“Already?” Beth asks.
I nod.
“Okay.” She sets down the bags of groceries next to the couch, then smiles at me. “Show me.”
“Is that what you’ve been up to all afternoon? Training the dog?” Mrs. McGraw asks. “Well, that’s real nice. Can I watch, too?”
“If you want,” I say. Honestly, I’m glad for the audience for once. I can’t wait to see how impressed they are with the work Lila and I have put in.
I tell Beth where to stand, making sure there’s a decent bit of room between her and Lila, who’s lying on the carpet with a paw over her face. Like she’s trying to ignore the three people in the room. That’s fine. She won’t be ignoring us for long.
“All right,” I say, hurrying over to sit on the couch with Mrs. McGraw. “Now, Beth, tell her to ‘Come.’”
“Okay.” Beth clears her throat and puts on her talking-to-dogs voice. “Lila … Lila, come!”
Lila don’t move. Not an inch. She doesn’t even twitch.
“Try again,” I say, frowning at the stubborn pit bull across the room.
Beth does, but nothing changes. She even fishes a bone-shaped dog treat from her pocket and holds it out when she calls, but she might as well be invisible for all Lila pays attention to her.
“I’m not so sure she’s listening to you, Beth,” Mrs. McGraw says with just a touch of amusement in her voice.
I stand up, my hands balling into fists at my sides, and I grit my teeth. “She was doing it earlier, I swear. She was real good at it, too.”
“I believe you,” Beth says. But that ain’t good enough. I don’t want her to believe me. I want her to see it herself.
“Stupid dog,” I mutter.
“Well, is that language really necessary, young lady?” Mrs. McGraw asks.
I scowl at her.
“It’s all right, Hadley,” my sister assures me. “Training dogs takes time. And Lila’s here because she’s proven to be difficult. But the fact that she’s listening to you—learning anything from you—proves that Vanessa was right. We made the right call. I’ve been working with this dog for months and it’s always been like this. If you’ve made any progress today—even just a little bit—that’s huge for Lila. She’ll get there. Just keep trying.”
So I do, but I don’t get quite as excited about it after that day.
Over the next two weeks, Lila and I both hold up our end of the bargain. I go to my mobility lessons—where I still ain’t allowed to take home my cane—and Lila learns how to “Sit” and even “Stay.”
At least, she learns to do it for me. When there ain’t nobody else around.
“Why do you gotta be like that?” I ask her one night after another failed attempt to show Beth what I’ve taught her. This time, I was the one giving the command, Beth was just in the room watching. But when I told Lila to “Sit,” she looked over at me, looked over at Beth, then just turned and walked out of the room. I hollered after her to “Come” but she ignored me. And a second later I heard the springs on my bed creak, meaning she’d climbed up for one of her many dog naps.
We’re sitting on my bed now, me leaning against the headboard with my legs folded, her lying at the foot, with her chin resting on her paw. Her eyes are open as she stares at me.
She’s got real sad eyes, I think. Maybe that’s a silly thing to think about a dog, but I can’t help it. There’s something about them that just seems lonely.
“You wouldn’t be so alone if you let people see what you’ve learned,” I tell her. “Some real nice family would probably be happy to adopt you if they saw how smart you are. But you gotta show other people, not just me. Why won’t you try?”
She don’t answer, of course. But as soon as I ask, I realize she don’t need to. Because I understand.
Truth is, I feel awful lonely, too. I know that don’t make no sense. Beth’s here and is always wanting to spend time together. Mama calls and tries to talk to me every day. Joey and Maya are always texting me, asking how I’m doing, what my new house is like, and Mrs. McGraw tries real hard to make conversation with me or get me to watch TV shows with her when she’s here during the day. I’ve got people who want to be around me. It’s me pushing them away. I’m lonely, but trying to do anything to fix it just feels too tiring. So I just keeping ignoring people or, like with Beth, lashing out. It ain’t something I like about myself right now, but it’s all I can seem to do these days.
