Page 157 of Demo
He starts to take steps in my direction as I say, “Knox, it’s—”
But I’m interrupted by barking and the sound of toenails on concrete as Kennedy comes bounding out of the garage, cuts across the driveway and makes a B-line across the lawn for me. Overwhelmed, I crouch down and open my arms, tears threatening as I wait for him to pounce on me and slobber all over my David Bowie T-shirt. Instead, he comes to a screeching halt about two feet away from me and just barks, then spins in a circle and barks some more.
“Kennedy, bud, it’s me! It’s Lizzie!” I wiggle my outstretched palms and fingers like jazz hands, but he just keeps pacing in front of me and barking.
“Lizzie,” Knox says as he saunters toward us.
“Ohmygod,” I stammer. “He hates me. He fucking hates me!”
Knox chuckles. “No. Liz—”
“I’m sorry, boy!” I shriek. “I just had to go for a little while, but I told you I’d come back! I’m back, buddy. Come on!” And I wiggle my hands again.
Still nothing.
I’m about to lay down and roll right into the middle of the road and wait for someone to eventually run me right the hell over and put me out of my misery when Knox speaks again.
“It’s an electric fence, Lizzie.” I look up at him, and he’s pointing at the little flags in the corners of the yard, then at Kennedy, who is wearing a collar with a little box-thing on it. “If he goes any further, he’ll get zapped. You have to go into the yard.”
“Oh,” I say and, feeling quite stupid, stand up straight and take a giant, high-knee step into the yard—as if I’m actually stepping over some sort of trip wire. I look at Knox, and with one hand he waves me a little further into the yard, so I take another giant step.
With that, Kennedy pounces, and I let him tackle me to the ground where he jumps on my chest and licks my face. “Awe, buddy, I’m back!” I say with doggie slobber on my face. “I missed you, too!” Laying on my back with Kennedy’s paws on my chest and his face in mine, I grab his head with both hands and aggressively scratch behind his ears and tell him how much I love him and how sorry I am that I took off for so long.
Finally, Knox interjects.
“Alright, boy. Think I could say hello, too?” he says as he leans over and gives Kennedy a little nudge off me. The dog takes off to run a few circles around the front yard before climbing the front step and plopping down under the swing.
Knox’s hand appears in front of my face, and I take it and allow him to help pull me up. With an effortless hoist I am pulled almost flush to him, chest-to-chest, face-to-face, and we are both quiet as we stare at each other.
I see him swallow, and he goes to take a step back, but I throw my arms around his neck and pull him close. Without hesitation, his arms come around my torso and squeeze, and I swear I hear him inhale.
“It’s beautiful, Knox,” I say into his neck. “You built a beautiful home.”
“Nah,” he says. “It’s just a house.”
Pulling back, I try to argue. “No, Knox. It’s def—”
“Wanna see the inside?” he interrupts.
I nod. “Yes, I definitely want to see the inside.”
He turns and leads the way toward the garage, but after a few steps I stop dead in my tracks. “Knox,” I say very calmly, and he turns around, then follows my gaze to the truck parked inside. “Is that …” I point toward it.
He laughs and folds his arms over his chest. “It is,” he says, then looks over at the new Ford F-150. “I traded it in. Thought it was time for a change.”
I step up and run my hand along the shiny silver fender. “Nice,” I say, not sure how else to respond.
Knox clears his throat and continues moving forward. “So, obviously you can go in the front door, but when you park in the garage you can just come in through here and come right into the kitchen. So, when you have groceries or whatever, you don’t have too far to carry them.” I note that when he’s saying “you” he just means it in the generic sense, and not actually me.
He opens the door and holds it wide open for me to walk through first. As I brush past him, I stop and turn my head to look at him. Our faces are only two or three inches apart. “This feels eerily familiar,” I say.
“Yeah, well, hopefully this is much better than a scary rape house,” Knox responds.
“We’ll see,” I say as I step inside.
And it is. It definitely is.
The kitchen looks like one you would see in a country home. Dark grayish-green wooden cabinets flank the far wall and are adorned by white marble countertops. The floors are natural wood-colored tongue-and-groove floorboards that match the butcher block on top of the island. A white farmhouse sink and silver appliances offer a nice finishing touch.
