Dear Irene by Jan Burke Page B

Desire
?”
    “You
are
a detective. My dad named our pets, too. Blanche was a stray, and Dad said she had survived because she had ‘always depended on the kindness of strangers.’”
    “Were your other pets named Stanley and Stella?”
    “No, Blanche was the only one that took her name from Tennessee Williams. Dad was being a little dramatic himself. It was a protest of sorts. He wanted us to get rid of her.”
    “Your dad didn’t like dogs?”
    “He was just exercising his authority. You know how this goes. He grumbled that he didn’t want a dog, told us to take Blanche to the pound, but then he ended up being the one who fed the dog from the table — he’d even let Blanche sneak up onto the couch when my mother was in the other room. Blanche was crazy about him. She was only my dog until my dad came home from work, then she shadowed him.”
    “Trouble used to follow me everywhere I’d go,” Frank said.
    I laughed. “Sorry. It still sounds funny.”
    “I had the same problem talking about her as a kid.”
    “I used to take Blanche hunting for hot dogs.”
    “Had a lot of wild hot dogs burrowing around in Las Piernas back then?”
    “Given the opportunity, I
will
explain. I’d steal a hot dog out of the refrigerator, drag it around on the ground, and hide it somewhere in the yard. Then I’d put her on a leash, and she would follow the trail and track it down. She’d find it every time.”
    “Poor mutt. Reduced to stalking Oscar Meyer.”
    “At least she got to eat the hot dog. I never asked her to fetch my stinky old tennis shoes.”
    He laughed. We sat there for a moment, remembering our dearly departed canines, listening to a blues program on KLON. The wood popped and crackled in the fireplace. We began softly touching each other. The caresses weren’t so much sexual as tender; small gifts of affection. I traced the ridge of his eyebrows, ran the back of my nails beneath his chin; he stroked the back of my arm above my elbow, found that place along my left shoulder blade that loves to be lightly scratched.
    “About the mountains,” he said. “Let’s wait. We can go up for the weekend sometime in January or February.”
    “Frank, really, I don’t need to be babied about this.”
    “Neither do I. Could you stand to pass up all that food Lydia was talking about?”
    “First you practically hypnotize me with whatever that wonderful thing is that you’re doing to my ear. Then you bring up Lydia’s cooking. Do you use these same methods at work?”
    “You get all kinds of special privileges.”
    “Keep it that way, Harriman.”
    We watched Cody trot in through his new cat door and head straight for the fire. He gave us a look that said we should have called him to let him know there was a fire in here for a cat to enjoy.
    “Think Cody would run away if we had a dog?” Frank asked.
    “No, he knows who owns the can opener. Oh, I shouldn’t insult him. Cody’s a handful, but he’s loyal. He’d probably sulk for a few days, then he’d adjust. We’d just have to give him extra attention.”
    I got up and refilled our hot chocolates. Cody noticed the mint smell, of which he is enamored, and made a pest out of himself trying to get a taste of it.
    Frank gently pulled me back over to him, encircling me with his arms. “You haven’t had so many nightmares lately.”
    “No. At least, not the really intense ones. I might wake up, but I’m not screaming bloody murder.”
    “So you
are
still having them.” I could hear the worry in his voice.
    “Not as often as before. I’m almost used to it now.”
    “These letters and pranks getting to you?”
    No use lying. “A little.”
    I felt him tense. “I guess they worry me, too. Especially because I know you won’t be able to resist trying to track him down.”
    “It’s in my nature, Frank. A strong sense of curiosity is one of the things we have in common. You know I can’t ignore these letters. I don’t know why you find that hard to