“That’s not true.”
“You didn’t talk to her for years,” I remind her. “We hadn’t seen you since you left home. If you can just go like that, leave us for good, then I can ignore a letter and a phone call if I want to.”
Beth doesn’t say anything for a long moment, then quietly moves toward the little desk across the room, placing the envelope on it. She sits down in the chair but turns so she’s still looking at me.
“I know you’re angry,” she says, voice soft. “I know you don’t want to be here. And I can’t say I blame you. What Mama did … it wasn’t right. And you’ve got every right to be upset with her. But she does love you. A lot. Be as angry as you need to be, but don’t forget that, okay? And that’s all I’ll say on that for now.”
“Good,” I mutter.
But another minute passes, and Beth still ain’t left the room. I sigh, loud and pointed, but it doesn’t budge her from the chair. Only now she’s looking over at Lila, curled up in the corner.
“Have you started reading any of the dog training books I left out for you?” she asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why? Because you ain’t a dog person?” she asks. “You keep saying that, but then I come home and find you all cuddled up with Lila.”
“She got on the bed. I told her not to.”
“Uh-huh.” Beth sounds like she’s about to laugh, which just aggravates me.
“I never said I wanted to train her. That was all you and your girlfriend’s idea.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Beth says, real quick. She pauses then. “I mean … why would you think Vanessa’s my girlfriend?”
“You want her to be,” I say. “I may be a kid, but I ain’t clueless.”
She groans. “My God. I’m so obvious even a twelve-year-old can tell I like her. Bet that means Vanessa knows, too.”
“She definitely knows.”
“Okay, okay. That’s not the point here.” Beth clears her throat. “We’re talking about Lila.” She shakes her head. “I can’t make you train her if you don’t want to. But if you’re not going to even try, I have to take her back to the rescue.”
“Fine,” I say, pulling the blankets over my head. I want to stop talking.
“Is it?”
The mattress sinks, and Beth pulls the blanket off my face. I glare at her.
“Hadley … Lila can’t stay at Right Choice forever,” she explains. “There’s only so much room there. If we can’t adopt her out, then we’ll have to find her somewhere else, so we can make room for dogs we can find homes for.”
“Somewhere else?” I ask, even though I don’t think I want her to answer.
“A shelter, probably,” Beth says. “They take in dogs from different places—dogs they think they can work with—and try to adopt them out. With Lila, she was at a shelter in another town. I think she’d been moved around a bit. But Vanessa pulled her out of the shelter and brought her to Right Choice. Lila’s never been aggressive, just distant. Vanessa thought Lila would be easier to work with in our setting, where she’d get more time and attention, but unfortunately … well. Anyway. The rescue doesn’t have a lot of space. And keeping Lila there, when they can’t find her a home, means one less kennel they can give to a dog we can find a home for. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What’s so bad about a shelter?”
“Nothing, necessarily,” she says. “Some animal shelters are no-kill shelters. Meaning dogs and cats can live there as long as they need. They’re not that much different from the rescue Vanessa runs. But … those are often already overcrowded. I can’t promise that’s where Lila would end up, even though they’d try very hard to get her into one if they can’t keep her.”
I don’t need to ask her what the other shelters are like. If some shelters have to specify that they’re no-kill, then … The reality of what she’s saying makes my stomach hurt.
“That’s why Vanessa was so excited when she saw Lila letting you pet her,” Beth tells me. “We’ve been trying to train her since she came in. But she won’t respond to me or any of the volunteers. Barely lets us touch her. No one is going to adopt her if they can’t even pet her, especially if she isn’t trained. You’re the first real hope we’ve had for her. I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or pressure you if you really don’t wanna do this.” She sighs. “Honestly, it’s a ridiculous idea anyway. But Vanessa seems to think that between Lila’s liking for you and my experience training dogs, we might make something work. I hope she’s right. But if you don’t want to do it, I can’t force you.”
I look over at Lila, still lying in the corner. She’s watching me now, though. Eyeing the bed like she’s just waiting for Beth to leave so she can reclaim her rightful spot.
