Page 63 of Wildwood

“Yes, fine.” I shake my head, not knowing why I said that. “No. I mean, actually, I have a problem. My dog is missing. Hugo. He ran off into the woods last night. I don’t know if he was chasing an animal or what, but he hasn’t come home. You haven’t seen him, right?”

“No. I’m so sorry. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” She gestures inside.

“No.” It comes out harsher than I mean. I need to keep my cool. “No, thank you. I’m just going to keep looking for him.”

“Okay.” She sounds uncertain. “He’s probably just off having an adventure.”

“Do you mind if I walk through your back property a bit?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t think a bear would have gotten him, do you?”

“No,” Madeline says definitively. “They’d sooner run.”

“Yes,” I say, irritated. “So I hear.”

I go around the back of the houses, calling Hugo’s name as I go, hoping he’s run up here, looking for new fields to frolic in.

I come upon the sheep pens. The fog seems particularly thick around the animals. I walk toward the fence and peer inside. The flock stand huddled together. Some solid, some mixed. It’s hard to imagine that this wool becomes the soft and luxuriant Merino wool that is made into expensive scarves and sweaters. It looks so thick and wiry from here. The pen is full of dead grass and mud, and I am struck by how everything in this scene is the same shade of bleak. Muddy white, brown, and black. The ground, the sheep, the air around them, the bare trees beyond. It’s easy to imagine how difficult it must have been here, at the beginning. Everything feels so raw. People must have felt so vulnerable.

I pound on Julian and Joan’s door next. Joan answers, with a look of annoyance.

“Can I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you so early,” I say formally. “But my dog is missing. He ran off last night.”

Joan stares at me, and it almost looks like she wants to say something but decides not to.

“So, if you see him, can you call me right away? He’s my baby and I need to find him.” I hold out a piece of paper with my cell on it.

She doesn’t take it right away. She is looking at my belly, with an almost pained expression.

“Sorry,” I say, dropping my hand slightly. “I’m sure I’m worried over nothing. I know he’s just a dog, but do you mind keeping an eye out? He’s a German shepherd.”

“I know.” Joan takes the paper from my hand and doesn’t say anything more.

I’m down the front steps before she speaks again.

“I’m sorry about the dog.”

“Thank you.”

In true Joan fashion, she’s the only one who hasn’t tried to assure me that Hugo is off having an adventure and that he’ll be home soon.

Chapter 56

The trees are all bare. It’s called stick season, I think, the period of time after the leaves have fallen and before the onset of snow. It’s eerie and one can imagine the Headless Horseman charging down the dirt country roads, hooves kicking up dirt and gravel, looking for a head to take, revenge finally within reach.

But at the moment I’m the one haunting these roads. I’ve broken out Topher’s road bike, which has sat unused in the toolshed since we’ve gotten here. It feels more nimble than a car.

“Hugo!” I call, breathing hard as the tires crunch on the cold dirt road. I pause, at various intervals, hoping I’m now within earshot of him.

It’s only now, after I’ve traveled farther on the bike than I have on foot before, that I realize how isolated we are. The only other house I know of out here is Alice’s. Other than that, it’s all woods. All those woods, and no Hugo. Where is he?

As I ride, my breath clouds in front of me. At one point, I think I see a flash of movement in the woods to my right. I skid to a halt.

“Hugo?!”