I’m very glad we’re having this talk, Izzy. I always feel it’s the best thing for everybody to be honest. I hope you agree.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” I said, trying to keep my face solemn.

“I think you’re probably very mature for your age, Izzy, but you are only eleven and you do need supervision and guidance. You’re far too young to have to worry about anything.”

“I don’t worry,” I said smiling. “You don’t have to worry about me worrying.”

“Your father, Izzy,” said my aunt with a look like she was smelling moldy cheese, “was a fine man.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “He was for the underdog.”

“But I think he didn’t understand that young girls need a lot of attention.”

“We got along fine,” I told her. “He said himself that I was good at not bothering him.”

My aunt started up the car again. “Boarding school is fun, Izzy,” said my aunt. “Lots of my friends went. I used to be so jealous when they came home at Christmas with all those wonderful stories about secret clubs they had and then those cute uniforms they always wore. You’ll see, Izzy, you’re really going to have a good time. And you make friends there you keep for a lifetime. My friend, Charlotte Halbrook, has a friend from Belgium whom she met in boarding school.”

Maybe she was right, I thought, sinking back exhausted into my seat. I was tired of always having to smile and agree with everything she said. Maybe boarding school would be the best place for a person like me.

She spent a lot of money that day. To begin with, she bought me three new pairs of jeans, four shirts, and four matching sweaters. All of them had fancy labels on them and cost maybe three or four times as much as the ones I usually bought. Then she picked out a couple of preppy plaid skirts, some preppy blazers, two summer dresses, socks, pajamas, a bathrobe, and two pairs of shoes.

“We’ll really get you some clothes after the summer,” she said, kind of apologizing. “Before you go away to school. Although most schools require uniforms, you’ll need some things for weekends and holidays.”

We ate lunch quickly because my aunt wanted to register me in the local school. You could see she wasn’t happy about the school even though the kids looked pretty much the same as the kids in Washington. Only the building looked different
—smaller, cleaner, and with a red-tiled roof.

“It’s only for a couple of months,” my aunt kept saying.

Back home, I unpacked my new clothes and hung them up in the closet. I like new clothes. They always make me feel as if something new and better will happen to me. I took my picture of Gus out of the drawer and I felt so happy, I wanted to share some of that good feeling with my aunt. So I put on a new pair of jeans, a new yellow-plaid shirt and yellow sweater, and looked at myself in the mirror. Same old me, I thought, feeling just a little disappointed. But when I came into the kitchen, my aunt nodded at me and smiled. “You really look lovely, dear,” she said. “You can always see the difference in something that’s well made.”

She cocked her head to one side and examined me. “You know, Izzy, I think you could stand a good haircut. When was the last time you had one?”

“A couple of months ago, I guess,”

“Well, let’s see if we can line a haircut up for you today.” She looked at her watch. “It’s just about four and your uncle doesn’t get home until after six. Let’s surprise him.”

Uncle Roger didn’t seem very surprised when he saw me and Aunt Alice had to keep asking him if he didn’t notice any difference in me before he caught on.

We had a fancy chicken for dinner and the conversation picked up a little bit. But then my uncle asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. And I knew. I mean before that I always used to say a lawyer because that’s what my father was. Suddenly I knew what I wanted to be. And it wasn’t a lawyer,

“I want to be a vet,” I told him.

He nodded and smiled at me. “That’s nice, Izzy.”

And then I asked him. “Where’s Gus, Uncle Roger? Do you know where Gus is?”

His face folded up. He stopped smiling. “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“Roger!” my aunt said.

“Because he was my dog and I want to see him. If he’s alive, I want to see him again. Do you know where he is?”

“Did your father tell you about Gus?” my uncle asked. I’d seen plenty of mean prosecuting attorneys on TV and right now my uncle sounded like one of the meanest.

“Tell me what?”

“Roger,” said my aunt, “I’m sure she doesn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” I told them. “It’s okay.” I twirled my fork around in a mound of mashed potatoes and tried to look unconcerned.

I could feel my uncle watching me as I lifted my fork to my mouth and tried not to drop any of the potatoes. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, Izzy. I didn’t mean to jump at you like that.”

“It’s okay, Uncle Roger,” I said. “I didn’t get upset.”

“Roger,” my aunt said. “I think you should tell her.”

“It’s okay
...
” I began.

“And will you please stop saying it’s okay, Izzy!”

I didn’t say anything to her because the only thing I could think of saying was okay.

“You keep saying it all the time,” my aunt said, “and you don’t mean it so please stop saying it.”

“I don’t know why you’re jumping on her,” said my uncle. “She didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“Well, you’re the one who started it,” said my aunt, standing up. “And now you’re turning on me.”

“Alice,” my uncle said, “you’re blowing up over nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?” my aunt shouted. “What are
you
sorry for?”

Then the two of them began fighting which made me a lot more comfortable. I always knew what was expected of me when my father and one of his wives fought. I picked up my plate and moved off to the kitchen. The two of them were really yelling now. So I scraped off my dishes, loaded them into the dishwasher, and tiptoed into the guest room. This time, I closed the door.

After a while, my uncle knocked on the door. “May I come in, Izzy?” he asked.

I opened the door and my uncle walked in. His face was still flushed but his voice was calm and polite as usual.

