Elizabeth Wrenn - Last Known Address

Shelly squawked loudly as she stood, arms akimbo. ‘Who is that bitch calling senior fucking citizens ?’ Meg and C.C. both shushed her, but Shelly continued to mutter, just barely under her breath, as the newswoman continued.

‘I’ll bring you that story today, at News At Noon with Marcia and Ralph. I know our viewers will want to tune in for that! This has been quite the story we’ve been following with this little doggie, hasn’t it, Ralph?’

‘You bet, Marcia! The whole country has been worrying about this little dog.’

Marcia looked into the camera, a big smile directed to her viewers. ‘If you’ve just tuned in, our breaking story this morning is that little M.J., the missing Italian Greyhound, has been found, safe and sound, and is going home to–’ she glanced down at her papers–‘her owner, Candy Suddle of Lexington, Kentucky.’ She turned again toward Ralph. ‘We just love happy endings around here, don’t we, Ralph?’

‘Yes, indeedy!’ said Ralph, looking like he couldn’t wait for the happy ending to this newscast.

Ralph moved on to other local news and Shelly clicked off the TV with the remote. ‘Shit. I don’t want to be interviewed! TV adds ten pounds! Besides, I don’t want to give that little green witch the satisfaction of getting the story. Senior citizens, my ass!’ She stepped to the window, peeking nervously, keeping herself hidden behind the curtain. ‘Let’s get the hell outta here!’ she said as if she’d seen gunfighters gathering out front.

‘Well, I’m sure the senior citizen thing was just a miscommunication,’ Meg said. ‘Maybe that Kirby guy said it. Regardless, I’m all for getting out of here. I sure don’t want to be on TV. C.C.?’

C.C. couldn’t respond, couldn’t move. Tears were suddenly rolling down her cheeks. Just when she’d thought she’d gotten past unexpected crying jags, just when she’d thought she’d closed the door yet again on the deep well of grief in her life, here it was again. But these tears weren’t for Lenny. Or even Kathryn or Lucy.

‘Hey! Hey, there,’ said Shelly, striding back toward where the other two still sat on the end of the bed. Meg put her arm around C.C. Shelly squatted in front of her, her hand on C.C.’s knee.

‘Ceece?’ said Meg. A small whimpering cry slipped out of C.C; she placed her wet cheek on M.J.’s neck, wetting her fur with tears.

‘Is this about her calling us senior citizens?’ asked Shelly, the anger rising in her voice again.

C.C. laughed, then sniffed. ‘No. I don’t care about that. I just, well–I realized that we’re going to have to… give MJ. back’ She shook her head miserably. ‘I already love this little dog so much.’ She rubbed her wet cheek against the top of M.J.’s head. ‘It’s like I had a little Italian Greyhound-size hole in my life, and I didn’t even know it, but she just jumped in and filled it.’ C.C. wiped her sleeve across her eyes. ‘Like a puzzle piece,’ she said, her voice breaking. She took the tissue Meg handed her, wiped her eyes, dabbed at her nose, and looked up at her friends. ‘You know?’

Both women nodded. ‘Dogs are sneaky, that way,’ said Shelly. ‘You give them an inch of your love, they’ll take a mile.’ She rubbed a finger behind M.J.’s ear.

‘I hate to rush you when you’re feeling low, honey,’ said Meg, ‘but speaking of miles, I’d like to put as many as possible between us and that TV crew. You okay to get in the car?’

C.C. nodded. ‘But I don’t want to see Purdy! I’m all– puffy! And I’d start crying again and he’d get the wrong idea, and, oh! Why is life so complicated?’

Meg stood. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll give him your goodbyes, and settle up the bills.’ She grabbed her purse off the desk as she strode across the room, then disappeared out the door.

