by Jane Anthony
She looks up as I enter, sniffing back her anguish and wiping her swimming eyes with the sleeves of her flannel shirt. “C’mon,” is all I say. I bend down and scoop the tiny dog into my arms and carefully lay him on the seat of my truck. Wren slides in after, holding him steady as we drive to the emergency vet in silence.
“It’s okay, Mischief. It’s okay,” she whispers, cradling him in her arms while we sit in the waiting room. The place is empty, so it’s not long before a woman in scrubs comes out to greet us. “Hi. I’m Dr. Royer. What seems to be the problem?”
Waves of emotion threaten to drown us all. Wren relays the story to the veterinarian the same as she told it to me.
Dr. Royer does a quick examination, listening to the dog’s heart, lungs, and intestines with her stethoscope. She presses upward on his belly between his back hips. The dog lets out a labored whine, and Wren’s body tenses beside me. “Looks like this little pooch has a full bladder. I would like to draw some urine with a catheter for a couple of tests.”
“Okay.” Wren nods.
The agonizing wait seems endless. Wren wavers on her feet. The only thing keeping her upright is her white-knuckle grasp on my arm, and I feel so fucking helpless. There’s nothing I can do or say to make this better, and it kills me inside. The tears on her cheeks are all too real. I didn’t cause them, but my heart breaks just the same. If I could reach inside and steal her pain, I’d do it. I’d take it gladly if it meant one moment of inner peace for her.
I don’t know how long we’re waiting until the vet comes back, but the solemn look on her face knocks the wind right out of me. I know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. I brace myself for the results as if shielding an attack.
She starts with a sigh, her gaze softening as she slips her fingers into the thick tufts of fur on Mischief’s neck. “I’ll be honest; the test results don’t look good. How old is Mischief?”
“About twelve,” Wren answers.
“This is very common in Poms, especially one at such an advanced age. Mischief is in the late stages of renal failure. You have two options. You can take him home and wait for nature to take its course, or you can choose to put him to sleep.”
“Renal failure. I don’t understand. He was fine.” Wren turns her tearstained face up to mine as if I have the answer she seeks.
“We can’t treat it? What if we choose to take him home? How much time would he have?” I ask.
“He likely won’t make it through the night. He’s in a lot of pain.” She reaches across the table and touches Wren’s arm. “I can’t make this decision for you. It’s not easy. Humanely, you wouldn’t be wrong in making the decision to euthanize, but I’ll give you two a moment to think about it. Just open the door when you’re ready.”
Wren leans into me with all her weight, a gasping sigh rattling her throat. She doesn’t let the doctor get far. “Do it. I don’t want him to suffer.”
Dr. Royer nods and turns to organize the supplies. Wren reaches for the dog with trembling fingers. “You’re gonna be okay, boy. I promise.” She leans over, nuzzling his cheek. He lifts his head as much as he can and wheezes. “You’ve been the best dog in the whole world. And I’m going to miss you so much.”
I wrap my arms around Wren’s heaving body as the doctor returns with the needle. Wren turns her head into my chest but doesn’t take her hands off Mischief. She holds him tight, sobbing over his tiny body until he’s taken his last breath a moment later.
Wren stands stone faced as the vet and I make arrangements for Mischief’s cremation. Wet lines glitter her cheeks, but her tears have stopped falling. She’s oddly serene as we drive back to her house.
Taking her keys, I let us back inside the condo and help her inside. Wren lies on her couch curled in a ball. She seems so frail, so beaten down by the events of the night. When I drop beside her, she shifts, resting her head on my chest. “Thank you for everything, Jess. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Bird. I know how important he was to you. He was a good dog.”
“He was.” Another wave of emotion pours from her words. She hides her face in her hands, sobbing out loud. There’s nothing left to do except hold her until her pain subsides, and that’s exactly what I do. I let her cry until my shirt is soaked. Until her wails are hoarse and her lids grow too heavy to stay open. I absorb it all until there’s nothing left, and when she’s wasted and exhausted, I lift her lithe body in my arms and tuck her into bed.
