The Ring

      “I can’t do it,” she whispered.

      “Ever?”

      “I’m not saying never, Bill.”

      That’s what Darlene said the last time I asked her to marry me. Closest I ever came. I was forty. We were lying in her bed when it just came out.

      I still stayed over and made eggs. Over easy for her, scrambled for me, and a raw one for her dog, Woody. We sat at the table, not talking.

      Then she said, Hey—would you take Woody with you today? I don’t want him home alone. And I said, yeah, sure. She’d never asked me to take him before.

      Woody hated me as much as a lab can hate anybody, which means he was cordial. Just sat on his side of the cab, staring out the window.

      In those days, my route covered four counties from Onandaga east to Timbersene. Woody waited in the truck at the stops, and I split my lunch with him.

      I had a new shop to visit in Pawberry. The GPS sent me down an old forestry road. Sandy two-track surrounded by immense trees. No houses. Woody stuck his nose out the window. Then I saw the road flooded ahead. I figure I’m going to be late for my appointment. We blew a flat turning around.

      I just got the tire out from under the truck when Woody started pawing the window like he had to pee. We were in the middle of the woods, so I turned him loose, and he took off. I ran up the hill where I last saw him.

      There was an old stone chimney in the trees over that hill, and I could see his tail up in the air digging. Looked like the remains of an old house gone back to the woods.

      I yelled meaner than I meant, but he just kept digging. All I could see was tail and asshole until I got close and saw what he’d dug into—a rectangular cut of dark soil. Then he grabbed something pale from the hole and moved away from me.

      Real nice, like you’d say to a kid, I say, “Come here, Woody.” He didn’t fall for that. But he had his mouth open, and I saw that ring for the first time. Big one. Thought at first the stone was black, but when it caught the light, it went deep red.

      Squatting down, I tried to coax him over, but he looked around and then trotted away. I ease towards him, talking nice, and then when I get close, I lunge at him, and he jumps away again. I didn’t see the ring anymore, so I looked on the ground, hoping he dropped it so I could lure him with it. Then he bared his teeth. I’d never seen him do that before. Something old kicked in my brain, like a caveman wolf thing, and I realized we’re out here in the middle of nowhere and he’s got teeth, so I picked up a stick. He stared for a minute, then took off into the woods. I knew he wasn’t coming back.

      After changing the tire, I end up at Pawberry a little late. Couple of old men sitting at the counter drinking coffee. Say they’ll call, but I never get hopes about that.

      On the drive, I settled on telling Darlene most of the truth about Woody. That he broke away from me at a rest stop. I’d buy her a new puppy.

      The lights were on, so I knew she was home when I pulled in. Before I could knock, she ripped open the door.

      “I can’t believe you, Bill,” she yelled.

      “How did you know?”

      “How the hell do you think?”

      She steps aside and motions to the room, which is full of muddy tracks.

      “Why wouldn’t you clean him off?”

      “Woody?” I said.

      “I’ve got him in the tub. You know, Bill, we have this talk, and then you pull this shit! Go home. I’ve had it.”

      She pushed me out the door, and I went home.

      I sat in my chair a long time, nursing a beer. That dog couldn’t have made it back. Not from out there. Not that fast.

      The nearest emergency vet is an hour away, and that’s where Darlene was when she called me that night. She tells me something’s not right with Woody, and when it got dark, he started jumping at the window and dry heaving.

      “Did you feed him anything?” She asks.

      “He had a bite of my burger at lunch.” But the thought of that ring and anything else he might’ve dug up pops into my head. I say nothing.

      “I feed him from the table all the time. Don’t worry about it, Bill. It’s not your problem,” and she hangs up.

      Next morning, I get a call from those old guys in Pawberry.

      I made it out there after lunch. One of them gave me a coffee. We stood in the garage, and I saw a big map on the wall. That place in the woods comes to mind, and I point at it and say, “I had to backtrack from here yesterday. Road flooded.” One of the old-timers just walks away.

      The other one says, “Don’t mind him.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Lots of people won’t drive that road. He’s one of those.”

      I cleaned out the fridge that night; mostly beer in there. Then I started thinking about Darlene, so I get on the computer to occupy myself. I end up finding this line about a fire starting by a homestead out there West of Pawberry a hundred years ago.

      Darlene calls me as I’m reading archived papers about how they figured that fire got set and who they think did it. I’d drunk eight beers and was thinking I might need more.

      “I need you to come over,” she says.

      “Tomorrow?”

      “Tonight. I need you.”

      “Okay,” I said, and then, “I’ll see you shortly.”

      It was pissing rain and the streets were empty that time of night. I shouldn’t have gone out. She opened the door before I could knock.

      We always had a good sex life. I had a bunch of sweet stuff to say, but we were in bed before I could say any of it.

      For all the passion, her insides were cold, and I had a hard time powering through, but I was still young and tough, and I didn’t want to interrupt the moment. Through this whole deal, she says nothing and then leaves the room when it’s finished.

      I get my clothes on and go out to the living room. The whole place is lit with candles. She’s sitting on the floor cross-legged.

      “Hey, can we talk?” She sat there naked and quiet, with her eyes closed.

      I see she’s not totally naked. “Nice ring,” I said.

      “The vet got it out of Woody.” She kept her eyes closed. “You can go now.”

      “Geez, Darlene. What’s going on? You call me over here—”

      “Leave,” she says, and her eyes open, and in that light, her they looked like steel ball bearings. It got cold in that room.

      “Darlene, I—”

      I’m still not sure I remember this part right. I hear a growl from the other room, and think it’s Woody. The shadow of him crept around the corner, and it looked like a wolf—ears up, tail down. Maybe the candlelight was playing tricks on me, but I knew I needed to leave. Darlene just sat there, eyes closed again as I walked out the door. Last time I talked to her before she disappeared.

      I tell you, I drove out to that old cabin ruin a few weeks later and parked on the road. Big old maples make the woods shadowy through there, to the point you can’t see well in the forest even on a sunny day. Swore I saw that dog watching over the top of the hill as I pulled up before he slunk back into the trees. I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car.

      I know that dog would’ve run those woods and not the road, so it’s hard to figure the timing without hoofing it myself. I looked at the map in that shop in Pawberry, with all the swamps and hills and rough terrain between there and Darlene’s old place. He never could’ve made that. Not that fast.