Beth might not have said it in so many words, but I know what she’s trying to tell me.
I’m Lila’s only hope.
But I can barely stand to be around people myself these days. How am I supposed to train this dog and get her to be friendlier? It kind of feels like we both need some training, if you ask me.
“Just … keep all that in mind, okay? You never know. Y’all might end up having fun. There’s a dog park a block from here. Maybe y’all could go there? You’ll wanna do some leash training with her, but it could be good for you both. Even just getting out of the house to take a walk around the neighborhood together. Or practicing with her in the backyard?”
I don’t say anything.
“Fine,” Beth says, with an irritated sigh. The mattress shifts again, and she stands up and moves toward the door. “If you’re hungry, I brought home KFC. Sorry. Too tired to cook tonight. But you’ll have to come in the kitchen to eat it. I’m not serving you dinner in bed.”
My stomach grumbles at the thought of fried chicken. And loud enough I can’t even pretend I ain’t hungry.
“I’ll be in there in a minute,” I mumble.
“Good.”
She’s already back in the hallway before I call out to her.
“Beth?”
Her blonde head pokes back into the room. “Hm?”
I sit up slowly, pushing the blankets off. I’m still in my pajamas. I ain’t changed all day, but Beth doesn’t seem surprised by this.
“About Lila,” I tell her, glancing back over at the pit bull again. “I’ll … I’ll think about it. Training her, I mean. I’ll think about it.”
The next day, I actually roll out of bed and put some clothes on. I ain’t doing it for Beth—though she’s been trying to coax me into getting out of the house for days. Nope. I’m doing it because I know Mrs. McGraw will be here any minute, and I’m gonna need an excuse to get away, or else she’ll want to talk to me for an hour.
“Come on, Lila,” I say, grabbing the leash Beth had hung on the hook by the door. I haven’t used it on Lila yet. Beth says she’s only slightly leash trained, and I’ve mostly been letting her out into the backyard to pee. But if I gotta leave the house now, so does she.
She don’t come to me right away. She just lifts her head from where she’s lying on the living room floor, stares at me for a minute, then looks away.
“Nice try.” I march over to her and hook the leash to her collar. “Now come on.” I give the leash a tug. She don’t move. I sigh. “Do you wanna be stuck here with Mrs. McGraw when she comes over? If I ain’t here for her to pester, she’s gonna focus on you.”
Logically, I know Lila can’t understand what I’m saying, but it sure seems like she does. Because that gets her to her feet.
“Good girl.”
Sure enough, when we’re halfway to the door, there’s a knock, and Mrs. McGraw’s voice calls through the door, “Hadley! It’s Mrs. McGraw! I brought you some leftover casserole.”
I pull open the door with a grimace. I don’t understand why grown-ups always bring casserole to other people’s houses when, really, I don’t think anyone actually likes it.
Luckily, it’s barely ten in the morning and I’ve had breakfast, so I got an excuse not to eat the stuff.
“Hi, Mrs. McGraw,” I say. She’s already stepping past me and the dog and making her way to the kitchen. “Lila and I are going for a walk. We can’t stick around to chat right now.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Mrs. McGraw says. “I’ll just put this in the fridge then. Maybe Beth can heat it up for y’all for dinner.” I hear the refrigerator door open and shut, and then Mrs. McGraw is walking back into the living room. She wipes her hands on the thighs of her oversized denim overalls before adjusting her steel-gray bun. “I’ll come with you on that walk.”
“Um … no. That’s okay.” I’m trying real hard not to snap at her. But the idea of her coming with us, hovering over us, talking at us … I wanna get out of the house to avoid talking, not to do more of it. “Lila and I are just gonna go on our own.”
“Well, I don’t know, Hadley,” Mrs. McGraw says, and now she’s using that gentle, concerned voice I hate. “I ain’t so sure that’s safe. Beth told me about your sight and all. I’d feel better if I went with you.”
