Dog Crazy

by Meg Donohue

  “Hmm,” I say. “Maybe I need to find myself a nice, awkward tech guy. We could share the cost of a Netflix subscription. Solid relationships have been built on less.”

  Leo laughs. “Please don’t do that. For Giselle’s sake, at least. She’s growing quite fond of your city explorations—I don’t know how she’d handle it if you went back into hiding.” In the kitchen, Gabby seems to be attempting to break the sound barrier. Leo winces. The fact that Lourdes is sleeping through the noise is a truly impressive testament of her willpower.

  “Soooo, is there anything else we can talk about?” Leo asks, deadpan. “Let’s see, we’ve covered cinnamon toast, the agoraphobia spectrum . . . Oh, fine. I guess my time is up. Thanks, Maggie.” He glances wistfully beyond me, toward the front yard. It’s a sunny, clear-skied morning, a hint of the sea in the air. “Enjoy your walk—”

  At the sound of her favorite word, Giselle leaps to her feet, races past me, and springs off the top step. Barely hanging on to the other end of the leash, I spin around and stumble down the stairs after her, yelling good-bye to Leo as I do.

  WHEN GISELLE AND I turn onto Anya’s block, I see Henry waiting for me in front of the house.

  “Morning,” I say, walking up to him. “We really should stop meeting like this.”

  He’s clearly in no mood for jokes. “I wanted to catch you before you went inside,” he says straightaway. “Anya told me you’d be here. She said you’ve been coming all week.”

  I shade my eyes, squinting up at him. Now that I’ve decided he’s handsome, it’s hard to notice anything else. You need to get out more, I tell myself. Obviously.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “Terrence had dinner with Anya and my grandmother last night and apparently Anya blew up again, ranting about Billy. Terrence said Rosie was completely shaken up by the whole thing. June had to take her to bed early.” Henry crosses his arms. “Anya isn’t getting any better. I don’t think your plan—going on all these walks with her—is working.”

  “Well, it’s barely been a week.” I think for a moment. “And you may not see it yet, but I actually do think we’re making a little progress. I think she’s relieved to have someone to talk to.”

  Henry winces. “She knows she can talk to me. We’ve always been close. I’m the one who brought Billy home for her in the first place. I thought having a dog would help her. Growing up in this big old house with my grandmother . . . I didn’t want her to be lonely.”

  I smile at him. “She didn’t tell me. That was nice of you.”

  “Well, now I’m not so sure. If I’d known this was going to happen—”

  “Trust me,” I interrupt, perhaps a bit too sharply. “Billy was good for Anya. I’m sure she wouldn’t trade one moment of the time she had with him even if it meant feeling less heartache now.”

  He looks at me and nods.

  “Listen,” I say. “I know you want Anya to let go of Billy, to accept that he’s gone, but she’s not ready. That’s not something you can force. These things take time. She needs time.”

  “I get that, I do, but I’m not sure you understand how critical it is that she snaps out of it.” He gestures toward the house. “Don’t be fooled by this place. There’s no money. Clive and Terrence and I—we’re the ones who support my grandmother and Anya. And Anya lost her job. Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Well, she needs to work. She needs the paycheck, and she needs the stability of a schedule. I enrolled her in a photography class at City College with the hope that it would inspire her to take more classes, maybe even pick a major, but apparently she stopped going as soon as Billy ran away. She needs to find her way back to some sort of emotional equilibrium. Billy isn’t the only loss she’s going to have to deal with in the near future. Rosie is very sick. She’s probably not going to be around much longer.” He swallows. “Yet another thing that Anya refuses to acknowledge.”

  My heart sinks. “I’m so sorry, Henry. I knew your grandmother was ailing, but I didn’t realize how serious it was.”

  “Anya won’t discuss it with anyone. After I move, she’s going to be on her own dealing with all of this. Clive, as I’m sure you gathered, isn’t exactly the nurturing type, and Terrence has a lot on his plate right now with young kids at home and a business to run.”

