by Ellie Wade
“My future’s just fine,” I tell her as she starts to leave the office.
She turns to me right before she exits. “Not from what I see.” She throws in her little Ethel jab and then walks out.
I groan loudly.
I hate when she does that.
She’s always attempting to enlighten me with her wisdom, but I rarely want to hear it. Sometimes, I want to tell her that she’s not my mother. But I would never be that cruel. I’m a dick, but I’m not heartless…especially where Ethel is concerned. As much as she annoys me, she is the closest person I have to family, and I love her.
I grab my jacket and head toward the kennels. Georgia is with Hope and her puppies. It’s been a week since Hope delivered the puppies, and Georgia has pretty much lived here since, much to my annoyance. Though with Georgia’s help, the runt is strong enough to carry her own when she’s in with the rest of the puppies, and Hope is no longer rejecting her.
“Grab your coat, Peaches.”
She kisses the little brown runt on the forehead and sets her down with the rest of the puppies.
“Where are we going?” She jumps up.
“Out. Help me load the bags up.”
I thread my arm through the handles of the duffel bags lined up against the wall. Georgia puts on her coat and does the same. We put the bags in the back of my truck.
“Did you see that Mila’s eyes are open? She’s the first one to open her eyes. Isn’t that awesome?” She hops into the truck and shuts the door.
“Who in the hell is Mila?” I ask her as I push the button to start the engine.
“The puppy you saved, the runt. I named her Milagros, which means miracle in Spanish. I call her Mila for short.”
I look over as she snaps her seat belt and smiles.
“She’s a little miracle, isn’t she?”
“You speak Spanish now? Is there anything you can’t do?” I sneer, pulling out into traffic.
“Befriend you, for one, but that’s more to do with you than me. And, yes, I speak enough to get by. We lived in Spain for a little bit when I was younger.”
“You moved around a lot.”
“Yeah, we did. It’s why I’m so charming. I’ve learned to get along with pretty much anyone. Well, except for you.” She chuckles. “You kind of learn to fit in anywhere when you’re constantly moving.”
“Where’d you go after you left Ann Arbor junior year?” I ask a question I’ve been wondering for years.
One day, I was calling her a stuck-up bitch, and the next, she was gone. I always questioned where she went.
“Hillsborough. It’s in California in the San Francisco Bay Area.”
“Why’d you move so suddenly?”
She shrugs. “That was our life. Dad bought a company, and we moved. Then, we’d move again when he sold that one to buy another. He went where the money went, and we followed.”
“Didn’t that get old?” I can’t stop the questions from escaping my mouth like vomit.
“Sometimes, but I was used to it. It was hard when I got close to people. Though, leaving Ann Arbor wasn’t hard at all.” She throws in the last part as a jab toward me.
“Yeah, I imagine it was pretty easy.”
Driving through Ann Arbor, I have to slam on my brakes several times to avoid hitting college students. They just walk into the road, headphones on, faces looking at their phones without so much as a glance into the street. Pedestrians are like gods here in this college town. They step into the street, and the cars part, allowing for the students with their overpriced rich kid clothes and abnormally large heads to cross without so much as a glance.
I hate this place. I don’t know why I stay. I could go anywhere. I have nothing tying me here, no family or friends to speak of, only horrible memories. And yet I stay.
I park in the structure on the corner of Fourth Street.
“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing?” Georgia asks, tightly wrapping her coat around her to block out the bitter wind.
It’s the end of February in Michigan. We’re all extremely ready for the sun and warmth of spring to arrive, but in actuality, we have another six weeks of winter.
“We’re delivering the bags you and Ethel packaged up yesterday.” I reach into the back of the truck and grab one.
Each duffel bag holds nonperishable food for both dogs and people, thick socks, a warm blanket, a hat, gloves, a dog jacket, flea medicine, and gift certificates to local eateries that are dog and homeless person friendly.