I shift onto my knees and crawl to the foot of my bed, stretching out on my stomach with my head on Lila’s back. She turns her face for a second, licking my cheek, before resting her chin on her paws again.
“I guess … I guess at least we got each other,” I say. “I mean … I ain’t a dog person. Not at all. But you ain’t half bad.” I reach up and scratch behind one of her ears as I speak. “I know it’s tough. Everything feels tiring or annoying. But the rescue ain’t gonna be able to keep you if you don’t learn some stuff, Lila.”
She picks up her head and turns it away, staring in the opposite direction. Like she don’t wanna hear what I’ve got to say.
“I know, I know.” I sigh. “But it’s for the best. Do it for me, at least?”
You’d think I’d feel ridiculous, talking to a dog like that, like she could understand a word of what I was saying. But I don’t. Talking to Lila feels easier than talking to anyone else. Maybe it’s because she don’t talk back, don’t try to give me advice or comfort me with words that mean nothing. Or maybe it’s those sad eyes. I ain’t sure.
But I am starting to think she understands more than I give her credit for.
Because on Friday, something changes.
I come home from my fourth mobility lesson, and this time, Cilia lets me take the cane home with me.
“I trust you to be responsible with it,” she tells me before Mrs. McGraw picks me up from the community center. “You’ve done a very good job so far, but I want you to get some practice at home. Use it when you go out with your sister. Next week we’re going to start doing some routes outside, now that you’ve got the hang of using it indoors.”
I don’t tell her that I hardly ever leave the house, even when Beth asks me to go places with her. Instead, I just nod. My wrist is aching from the repeated motion of using the cane for the past hour, and even though Cilia keeps saying that’ll get better once I practice more, I ain’t so sure I wanna deal with it.
Still, Beth makes a whole thing out of this, like it’s some sort of big accomplishment and not just a stick I get to bring home. She badgers me about what my favorite food is because she wants to make a nice dinner to celebrate.
“It’s nothing to get worked up over,” I tell her, irritated. “It’s just a cane. Little kids get to bring theirs home. It ain’t special.”
“I’m just proud of you,” she says, sounding defeated. “But okay. If you don’t want to have a nice dinner, we won’t.”
“I don’t.”
She sighs and plops down on the couch. I know I’ve disappointed her, and I feel a little bad, but I don’t know what to do about it.
So instead I look over to Lila, who’s lying on the carpet again.
“Lila, come,” I say, not thinking much about it. I just wanna pet her. But when she gets up and walks over to me, I hear Beth take in a sharp breath.
I look over at her, confused, but then realize what’s just happened.
Beth doesn’t say anything, just watches us.
“Lila …” I say slowly. She’s standing right in front of me, looking me dead in the eye. “Lila … sit.”
She does.
I look at Beth again, who’s got her hands over her mouth.
“Lila … stay,” I say. I walk away from her, moving toward the doorway. The dog’s head swivels to follow my movement. I pause for a minute, then say, “Come.”
She stands up and walks to me, walks right past Beth, not at all shy about her being there.
I can’t help myself. I grin at my sister.
I reach down and scratch Lila’s ears. She gives two quick tail wags, which, for her, is a lot.
It’s like she knows. Like she remembers our bargain. She knows I’ve made progress with my training, so she’s got to, too.
“Beth?”
“Yeah?”
“My favorite food … it’s pulled pork sandwiches. Can … can you make that? For dinner tonight?”
I can hear the smile in Beth’s voice when she replies. “I think I can manage that.”
Beth may have been real proud of me for getting to finally bring my cane home, but it ain’t long before I wanna throw the dang thing away and never look at it again.
“Ow!” I cry as the top of the cane’s rubber grip slams into my stomach, like a tiny—but strong—fist going for my gut. The tip got caught in a crack on the sidewalk, and I wasn’t able to stop moving fast enough to avoid the impact. “Crud,” I growl, teeth gritted, as I take a step back and shake out my wrist, still holding the cane.