  I nod. “And you’re sure moving is the right thing to do at this point? Have you considered staying closer to home until Anya finds her way through this period? I think she might rely on you—emotionally, I mean—more than she lets on.”

  Henry’s expression changes, darkening, and I immediately sense my mistake. “I hate that I have to move right now. But this is my career we’re talking about . . . the career that helps to support my grandmother and Anya. Who will pay Rosie’s medical bills if I don’t go?”

  Henry looks so tormented that I have to fight the impulse to reach out and touch his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know all of the details of your situation, or Anya’s, and I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I have to go,” he says again. “And I thought that if I knew Anya was at least seeing a therapist . . .” His voice trails off. “But this isn’t how it was supposed to go. This was a mistake. You’re only confusing her, giving her hope. You’re going to make things worse, which means I’ve made things worse.”

  Before I know it, I’m inviting him to join us on our walk. “You’ll see that you didn’t make a mistake. All I’m doing is listening to Anya, talking with her. I like her.” Even as I say it, I realize how sincere I am. I think of my old boss arguing for professional distance. But Anya isn’t a patient—if she were, I never would have seen her again. “When she’s ready to mourn for Billy, I’ll be here. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? To know someone will be here for her after you leave? Come with us,” I say. “You’ll see.”

  Henry listens closely, his expression thoughtful. “Fine,” he says when I’m finished. He sounds less convinced than defeated.

  “Good,” I say brightly, but I’m already regretting my suggestion. I’m trying to convince Henry that he hasn’t introduced a negative presence into his unstable sister’s life, but what if I have one of my panic attacks while he’s watching? Anya may not have been flustered when I fell to the ground and hugged a dog for dear life during our first walk, but I don’t think Henry would view such an episode so lightly. I haven’t had another incident like that one all week, but my anxiety flares at the thought of Henry observing my every move. What was I thinking?

  Henry gestures for me to lead the way. I head toward the front of the house and Giselle falls into step beside me, tail wagging, the only one of the three of us who seems unfazed by what is about to happen.

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Anya asks Henry when she sees him standing behind me at the door.

  “I want to come with you and Maggie this morning,” he answers. “On your walk.”

  Anya releases a hard laugh. “It’s not for fun. We’re not a couple of ladies going for a power walk. We’re looking for Billy.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But you think Billy is dead.”

  “No, I just . . . Anya, you know I don’t sugarcoat things for you. You’re not a child. I have no way of knowing whether or not Billy is dead, but to be honest, either way, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  Anya crosses her arms and scowls. She looks like she’s about to rip into her brother, so I speak up before she can, turning to Henry.

  “If you don’t think he’s coming back,” I say, “what do you think happened to Billy?”

  “I think someone let him out by accident. Clive or Terrence, most likely, and they don’t want to admit it either because they feel bad about it or they don’t even realize they did it.”

  I nod. It’s my best guess, too. But Anya lets out a frustrated huff and shakes her head.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Billy wouldn’t run away. He’s never run away before. Not once.
Why would he start now, when he’s old and clearly prefers being home to being anywhere else?”

  Henry sighs. “You have to admit it makes a lot more sense than jumping to the conclusion that someone stole him.”

  Anya purses her lips, and the angular lines of her cheekbones rise from below her pallid skin. “Why are you really here, Henry?”

  “Please don’t be like this. Let me come with you. I just want to spend time with you.” He sounds sad and I’m relieved to believe him—to know that he’s not joining us for the sole purpose of evaluating my relationship with his sister.

  Anya looks at me. “What do you think?”

  The way she asks this—as though she wants to make sure it is okay with me—makes me feel both touched and uneasy. I have the distinct sense that she’s been questioning my state of mind as much I’ve been worrying about hers.

  I give a blithe shrug. “Why not?”

  “I was going to head toward Kite Hill today,” she says, holding my gaze. “It’s sort of an upward climb.”

