Lying in wait

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The old white dog studied me from her usual place as I stepped up onto the porch, but she made no effort to rise and greet me or even to lift her head off her paws. I walked over, squatted beside her, and gave her silky ears a gentle rub.

"How's it going, Mandy, old girl?" I asked. She leaned into my hand while her tail thumped halfheartedly on the wooden porch, but still she didn't scramble to her feet. Instead, she stared intently up at me through soulful, cataract-dimmed eyes.

Leaving the dog where she was, I rose and walked over to the door. My hand was raised and ready to knock when the porch light snapped on. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges before my knuckles made contact with the wood. My grandmother, Beverly Piedmont, stood before me in the open doorway with her wispy white hair glowing in a backlit halo around her head.

"Just a minute, Jonas," she said quietly. "I'll get my coat."

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