I managed to work out some deals with local restaurants to help get warm food in the bellies of the homeless population in Ann Arbor. I have to admit, there are some cool people in this city who are very willing to help.
Bag in tow, I walk toward the exit of the parking garage. “I think you know our first delivery.”
“Mark and Stan?” Georgia asks eagerly.
“Yep.”
“Awesome!” She almost skips beside me.
“Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite people,” Mark says as he sees us approach. He’s leaning against the brick wall of the bank—his usual spot.
“Hey, man. How are you?” I ask him.
“Good. Real good.” He nods and pats Stan on the head. “Good to see you again, beautiful.” He smiles to Georgia, who’s kneeling beside Stan and petting his back.
“You, too. Are you staying warm?” she asks him.
He grins. “Can’t complain.”
I give Mark the bag of goodies. “Usual stuff. Is there anything specific you need?”
Mark shakes his head. “Nah, bro. I’m good.”
“All right. Well, you know where to find me if you need anything. You still have my number?”
Mark nods.
We chat for a few minutes, and by we, I mean, Mark and Georgia. She really can talk to anyone. I watch as she interacts with both Mark and Stan. I look for the judgment and wait for hidden condescending remarks, but they never come.
Truthfully, I watch her more than I should, waiting for the spoiled snob in her to show, and I haven’t seen it yet. I suppose that should make me happy, but oddly enough, it makes me feel worse. The Georgia I thought I knew and the woman I see before me, holding Mark’s hand and pretending to read his palm, are two very different people.
“See this line here?” She points to a spot on his palm. “This is your life line. It says that you’re going to have a long life.”
“Ah, shit. Well, I’d better figure out what to do with my life then, huh?” He shoots her a semi-toothless grin.
“You and Stan could come help at the shelter. One of our girls, Hope, just had the cutest litter of puppies. You’d love holding them. It’s my daily therapy.”
“What do you need therapy for?” Mark laughs. “You’re damn near perfect.”
Georgia smiles warmly. “I’m definitely not perfect, and we all have some darkness in us that we wish we didn’t. Right? I think more people in this world could benefit from some puppy therapy.”
Mark nods with a look of complete adoration toward Georgia. “Yeah, I bet they could.”
I clear my throat. “I hate to break up the party, but we have some more deliveries to make.”
Georgia says good-bye to Stan and Mark and springs to her feet.
“We’ll see you soon,” I say to him before Georgia and I turn to head back to the truck.
“It’s really nice that you help the homeless in the community,” she tells me when we get back to the truck. “You don’t seem to judge them. That’s really cool.”
I don’t judge them? What is she talking about?
“Why would I judge them?” I ask gruffly.
“It’s nothing against you. Just society in general tends to look down on them, especially ones with dogs. I’ve known quite a few people in my life that do.”
I scoff with a roll of my eyes. “I bet you have.”
Georgia hops up into the cab of the truck and slams the door. She turns her body toward me. �
�Stop! Just stop!” she yells.
Her sudden change in tone catches me off guard.
“I’m sick of you treating me like I’m a horrible, stuck-up bitch. News flash: I’m not! I don’t know why you thought I was back in high school, and I definitely don’t understand why you think I am now. I’ve done nothing to give you ammunition for your made-up narrative. You don’t have a clue who I am because you’re too goddamn stubborn to open your eyes and actually get to know me.”
She closes her eyes and pulls in a deep breath. When she opens them again, they’re shiny, wet with tears that she’s too strong to allow to fall. It’s a gut punch, and I find myself feeling guilty for treating her so harshly.
She takes another breath and continues, “You know, when I saw that it was you who owned the shelter, my immediate reaction was one of dread. I’ll admit that all of the hate I felt for you for saying what you did in high school came to the surface. Maybe I was a little rude in the beginning, but I’ve tried to move past my feelings and to be kind to you whether I felt you deserved it or not because that’s what adults do. Yet you’re dead set on acting like a teenage boy with your rude attitude, throwing harsh remarks in whenever you can. I don’t deserve it. I work harder than anyone else that you actually pay.”