Cilia had scheduled a lesson for me on a Thursday afternoon. It’s just the two of us. No Addie and Syd. And that’s about the only thing I can be happy about, because at least they ain’t here to embarrass me by making everything look easier than it is.
This ain’t the first time I’ve jabbed myself in the stomach with the stupid cane. In the last hour, walking up and down the main street outside the community center, I’ve probably done it ten times. And based on how tender the area is starting to feel, I can guess that I’ll have a ring of bruises right around my belly button later.
“You okay?” Cilia asks, stepping up beside me. She’s been spending most of the lesson walking a couple paces behind, calling out directions or advice when she needs to. Now that I know the different cane techniques—sweeping and tapping and whatnot—she wants me to get practice outside, in an environment that she says ain’t so predictable.
I think maybe she just wants to torture me.
“No,” I snap. With my free hand, I clutch my stomach. All right. Maybe I’m being just a little bit dramatic. But it does hurt a lot.
“With a bit of practice, you’ll get used to it,” she says.
“Used to impaling myself?”
“No.” Cilia laughs, but I wasn’t being funny. “You’ll get used to using the cane. The different techniques. You’ll build up your reflexes so you’re able to pick up the tip before you walk into the top bit, or shift your wrist so it doesn’t hit you. That sort of thing. My students who’ve been using canes for years all went through this when they first started, and none of them have this problem anymore. Like anything, it just takes time.”
She makes me start walking again, this time turning down another street where we pass some local businesses. She walks next to me for a pace or two, reminding me that the arc of my sweep should go just a bit past my shoulders on each side. Then she falls back again, and I walk on, trying to focus on what I’m doing.
I keep the swish of my cane in step with my feet. When I step forward with my right foot, my cane sweeps out to the left, so that I’m always aware of what’s just a step ahead. I try not to walk too fast. Maybe if I’m slower I won’t slam into my cane next time it gets snagged.
But it ain’t long before focusing that hard gets boring, and my mind starts to wander, away from this lesson and back to Beth’s house, where Lila’s probably waiting for me at the door.
That’s what she does when I’m at these lessons, according to Mrs. McGraw. It’s the only time I’m away from the house, really, and every time I get back, I find her in the living room, curled up near the door, staring. Like she’s waiting for me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel kinda nice, knowing she likes me that much. Especially since, truth be told, when I’m away from the house, I miss her, too.
Her training’s been going pretty well. She still won’t really do things Beth tells her to, but she ain’t so shy anymore, either. Beth even wants to bring Vanessa over for dinner soon to show her how much progress Lila’s made.
When she mentioned that, she got all nervous and giggly.
I ain’t sure exactly what’s going on between the two of them right now. But I think maybe Vanessa figured out my sister likes her. Or maybe Beth finally told her. Either way, Mrs. McGraw came over two nights ago to babysit me (even though I told her and Beth both—again—that I don’t need babysitting) because Beth had somewhere to go. She left in a dress and with her hair all curled.
“How do I look?” she’d asked me.
I shrugged and didn’t take my eyes off the TV. One of those bad reality shows about renovating houses was on. Mrs. McGraw watched them a whole lot, and even though I’d never tell anybody, I had started to kinda like them. I’d even come out of my room and sit on the couch to watch them with her when one of my favorites was on.
“What do I know?” I said. “I’m blind.”
She swatted at my arm. “Ha-ha,” she said. “All right. Well, you and Lila be good for Mrs. McGraw, please. She just called to say she’ll be over in about ten minutes. She’s finishing something up at her house.”
I snorted. The show I was watching would also be over in ten minutes. Which meant I was pretty dang sure what Mrs. McGraw was busy with at her house. When she got here, I’d have to ask her what she thought of the color they’d painted the bathroom. The grape-purple color seemed awful tacky to me, honestly.
I looked up at Beth. “Where are you going?” I asked. “On a date with Vanessa?”
I’d expected her to say “No!” or get annoyed with me for teasing. But instead, she just ruffled my hair and made her way to the front door. “You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get home, so I’ll see you in the morning.”
