The Dog That Whispered by Jim Kraus Page B

security in repetition . Wilson recalled that truth from a psychology class he took decades ago.
    Thurman looked back at his bowl and snorted, as if finally realizing that it was not going to be refilled. Then he looked back at Wilson and smiled.
    Then he growled.
    “What?”
    He growled again.
    “Emily? Is that what you’re trying to say? Emily?”
    Thurman grinned and stood and walked to Wilson, raising up and placing his front paws on his thigh.
    Pretty .
    Wilson shrugged.
    “I suppose. But young. Much younger than me.”
    Thurman tilted his head as if what Wilson said made no sense.
    He growled again.
    Pretty .
    Then he bounced back to the floor and trotted over to the back door.
    Wilson sighed.
    “You want to go for a real walk?”
    Thurman bounded up and ran to the front door, nails machine-gunning on the floor.
    “I could use some time to think,” Wilson said.
    Walk , Thurman growled happily. Walk. Walkies-walkies-walkies-walkies .

    Emily insisted on walking Gretna back upstairs to her apartment.
    “I can manage,” Gretna objected. “Really. I’ll be fine.”
    Emily smiled her best long-suffering smile. “I know. But I would feel so much better if I see you get home safe.”
    Gretna shrugged in submission.
    “I guess taking care of your mother-in-law is hard, isn’t it?” Gretna said. “This is what it’s like, isn’t it?”
    Emily’s smile did not evaporate, not really, but it did wither.
    “It is. But I don’t mind.”
    She pressed the elevator button and it clicked as it lit up.
    Gretna let the obvious lie go unchecked. At least Gretna thought it was a lie.
    Maybe she doesn’t mind. Maybe she’s okay with it. After all, there are people who want to be podiatrists and urologists. Go figure. Or dentists .
    Gretna fumbled with the key, then held it close to her eyes, checking to see which side had the ridges.
    “I can do that,” Emily said, gently reaching for and taking the keys, inserting each into its lock before finally opening the door.
    “There you go,” she said as she handed Gretna back her keys.
    Gretna stepped inside, then quickly turned back.
    “You believe in God, don’t you?” she asked, peering a little at Emily’s face, watching her expression.
    Emily hesitated only a few heartbeats.
    “I do.”
    Gretna leaned closer.
    “Which one?”
    It was obvious that Emily wanted to laugh, and her smile broadened, but she quickly drew herself to a serious look again.
    “The only one.”
    Gretna remained questioning.
    “Not just the Jewish one?”
    Emily’s mother-in-law was Jewish and had mentioned once, when she had an episode of clarity, that Emily, who was “such a good daughter-in-law,” had been born in Israel.
    Emily reached out and took Gretna’s hand in hers.
    “They are actually the same God, Gretna. But I believe in the God of the New Testament.”
    Gretna looked down at her hand.
    “That’s the same one as me, right?” Gretna asked. “The real one, right?”
    “It is.”
    Gretna nodded.
    “Good.”
    Emily’s smile had a wistful, almost sorrowful tilt to it.
    “Though there were times…after my husband…when it was hard. It’s still hard. But I believe. I do.”
    Gretna pulled Emily closer.
    “Then I can tell you this: I think Thurman talks to God. Or maybe it is vice versa. I can’t tell for sure.”
    Emily’s surprise was more than obvious.
    “He does?”
    “He does. And he told me today that you’re not supposed to be worried anymore. That it will all work out.”
    “He did?”
    Gretna’s nod was firm and decisive.
    “It will all work out, he says. For me. For you. And for Wilson.”
    Emily’s face bore…well, not a laughing-at-you look, but one of tenderness and understanding. It was apparent that she had faced the same manner of statements from her mother-in-law on more than one occasion.
    “I’m glad, Gretna. That makes me feel good.”
    Gretna squeezed Emily’s hand.
    “Good. We believe in God. And I believe in Thurman. And that