The Dog I Loved by Susan Wilson

Author:Susan Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

“I called the plumber—is he really called Bob the Plumber? Anyway, we’re on for first thing tomorrow.”

“Good. Great. Once he’s done, we can start on the walls in the bathroom.” Tucker doesn’t make any sort of skeptical remark about the veracity of a plumber’s word, and I take that as a good sign.

“I’ve been upstairs. It’s not pretty.”

“I know. Did Pete say anything about what to do with the junk?”

“I’m supposed to start an inventory.”

“Good start. Then what?”

“See what makes sense to keep and what makes sense to have appraised. My guess, nothing is worth keeping.”

“A place this old, well, you’ve got to find something interesting. Better than two centuries of occupation, it’s got to be like a midden in there—trash that tells a story.”

My general contractor shifts his tool belt and says, “I want to take a hard look at the floor in the front parlor today.”

We go into the house through the back door, the dog staying close behind. Tucker heads into the “best” parlor, squats down to examine the six reclaimed planks that have replaced the rotten ones. Some other builder might have opted for a plywood replacement, with a nice rug over it, but it’s obvious that Tucker has no interest in shortcuts with this house. According to Pete Bannerman, the Trust hasn’t squawked at the added expense of it, so Tucker takes that as a mutual desire to keep the integrity of the house as authentic as possible. He’s begun to share some of his vision for the ancient house, and I find myself getting caught up in his enthusiasm. “I’ve been wanting to get into this house since I was a kid. It’s what got me interested in architecture in the first place.”

“I didn’t know you were an architect.”

Tucker shakes his head. “Actually, I’m not. I wanted to be, but, well, I never finished college.” There is a hint of wistfulness in his tone, and I wonder what it was that kept him from his goal. He doesn’t seem like a quitter.

“But you’ve got a great trade. A good business, right?”

“Good enough. My partner likes the modern stuff, the big additions and kitchen renos, but me, I like this, restoration, not renovation. Unfortunately, there’s not enough of it. Everybody wants an antique house, but not without state-of-the-art fixtures. Can’t fit most of that luxury into low-ceilinged rooms, so they end up teardowns, replaced by repros.”

Shadow moves to stand over Tucker, gently sniffing the back of his neck.

“I think he likes you.”

Tucker, on his knees, pats the dog, “I’m glad he does, because I sure wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.”

“I feel a lot safer here, with him.”

“I didn’t know you felt unsafe, Rosie. We can find you someplace to stay if it’s your safety you’re worried about.”

“Not anymore. And, Tucker, who would ever take me in with a dog like that?”

Even the dog-friendliest of motels might not cotton to a pony-size dog.

His knees creak as Tucker gets out of his squat.

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