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Jake Grady stood on the back porch and looked at the jagged rocks in the stream below. There was a small waterfall directly under the deck, and whoever built the house must have thought the effect was striking. All Jake thought was that the 35 foot drop to the rocks would be somewhat final.
No, he shouldn't think like that. His boy was raising a fine family, a nice wife and two healthy boys, and they were visiting her parents in Vermont for the holidays. It had been eight months since their last visit over there, and Jake was genuinely happy that they had gone. Still, it made a lonely Thanksgiving Day for an old man.
God, he missed Virginia. He wrung his gnarled hands slightly as he thought of her. Gone for eight long years now, and it didn't seem to get any easier as time went by. What grand holidays they had once enjoyed at their big house in Massachusetts. They used to invite all the relatives and neighbors, and sometimes down and out strangers, and there was still always food left over that he would enjoy for days. What grand times they had been.
After the cancer had taken his wife, he had sold the big house and moved up here to Maine. His son was already located here, so it was natural that he would also move to Union to live out his 'Golden Years.'
"Golden Years, my ass. I haven't seen much that's golden about 'em so far," grumbled Grady. He knew he shouldn't complain, for he still had good health. It was just hard on days like this, that was all.
He had received a couple of invitations, but he had preferred to be alone with his memories. Or so he had thought. He had been called bull-headed more than once, and he had to admit that he was a bit stuck in his ways. There had been no invitation from that old wind bag Mildred Peabody next door. Not that he cared, he told himself, but he had kind of expected to get one from her.
He figured she was that kind of do-gooder that always had to loudly proclaim the good deeds she had done. She was always proclaiming something, he thought, for whenever he saw her at church or at a public supper, her mouth was running a mile a minute. Without really listening to what she said, Jake had dismissed her as a busybody, for anybody that talked that much had to have something wrong with her.
Still, when he looked over across the stream to her big grand house, he wondered what was going on inside. A stream of people had come and gone throughout the day, so obviously she was not a lonely woman. Oh, well, none of his business anyway.
At least he had Mitch. The dog seemed to understand his feelings and share them with him. He had found the dog at the pound, the homeliest 60 pounds of canine he had ever laid eyes on. None of the other pet shoppers even looked in that cage, and Jake realized the dog was just as lonely as he was. When the shelter manager told him he had saved the dog from certain death, Grady was doubly pleased at rescuing his new found friend.
Mitch looked like God had taken a bunch of miscellaneous dog parts and shook them up in a sack. What poured out was Mitch. Offhand, he looked like he was part collie, shepherd, lab, Rottweiler, dachshund, and Mexican hairless, with maybe a dash of Newfoundland thrown in. He had no tricks except for quiet displays of affection. He was the perfect dog for a lonely old man.
It was hard not to get caught up in memories on a day like this. He used to be called Spider Man by the guys on the force and by the doctor that usually stitched him up. Not because of an ability to climb, but because of a network of small scars that covered his face.
The main result of the tough Massachusetts gun law of thirty years ago was that hookers and minor drug pushers on the street started carrying single edged razor blades as a last ditch weapon. Jake Grady figured he had received one hundred and seventy two stitches in his face as a direct result of this law. He hadn't seen any particular drop in crime.
He smiled as he thought of the guys on the force. Man, they were a tough crew. Made a man proud to be one of them. He wished he was one of them again, but he was old. An old man contemplating a quick jump to the eager rocks below.
What would people say? He could imagine that Peabody woman sniffing and saying what a shame it was, and hadn't she been trying to draw him out of his shell so that something like this wouldn't happen?
Wait a second. Nobody had to know what had happened. He could just leave a half finished drink on the railing and maybe a footstool in front of it, so that it would look like he had simply leaned too far and fell. So there it was. If he really wanted to do it, here was the perfect crime.
What about Mitch? He couldn't leave his buddy in the lurch. It was a cinch Mrs. Peabody wouldn't take him in. When she had met the dog in the yard, she had simply given en emphatic, "Oh, dear," like the neighborhood was on the edge of ruin. Maybe his boy. Yes, of course. His son knew how much the dog meant to him, and he would give it or find it a good home.
Jake glanced over at the Peabody house again. Another family seemed to be just leaving, probably a son or daughter and grandchildren. "Well, somebody's getting some company anyway." Jake supposed that was good. He had heard that her husband had passed away a while ago, but he hadn't asked any questions about it. He wasn't nosy. "Not like some people I know," he snorted.
Again Jakes's attention was drawn to the ugly teeth in the stream below. He wasn't sure, but just in case, he went in and poured a scotch and soda and drank half of it. The rest of it he put on the railing. He bent over and rubbed Mitch's head, staring deep into the dog's eyes for a long time.
He snapped to attention. "Jake, are you deaf? You didn't answer your door, so I came right in."
"Oh, hello, Mrs. Peabody." Now what was she doing here? "I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts."
"Never mind the formalities. Just call me Mildred. I came over to see what you were doing for Thanksgiving. Not much, it looks like," sniffing as she said it. Jake opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off before he got the chance. Typical, he figured.
"I tried to get John Paul to introduce us properly, but I could tell you got him on another subject because you were both laughing."
"Well, yes, I guess we did get to talking about fishing." And he grinned. His grin was not only infectious, but it stripped away the years. His hair might be white now, but that grin made him look just like the service picture on the mantel taken when he was just twenty. The grin was that of a little boy. Mildred's breath caught in her throat when she saw it.
"At our age we don't need proper introductions, anyway, Jake. Won't you come over and have dinner with me?"
"You haven't eaten yet? You've had all kinds of company."
"Yes, I have. Relatives stop for a quick visit because they think they should. None of them want to spend any time. But that's okay, they mean well. I cooked a turkey and took a chance that you would join me. With dinner, maybe more. Like I said, at our age we haven't got time for formalities."
"Well, Mildred, I've been out of circulation ever since my wife passed on. I'm flattered, but I don't know if I'd know how to act."
"Oh, never mind being shy. My Bill has been gone two years, and that's long enough. People aren't meant to live alone, Jake, so bring your slippers and whatever else you might need if you want to stay later. Okay?" she asked, speaking quietly, confidentially now. "And yes, bring your dog too. Animals need companionship as much as we do."
As they left his front door she took his hand! He hadn't held hands with a woman in over forty years. He had forgotten the intimacy, the unspoken promises given by such a gesture. They walked hand in hand up the road, and when they turned up her walk, he never thought to look back, even though his life had taken an abrupt turn from which he would not return.
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