“I thought so,” I said as he leaped toward me, putting his paws on my thighs.
I rubbed the dead grass and dirt from his back, and he bounded away, waiting for me halfway down our hill. The force of his wagging tail shook his whole backside. A mutt with different-colored eyes and odd-shaped ears, he wasn’t a cute dog, but he wouldn’t be as lovable if he were. Gigi agreed. She said that was why she picked him from the other dogs at the shelter. He was the cutest, in the least cute sort of way.
I threw my banana peel into the compost pile on the far side of the chicken coop. Jackson waited for me at the start of the trail. Though there were many other trails, only a few got used with any regularity. This was the one used the most, for obvious reasons. It had the best blueberry bushes, it led to the beach, and there was a side trail a few yards up which led to Jason and Sam’s house. Luca used at least this part of the trail every evening to spy on us and return to his house. I pushed that thought from my mind.
I’d never seen Luca out on the trails, though when he started watching our house at night I had begun to be more cautious, trying to keep an eye out for him. I did occasionally meet Jason or Sam on the trails. Jason was a quiet, hardworking man. If our paths crossed, he’d offer me a slight nod and a weary smile. Sam was equally hard-working, but not at all quiet. When I saw her, it always turned into a conversation—one I enjoyed. She, even more than Jason, was like part of our family and was one of Gigi’s closest friends, or perhaps Gigi was more of a mother figure to Sam. Either way, they often talked or texted during the weekdays, and when the weather was nice and Sam wasn’t working, they took long walks together.
Today Jackson and I would go to the shore; it was the understood destination when he and I entered the trail alone. With others, we might wander, picking blueberries or taking side trails, but when it was the two of us, we went to the ocean. It was a love he and I shared.
He was already on the trail, his head facing me, his tail wagging vigorously, a low happy growl coming from his throat as if to say “Why aren’t you running yet?”
I took an exaggerated runner’s stance. He barked in excitement, and the two of us began running down the trail. I wasn’t running hard and neither was he. He easily stayed in front of me, though only by a few feet. He was a people dog. He loved to be with his people.
I stripped off my sweatshirt, leaving me in the T-shirt I’d slept in. I tied the sweatshirt around my waist and picked up my pace. Jackson had slowed to a trot, waiting for me. I took the opportunity to brush his long thin tail with my hand. My touch startled him, causing him to run faster. I moved beside him on the wide path that long ago was a winding dirt road. The fall leaves scattered beneath our feet as the wind cooled the sweat forming on my skin. By the time the trees began to thin and the rocks and sand of the beach came into view, Jackson’s tongue was hanging loosely out of his mouth.
We slowed to a jog. When we reached the beach, our run ended. I inhaled the thick salt air, a stark contrast to the damp autumn leaves of just a few steps ago. The waves in our little cove were silent, or as close to silent as waves could be. The tide was low, creating an expansive beach of soft sand and smooth rocks. Beneath each rock there were treasures of the sea, making low tide Jackson’s favorite time to come to the beach. High tide was in a lot of ways more majestic, with the sea encroaching on the forest, but during high tide Jackson was limited to a sliver of beach to play on. He had the most fun during low tide. There were so many things to sniff. Creatures and objects which had been at the bottom of the ocean a few hours before were now on display. He didn’t wait for me as he began exploring, scaring the crabs who were trying their best to hide under rocks and avoid the ferocious hunter that was my dog.
Our beach was a cove, bordered on either side by cliffs that protected our tiny piece of the ocean and beach from both nature and man. To get here from either edge of our property would be difficult for most and impossible for others. It would never happen by accident.
The cliff, as I called it, was the start of a mountain, with a cliff above the old inn that sat on the far northern side of the cove. The southern side of our cove was also a cliff, though not one which could be hiked up—only climbed. Its face was pretty much straight up and down. It wouldn’t be a problem for someone who was a rock climber; it had plenty of places for feet and fingertips. Though it was certainly not something anyone would climb up or down by accident. It marked the boundary between our land and the land of the national forest, and there were no sanctioned trails anywhere near our property. Dad had made sure of that.
Our land was as secluded as we could get, without living on an island.
We rarely, if ever, had trespassers, and Dad, who worried about everything, never worried about Lisieux or me exploring our land by ourselves. Avi was not quite old enough. That was because an eight-year-old alone in the woods could be dangerous, not because anyone would hurt her, but she could get hurt and not know what to do.
That’s probably why I wandered halfway to the waves before I realized I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t used to others being around. I narrowed my eyes and held my hand at my forehead to block the sun. It was Luca. He was out at the far edge of the water, about five hundred feet away, where the shore sloped drastically to meet the sea. This made him appear short, though he was as tall as my dad and a foot taller than Jason and much lankier than both. As I slowed my pace Jackson noticed him as well. The fur on the back of his neck rose as he lowered his body and growled, baring his teeth. I continued to shield my eyes from the sun that seemed to hover above Luca. Jackson barked and started forward.
“Jackson, hush,” I commanded.
The dog stopped moving, but continued a low, threatening growl.
Luca turned. His dark skin was made even darker by the bright sun behind him. From his jerky movements, he seemed as surprised to see us as we were him.
I hesitated, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t afraid of him—at least that’s what I told myself—but I was cautious. He was the first to wave. I returned the gesture. Then he turned and continued fishing. I exhaled a long breath, grateful he was content to stay where he was and I could do the same.
“It’s all right,” I told Jackson, who took me at my word and began sniffing the rocks around my feet. I found a boulder dry enough to perch on as Jackson dug for sea creatures. From time to time I’d glance at Luca. His curly hair and dark skin were framed by the sun. He remained focused on the water and catching fish.
I remembered the scene from last night and every other night this week.
Should I fear him?
He spent his nights watching my house, he had a “troubled past,” and he and I were now alone, miles from anyone else. Yes, I thought, I should fear him. But I didn’t. I wondered why.
He caught one fish and then another. After the second one, he swung his pole to his shoulder and started back toward the shore. He carried three fish; he must have caught one before I arrived.
Luca came slowly toward me, cautious of Jackson. Luca’s T-shirt was ripped and his shorts frayed a little at the hem. Somehow, the raggedness of his clothing didn’t matter. I had been around Luca a handful of times and, each time, things on the outside, things I would ordinarily be focused on, faded away.
It was not until after our first meeting when my sisters were talking about how cute he was that I realized they were right. He was quite attractive, though not just physically; it went deeper. Perhaps that was why I hadn’t told anyone about him watching my house. If my dad knew, he’d send him away. Some part of me didn’t want him sent away.