  I look away, pretending to busy myself with Giselle’s leash. “Sounds great!” Just great.

  “Okay. Whatever. Fine.”

  Anya clomps between us, heading toward the sidewalk at her usual brisk pace, leaving us in her wake. I can practically feel Henry’s skepticism growing as we travel block after block in silence. I’m not going to force Anya into conversation just to prove to Henry that we’re becoming friends. Sometimes the best thing you can do for a person is to simply walk with them in silence, letting them be alone with their thoughts even as you remain a physical presence at their side. Dogs are experts at this, letting us be alone without being lonely. Letting us find a way to be content with ourselves.

  The streets rise and fall, twisting and hooking back on themselves. Aside from one or two more trafficked corridors, the areas we walk though all seem remarkably quiet. Within half a mile, I have no idea where I am. I look toward Sutro Tower to orient myself, relieved both for its presence as a marker and for the fact that, if necessary, it would provide the reception that I would need to pull up a map on my phone and find my way out of this tangle of streets.

  The whole time we’re walking, I sense Henry’s frustration mounting. “How’s Rosie doing?” he finally calls out to Anya. I’m sure the note of reproach in his voice is meant for me.

  “She’s fine. I don’t know. She might have a cold. She sounded a little groggy this morning.”

  “She did?” Henry asks.

  “June’s keeping a close eye on her. I think they were going to sit on the back deck for a bit. Get some sun.” She says this as though she really believes that a little fresh air will solve Rosie’s health problems.

  “Has she been in the wheelchair a long time?” I ask.

  “Oh, that,” Anya says, finally slowing down. “She fell and broke her leg about a year and a half ago and she never gave up the chair, even once her leg healed. I think she just likes it; she says she’s always wanted her own chariot. She keeps asking June to take her out on the hills and see how much speed they can get. She’s fine.”

  “She’s not fine,” says Henry. He’s walking beside his sister now, and Giselle and I are a step behind.

  “Well, she’s old! Obviously. But her mind is fine.”

  “Rosie’s mind is fine,” he concedes. “But her health is not. She has a serious chronic respiratory condition. You understand that, don’t you, Anya?”

  “Of course I do. I just don’t see how talking about it is going to help. Why aren’t you ever positive? Rosie would want—Rosie wants us to be positive. That’s what she’s always said. You and Clive are always so determined to focus on what’s wrong.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Terrence stopped by for dinner last night,” Anya interrupts. She’s addressing me.

  “Oh?”

  “He said he understands why I need to keep looking for Billy. He said he supports me and that I shouldn’t let anyone tell me what to believe. So at least someone in the family understands.”

  “That was nice of him,” I say, wondering what sent her spiraling into the meltdown that Terrence reported back to his brother.

  “He said if I believe in my gut that Billy is alive, I should do everything I can to find him.”

  I shoot Henry what I hope is a meaningful look. It seems to me that he should be happy that his brother is reaching out to offer support. If Terrence expressed more interest in Anya, wouldn’t Henry feel less worried about leaving?

  “He said,” Anya continues, “that I remind him of Mom.” She glances at her brother, and then away.

  Henry squints, appraising her. “You look like her,” he agrees. “Not today, though. Only when you bathe—what is that, every third Tuesday? Every third Tuesday is the day you look the most like Mom.”

  Anya pushes him, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “I think Terrence was referring to my optimism.”

  Henry grins. “Mom was stubbornly, sort of insanely, upbeat. She used to let us go to school in short-sleeved shirts, even on foggy days. As long as we brought a sweater in our backpack, she was fine with us wearing whatever we wanted. ‘Hope for sun,’ she’d say.”

  “ ‘Hope for sun,’ ” Anya murmurs. I have the sense that she’s concentrating, trying to remember her mother saying these words.

  Henry slings his arm around his sister’s thin shoulders. “It’s not fair that I had so much more time with Mom and Dad than you did,” he tells her. “I’d give you some of my memories of them if I could. You know that, don’t you?”

