The Accidental Tourist

"Well? Dry cleaner's? Shoe repair?"

"Just an ordinary errand, Julian. Nothing special."

"Hardware store? Pharmacy?"

"No."

"So what is it?"

"Uh . . . she had to buy Furniture Food."

Julian's chair rocked so far back, Macon thought he was going to tip over. He wished he would, in fact. "Macon, do me a favor," Julian said.

"Couldn't you just once invite me to a family dinner?"

"We're really not much for socializing," Macon told him.

"It wouldn't have to be fancy. Just whatever you eat normally. What do you eat normally? Or I'll bring the meal myself. You could lock the dog up ... what's his name again?"

"Edward."

"Edward. Ha! And I'll come spend the evening."

"Oh, well," Macon said vaguely. He arranged himself on his crutches.

"Why don't I step outside and wait with you."

"I'd really rather you didn't," Macon said.

He couldn't bear for Julian to see his sister's little basin hat.

He pegged out to the curb and stood there, gazing in the direction Rose should be coming from. He supposed she was lost again. The cold was already creeping through the stretched-out sock he wore over his cast.

The trouble was, he decided, Julian had never had anything happen to him.

His ruddy, cheerful face was unscarred by anything but sunburn; his only interest was a ridiculously inefficient form of transportation. His brief marriage had ended amicably. He had no children. Macon didn't want to sound prejudiced, but he couldn't help feeling that people who had no children had never truly grown up. They weren't entirely . . . real, he felt.

Unexpectedly, he pictured Muriel after the Doberman had knocked her off the porch. Her arm hung lifeless; he knew the leaden look a broken limb takes on. But Muriel ignored it; she didn't even glance at it. Smudged and disheveled and battered, she held her other hand up.

"Absolutely not," she said.

She arrived the next morning with a gauzy bouffant scarf swelling over her hair, her hands thrust deep in her coat pockets. Edward danced around her. She pointed to his rump. He sat, and she bent to pick up his leash.

"How's your little boy?" Macon asked her.

She looked over at him. "What?" she said.

"Wasn't he sick?"

"Who told you that?"

"Someone at the vet's, when I phoned."

She went on looking at him.

"What was it? The flu?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, probably," she said after a moment. "Some little stomach thing."

"It's that time of year, I guess."

"How come you phoned?" she asked him.

"I wanted to know why Edward wouldn't lie down."

She turned her gaze toward Edward. She wound the leash around her hand and considered him.

"I tap my foot but he never obeys me," Macon said. "Something's wrong."

"I told you he'd be stubborn about it."

"Yes, but I've been practicing two days now and he's not making any-"

"What do you expect? You think I'm magical or something? Why blame me?"

"Oh, I'm not blaming-"

"You most certainly are. You tell me something's wrong, you call me on the phone-"

"I just wanted to-"

"You think it's weird I didn't mention Alexander, don't you?"

"Alexander?"

"You think I'm some kind of unnatural mother."

"What? No, wait a minute-"

"You're not going to give me another thought, are you, now you know I've got a kid. You're like, 'Oh, forget it, no point getting involved in that,' and then you wonder why I didn't tell you about him right off.

Well, isn't it obvious? Don't you see what happens when I do?"

Macon wasn't quite following her logic, perhaps because he was distracted by Edward. The shriller Muriel's voice grew, the suffer Edward's hair stood up on the back of his neck. A bad sign. A very bad sign. Edward's lip was slowly curling. Gradually, at first almost soundlessly, he began a low growl.

Muriel glanced at him and stopped speaking. She didn't seem alarmed. She merely tapped her foot twice. But Edward not only failed to lie down; he rose from his sitting position. Now he had a distinct, electrified hump between his shoulders. He seemed to have altered his basic shape. His ears were flattened against his skull.

"Down," Muriel said levelly.

With a bellow, Edward sprang straight at her face. Every tooth was bare and gleaming. His lips were drawn back in a horrible grimace and flecks of white foam flew from his mouth. Muriel instantly raised the leash. She jerked it upward with both fists and lifted Edward completely off the floor. He stopped barking. He started making gargling sounds.

"He's choking," Macon said.

Edward's throat gave an odd sort of click.

"Stop it. It's enough! You're choking him!"

Still, she let him hang. Now Edward's eyes rolled back in their sockets.

Macon grabbed at Muriel's shoulder but found himself with a handful of coat, bobbled and irregular like something alive. He shook it, anyhow.

Muriel lowered Edward to the floor. He landed in a boneless heap, his legs crumpling beneath him and his head flopping over. Macon crouched at his side. "Edward? Edward? Oh, God, he's dead!"

Edward raised his head and feebly licked his lips.

"See that? When they lick their lips it's a sign they're giving in,"