As I walked to the door, my phone was ringing. It was Natalie, Em’s older sister. We weren’t on the best terms, but today of all days wasn’t the time to be small. I answered.
“Hey Luke,” she said. Her voice was so deep, so severe. The opposite of Emily’s.
“Hey,” I said.
“How’re you holding up?”
I should have said something good to her, probably. Told her I was doing alright, checked in to see how she was doing. We could have played that game, the mutual reassurance that everything is fine. We were both stubborn and tough. But I didn’t want to play that game. I didn’t want to talk to her at all. That tinge of accusation never seemed to leave her voice.
“How do you think?” I asked, trying to keep myself from getting angry.
“I’m just checking in,” she said. “It’s, you know.”
“Yeah, I goddamned know. I know it’s the anniversary of my wife’s death.” So much for keeping it under control. For a moment all I heard was air. It wouldn’t have been the first time Natalie’d hung up on me, deservedly. But then she spoke again, softly this time.
“She was my family too, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said.
We were silent on the phone for a minute. I let out a long breath, debating an apology.
“Anyway. Talk to you sometime,” Natalie said.
“Yeah,” I said. We both hung up.
I opened the door and on the floor there in front of me was that package I’d forgotten all about from earlier. My name was scrawled across it in block capitals, handwritten in marker. I didn’t know the handwriting.
The box was wrapped up in butcher paper, and I took out a knife and cut it open clean and careful. I lifted the lid and tried to make sense of the contents. Nine envelopes, regular envelopes, with big numbers one through nine in the upper right where a stamp would be. For a moment, my heart stopped.
That handwriting, I knew. I looked up, looked around the room, like someone was watching me. Like there was a ghost in there with me or maybe some awful prank reality TV show that just wanted to see me cry.
Emily.
Blood pounding in my ears, I went and locked the deadbolt on the front door, couldn’t tell you why. I cleared away all the accumulated junk on the kitchen table, put everything away in its right place, then laid out the nine envelopes. I didn’t know what was in them, but I knew I didn’t want to rush. I knew, somehow, this was a moment to treasure, a moment to linger on.
I sat down, felt the warm wood of the chair beneath me, and cut open the top of the first envelope. I closed my knife, clipped it back on my jeans pocket.
But my hand froze, the paper held too tightly between my fingers. I couldn’t do it. Not yet.
I stood up, went to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a shot glass and whiskey. I sat back down, took a shot. Deep breath—nothing like the breaths I’d taken earlier, staring at the sky—and I pulled out a letter from Emily, one year dead.
“Luke,” it started. If it’d said “Dear Luke,” I’d have thought it a fraud. Emily had loved me with all her heart but she wasn’t a city girl and didn’t wait much on formality.
“I’ve been dead a year.”
My chest felt like it was caving in, but I held back most of my tears and kept reading. I didn’t sob, I didn’t cry, but a few tears welled up and drifted down my cheek and fell on the paper.
“I think I’ve come to know you better than I know myself. It’s strange to say that, and stranger to mean it. Here I am at the end of my life, and I don’t know who I am except in relation to you. And that makes me happy. It makes me proud. There’s none of us who are alone in the world, since God made every one of us, but you and I let our souls come together and, well, I think I know you better than I know myself.
“I hope I’m wrong about this, but I’ve got a feeling you’ve had a rough year. I’ve got a feeling your life is falling apart. I’ve got a feeling you blame yourself even though it’s God who picked me to join Him.”
My breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to argue with her, I realized. God had nothing to do with it. Cancer killed her.
“So I’m writing you these letters. There are eight of them.” She’d crossed out the eight, written “nine” above it with lighter strokes of the pen. “Someone’s got to help get you through this, and you helped me through the worst stuff in my life, so I think it’s fair if I try to do the same for you.”
I rested my head in my hands, my elbows on the table, and tried to relax. Tried to master my breath as I kept reading.
“Here’s the deal. Each letter comes with instructions, a specific task. You can only open the next letter when you finish doing what the last one says. So, like, you can’t open number two until you get a dog.”
A dog?
“That’s your first instruction. Go get a dog. Go out, right now, and rescue a dog.”
I looked over at the clock. It was almost six. Assuming I’d remembered to set it forward for daylight savings. I looked at my phone. Almost seven. There was no way a rescue place was still going to be open.
“Remember, you don’t pick the dog, the dog will pick you. I don’t care if you end up with a pug, you let the dog pick you. Well, maybe don’t get a pug, I can’t see you with a pug. But still. Go get a dog.”
Only Emily could get me laughing at a time like that, but it worked. I was chuckling.
“I love you, but you know that already, and here I am dying and all I can think is that you’ve given me a better life than I could have hoped for. Too short, yes, but an amazing life anyway. You’re the best man in the world, the best husband in the world. I’ll tell you more sweet things like that in the next letter, but you’re not allowed to read it yet, okay? Not until you get a dog.”
She didn’t sign her name, because of course she didn’t, because of course she didn’t need to. My Emily.
I folded the letter up, put in back in the envelope. Stared out the window at the little bit of the world I could see under the streetlight outside. Then I took the letter back out, read it over twice more. Folded it up, put it back in the envelope.