She throws her hands up in the air, her palms facing me. “You know what? If you want to fire me, then fire me. But do not treat me like shit. You will treat me with respect from now on. Are we clear?”
She glares at me, and damn it, she’s never looked more beautiful.
Shit.
I break from her stare and start the truck up.
As I’m backing up, she says, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you firing me?” Her words are drowning in attitude, and it takes me major self-control to keep my mouth from turning up into a smile.
“No, I’m not.”
How could I justify firing her? She’s right. She works harder than anyone else. She doesn’t ask for anything, including a paycheck. I am being an immature dick.
I hate that she’s right.
Maybe I had my reasons to hate her when we were young, but who doesn’t do or say stupid shit when they’re a teenager?
“Good.” She crosses her arms against her chest and sits back in the seat.
I steal a glance at her profile, and she’s so incredibly stunning without even trying. Her blonde hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder. She doesn’t appear to be wearing any makeup, yet her long lashes are dark and frame her deep blue eyes in the most indescribable way. The way she’s pouting now, with her lips out a little further, makes her normally irresistible lips even more so.
She deserves an olive branch, and so I throw her one. “My mom died when I was eighteen, right after high school graduation. The day she died, I found Cooper. He was in bad shape—real bad shape. I spent all of the money I had been saving for years to fix him. I continued to work hard after that, but there was always something unexpected to pay for, and eventually, I couldn’t keep up and was evicted. I had a backpack full of my things and Cooper. That was it. He and I were homeless for the better part of a year.”
I swallow hard. No one knows this part of my life but Ethel. I don’t dare look at Georgia, for fear of seeing pity in her eyes.
“It was hard, living on the streets. People look at you different, if they look at you at all. To most, it’s as if you don’t exist. It’s as if they actually see right through you. It was impossible to find work, and the few odd jobs I found paid just enough to feed me and Cooper. I hung out with some others who lived on the streets. Some of them were into drugs. I’d been around drugs my whole life, so it wasn’t new to me.”
I stop, hesitant to continue, but for some reason, I do. “I’m not going to lie; I was tempted. The idea of escaping my reality was a strong pull. Yet I’d seen what drugs did to my mom. She wasn’t a good mom, to be honest. I looked to Cooper, and I couldn’t risk anything happening to him. I knew if I was high, then I wouldn’t be able to take care of him the way I should. He’d been through so much. I couldn’t stomach the thought of him being taken when I was stoned and someone hurting him. He was my only family. He was my everything. Cooper saved me in more ways than one.”
I pull in behind the hardware store where a homeless friend Nancy and her pit mix LuLu stay and put the truck into park.
“A lot of people think it’s selfish for homeless people to have a dog. But I don’t think the dogs are unhappy. They’re loved, and that’s all any animal wants. In most cases, they’re fed better than their humans. These dogs are everything to their owners. And sometimes, the love and responsibility these people feel for their dog is all that’s keeping them alive. I try to get them off the street. I offer them jobs. Some of them take me up on my offer; some don’t. Xavier is one who’s been able to get off the streets and turn his life around. But not everyone wants off of the streets for various reasons. Who am I to judge them or their journey in life? So, I help them and make sure their dogs are healthy because I can.”
I turn off the truck’s ignition and step out, shutting the door behind me. The pressure and stress that’s ever present, constantly pressing down on my chest, feels a little lighter. Georgia officially knows more about my life than any other person. I’m not sure how opening up to her makes up for the way I’ve treated her, but it feels like it does, in a way.
Georgia meets me at the back of the truck as I pull out another duffel bag. “How did you get off of the streets?” she asks.
I can’t help but smile. “Ethel found me.”
10
“I hate that I feel this pull toward him, but more than that, I can’t stand the fact that he hates me, and I don’t even know why.” —Georgia Wright
The wine bottle and grape decor really needs to be updated, the tables are too close, and the food really isn’t anything like the pasta found in Italy. But there’s no denying the softness of this breadstick.