For a moment, I sit and watch. Her arms and legs unfurl under the covers, a look of serenity melting the anguish that twisted her features. My heart pounds against my rib cage. In the morning, she’ll wake up happy until the split-second passes that she realizes he’s gone, and the grief returns as fast and fierce as it came on tonight.
Quietly, I pad through the house and set up a bed on the couch. I want to be here when it happens. As much as I hate seeing her like this, I want to be the one who dries her tears and holds her until the pain is gone. I couldn’t do it all those years ago, but I’m here now, and I plan to be the man who does it.
CHAPTER 13
Jesse
BRIGHT SUN BEAMS across my eyelids. I grimace against it, using my arm as a shield. Living in a basement, I’ve grown accustomed to the dark, the only hint of daylight filtering through a small porthole window.
But the morning rays flood Wren’s living room in a bold, yellow luster. I sit up, blinking my eyes as they adjust to the morning.
Craning my neck, I cast a glance at the time on the oven. Later than I hoped, but earlier than I thought. I stretch away the soreness in my muscles, the left side of my body still half asleep. Wren’s couch becomes a torture device after midnight. Wrestling it off the Ikea shelf and putting it together was painful enough, but sleeping on it is a whole new brand of suffering.
I wonder how you say backache in Swedish.
With an ill-tempered groan, I stand tall and raise my arms to the sky. An uneasy quiet whispers around me. I tiptoe to the bathroom first, then meander back to the kitchen where I begin the task of preparing a pot of coffee.
Visions of Wren’s tearstained face float to mind as I fill the reservoir and flip the switch. A puff of steam labors from below. I pull two mugs from the cabinet, the memory of the day we bought them slipping back.
The bed of my truck full of boxes and the cab piled high with kitchenware and assorted decorations, we furnished her condo in one fell swoop, then spent the next twenty-four hours bickering as we attempted to put everything together.
I remember the determination in her eyes as she carefully unpacked and found a home for each item. Silly how these little memories get stuck in our heads. It was nothing really. But for some reason, it stands out in my brain as another meaningful moment in time.
Armed with a piping cup of joe, I wander to her bedroom, but her sheets are empty. I furrow my brow, flinching my head just slightly. Befuddled, I glance at the bathroom to see if she’s somehow gotten past me, but the door’s open, the room empty.
“Wren?” I call out.
No answer.
I spin on my heel and wander back out. My gaze scans the empty condo. Where the fuck is she? A small moment of panic arises. She couldn’t have gotten far, but last night’s devastation still sits on my chest. I don’t like the thought of her being alone.
Movement through the glass slider catches my eye. I move toward the window, my heart sinking when I see her outside.
Under the branches of a dogwood tree, Wren sits curled in the grass. Her head resting against the bark, she huddles in the cold, squeezing her robe around her slim shoulders.
I snatch the blanket from the couch and throw it over my shoulder before sliding open the door. The composite decking is cold on my feet. “Morning,” I say, handing her the mug.
Wet emotion fills her eyes as she looks up. “Thank you.” She takes my offering, wrapping her fingers around the ceramic body for warm
th.
I wrap the blanket around her back and sit down next to her.
“I took him out every morning for the last twelve years. Except for today.” She lifts the cup to her lips but stops short, her eyes fixed on the cluster of roots rising from the dewy grass and dirt. “He always ran here first. He’d sniff around, dig his little paws in, and then run off to the other side. It was so stupid.” A wave of tears brims her lashes. She crumples in on herself, letting them fall unchecked.
Without a word in response, I take her hand and just hold it as she cries. There’s nothing to say and nothing I can do. I can’t heal her heart from breaking. Time is all that can. Even then, she’ll always have a piece of him lodged inside the sealed-up crack. A splinter that can’t be removed.
“Now all that’s left are ashes,” she mutters.