A dog.
I can’t take care of a dog, I can’t even take care of myself.
I’m not going to get a dog.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, I had my feet up on the table and a bowl of Golden Grahams in my lap and the TV was on. I was content enough, I guess. My can of Coke said “Edward” on it, and “Jessica” was empty next to it. Never understood that ad campaign, and every time I bought a case of cans I had to worry I’d find an “Emily.” But Coke was Coke and it goes well with cereal and TV.
I’d slept well the night before, which honestly took me by surprise. I’d barely dreamt. I’d been dreading the anniversary for months. But now it was over. The worst was over.
Sort of.
There was a reality show about an auto mechanic shop on the TV, and my cereal wasn’t soggy, and my couch was pretty comfortable. I didn’t have to work for a couple of days. I should shove bouncers more often.
Then the bowl was empty, and the box was empty so I couldn’t pour another one. The show ended and a worse one came on, about a tattoo parlor and all the bad ideas people get etched on them for good. Tattoos were too much commitment.
Since when had I been afraid of commitment?
Maybe I should get a dog.
I went over to the kitchen table, found the letter I’d opened, brought it back over to the couch and pulled it out to read it again. I did like dogs. Emily and I had talked about rescuing one though, and it didn’t feel right to get one without her. She’d wanted a dog as kind of like a practice kid—something to take care of besides her husband and a few house plants. But now? The last thing I needed was a practice kid, and who knew if I’d be responsible enough to care for an animal?
I had to admit I was warming up to the idea, though. Wouldn’t hurt to go visit the rescue, anyhow.
I wasn’t doing it because Emily told
me to. And I wasn’t even sure I was going to bring home a dog. I just wasn’t doing anything else that day anyway. Couldn’t hurt, just to see.
The animal shelter was out on the edge of town, in a half-abandoned mess of strip malls. It was one of the first warm days of spring, and I unbuttoned my flannel on my way across the parking lot.
I walked in looking bewildered, and the elderly woman standing behind the adoption counter could tell easily enough I had no idea what I was doing. She was just finishing up with a family, then called me over.
The family left, their little girl holding the leash to some kind of handsome mutt. The parents were beaming, the girl was smiling a gap-toothed smile, even the mutt had a grin plastered to his shaggy face. Damned if I wasn’t smiling too.
“What can I help you with?” the woman at the counter asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You’re looking to adopt?”
“I might at some point,” I said. “Today I guess I’m just looking.”
“Dog? Cat?”
“Dog. But I’m only looking.”
“Just looking, huh? I’ve heard that one before.” She gave me a knowing nod. “Head on back, then. A volunteer will help you out. Hope you find one to fall in love with.”
Her words threw me, and I felt my defenses kick back into gear. “Thanks,” I said.
For a moment I hesitated. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should just leave before I ended up too guilt-tripped to head home without one of these furry orphans. It wasn’t like a pet could ever replace Emily, could make the pain go away.
But damn if I didn’t want to read her next letter. See what else she’d cooked up for me. And I’d never betray her memory by cheating, and she’d have known it, too. Alright, Em. You won this round.
Swinging doors took me into the shelter itself, a long hallway full of roomy, glass-doored stalls, each with its own dog. Some were napping, some gnawed at tennis balls or chew toys. Some just barked.
I found myself looking through the glass at some kind of long-haired collie mix, her tail wagging slowly as I eyed her, and it wasn’t hard to see her coming home with me. It wasn’t hard to picture putting up a fence, playing ball with her in the yard. Did collies like playing ball?
“What can I do for you today?”
I heard the woman before I saw her. She had a nice voice. A real nice voice, all melodic and full of charm. Then I turned, and I saw her full on, and it wasn’t just her voice that was nice.
“I’m Rae,” she said, sticking out her hand.
She was in a light blue sweater and tight blue jeans. Strawberry blonde hair pulled back, a spray of freckles across her nose, eyes as green as a summer field.
“Luke,” I said. We shook, and her friendly demeanor warmed me.
“What kind of dog are you looking for?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t know. Not even sure I’m sure about looking.”
“Is that so?” She grinned, and I noticed the dimple high up on her cheek. “How about we just walk along and look at some of them while you tell me about what you need in a dog.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m a pretty good matchmaker.”
I paused. “What do you mean?”
“For starters, how much room do you have?” She gestured for me to follow her, and I did.
“A house,” I said. “With a decent yard, a few solid oaks in the back. They make good shade in the summer.” Christ, I was babbling now. What’d gotten into me? We walked past a few Chihuahuas without stopping, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanks. No yappy dogs for me.
“Sounds nice. Children?” Rae continued.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“And how long are you going to have to leave it at home, and how often?”
“I don’t know, about ten hours, four times a week? I work nights sometimes.”
She nodded, taking notes. Her nails were painted a copper gold that matched her hair, and her lips were pouty when she looked down at the paper.
“You said you’re not even sure you’re looking to get a dog?” she asked.
“Yeah, just…thinking about it.”
“So you’re in here wasting my time?”
“What?” I asked, caught off-guard.