  Anya’s eyes are pinned to the sidewalk. “Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

  The sentiment is so touching that I feel tears prick my eyes. I hang back, giving them a little space. Henry’s love for his sister, his devotion to her, is incredibly moving.

  After walking in silence for a minute or two, Anya shakes his arm from her shoulder, shoving him, playfully, away. “God, Henry. I know you’re old, but I can’t carry you all the way up there. Next time, bring a walker.”

  KITE HILL TURNS out to be a half-acre expanse of scruffy grass in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. It has a hidden-in-plain-sight feel; there’s no visible sign or official entrance. We troop up the hill single file, following a narrow dirt path that traverses the grass and weeds. It strikes me as a strange place to look for a dog—if Billy were here, we’d have seen him immediately. There’s really nowhere to hide.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Henry calls from behind me on the trail. “We’re the only ones here. Do you want to let Giselle off her leash so she can stretch her legs?”

  Anya stops abruptly and wheels around to address her brother. “Maggie is training her to be a therapy dog. Giselle needs to learn to stay close.”

  I smile at Anya, but her rush to defend my actions rattles me. Just how much has she guessed about what is going on with me? I realize that while I think I’m helping her, she might think she’s doing the same thing for me.

  We’re at the top of the hill now. The city falls and rises and falls again, leading out to the bay in the east. In the distance, the hills of Oakland are a dull green. The view—the water, the hills, the high-rises and low-rises and bridges and pocket parks—is unlike anything you’d see even from the top of the highest building in Philadelphia. I wish I could enjoy it, but I’m thinking about what Anya knows, and feeling the pressure of Henry’s presence, and the glare of the sun is too bright in my eyes and something is squeezing my chest and the ground is tilting and suddenly I’m bent over, breathing hard, steadying myself by burying my hands into Giselle’s fur.

  “Billlyyyy!” Anya does one of her primal screams, her voice ripping through the park. Out of the corner of my eye I see Henry racing toward her. She yells Billy’s name again. By now I’m as used to this as I’ll ever be—she’s done it on every walk—but it seems to be the first time Henry has experienced it.

  “Do you see him? Why are you screaming like that?” I hear her give him the same explanation she
gave me: yelling makes her feel better. Their conversation gives me time to hang on to Giselle for a few beats, count my breath, and then straighten. By the time they walk over to me, the panic has subsided. I can feel Anya watching me.

  “I still don’t understand the yelling,” Henry is saying.

  “I told you, it clears my head. It calms me. It’s better than taking prescription drugs, isn’t it?”

  Henry doesn’t respond.

  Anya turns to me. “My brother wants me to be normal. I’m a constant disappointment. He’d rather see me sedated on medication than yelling in public.”

  “That’s not true,” Henry says. “I love you just the way you are. I just don’t always believe that you feel the same way about yourself.”

  Anya kicks her boots against the ground. I feel badly for Henry. There is nothing he can say that will make Anya forgive him for not believing that Billy might still return. I suspect that she is also deeply hurt by the fact that her brother is moving away; all of her barbed digs are a way to protect herself from the pain of losing him.

  “Actually, Anya,” I say, “in giving you Billy, Henry might have circumvented the need for medication. Studies have shown that playing with a dog can increase levels of serotonin and dopamine in humans, making us calmer, happier, without the use of drugs.”

  Henry smiles at me and my stomach does a little flip that has nothing at all to do with the view from the hill.

  “Great,” Anya says. “So the one thing that might make me feel better about losing Billy, is finding Billy.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” I say. “But it is true that one of the hardest things about losing someone that you love is that you have to allow yourself to seek and accept comfort in other areas of your life.”

  Anya hunches her shoulders and marches away, heading down the hill. Giselle has become fascinated by some sort of animal hole in the dirt, and I hang back to allow her a moment to investigate it. Henry waits with us. A warm breeze carries the scent of wildflowers across the hill and Giselle lifts her head, twitches her nose, and sneezes.