The Accidental Tourist

Muriel said cheerfully. "Doggie, Do taught me that."

Macon stood up. He was shaking.

"When they lick their lips it's good but when they put a foot on top of your foot it's bad," Muriel said. "Sounds like a secret language, just about, doesn't it?"

"Don't you ever, ever do that again," Macon told her.

"Huh?"

"In fact, don't even bother coming again."

There was a startled silence.

"Well, fine," Muriel said, tightening her scarf. "If that's the way you feel, just fine and dandy." She stepped neatly around Edward and opened the front door. "You want a dog you can't handle? Fine with me."

"I'd rather a barking dog than a damaged, timid dog," Macon said.

"You want a dog that bites all your friends? Scars neighbor kids for life? Gets you into lawsuits? You want a dog that hates the whole world?

Evil, nasty, angry dog? That kills the whole world?"

She slipped out the screen door and closed it behind her. Then she looked through the screen directly into Macon's eyes. "Why, yes, I guess you do," she said.

From the hall floor, Edward gave a moan and watched her walk away.

Now the days were shorter and colder, and the trees emptied oceans of leaves on the lawn but remained, somehow, as full as ever, so you'd finish raking and look upward to see a great wash of orange and yellow just waiting to cover the grass again the minute your back was turned.

Charles and Porter drove over to Macon's house and raked there as well, and lit the pilot light in the furnace and repaired the basement window.

They reported that everything seemed fine. Macon heard the news without much interest. Next week he'd be out of his cast, but no one asked when he was moving back home.

Each morning he and Edward practiced heeling. They would trudge the length of the block, with Edward matching Macon's gait so perfectly that he looked crippled himself. When they met passersby now he muttered but he didn't attack. "See there?" Macon wanted to tell someone. Bikers were another issue, but Macon had confidence they would solve that problem too, eventually.

He would make Edward sit and then he'd draw back, holding out a palm.

Edward waited. Oh, he wasn't such a bad dog! Macon wished he could change the gestures of command-the palm, the pointed finger, all vestiges of that heartless trainer-but he supposed it was too late. He tapped his foot. Edward growled. "Dear one," Macon said, dropping heavily beside him. "Won't you please consider lying down?" Edward looked away. Macon stroked the soft wide space between his ears. "Ah, well, maybe tomorrow," he said.

His family was not so hopeful. "What about when you start traveling again?" Rose asked. "You're not leaving him with me. I wouldn't know how to handle him."

Macon told her they would get to that when they got to it.

It was hard for him to imagine resuming his travels. Sometimes he wished he could stay in his cast forever. In fact, he wished it covered him from head to foot. People would thump faintly on his chest. They'd peer through his eyeholes. "Macon? You in there?" Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. No one would ever know.

One evening just after supper, Julian stopped by with a stack of papers.

Macon had to slam Edward into the pantry before he opened the door. "Here you are!" Julian said, strolling past him. He wore corduroys and looked rugged and healthy. ''I've been phoning you for three days straight. That dog sounds awfully close by, don't you think?"

"He's in the pantry," Macon said.

"Well, I've brought you some materials, Macon-mostly on New fork. We've got a lot of suggestions for New York."

Macon groaned. Julian set his papers on the couch and looked around him.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"Oh, here and there," Macon said vaguely, but just then Rose appeared, and Charles was close behind.

"I hope I'm not interfering with supper," Julian told them.

"No, no," Rose said.

"We've finished," Macon said triumphantly.

Julian's face fell. "Really?" he said. "What time do you eat, anyhow?"

Macon didn't answer that. (They ate at five thirty. Julian would laugh.) Rose said, "But we haven't had our coffee. Wouldn't you like some coffee?"

"I'd love some."

"It seems a little silly," Macon said, "if you haven't eaten."

"Well, yes," Julian said, "I suppose it does, Macon, to someone like you.

But for me, home-brewed coffee is a real treat. All the people in my apartment building eat out, and there's nothing in any of the kitchens but a couple cans of peanuts and some diet soda."

"What kind of place is that?" Rose asked.

"It's the Calvert Arms-a singles building. Everybody's single."

"Oh! What an interesting idea."

"Well, not really," Julian said gloomily. "Not after a while. I started out enjoying it but now I think it's getting me down. Sometimes I wish for the good old-fashioned way of doing things, with children and families and old people like normal buildings have."

"Well, of course you do," Rose told him. "I'm going to get you some nice hot coffee."

She left, and the others sat down. "So. Are you three all there is?"

Julian asked.