“Just walking around teasing these poor ol’ dogs, making their little hearts go pitter-pat…” she gave me a sly smile.
“I’m not teasing!”
“I am, though,” she said. She put her hand on my shoulder for a moment and I looked at that dimple, and when our eyes met it was like all the tension just melted out of me, right there on the floor of the animal shelter. “Come on, you big tease. Let’s have a look at the inmates.”
The moment passed, and we resumed walking down the hall.
Some of those dogs, they looked downright mean. Which might have meant they were mean, it might have meant they were scared, it might have meant they were sad. Maybe all three. But most of them looked content with their lot in life. They felt safe. I wondered if they knew that they weren’t. But I guess you don’t call it “rescue” unless you’re saving someone. Then again, it was more likely that I was the one in need of saving.
“Do you like big dogs? Medium dogs? Small dogs?” There was a little black pug in the cage closest to us.
“Medium dogs, I guess. Maybe big.”
A grin flashed across her face for half a second and she opened the cage door. The pug ran straight at me, hit my leg, started pawing at it and yipping. His goofy smile took up near half his face.
The little dog was adorable. Not what I wanted, but adorable. Then I remembered Emily’s letter and I started laughing.
“He makes you laugh?” Rae asked.
“No, it’s just...” I was all set to explain the whole thing, then decided I didn’t want to. “It’s just funny. He’s mighty excitable.”
“Yep, he can be a bit much. Alright, Oliver,” Rae said. “Stop bothering the man.” She scooched him back into his cage and kept walking. It seemed like all the dogs would calm down as Rae walked by, quiet their barking or quit tussling with their cellmates. Guess you could say she had a way about her.
“Have you had dogs before?” she asked, her ponytail bouncing as she walked.
I found myself grinning at the memory. “Two, when I was growing up. German shepherds, both from the same litter. My brother named them Rocky and Adrien, and we called all ourselves the ‘dog pack.’ Used to have frisbee wars and feed ‘em bacon under the table.”
“That’s cute,” Rae smiled. “You think you might want two dogs again?”
I laughed. “One’s enough for me.” Or none. Unless she’d somehow already convinced me to bring one of these mutts home. Jedi mind tricks.
“Don’t like to spread your love too thin, huh? I know your type.”
She was being playful, flirting with me. I’m about as dense as they get, but I caught on. Rae was maybe the most beautiful woman I’d seen in months, and there she was flirting with me.
We stopped in front of a beagle’s cage next, and Rae opened the door. “C’mon out, girl,” she coaxed. The dog came out, paced around my legs, and looked up at me.
“Hey there, beagle mutt,” I said. I squatted down and pet her. She let me, but she was indifferent, and seemed more interested in staring up at Rae with eyes of love than in bonding with me. Well, alright. No skin off my nose.
“Do you live alone?” Rae asked, as she escorted the beagle back into its cage.
Rae was standing awful close to me and I realized how much I liked her standing close to me. It wasn’t like it was with Maggie, it wasn’t pure animal lust. It was just warm, comfortable, reassuring. I didn’t want to think about Em. Instead of answering, I shrugged.
“No girlfriend or anything?”
“My wife died a year ago,” I said. It’s like slamming a gate down, that sentence. But I needed to be guarded, just then.
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Rae said. “I hate to hear it.” Her hand was back on my shoulder, and I
realized there wasn’t an ounce of pity in her voice. I appreciated that.
“Yeah. So. I’m not sure I really need a dog right now,” I added. I also didn’t need a beautiful woman flirting with me.
“Alright. Well I’m not telling you that you need a dog or don’t need a dog,” Rae said, “but I think it takes someone with a pretty big heart to be down here thinking about rescuing one. Especially someone like you, someone who’s unsure if they’d make a good dog parent. A hell of a lot of heart. Why don’t you give it some time, think it over some more? And for now we’ll just go ahead and get you back to the lobby, then.”
She led the way through the maze. I relaxed a little bit. Just a little bit.
As we headed back through, I tried to keep my eyes off the dogs. No sense in getting any hopes up; I couldn’t bear the guilt. As we reached the end of the hall though, there was a dog curled up against the glass with his belly out and his long ears splayed across the floor. I recognized the way his eyes turned down, the droopy jowls, the wrinkled brow. A bloodhound, two years old at most. Our eyes met and I couldn’t help but smile. That bloodhound, he looked interested, like maybe he’d like to meet me. But he also didn’t look like he needed me. On the tag by the door, it said his name was King. My feet stopped.
“His name is King?” I asked. “Like Elvis?”
“Huh?” Rae froze in her tracks and turned around. When she saw me standing by King’s door, she grinned. That off-kilter dimple I’d liked so much was back. “Oh, yeah. Sure is. ‘Cause he ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, get it? He’s a good boy, aren’t ya, boy?”
King was up now, his eyes darting between me and Rae, his tail giving a few cautious wags. Rae opened the door and stepped aside for the big dog. He didn’t bound out, covering me with excitement. Instead he just eyed me lazily, then ambled out into the hall like a happy drunk leaving the bar. Like he had all the time in the world. He gave me a sniff, and I squatted down, reached out and pet him between his shoulder blades.
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