“Your aunt thinks I should tell you what happened to Gus. It’s not a nice story,” he said, looking at me nervously, “so if you’d rather, we can wait until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now,” I told him. “I really want to see Gus.”

He looked over his shoulder but Aunt Alice wasn’t in sight. I could hear the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen.

“Izzy,” he said, in a low voice, “are you sure your father didn’t say anything to you about Gus?”

“No,” I said, “he never did. But if you really don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay.”

My uncle smiled and sat down on my bed. “That’s one word you’d better stop using around here,” he said.

“I’ll try,” I told him, smiling back. Then I sat down next to him and waited.

“Well, Izzy, it’s not a nice story and I’m not going to try to defend myself or ... ,” he hesitated, “... your father. People often act unreasonably during crisis, and I’m afraid that’s what happened.”

I waited.

He nodded his head a few times and then began. “That picture you found in the box, Izzy. It was taken maybe a half hour before your mother died.”

I must have made a little surprised sound because he put his arm on my shoulder and left it there for a while.

“I don’t remember how it got into the box. My father, your grandfather, must have taken it along with other pictures on that same roll, and somehow they found their way here. We were having a picnic that day on Mount Tamalpais. Your Aunt Alice and I were there, my father, our friends John and Bev Politi, your parents, you, and Gus. They’d only had Gus for six or seven months. Your mother found him one day, abandoned in the park, and took him home. She really enjoyed him and I guess you did too. But that day, at the picnic, it started getting cloudy and cold and we all began packing up to go home. Your mother called Gus but he was chasing after birds and she went running after him. The last thing we all heard was her calling him and laughing.”

I sat very still and tried to remember my mother calling
Gus. But nothing happened. Inside my head, it stayed dark and still. My uncle patted my shoulder and went on.

“It was a freak thing
—a once-in-a-million kind of accident. She was running after him up a little rocky hill and she tripped on something and fell over the hill. When we got to her, she was dying. She had broken her neck—a crazy, crazy accident. In a few minutes, she was dead.”

“But Gus?” I said. “What happened to Gus?”

“Yes, well, that’s another terrible thing. Izzy, are you sure you want to hear?”

I nodded and he took his arm off my shoulder, put both hands in his lap, and kept looking at them.

“I think now I made the wrong decision. If I had to do it over again, maybe I would have let him have his way. Maybe not. I wanted to do what was best for him. Really, Izzy, that’s what I really wanted. Because he wasn’t himself when she died. He went crazy. Of course, he always did have a temper.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

“Not that he ever hurt anyone.”

“No,” I said. “He never hurt anyone.”

“But I’d never seen him like that. He was screaming and the little dog was frightened and Mark ran after it with a rock in his hand, yelling and screaming with the tears running down his face.”

Now there was something moving inside the darkness in my head. Something terrible. Something that made me put my hands up to my ears. But I could still hear myself saying, “He tried to kill Gus.”

My uncle’s sad face watched me and I put my hands down and listened.

“He did but I went after him and I held him until the others came. My father and John, they had to help me
— he was like a wild man. Then the ambulance came and they gave him a shot to quiet him down and took him away with her—with your mother. Your grandfather went with him.”

“But Gus? What happened to Gus?”

“You see, Izzy, that’s what I did wrong. I’d forgotten about Gus but just as your aunt and I were leaving with you
—we had you with us that night, Izzy. I guess you don’t remember?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t remember.”

“We were just about ready to get into our car when the little dog, Gus, came running out of the bushes where he’d been hiding, and came over to us. I should have left him there.”

“Oh no,” I said. “No.”

“I should have, Izzy. Somebody would have found him. He was such a cute little dog. But he began whining and he was trembling. Aunt Alice said I should leave him but he was crying like a little baby.”

“You didn’t leave him!”

“No, I didn’t leave him. You started crying too. You said you wanted him so I took him back with us to the city and I gave him to
—I gave him to a person I knew liked animals—but later, when your father asked me where Gus was, I didn’t tell him. I should have told him. Maybe if he asked me again, I would have. Maybe not. Two weeks after she died, he took you and left town and never spoke to me again. My father—your grandfather—died that same year. I think if he had lived longer, Mark and I might
have been able to work it out. I tried. I did, Izzy, I wrote to him but he always sent my letters back unopened.”

“Where is Gus, Uncle Roger?” I asked him.

He looked at me and again his face hardened. “Izzy,” he said, “if you’re still thinking revenge after all these years ...”

“You don’t understand, Uncle Roger. I love Gus. I mean, I loved him. And he loved me. He was my dog. I don’t want to hurt him. I want to see him. Just tell me where he is!”

Chapter 5

He told me.

There was a woman, kind of a nutty woman, who hated people and loved animals. She was an old woman and she had been an old woman for as long as my uncle could remember. Her name was Mrs. Firestone even though, he said, nobody could ever remember a Mr. Firestone. When my uncle and my father were little boys they had lived in a house next to hers. Everybody in the neighborhood always complained about her because she had so many animals and her house was so run-down.

“She was the only one I could think of, so on the way back that day, I stopped at her house. She was just the same as ever. Her house stank of cats and dogs and God knows what else,” said my uncle.

“You gave her Gus?” I cried.

“Yes, Izzy, I did. You were asleep and when you woke up and asked for him I suppose we must have made up some kind of story. When you went back to your father, I don’t know what he told you.” He looked at me and waited.