She cowers inside the blanket as a brisk wind blows through the trees. I have no idea how long she’s been out here, but her body’s rigid and tight and frozen to the core.
“C’mon, Bird. Let me take you inside.” I push to my feet and pull her off the ground. She shuffles beside me, her grief bearing down on us both. “You want me to go and bring him back, or do you want to come?” I ask, sitting us down on the couch.
“I want to come. If I sit in this house all day, I’ll go crazy.”
I nod.
A silent hour passes before she gets dressed. She moves like a zombie in stop-motion pictures. Every step a bigger chore than the one before it until we’re seated in my truck on the way to fetch Mischief’s remains.
Faithful Companion Pet Services is two towns away from Creek Falls. I opted to pick him up directly to ease her suffering. The vet’s turnaround was three days, and I can’t let this go on that long. She needs the closure now so she can start to heal.
The small brick building looks like a quaint house set back from the road. I pull into the driveway and follow it to the hidden parking lot around the back. Soft music plays overhead as we enter. A woman approaches us immediately. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“We’re here to pick up the ashes of Mischief Irwin,” I reply, trying not to think too hard about how bizarre this entire thing is.
A large floral arrangement sits beside a couch, and two armchairs sit in the corner. The open doorway beyond leads to what appears to be a memorial space. I don’t know what I expected walking in, but I didn’t anticipate a funeral home for pets.
The woman flips through a book on the desk, then gives a curt nod. “No problem. Would you like some coffee or something while you wait?”
My nerves are already shot as it is. If I have any more coffee, I feel like my heart’s going to burst from my chest and flap around the room. “No, thank you.”
Wren shakes her head as well.
We weave through the living room-style set up and take a seat on the couch while we wait. The scent of lilies overpowers the air around us, and it brings my thoughts to Kim. What am I doing with her? The question pinballs around my brain as my fingers close around Wren’s tiny hand.
The whole thing happened so organically. I didn’t seek her out; she was just . . . there. Creek Falls is a tiny town. Running into each other again was bound to happen. It felt almost kismet after a while.
The grocery.
The gas station.
The art store.
Silly quips passed back and forth. We gotta stop meeting like this. Shy smiles and batted lashes. She snuck into my life the way smoke gets in your clothes. When things between Wren and me were stuck in a stalemate, Kim was there to take my mind off it. I don’t know what’s happening between Wren and me, but I owe it to myself to try to move on.
I deserve a chance at love.
I’m tired of being alone.
Then she dumped Asher . . .
That piece of knowledge was dropped like a bomb. The minute I found someone new, she was available.
How’s that for being born under a bad sign?
A royal blue gift bag swings from the woman’s hand as she returns to the room. “We’re all set,” she announces, holding it out.
Wren curls her fingers around the white handles and holds it to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispers, locking her elbow around my arm.
Settled back in the truck, she reaches into the bag and pulls out what’s inside. “Wow,” she says at the end of a gasp. “Did you pay for this?”
The small box sits in her palm, the word Mischief carved into the wooden lid along with yesterday’s date.
Heat touches my cheeks as I back out of the space. “I thought Mischief should have a nice resting place.”
Her tear-filled features break into a smile. “I can never repay you for this, Jess.” She drops her head on my bicep with a sniffle. “Everything you’ve done in the past two days. I don’t know how I could have gotten through them without you.”
Lifting my arm, I slip it around her back instead. “That’s what friends do.”
“I feel guilty. I hope I didn’t take you away from something.” She clutches the box between both hands—one on top and one on the bottom—as if holding it sacred.
“Nah. I was just hanging out with Kim.”
Her name is a pin that bursts this bubble. Wren sits up straight, twisting in her seat to stare right at me.
“You left Kim to be with me?”
I shrug. “You needed me.”
Her blank stare singes my skin. “I’m sorry.”
A nervous smile hits my lips. “For what?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, sitting back against the seat.
