far as other dangers, realizing my boys can make anything dangerous, the only two inherent dangers are the pond at the back of the property and Romulus. The boys are never allowed at the pond without an adult and currently nobody cares for Romulus but me.”
“What’s a Romulus?”
Emmet’s quick burst of laughter startled me. “You didn’t notice the 130-pound Rottweiler in the breezeway yesterday?” He asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
“No, he didn’t bark when I drove up and I didn’t see him out on the lawn at all.”
“He’s an attack dog, Annie,” Emmet said sternly. “He doesn’t bark and he doesn’t bound around the yard like the family pet. Once you hear him, it’s too late. I let him out at night at 10 p.m. and put him in at 6 am. He roams the grounds at night. If you have to go outside during that time, you will need to let me know. I should have told you about him last night. Come downstairs at 10:00 this evening, I’ll introduce you.”
“I’ll pass.”
“He will be friendly toward you when I am around,” he said, ignoring my protest. “But don’t ever forget he is an attack dog. Over time, I will help him get used to you. He is used to the boys of course, but they know not to try to play with him. He isn’t the family pet. For the record, Susan steers completely clear of him.”
I paused for a moment saying a prayer of thanks; I went running this morning at 6:15. “How do I reach you in an emergency?”
“Consternation over the dog?”
“No,” I smiled weakly. “It’s just the next question,” I said, tilting my paper toward him, though my body language contradicted my words.
“Cell phone. How many more questions are there?”
“That’s the last one actually. The others are for Susan. Could we spend the last fifteen minutes in your office? It would be helpful to have you point out where things are located.”
We both warmed our coffee and I followed Emmet to the office. He pointed out my in-box, his in-box, to be filed, where the mail goes, the checkbook, list of stores he has accounts with, list of logins and passwords, list of weekly errands, list of service providers…he had a list, file, or basket for everything; and everything had its place. Only the ‘to be filed’ basket had more than a few papers in it…and it was overflowing.
“I don’t file.” Emmet declared in explanation as he left his office.
After two hours of filing, the basket was empty. The most difficult task was matching health insurance EOB’s to the receipt from the doctor’s office. Tomorrow I would have to run the list of errands and pick up office supplies. Susan offered to come early and run errands with me. I planned to do some laundry for her…but first I had to see her room. Emmet’s comment made me curious.
It looked like a tornado had whipped through it, which was funny since she only stayed over when Emmet traveled. I tidied it a bit, but didn’t want to make my efforts too noticeable. The rest of the house was spotless…except the laundry room…Susan’s domain also. I spent about three hours doing laundry. I would tell her it was an equitable trade for her time tomorrow if I thought she was offended…better yet; I would just call it a trade…drop the word equitable.
I put away all the laundry I could, ending in Emmet’s room. His bedroom was much like his office; everything in its place. I’m sure he appreciated having his bed made military style—so you could bounce a quarter off it. His closet was extremely organized. It looked like the racks from a clothing store. Everything arranged by color. The towels in his closet were folded differently than the ones hanging. I spent a few minutes refolding the ones in his closet in thirds and then in half like the hanging ones.
Emmet was obviously very structured. Although it was comfortable for me because it was familiar…and I like structure…I was hopeful he wasn’t a control freak like Lawrence. I planned on asking Susan a lot of questions the next day…including why she steered clear of Romulus.
At 10 p.m. sharp Emmet took me outside to meet Romulus. I stood pressed against the back door yards from the breezeway while Emmet freed the beast. He waved me over—and I waved back resisting the risk of becoming dog food. It was a momentary delay to the inevitable, because Emmet and the killer walked toward me. Romulus’ continuous growl was replaced by an intrusive sniff when he reached me and completely invaded my personal space.
“Not a dog person,” I squeaked, focused on not wetting myself.
“Good boy,” Emmet said rubbing the dog’s head. Why did he feel the need to comfort the dog when I was panic-stricken? Wordlessly he took my arm and led me to the back lawn while Romulus followed suspiciously behind us. I stood like a mannequin for thirty minutes while Emmet exercised him by playing fetch. Finally torment time was over and Emmet led me back into the house.
“Tomorrow night, ten o’clock…goodnight, Annie.”
7
Susan came over at 10 am and we ran errands together. She’d been with the family for three years. She took over for the last nanny after Emmet’s wife, Marie, died. That seemed like an odd time to switch nannies, but she didn’t offer any more details and I didn’t ask.
She thanked me for my work in the laundry room and I shared it was the least I could do since she was spending the morning with me doing my work. I told her to let me know if she needed help with anything else, attempting to foster a team effort approach. Susan drove so I could make notes and program the addresses into my GPS. I admitted to Susan I suffered severely from “map-lexia,” and while I was in the mood to admit my inadequacies, I also confessed my cooking was abysmal. She just laughed.
It took almost five hours to run errands. She had a whole little field trip prepared to familiarize me with the community. We drove a different way home than we did going out and past a strip mall with a kickboxing studio. At home, my old-no-longer-home that is, I worked out several times a week at a great gym that held kickboxing classes. They were my favorite. I stopped in quickly and spoke with the young man at the counter.
“Well ma’am,” he said as though I was seventy-three years old. “This isn’t a typical studio. Harold, the owner, is a world champion kickboxer. He is the main instructor and he trains fighters, not…uh…well, housewives. There are group sessions and private sessions. Before you start, Harold has to run you through some…uh…tests. I’m not trying to discourage you, ma’am, just want you to know what you’re in for.” He handed me some information and I left.
Learning to fight may prove useful given my current situation. Right then the only developed defense I had was running.
“Well?” Susan asked.
“It’s pretty much an extreme fighting studio. Not what I had originally thought. I’d have to have an assessment with the owner first. I want to do it. What’s the worse that could happen? He doesn’t take me as a student?”
“And he breaks a rib or two in the process; your ribs…maybe your nose too? You’re not quite all there are you?” She asked, laughing.
“I’m always up for a challenge. In fact, speaking of challenges…I really appreciate you spending your entire day with me today. You have saved me so much time. What can I do to show my appreciation?”
“You’re
