A Farewell to Legs: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,46

told her. “Ethan? It’ll take Ethan three weeks to notice we even have a dog!”

“Then you’re saying it’s okay with you if we get a dog?” said my wife.

I sat down on the bed and took her hands, beckoning her to sit next to me so we could talk seriously. Our eyes met, and I tenderly said, “no.”

“No?”

“No. Look, Abby, you know as well as I do that this dog is going to end up being mostly my responsibility. The kids will be thrilled to pieces with it for about three days, and then, once February comes and the wind is blowing and there’s six inches of snow on the ground, it won’t be so much fun to walk Fido anymore. And you’re at the office all day, so you won’t be able to do it. I’m here, I’m going to feel bad for the poor mutt, and I’m going to end up doing most of the care. So, as the person whose life it will affect most noticeably, I’m saying, no.”

Abby stared into my eyes, and saw that I was serious. She took a deep breath.

“Fido? You want to name our dog Fido?”

“You’re beautiful when you’re annoying,” I told her.

Abigail stood up and went back to packing. “We’ll take a look on the Internet when we get back,” she said.

“Abby. . .”

“I said a look. We won’t do anything until you say it’s okay.” She reached into the closet again. “Which nightgown should I bring?” she asked.

“How badly do you want me to agree to this dog idea?”

“Pretty badly.”

I pointed. “That one.”

She put it in the suitcase.

Chapter

Two

Driving long distances with children is an experience to be undertaken only by those foolish enough to become parents to begin with. The travel time by automobile from Midland Heights, New Jersey to Washington, D.C. is usually about three-and-a-half to four hours if you go straight through. The actual driving time with a wife and two children is about six hours, and if you listen to what goes on in the back seat, it feels like eight days.

“Stop that.”

“Shut up.”

“Ethan!”

“Get out of my face, you imbecile!” Ethan gets all his best insults from cartoons, which are his major source of cultural information. He thinks people actually say, “curse this traffic!”

We stopped about every half hour so Leah wouldn’t get car sick, and made sure to pull into every rest stop because, guaranteed, someone would have to go to the bathroom a half mile after we left. Only a parent can actually force someone to go to the bathroom when they don’t want to. We ate bad rest stop food (there is no good rest stop food). We listened to an unabridged recording of one of the Harry Potter books, and I did my best to keep the kids engaged along the way.

“Look, Ethan, a sign for the Decoy Museum!”

“So?”

“So, where do you think they keep the real museum?”

Long pause. “What do you mean?”

Like that.

Finally, much more battered but no less irritated with each other, we pulled the minivan (which was rumored to hold more luggage than a sedan, an out-and-out lie) up to the parking garage of a hotel that specifically asked me not to mention its name, given the fact that it doesn’t want to offer the “Dead Conservative” rate to every family that pulls up with four stuffed animals, a bag full of foods an Asperger’s kid will eat, and one suitcase carrying a certain, specifically requested nightgown.

My bag, an overnighter, held three changes of underwear and socks, a few shirts, an extra pair of jeans, my “toiletries,” and a copy of my latest script. Maybe being confined in a room with Abby for three nights, I’d be able to force her to read it.

Getting Abby to read one of my scripts is like getting Leah to go to the dentist. She’ll do it, but only under extreme duress.

She tells me it’s hard to read something when the author is in the room. I’ve offered to leave the room while she’s reading, but she says she can feel my eyes on her the whole time. This is silly of her, since my eyes are on her all the time, but Abby will generally read the latest book she’s gotten out of the library, even if she doesn’t like it, before my script. Hell, she’ll read the side of a cereal box before she’ll read my script.

In the old days (before I wised up), I used to wait until she’d read it