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Mac pointed to the ground. “There’s no sign of footprints, so it must have been opened before it started snowing. I’ll just go check out the yard.”
Theo placed a cautioning hand on his arm. “What if he’s still in there?”
Mac looked through the gate. “If he is, he’ll be frozen stiff…and Horse doesn’t seem concerned, so it’s likely he’s long gone.”
Anxiously, Theo let him go. As he’d predicted, Mac found nothing. The windows facing the backyard looked into the kitchen and living room. But there were no signs that anyone had tried to break in.
Theo brought Horse into the house with them and found a towel to deal with the wet dog issue. Mac put the kettle on to boil. Theo was quietly glad he made no mention of leaving immediately. She didn’t want to overreact, but she was unnerved. Someone had come into the backyard. Had they known there would be no one home to stop them? Was someone monitoring the house? Was it Spiderman?
“When’s Gus getting back?” Mac asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Would you mind if I came by tonight?” he asked. “I know it’s absurd, and a little hysterical, but I’d just like to make sure…”
“I don’t mind,” Theo said quickly. She didn’t think it was absurd or hysterical, but she wasn’t ready to admit she felt uneasy. There might, after all, be some simple and perfectly ordinary reason why the gate was left open.
He made her a cup of tea. “I’m going to leave my car here.”
“But it’s snowing.”
He snorted. “I’m from Montana, remember? This is a mere frost by Montana standards.” He took a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “My number. I’ll walk up a couple of blocks and call someone from the office to come get me. That way it will look like I haven’t left.” He glanced at the kitchen table. “You’ll be able to get on with your plotting, and I’ll be back tonight.”
“I’m sorry… You must have things to do.”
He met her eye. “I am honestly being overcautious, Theo. Some kid might have opened the gate to play with Horse or just to be a nuisance, or the latch might have come loose in the wind.”
Theo nodded. “Absolutely, it was probably the wind.”
Mac elected to leave via the back door, which was not visible from the road. She opened it for him and thanked him for lunch.
“You’ll lock it after me, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Theo returned to the ideas she had spread out on the table. At first, she would look up often, watch the windows, listen, but in time she became consumed by the story, which was being pieced from the fragments of ideas like a jigsaw revealing its greater picture. She was fascinated by the accidental linkages, motifs that seemed to emerge from nowhere.
She wondered what Dan would think of it. He’d have advice on structure and perspective and voice. She was only now beginning to see how lucky she had been to have him these past months. He’d nurtured her as a writer, held her hand, been honest but gentle with his criticisms and lavish with his praise. Theo missed his voice, his conversation, his laughter. She regretted sleeping with him, only because now she missed so much more. If she tried, she could still feel his hands on her body…and his lips on hers. Sadness had lodged like a hard stone somewhere below her heart, and she was a little afraid it would always be there… She couldn’t imagine it not being there.
Horse lay on his back at her feet, apparently exhausted by his break for freedom. Theo bent occasionally to rub his belly, grateful that they had found him before anything happened. She shuddered at the thought of having to tell Gus that she had lost his dog.
Sherlock came to mind then in a memory first stirred when Mac had asked about Tasmania, and that had been struggling for her attention ever since. Theo tried to turn away from it because she knew where the memory would end, and she didn’t wish to think about it. But it was too late. Already her mind was moving from the cattle dog Gus had given her before he left, to the reason her big brother was sent away. Theo remembered the look on his face when he’d found Jake Curtis with his hands under her dress—disgust, fury, grief. The fight. The knife. The blood. Theo could feel her heart pounding now. She sat down on the floor before she fell, and tried to concentrate on slowing her breathing, and forcing her memory to Sherlock instead. Sherlock, who’d slept in her bed, who protected her, who remained by her side till the day she’d left for boarding school. Who’d jumped up on his arthritic hind legs to lick her face every time she came home, and who, when he eventually died, had left her feeling scared and alone all over again.
She talked to Horse about Sherlock, burying the other memories beneath thoughts of the old dog who had made her feel safe.
The knock at the door took Theo by surprise. For a moment she froze, and then she told herself not to be ridiculous. A glance through the peephole revealed an older man, shirt and jacket in clashing plaids, snow boots, red muffler, and a flat cap. Theo summoned Horse to her side and opened the door.
The visitor removed his hat. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Howsit goin’?”
“Hello. Can I help you Mr.—?”
“Winslow. Burt Winslow. I live a couple of blocks up at number 277.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Winslow?”
“Are you Miss Benton?”
“Yes—I’m Theo Benton…this is Horse.” Theo thought it prudent to bring his attention to the dog, just in case. Though, as he knew her name, she expected he was a friend of Gus’s.