The waiter rushes past our table and takes a step back when he notices our breadsticks and salad bowl are empty.
“Refill?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I say with my hand in front of my mouth so as not to spray him with partially chewed goodness.
Ethel sits across from me and laughs. “How are you going to have any room for your meal?”
I shake my head. “I won’t. Don’t you see? That’s the beauty. I fill up on this delicious salad and yummy breadsticks, and then I get to eat my pasta tomorrow. Pasta’s always better as leftovers anyway. The noodles absorb the sauce, making it way yummier.” I shove the last bit of the garlic bread into my mouth and lick my fingers. “I will try to save room for dessert.”
Ethel chuckles. “Well, this is so sweet, Georgia. Really. I don’t remember the last time I was taken out to dinner.”
“Everyone deserves a nice birthday dinner. Though I would’ve splurged for someplace a little fancier than Olive Garden.”
“No, I haven’t been here in over twenty years. This place brings back fond memories. It was my late husband, Earl’s, favorite restaurant. Whenever we went out to eat, which wasn’t often, he’d want to come here. Funny thing is that he always ordered the sirloin, never a pasta dish. It never made any sense to me.” She stares off past my shoulder, a dreamy smile on her face.
“Well, I wish I had been able to meet him. He had to be wonderful if he was married to you.”
“Oh, he was.” She nods. “He was a great man.”
“I’m really sorry that Wyatt didn’t show. I thought he would.” I peer toward the hostess stand again to make sure he isn’t standing there, waiting, but of course, he isn’t.
“It’s not a problem. He’s always so busy.”
“Yeah, well…” My voice trails off. Speaking ill of Wyatt on Ethel’s birthday wouldn’t be very kind.
“You two seem to be getting along better lately.”
“We had a heart-to-heart the other day.” I shrug.
To this, Eth
el really laughs. “Wyatt doesn’t do heart-to-hearts. Spill the juicy details,” she says as she dabs the side of her eye with the cloth napkin.
“I basically yelled at him and told him to stop treating me like crap. I think he felt sort of bad because he opened up some after that. Like he told me a little about his mom and the drugs and about you finding him on the street.”
Ethel’s eyes go wide. “He did?”
“Yeah.” I nod casually. I’m being intentionally vague because that’s literally all he told me, but I want Ethel to tell me more.
“I’m surprised. He doesn’t talk about his mom or anything really—at least, not to others.”
“It was during our duffel bag drop-offs. So, I know you found him and Cooper and got them off the streets, but how did it all play out?” I take a bite of the whole banana pepper from the salad that was just delivered, and the tartness makes my face scrunch up.
“Normally, I wouldn’t say anything because Wyatt is a private person. But it sounds like he’s already told you the major bullet points. So, he must trust you.”
I nod, urging her to continue.
“I think I told you how I used to work with his mother, Natalie. We were nurses together. Well, Wyatt’s dad was murdered when he was six—shot by someone he didn’t know at a gas station. Natalie didn’t handle her husband’s death well. Shortly after the funeral, she fell and broke her wrist and became addicted to the pain pills she had been prescribed. I think they helped her numb the pain that was so unbearable for her. You know, I saw her changing right before my eyes.
“She and her husband and little Wyatt had been our family. Earl and I couldn’t have kids. Natalie and I had grown close, and so did our families.”
I tilt my lips into a grin. I try to imagine what a toddler-aged Wyatt looked like. “I bet Wyatt was so cute when he was little.”
“He was. He’s always been simply adorable, even now. Despite his rough demeanor, he’s such a handsome man.”
Her expression saddens. “So, anyway, I saw her changing, but I thought she was just working through her grief. Eventually, I guess she started stealing pills from our medical cart. She was caught and was fired. She and Wyatt continued to live in their nice home for a while, but Natalie’s addiction grew, and after she burned through their savings, she started selling off their possessions until, eventually, they lost everything.”