I took that as a yes.
Anyway, I ain’t sure when Vanessa will be coming over to check up on Lila, but I know there’s a lot I still gotta do with her training. Like getting her better on the leash. We ain’t done a ton of work on that yet. I make a mental note to watch some videos on leash training tonight and maybe then start working on that tomorrow. I wonder if it’ll be tricky, holding her leash in one hand and the cane in the other and trying not to—
“Augh!”
The tip of the cane gets caught in a crack again, and before I can do anything about it I’ve run smack into the hard rubber grip, adding another bruise to the constellation forming on my belly.
Heat rushes into my cheeks, and my fists begin to clench. For a second, I ain’t sure if I’m gonna cry or scream. All I know is, now I’m mad. The rage hits like a tornado touching down in the spring—all the conditions are right, but that still don’t give you a whole lot of warning. I squeeze the grip of my cane before pulling my arm back and hurling it with all my strength down the sidewalk, away from me.
“Hadley!” Cilia yells at me, just as I hear the cane clatter to the concrete. I can’t see where it landed, but I don’t think it’s real far away. Apparently all my strength ain’t that much.
And just like a tornado, it’s over as quick as it got here. There’s still a storm—still a raging, rolling thunder in my chest. But the worst part, the spiraling whirlwind of frustration, has passed. I flop down, sitting on the curb, as Cilia’s shoes thwack past me. I hear the snap, snap of the cane collapsing, folding up into its smaller size. Then she’s sitting on the curb next to me. But I don’t look at her.
“Listen,” Cilia says. Her voice is quiet, but firm. “I know this is hard, but—”
“No, you don’t,” I interrupt, because I can’t help myself. “You don’t know anything. You ain’t blind. Never have been. So what do you know about how hard this is?”
Cilia doesn’t answer for a minute. Then she sighs. “That’s … a fair point. Okay. I don’t know exactly how hard it is to lose my vision the way you are. But I do know—and this is going to sound harsh, but I need you to hear me, Hadley—whether you want to acknowledge it or not, your vision is getting worse. As hard as it
is right now, it’s going to get harder. Especially if you aren’t prepared. But this …” She slips the folded cane onto my lap. “This part does get easier. And it won’t make everything easier, I know, but it will help as your sight gets worse. All this mobility stuff is going to be really important. And it’s tough now, but it gets better. You just have to give it time.”
“It just … It ain’t fair,” I tell her. I lean forward, resting my forehead against my knees so I ain’t gotta look at anything as I whine. Because even I know that’s exactly what I’m doing. Whining. I’m tired and irritated and, truth be told, ashamed. Both because of my outburst and because I’m struggling so much with something even little kids can do. “I didn’t ask for none of this. For this stupid eye condition. Or to have to move to this stupid town because my stupid mama had to go and …”
I trail off. I hadn’t meant to bring up Mama. It’s the first time I’ve so much as mentioned her in weeks. And now there are hot, angry tears in my eyes. I don’t look up.
I ain’t sure how much Cilia knows about Mama, how much Beth would’ve told her when she got me these lessons. But my mobility teacher don’t ask questions. Instead, she just rests a hand on my shoulder.
“I know,” she says. “I know it’s not fair. And no one can make it fair. But you’ve got people here who want to help. You just have to let us.”
She stands up after a second, and I hear her dusting off her pants. I rub my wet eyes on my arm before looking up at her again.
“Come on, Hadley,” she says. “I think our lesson is done for the day. We’ll give this a try again next week. If that’s all right with you.”
I take a deep breath before getting to my feet. I snap the cane back together and touch the tip to the sidewalk, holding my hand in the correct posture again. Then I look up at Cilia, who’s watching me. Waiting.
Slowly, I nod.
Then I start walking past her, back toward the community center, my cane sweeping in time with my steps.
When I first told Joey and Maya that I was legally blind and that my vision was gonna get worse, they asked a lot of questions.
Lila and Hadley Page 6