by Laura Wiess
He looks at me funny, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being wise. “No. There’s no cure for it.”
I frown. “What do you mean? She’s just gonna have to live with it?” And then I see the dark truth in his gaze and something shifts deep inside of me. “Oh no.” I look down at Daisy, who grins up at me, panting. “No, that’s no good at all.” I run my hand over her head, her velvety ears, and down her neck into her coarse, thick hair. “There has to be something they can do. I mean, come on.”
“Well, there is but it’s kind of a long shot.” The look he gives me is wary, assessing, and I want to say, Don’t worry, I’m not going to run away again, but instead I only say, “Tell me.”
He shakes his head. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy or like, stupid for throwing away my money. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”
“Eli,” I say, laying a hand on his arm without thinking, like I just saw him yesterday, not months ago, like we were in it together before and we are again now. “Please?”
He looks at my hand and then, with slow-growing wonder, into my face. “God, where have you been?” he says so softly that I almost miss it, and then, with a quick shake of his head, says in a normal voice, “Okay, well, I’m thinking about a kidney transplant.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, looking more than a little surprised at my lack of reaction, and then it all comes out. “Daisy has a sister, Rosie. Another guy in my father’s unit adopted her when we brought Daisy home. She lives with him and his family back in Houston. I tracked him down and we talked a few times but he still hasn’t committed to the whole idea. Not that I blame him, because it is a big deal,” he adds, “but Daze can’t wait forever on this, you know? She has to be strong enough to survive the operation, there’s criteria she has to meet and there’s only like, two or three veterinary hospitals in the whole country that will even do the transplant because it’s really risky. So even if it happens tomorrow, there’s still a chance that she won’t . . .” His voice falters. “I have to try though, you know? I mean I promised my dad I’d take good care of her.”
“You do,” I say, and when I put my arms around him he goes still a moment and then his arms come around me too, and it feels like I can finally exhale again.
Chapter 60
We walk over to Main Street, where I run into the convenience store, buy bottled water, beg a plastic bowl from the clerk and linger outside while Daisy eagerly drinks.
She is much thinner and her face is stressed somehow, her furry forehead wrinkled, and it makes me want to pet her and tell her not to worry, to have faith because Eli loves her and is going to move heaven and earth to try to make her all right.
But I can tell by the way she looks up at him that she already knows that, and so I just gently scratch her rump and am rewarded with an acknowledging tail wag.
“We’re going to have to start walking again so she can find a place to pee,” he says, glancing at me. “You don’t want to go back to Payton’s, do you?”
I hesitate. “Not really . . . but if you want to, I will.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head and smiling slightly. “I’m pretty sure that party already served its purpose.” He picks up the plastic bowl. “Want to head up to the little park?” And then he goes still as if suddenly remembering the last time we were there, and when he straightens his gaze is dark with an unspoken question and a pull so strong that it’s all I can do to say, “Okay,” without swaying toward him.
“Come on, Daze,” he says gruffly, and falls into step beside me, watching her walk. “I should have gotten her to the vet sooner.”
“You did what you could at the time,” I say gently, because I know all about second-guessing and blaming myself these days. “How did they know what was wrong?”
“I gave them her history. Nobody knows what she was exposed to in Iraq, what kind of chemicals or whatever, so they did blood tests and a urinalysis and yeah, chronic renal failure,” he says. “They’re doing what they can; they put her on a low-protein diet, and I’ve been giving her sub-q fluids—”
“Wait, what’s that?” I say.
“Bags of IV fluids with electrolytes that hang and drip into her. You stick the needle in under the skin and the fluids keep her hydrated,” he says with a casual shrug. “It’s not hard. I do it every other day and it seems to make her feel better, so . . .”
“Wow,” I say in awe.
“It’s not a cure though,” he says, watching her amble along in front of us. “It’s maintenance. Supposedly by the time you see the symptoms it’s almost too late. Big dogs wear out faster and usually start getting it around seven years old. She’s young.” He glances at me. “That’s why I had to find Rosie. Hopefully they’ll let me set up the transplant at Penn Vet. Uh, the University of Pennsylvania’s veterinary medicine school,” he adds, catching my puzzled look. “It’s the closest, and one of the few places that’ll do canine kidney transplants. The survival rate isn’t that great.”
I step around Daisy as she pauses to sniff a telephone pole. “So you’re saying she could . . . die.”
“Oh yeah, but she can’t live without at least one good kidney either, so what choice is there? I can’t just sit around watching her get sicker and weaker, you know? Especially not after everything else.” He gives a hopeless laugh. “Try telling that to my family, though.”
“They don’t . . . ?” I can’t bring myself to say think it’s worth it?
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, my mom loves Daisy and all, but she thinks this whole transplant thing is a waste of time and money, like I’m obsessed with keeping her alive because of Dad.”
I frown. “So what’s wrong with that?”
“Thank you,” he says with a quick, satisfied nod. “I mean to her a dog is a dog and there’s always another one where that one came from, you know? Only there isn’t.”