“I don’t care how you feel.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but I can’t really say I feel bad, either. “I’m not five, and I can see fine. I’m just walking the dog around the stupid block. I don’t need you or want you coming with us.”
I ain’t real good at seeing facial expressions most of the time, but even I can see the shock on Mrs. McGraw’s face. Her jaw drops open and she lets out a little gasp. “Well, my word,” she says. “Hadley, that is an awful ugly way to talk to somebody. I have half a mind to tell your sister.”
“Go ahead,” I mutter. “Let’s go, Lila.”
I tug the dog out the door with me, and she follows, leaving Mrs. McGraw in Beth’s living room. Beth’s gonna be real mad at me when she gets home. But I don’t care. What’s she gonna do? Ground me? Make me go to my room? Those are rewards, not punishments.
My old house was out in the country. We never really had neighbors. Not any within a mile or two, at least. We were surrounded by cornfields on all sides, and you had to drive to get just about anywhere. Beth’s neighborhood is different, though. She lives in what I figure must be a “suburb.” I’ve heard that word used on TV, and while the houses here seem smaller than the ones on the shows I’ve watched, the rest seems pretty similar. The yards ain’t too small, but they ain’t big either. And lots of them are surrounded by wooden or metal fences.
“Keep up,” I tell Lila as I try and move her down the driveway and to the sidewalk. But Beth was right, she’s not real good on the leash.
When I wanna go left, she tugs right. Half the time she walks so slow I feel like we’re crawling along, and the other half she goes so fast I think she’s gonna pull my arm off. Then there’s all the stopping to sniff the ground. Sometimes she stops so suddenly that I end up being jerked backward because of her. I guess that’s one of the things I’m supposed to be training her on, though, huh?
There ain’t a lot of people out here—it’s midday in the summer, and it’s blazing hot. Anyone who ain’t at work is probably sticking close to their air-conditioning. Good. I like it better that way, with it being just me and Lila. Empty sidewalks, no one smiling at me or trying to chat. And I figure Lila feels the same.
Despite what I told Mrs. McGraw, I do gotta be a little careful as I walk. I hate to admit it, but my eyes have gotten bad enough that I can’t really see the ground when I’m looking straight ahead anymore. I gotta keep looking down at the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for roots that have warped the concrete or big cracks that might cause me to trip. And even then, I get smacked in the face by a few low-hanging branches a couple times.
When my hair gets caught in one branch, I have to stop and untangle it. Lila stands next to me, looking up at me with eyes I’m gonna assume are full of judgment.
“This ain’t my fault,” I tell her as I yank my hair free. “Who has trees this close to the sidewalk? My being able to see ain’t got nothing to do with it.”
A second later, we round a corner, and I can hear voices and a few barking dogs. Lila and I both stop, and I turn my head to see what looks to be a large, fenced-in lot across the street. I can’t make out much of what’s going on over there, but I suddenly remember Beth telling me there was a dog park about a block from her house.
Big, booming barks and tiny, shrill yips are carried my way by the summer breeze, along with laughter. Kids’ laughter. Probably kids off school, like me, walking their pets. Just like me.
Next to me, Lila is staring at the dog park, too. Only she’s letting out this little growl while she does.
“You don’t wanna go over there, do you?” I ask.
Lila stops growling and looks up at me. She whines.
“Yeah. Me neither,” I tell her.
But we both stay put, just standing on the sidewalk, watching (or, in my case, mostly listening to) the people and animals in the little park.
I hear the creak and slam of the gate before I notice the girl. She’s just stepped out of the dog park and is crossing the street toward Lila and me, a large, fluffy black dog in tow. I can’t make out any details of her face, but I can tell she’s kinda short with wavy, dark brown pigtails. And when she calls out to me, she sounds like she’s probably pretty close to my age.
“Hi!” She’s about halfway across the street now, moving toward us. And her voice is real chipper. All excited and upbeat in a way that makes me take a step back. “Cute dog you got there! Y’all heading to the park?”