Shelly gently lifted C.C. by the elbow. ‘C’mon, Puffy. We’ll take our things out and load up.’ C.C. stood, and Shelly grinned at her, rubbing her palms together. ‘Come on. Isn’t this a little fun? It’s like a James Bond movie or something. We gotta make a quick getaway before Prissy Galore arrives, a.k.a. Miss Malevolent Marcia.’ She cackled. C.C. shook her head, but smiled. Shelly punched her lightly in the arm. ‘Ready, Agent Puffy, and her trusty sidekick, M.J.?’

C.C. inhaled deeply, boosted M.J. up in her arms, squared her shoulders, and said, ‘Ready.’

Shelly had insisted on loading all the luggage while C.C. sat in the car with the dog. ‘You keep M.J. safe and sound in there, and that way you’ll also avoid any goodbye scenes with Purdy.’ C.C. gratefully slumped down in the back seat, out of view, but none the less feeling at a loss. She would have said goodbye to him-wanted to, in fact. If only she hadn’t been crying, and gotten all red-eyed and swollen. She would have liked to thank him personally for all his kindnesses. She had imagined maybe even giving him a hug.

But no. She shook her head, telling M.J., ‘It’s just as well we’re in here. He might have gotten the wrong idea.’ Men often got the wrong idea about hugs. But she didn’t think Purdy would be like that.

Suddenly both front car doors flew open, Shelly on the driver’s side and Meg the other, hurling themselves into their seats. ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ shouted Meg, wrestling with her seat belt. Shelly wasn’t taking the time to buckle up, simply started the car, revved the engine once, then threw it into gear and floored the gas pedal, throwing C.C. into the back of the seat, M.J. into C.C. C.C. clawed at her seat belt, but suddenly the centrifugal force of the car careening across the road and turning around, made her instead grab on to the door arm rest and M.J., and hold on for dear life. Meg was dissolved in nervous laughter up front.

‘What’s going on?’ C.C. glanced frantically out every window. ‘Is the TV crew here?’ They drove past Mick and Kirby, the latter dressed in an ill-fitting suit coat, his hair greased back, small tooth marks from a comb still evident. Kirby turned away from Mick, waved his arm over his head at something in the opposite direction, then pointed toward the women’s speedily retreating car. Mick was pushing roughly at Kirby’s arm, but Kirby kept waving and shouting and pointing. Finally, Mick pulled his arm down and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and they tussled, till Kirby broke away, running north, heading toward a white SUV with a big dish on the top, a trail of dust behind it.

‘It’s them!’ C.C. shouted, just as Shelly turned the car south, heading toward the interstate.

C.C. breathed a sigh of relief as the SUV turned west, into Tupper, apparently none the wiser from Kirby’s efforts. M.J. jumped up, her front paws on the top of the back seat, looking out the back window, now that they weren’t careening around or peeling out, just steadily gaining speed to merge onto the interstate. She didn’t bark, her tail wasn’t wagging, and she wasn’t trembling; she appeared just to be watching the retreating scene. C.C. watched too. Kirby was still jogging toward the SUV, with Mick running after him. But something caught C.C.’s eye, the other direction. In front of the restaurant. Purdy. He wore a full, white apron. Maybe he had been cooking lunch, C.C. thought. His arms hung by his sides, his white bar towel hung limply from his left hand as he watched their car drive off.

C.C. lifted her hand, waved. But as she did, Purdy turned, draped the towel over his right shoulder, and walked slowly into the restaurant.

‘Whoa! Big bump!’ Shelly yelled, swerving but not in time. The car bounced mightily over where the asphalt had heaved, making M.J. momentarily airborne. Even C.C. felt the jolt lift all of her, briefly, an absence of gravity for a fraction of a second, like an astronaut, untethered, unmoored. Both she and the dog landed roughly back on the seat. And suddenly C.C. felt the opposite of weightless. She watched the spot where Purdy had been, till Tupper itself disappeared from view. She gathered M.J. into her arms and turned back around in her seat as they merged into the morning rush hour on the interstate, feeling like she, too, had disappeared.