“No, there isn’t,” I say, because I know exactly what he means. “But what does Daisy’s sister have to do with it?”
“Less chance of organ rejection,” he says promptly. “Compatible donors are hard to find for dogs so it’s really important to get the kidney from Rosie. Without her, there’s a good chance they won’t even do the operation and then . . .”
“I see,” I murmur, and want to add I think your father would be proud but I’m not sure I have the right, so I don’t. “I think you’re doing an amazing thing, Eli. I really do.”
“Yeah, well, you’re probably the only one,” he says with a weary smile. “Rosie’s owners haven’t agreed to it yet and my family swears that if I spend this money on Daisy instead of putting it toward college that I’ll end up living under a bridge somewhere.”
“But with a happy, healthy dog,” I say, and give him a friendly shoulder-bump.
“It’s so screwed up,” he says as we pause at the corner and get ready to cross over to the little park. “I only got this money because my father made the ultimate sacrifice, and you know what? I’d rather have him than the money any day.” His voice is strong and sure now, like he’s had a lot of time to think about it. “Now what, I’m just supposed to let Daisy die because saving her is too expensive? Are you kidding?” He reins her in and the three of us cross the street. “My father did his part and now I’m gonna do mine. Not because I have to. Because I want to. That’s my tribute to a fallen warrior.” He goes silent, then sighs and glances over at me. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s how you feel, right? I like that you say it.” And I do, because I get to learn about him as a person now and I like discovering that how I feel about him is more than just the magical memory of a hot, romantic prom-save.
I actually admire what he’s doing.
And it inspires me, it makes me want to do something to honor my father too, like make a special photo album of just him and me or cut the long grass around the wood shop so it looks neat again and cared for, not abandoned, or maybe wash his Blazer and finally get up the nerve to
open the driver’s door and climb inside.
I wish I was braver.
And then I glance down at Daisy padding faithfully along beside Eli, graceful, trusting, loving, alive, the last gift his father ever gave him except maybe the guts to do what he believed was right even when everyone else thought he was wrong, and the wave of emotion that washes over me is so powerful that it stops me in my tracks.
“What?” Eli says, turning.
And I grope for words but none come, so I kiss him instead.
Chapter 61
“What are you doing?” he says huskily as I draw back dazzled, flustered and more than a little shocked at myself.
But I still can’t answer because we’re standing at the edge of the park and I can hear the water dancing in the fountain and the roses are blooming, filling the sultry dusk with their sweet, heady scent, and all I want is for him to kiss me now, to pull me back into his arms so we can pick up right where we left off three months ago . . .
But he doesn’t.
“Wait,” he says, and, falling back a step, runs a hand over his hair. “Rowan, I . . . Damn, I should have . . . I have to tell you something.”
I blink and then it hits me. “Oh my God, you have a girlfriend?”
“What? No,” he says, frowning. “Where do you get this stuff?”
“Then what?” I say, heart drumming.
He hesitates. “I don’t want to do this here. Let’s sit down somewhere.” He looks around the little park but all the benches are occupied and a look of pure frustration crosses his face.
“I know where we can go,” I say, because now I’m really worried and just want to hear whatever he’s going to tell me. “Come on.” I start walking backward down the sidewalk toward Victory Lane, motioning him and Daisy after me.
My hand brushes against his as we walk but instead of taking it he mutters an awkward, “Sorry,” and widens the gap between us by a couple of steps. Embarrassed, I quickly wedge my hand in my shorts pocket and as we pass the minimall he finally says, “So uh, how’s your boss doing?”
“Eva? I don’t know,” I say, glancing at the cleaner’s as we pass. It’s closed now; the lights are low, the front is empty and I feel a tug of something nostalgic stirring inside of me. “I haven’t gone back to work yet.”
“She’s holding your job for you?” he says, surprised. “That’s great.”
“She’s known my father forever.” I don’t tell him that I have no idea if she’s held my job all these months, that all I remember her saying at the wake was that I should take my time and come see her when I was ready. “I might stop down there this week,” I add, and glance back over my shoulder at the place.
Yes, I think I will.
I take my hand out of my pocket again.
But as the silence stretches the anticipation inside of me turns back to worry about what he wants to tell me, that if he’s not gay and there’s no other girlfriend then he’s just going to flat-out say that he doesn’t like me like he used to and that means we’ll be done, so I start talking, saying all the stuff I’ve stored up before I lose the chance forever.
“You were really good to me when my father died,” I say, glancing over at him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I just . . .” I make a helpless gesture. “I just couldn’t.”
“Hey,” he says. “Don’t apologize. Really, I get it.”
“There’s no second date when your dad dies,” I say softly as we turn down Victory Lane. “It wasn’t you. I couldn’t even get my mind around the thought. I was just . . . wrecked.”
“I understand.” He’s silent a moment. “It brought a lot of stuff back for me, too, and I couldn’t be there for you the way I wanted to.” He clears his throat. “I felt pretty bad about that. Still do.”