“Actually. I’m the one who’s sorry,” I grumble, side-eyeing her briefly before setting my glare back on the road. “She wants to come to the concert with us.”
I brace myself for a snooty response, but all Wren musters is, “Cool.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “She heard about the concert and invited herself to come. What was I supposed to say?”
“You don’t need to explain, Jess. She’s your girlfriend. It’s fine.” She looks my way with a sad grin. “We’ll have a great time. All three of us.”
But hollow disappointment clouds her supportive words. Wren’s my rock, but Kim’s my hard place. And right now, I’m stuck in the middle with no place to run.
CHAPTER 14
Wren
OCEAN AIR WHIPS through my hair, sticking the light orange tendrils to my lip gloss. Pushing it away, I cross my arms over my chest. My leather jacket creaks with the movement.
“It’s really cold out here.” Kim huddles closer to Jesse as he wraps both arms around her from behind, and I try not to let the disdain show on my face. Sucks being the third wheel.
My concert ticket burns a hole in my pocket, and I just want to get inside, but the line around the venue goes on for miles, so I’m stuck standing next to the object of my affection and his pretty new girlfriend canoodling in line behind me.
A riotous cluster of giggles erupts from Kim as Jesse wriggles his fingers into her belly, her huge boobs swaying as she wrenches free. If I didn’t know her, I’d think they were fake. Her body is slim and lean, her long legs practically in her throat. Her frame just doesn’t seem like it adequately supports a rack like that.
I look down at my own sad excuse for cleavage. I’m average at best. I always thought I was at least cute enough to get by, yet standing next to Kim, I fall from a hard six to a pathetic four. Worse than that? They look incredible together. Like two models standing side by side, with perfect blond heads and freckle-free skin. It’s not fair.
“Finally,” Jesse mumbles as the line starts moving.
We shuffle like cattle, slowly approaching the door until the darkness sucks us inside. Rock music plays from the speakers overhead. Twinkling lights reflect off guitars and posters littering every wall. The Stone Pony is the beating heart of Asbury Park, the tiny seaside town that hosts it. It’s been home to some of the greatest musicians in the world, and I’m in awe just standing here, my eyes scanning the memorabilia of
days gone by.
A large circular bar sits close to the front. People push trying to get a drink before the Femmes take the stage. I stand against the opposite wall with Kim besides me as Jesse slides into an opening.
“This is wild, huh?” Kim starts, pressing her foot flat against the wall behind her.
“Yeah. I love this. So much history.”
An awkward moment of silence sits between us. The tension digs its claws in my chest. I pull in a heavy breath, but the smoke overpowers the oxygen in the air, making my lungs burn.
“I know we were never the best of friends, Wren, but I hope we can change that.”
I turn, leaning on my shoulder to hear her better. “I would like that,” I tell her honestly. If I’m going to maintain any kind of friendship with Jesse, I’m going to have to get used to her. May as well start trying now.
She pins me in her blue stare turned black from the dim surroundings. It’s coming. I can tell by the slight quiver of her lips that all this irritating small talk is building to the real question burning on her tongue. “There’s nothing lingering between you guys, is there?”
And there it is.
“Absolutely not,” I blurt, my hair whipping with my dramatic head shake. Who am I trying to convince? Her or me? “I’m not a threat, Kim, believe me.”
“Okay. It’s just, you guys have this amazing relationship and all this history, and you’re so pretty—”
“Stop.” With a reassuring grin, I lift my palm, halting her barrage of unnecessary compliments. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Jesse saunters over, holding three drinks between his large hands. “What are you guys talking about over here?”
“You,” Kim replies with a flirty edge as she takes her rum and Coke.
“That can’t be good.” Jesse hands me my vodka cranberry next, shooting me a devious look.
“I was telling her all your dirty little secrets,” I joke.
“I’m gonna have to separate you guys, aren’t I?”
A small, chirpy giggle comes from Kim’s direction as she cocks her head playfully. “Are you afraid I’m gonna steal your BFF?”