Listen! (9780062213358) Read Online Free Page A

where the cement meets the gravel. “Lunchtime!” she calls again. Charley steps back from the food and waits for the dog to come out. He doesn’t. So she turns around and goes back to the house. When she gets to the ramp, she turns to watch. Still the dog doesn’t come out. Finally she goes all the way back inside and closes the sliding door. She moves to the dining room window to watch.
    Sarita, tall and lean as a heron in her faded blue jeans and navy T-shirt, comes down the hall from the bedroom. “What’s up?”
    There is no way to know what Sarita would think of having a dog in the house. She is as communicative as a statue. But it isn’t Sarita Charley has to convince; it is her father. Charley motions Sarita to the narrow window by the front door. “Watch. Out on the drive.”
    The dog comes out of the woods and stands for a moment looking toward the house. Then he crouches low to the ground and begins to creep up on the food dish, as if it might be booby-trapped. He sniffs at it quickly, then backs away. He looks to his right, his left, and over his shoulder, sniffs again, then begins creeping forward, his tail tightly tucked between his legs. He wants the food, Charley can see. Really wants it. But he seems terrified of it, too.
    Finally, standing as far back from the bowl as he possibly can, he stretches his neck to reach the food. He wolfs a couple of bites and then backs up to check all around again, muscles tensed and ready to run.
    â€œThat’s the stray from the other side of the lake,” Sarita says.
    â€œHow’d you know about him?”
    â€œSaw him a couple of times up by the mailboxes. Scooted off when he saw me, though. Scruffy-lookin’ thing.”
    The dog goes on eating, gulping quickly, stopping every couple of mouthfuls to check for danger. When he finishes, he slips back into the woods.
    â€œMrs. Davis says nobody can get near that dog,” Sarita says.
    â€œNobody can.”
    â€œSo how come you’re feeding him?”
    â€œBecause he’s hungry.” It is more than that, she knows. But Charley can’t explain it even to herself. “I’m thinking maybe he could come live with us.”
    â€œHuh!” Sarita says, and runs a hand over her fine frizz of gray hair. “What’s your father going to say?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Whatever he says, Charley thinks, surprised at how strongly she feels, suddenly, she will find a way to have this dog in her life.

5
Night
    C harley is in bed, watching television, when her father gets home and comes to her room to say good night. “You don’t know anything about training dogs,” he says when she asks him about Coyote. “Taming a wild one is no way to start. You have no idea what’s happened to that dog, what scars he has. A professional trainer probably couldn’t turn a dog like that into a pet.”
    He doesn’t understand, Charley thinks. She isn’t exactly sure she does. She wants Coyote in her life, but she does not want a pet.
    â€œIf you really want a dog, we could get you a puppy, an animal that doesn’t have any history to overcome. Even that wouldn’t be easy. A puppy needs lots of attention.” Her father leans against her doorframe and frowns. His face is thinner than it used to be. And less certain. “On the other hand, training a pup would give you something to do this summer, something to focus on and get you out of the house—if you think you’re up to it. We’d have to get some dog training books—”
    â€œI don’t want a puppy!” Charley says. “I want this dog. If he doesn’t come live with us, he’s going to die. Whether he dies in the woods or at the shelter, he’s going to die.” There is no point trying to explain the connection she feels with this dog.
    Paul Morgan loosens his tie and sighs. Death is not a subject they talk about.