Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page B

the back door onto
the porch. Alison followed him, trading the heavy smells of the
kitchen for the tart, dry October morning. The mountains were
vibrant in their dying glory, umber, burgundy, ochre.
    Sandy Ann was sleeping in a hollowed-out
place under the steps. The dog lifted its head at the sound of
their feet. It must have smelled the bacon in Robert’s hand,
because its dusty nose wiggled and Sandy Ann dragged itself into
the yard.
    The sun glinted in the tears that ran down
Robert’s cheeks. “Good girl,” he said, giving the dog a piece of
bacon. The dog swallowed it without chewing and ran its rough
tongue over its lips, ears lifting a little in anticipation of
more. Robert moved the bacon to his rifle hand and scratched the
dog on top of the head.
    “ Come on, girl, let’s take a
walk.” He headed toward the woods.
    Sandy Ann looked back at Alison, eyes dim and
hiding pain, brown crust in their corners. She held out the bacon
in her hand. Unlike the other pieces she had fed it, this one
wasn’t sprinkled with rat poison. The dog licked its lips once
more, exhaled a chuffing sigh, then followed Robert, the yellow
tail swinging gently like a piece of frozen rope.
    Robert led the way across the yard, holding
the bacon aloft so the dog could smell it. He and Sandy Ann went
through a crooked gate and Robert leaned the rifle against the
fence while he fastened the latch. He looked back at the porch.
Alison waved and bit into her own bacon.
    They started again, both of them stooped and
limping. They reached the trees, Robert’s boots kicking up the
brittle leaves, Sandy Ann laboring by his side. The last she saw of
him was his plaid flannel shirt.
    She should chase them. Maybe she could hold
the bacon while Robert loaded the gun. After all, she had cooked
it. And, in a way, she was replacing Sandy Ann. If Robert ever got
another dog, it would be Alison’s home and therefore it would be
the dog that would have to adjust, not the other way around. She
didn’t think they would get another dog, not for a while.
    Sandy Ann was just a dog, and Alison wasn’t a
dog person. She was the practical one in the relationship. She
could have driven Sandy Ann to the vet, even at the risk of getting
dog hair in her car. The vet would have drawn out a nice, clean
needle and Sandy Ann could drift off to sleep, dreaming of fast
squirrels and chunks of cooked meat and snacks by the back porch of
home.
    Maybe Robert needed the catharsis of
violence. Perhaps that would be his absolution, though surely he
couldn’t view the dog’s infirmity as his fault. After all, it would
have aged no matter the owner. Sandy Ann, like all of them, would
die and go to whatever heaven was nearest. Robert’s way might be
best after all. One split-second and then the pain would end.
    Alison went inside and poured herself a half
cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, looking through the
window. The sunlight was soft on the stubbled garden. Some of the
marigolds clung to a defiant life, their edges crinkled and brown.
Collard leaves swayed in the breeze like the ears of small green
puppies. The shovel stood by the barn, waiting.
    Her coffee mug was to her lips when the shot
sounded. The report echoed off the rocky slopes and the hard,
knotty trees. Alison didn’t know whether to smile or pout against
the ceramic rim. The house was hers.
    When Robert returned, she would have tears in
her eyes. She would hug him and let him sag onto her, and she would
lead him to the couch. She would remind him of all the great
memories, and let him talk for hours about the dog’s life. She
would kneel before him and remove his boots and wipe the mud from
them. He would have no appetite, but she would cook for him anyway,
maybe something sweet, like a pie. If he wanted, he could have some
more of the Jack Daniels. She would turn on the television and they
would sit together, the two of them in their house.
    Her house.
    Alison finished her coffee. The remaining
bacon