“Well don’t, okay? You were there when it mattered and that meant a lot,” I say, wondering if that’s what he wanted to tell me. “It still does.”
He nods once in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything.
A dove lands on the edge of the road up ahead and pecks at the grit speckling the pavement. Another lands beside it, smaller and younger looking, and starts pecking, too. They stay until we’re about ten feet away and then, with a flutter of feathers, take off.
“Do you know what someone actually said to me at the wake?” I say, watching them go. “That God never gives us more than we can handle. That wasn’t true for my father, though.” I shake my head. “I know she was trying to make me feel better but I felt like slapping her.”
His mouth curves into a brief, wry smile. “I got a lot of that at my father’s wake, too. People don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, you’re not kidding,” I say, kicking at a pebble and sending it bouncing down the road. “That and the whole grieving process. They just don’t get it. I mean my best friend wanted me to speed-grieve. Get it done, get it over with and get back to the party.” I stop, feeling guilty. “Actually, that’s not totally true. I was a mess and she tried but she just didn’t understand that there’s no quick fix.”
“Been there, done that,” he says, nodding and rolling his eyes.
“I know, right?” I laugh, and he does, too, and suddenly I can’t believe how good it feels to be with someone who understands. “I mean it’s always there, whether people bring it up or not.” I glance at him. “You know what I really hate? When they say—”
“‘You need to get over it and move on,’” he finishes, and grins as I clutch my throat and stagger a few steps. “Yeah, I heard that, too. You just learn to ignore it. The ones who say stuff like that? They don’t know.” His smile fades. “My mom bought into it, though. She packed up all of my dad’s stuff like, maybe two weeks after the funeral.”
“Wow, that soon?” It’s the exact opposite of the way we’ve been mourning, clinging to every single thing my father ever owned as if it’s unbearable to lose any more of him than we already have, and for the first time I really get what Everybody grieves differently means. I say as much, only it comes out sounding critical and quickly I add, “Everybody has to do it their own way, and that’s okay, you know?”
“Yeah, but to just like, get rid of everything and move?” he says with a tinge of bitterness. “Come on.”
“Well,” I say lamely, and suddenly remember something, a flash of conversation we had back when my father first died. “Eli, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe she did it because she was afraid for you. You told me you were having a really bad time and partying and all . . . Maybe she was scared she was going to lose you, too, and all she could think of to do was go home.”
He gives Daisy’s leash a gentle tug and we start walking again, him in silence and me in worry that I’ve overstepped my bounds.
It’s not enough to stop me, though.
“Have you ever asked her about it?” I say, and at his narrowed glance, I add, “Okay, so I could be totally wrong. You know better than I do about your family. It’s just that sometimes what we think is true can turn out to be something totally different.”
“You done?” he says after a moment, giving me a sideways look.
“Probably,” I say glumly, plodding along beside him.
He snorts and I turn quickly, catching the flash of amusement in his gaze. “I’m not saying you’re right,” he says, lips twitching as I get all excited.
“But you never thought of it that way though, did you?” I say, beaming.
“It’s worth asking her about,” he says with a nod. “Maybe when I get back.”
“Good,” I say as we exit the woods and my house comes into sight. “Is Daisy going with you?”
“No, I don’t want to put her through all of that stress,” he says. “She’s staying here. I’m paying one of the vet techs to come by and do the sub-q fluids and walk her and all. Just to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s okay until I get back.”
“When is that?” I ask, and head for the bench under the copper beech tree, motioning them after me.
“Shouldn’t be more than a week,” he says, following me. “Where are we going?”
“Right here,” I say, and part the low-hanging branches. “See? A bench.”
“Hey, check it out,” he says, ducking and stepping under into the little cove. “All the times I walked this way and I never even knew this was here.” He ties Daisy’s leash around the arm and double-knots it, tugging to make sure it won’t come loose. “Really cool, Rowan.” He sits, uncaps the bottled water, fills Daisy’s bowl and sets it down on the grass, and she pads right over to drink.
I sit beside him. “So.”
He tucks his hair behind his ear and glances over, catching the burning question in my gaze. “Oh yeah.” His smile fades. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
I knot my hands together in my lap and sit very still.
“Okay, well . . .” He gazes out into the twilight. “I should have told you sooner but . . .” He rubs his chin, toys with the patch beneath his lip. Sighs and says, “Okay, remember that when your father died, I said it brought up a lot of old stuff for me and I just couldn’t handle it?”
I nod.
“Well, it wasn’t just that. I mean I could’ve toughed it out if . . .” He takes a deep breath and turns to me. “When I stopped on the overpass that day and asked Corey what he was doing climbing up on the wall with his kid he told me to just keep walking, that it was none of my business, and he was right. I should have just kept walking because—”
“No,” I protest, laying a hand on his arm. “You did the right thing.”
“—he was going to jump anyway, no matter what, and if I hadn’t—”
“But you didn’t know that,” I say. “You had to try to save them.”