I shake my head. She’s getting closer, almost to us now. And Lila’s started to whine, tugging on her leash in the opposite direction. “No … No, we’re just … walking.”
“I ain’t seen you before,” the girl says. She’s on the curb now, right near me. And her dog’s got its tail wagging like crazy. “You just move here or something?”
Now that she’s close, I can see that she’s got a real big smile on, all her white teeth showing. It makes my stomach flip over. She wants to talk to me, to ask questions. She’s gonna ask about why I’m here, about Mama, about why I can’t see good. And I don’t wanna talk about any of that. Not to this strange, smiling girl. Not to Beth or my friends back in Tennessee. Not to anybody.
“Sorry, I gotta go.”
“Oh, all right. See ya later!”
I turn and start to move back around the corner, Lila dragging me along after her at top speed. She seems even more desperate to get away from the happy girl than I am. She pulls harder and harder, moving me faster. Too fast for my eyes to keep track of all the things I know I gotta watch out for. Everything blurs past us. I yank at Lila’s leash, trying to get her to slow down, but she don’t. She’s too far gone now, practically running down the sidewalk, like she’s done forgot I’m even attached to her.
Then my toe catches on a tree root that’s pushing up through the sidewalk. I hadn’t seen it coming, and I’m moving too fast to catch myself. For a split second, I’m airborne, both feet off the ground, before I land—hard—on my chest, sliding a foot or so across the concrete. I feel the skin scrape off my knees just as Lila’s leash jerks out of my hand. Lila keeps running, like she ain’t even noticed what’s just happened, and all I can do is push myself up, into a kneeling position, as I try and catch my breath.
The first thing I think is, I hope that girl didn’t see. But when I look over my shoulder, the sidewalk behind me is empty. The girl must’ve gone the other way.
But now I’m really alone, and I can’t see Lila no more, and suddenly that’s what’s got me panicked. I clamber to my feet, knees aching, and start walking down the sidewalk, calling her name. I gotta watch my feet to keep from falling again, which is hard because I still wanna keep my eyes up as I hunt for the dang dog.
“Lila?” I yell. “Lila, come here, girl!”
But it’s pointless. I know, from everything Beth’s told me, that Lila ain’t gonna come when called. Sh
e ain’t trained. That’s supposed to be my job. And I’ve barely worked on it at all. So now there’s an unhappy, untrained dog on the loose, and it’s all my fault.
My heart’s pounding, and my feet stumble as I try to walk faster, hoping to catch up to wherever she’s gone.
“Lila!” I call out again, even more desperate this time.
What if something happens to her? The image of Lila running away from a stranger and right into the street flashes in my mind. My stomach drops. If she gets hurt, it’ll be all my fault.
I keep walking, circling the block once and then twice, calling and calling for her. I even stop and ask a few people on the street if they’ve seen a pit bull with a leash dragging behind her, but no one has. Enough time has passed that she could be anywhere in this neighborhood by now. This neighborhood I ain’t familiar with at all.
And when I’m trying to look for her, I can’t keep my eyes on the ground. So I keep tripping over uneven bits of sidewalk or running into people’s trash bins that haven’t been pushed out far enough. Which only makes me even more frustrated and upset.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I have a foolish moment of thinking maybe someone is messaging me about Lila. Even though that don’t make a lick of sense. Lila’s collar has the phone number and address of Right Choice Rescue. If anybody found her, they wouldn’t be contacting me.
Still, I feel a pang of disappointment when I realize it’s just a notification. My friends have posted another picture and tagged me in the caption. It’s a photo of Joey and Maya, their faces pressed together so they can both fit into the selfie. They’re grinning from ear to ear. Joey’s red hair is long and falling over his face, and Maya’s big, dark brown eyes are magnified by her thick black-rimmed glasses. They look so goofy and happy.
MayaFairLady: We’re leaving Gatlinburg this morning. Had a great time with @babykangaroo42. Wish you’d been here with us, @Hadleybean13. Miss you! XOXO.
Lila and Hadley Page 3