by Suri Rosen
Professor K. shook his head back and forth. I was starting to get a bit rattled.
“Hang on,” I said to Deb. I turned to Professor K. “Are you okay?”
His brows knit with worry. “Chocolate is toxic for dogs. It affects their hearts and nervous systems. We never gave Chaucer chocolate.”
Uh-oh.
“Sugar substitutes are especially dangerous for dogs,” he said. “They can lead to coma or even death.”
A ball of nausea started bouncing in my belly.
“Oh my god, I heard that!” Deb said on the other end of the line. “Daniel will hate me.”
She had a point.
“I shouldn’t have been cheap,” she said, her voice trembling. “I should have just bought him a pie.”
“It was the principle.”
“Darn right.”
Professor K. tapped on the desk. “Rain, the dog might be fine but your friend really should take the dog to the vet immediately.”
“My car’s in for repairs. How am I going to get him to a vet?” Deb was practically sobbing now.
“Can’t you just take a cab?”
“Have you seen the weather out there? The rain’s turned to snow. It’s a mess. It’ll be an hour wait.”
No, no, no, no. Don’t ask.
“Rain, would you mind terribly driving me and Bronx to the vet? I’ll walk over to Daniel’s place and meet you there.”
I glanced at my watch. Dahlia would still be at the bar mitzvah so she wasn’t available. Since I had created this situation, I needed to own it.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me where he lives, then call the vet.”
As I flew out the door, Professor K. called after me, “Try to give the dog some water! And let me know how it goes!”
I punched Daniel’s address into my GPS, put the car in gear and raced down Bathurst Street. I floored the pedal and the car careened through the intersection, my hands curled so tightly around the steering wheel that it felt like it would snap off the dashboard any second.
When I arrived at Daniel’s side split bungalow, I bolted up the front steps and flew through the front door. My stomach dropped when I found Bronx lying at the foot of the sink, the empty box of Choco-chickies next to him. Deb was kneeling on the floor and gently stroking his back.
I dropped to the floor. “Bronx,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”
As if in answer, he raised his head and his eyes fluttered for a second. My heart skipped a beat.
“Come on, big guy,” Deb said with a quivering voice. Bronx turned to Deb and his eyes locked on hers. You could see the bulb going off in his brain — it was the moment of truth. The hyper-intuitive animal; the amateur therapist. It was an “aha” moment as he confronted the agent of his harm.
Bronx’s mouth gaped wide open. Deb and I eyed each other with terror as he leaned over to her with his jaw hanging open.
And licked her face.
She exhaled, hugged him, then jumped up and raised her arms. “Thank god. He lives, he lives, he lives. The dog lives!”
I rose to my feet and wiped off some stray dog hairs from my skirt. Bronx watched Deb with a goofy look, almost a smile, and then promptly collapsed onto the floor again. We gasped in horror as his eyelids slowly closed.
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Deb was screaming. Or I was screaming. I’m still not sure.
“The vet!” I said, as I sank to the floor again and stroked Bronx on his back. “Please, Bronx. Can you please get up?”
Bronx lifted his head again and slurped my face, like it was covered with pie. Or kibble. “How are we going to get him into the car?” I said. He was the size of a motorcycle, and seemed to be too woozy to do anything more than shower us with slimy affection.
“Okay, so you take the front, I’ll take the back,” she said. I grasped his shoulder and Deb pulled his legs and we yanked, but Bronx was too heavy to lift. I grabbed Bronx’s collar with both of my hands and tugged. He slid around three inches across the ceramic tiles with an amused look on his face. I think he was actually enjoying the attention.
“Think, think, think,” she said, placing her hand on her head.
“When’s Daniel coming back?” I said. I cringed as Bronx licked my face again.
“Tomorrow afternoon. He’s flying back from Philadelphia.”
“That’s it!” I shouted. “Let’s get a suitcase with wheels. Does he have more than one?”
“Brilliant! I’ll go look.” Deb’s eyes darted around the room as she tore out of the kitchen. She pounded through the living room and stomped down the stairs, the force rattling the crystal lighting fixture in the dining room. I scooped up Bronx’s bowl and poured in a bottle of water from Daniel’s pantry, then placed it in front of him. He took a few sips and then smiled at me.
Deb charged into the kitchen pulling an enormous black moulded plastic suitcase the size of a phone booth. She placed it on the floor next to Bronx and ripped open the zipper.
“Okay,” she said as she propped up the suitcase on its side. “All we need to do is pick him up just enough to tip him into the suitcase. Then we roll him out to the car.”
This was an excellent plan. “I take the front, you take the bottom,” I said. “Let’s count to three and pick him up.”
“One, two, three, push!” We dragged his forelegs over the side of the suitcase and on the second shove deposited the rest of his body inside. We tipped the suitcase upright and Bronx fell right in. I zipped up both sides, leaving the top open for air. Deb extended the plastic handle and gingerly pulled the suitcase toward the front door.
I bolted into the living room and yanked a folded fleece blanket from the end of the couch and then tripped out the front door of the house.
I was glad that it was dark outside. I didn’t want any neighbours taking this the wrong way, like we were carting a body out to the car or something. We were, but you know what I mean.
I helped Deb gently ease the suitcase down the three stairs and then we pulled it up to the backseat of the Saturn. I threw the blanket over the back then we hoisted the suitcase and gently tipped it over, rolling Bronx onto the backseat.
Deb stroked his face one more time. “I’m so sorry, Big Guy,” she said in a whisper. “You’re going to be okay, alright?” He answered her with another face lick with his enormous tongue. As a bonus he raised his paw and stroked her arm. I had to admit, as a non-dog person, Bronx was kind of growing on me.
She squeezed his paw, and then hurtled back into Daniel’s house, dragging the empty suitcase behind her and locked his door. Deb bolted back to the Saturn and jumped into the passenger seat, panting. I put the car in reverse and rocketed out of the driveway onto the empty street.
“Watch the speed bumps!” Deb roared. She turned around, leaned over to the backseat, and stroked Bronx’s ear. “I just wanted him to be my friend,” she said in a tearful voice. “I should have researched dogs more. It’s all my fault.”
No, it wasn’t all her fault. I mean the chocolate part was, but it was my idea to win over Bronx. It was nothing short of miraculous that Professor K. heard my conversation with Deb and told me to take the dog to the vet.
Deb pulled out her cell phone, keyed in a number, and babbled.
“Daniel, it’s me, Deb. I feel sick to my stomach but I made a huge mistake and left some treats for … Bronx … and didn’t know that chocolate was dangerous.”
She paused briefly and stifled a sob. “I’m on my way to the vet with him now and I’ll stay with him all night. I’m so sorry. If you hate me for this I understand. I feel like a horrible person. Daniel, please forgive me.”
She closed her phone and wiped her eye with the back of her hand. I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She leaned over to the dashboard and jabbed the radio button, flipping between stations.
“What are you
doing?” I said, as a jumble of sounds stabbed the air and assaulted my ears.
“Bronx loves jazz,” Deb said as she frantically punched the scan button. She finally settled on a station, cranked up the volume, and a forty-piece 1950s band convulsed the car. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. “This is all so wrong.”
I glanced at her. “Deb, he’s going to be okay —”
“You don’t get it,” she said, her head snapping toward me. “This is swing. He needs Miles Davis.”
“I completely agree.”
Deb peered behind her at the rear seat. “His eyes are closed again!” she yelled. “Drive faster!”
I gunned the car, just missing an ancient Chevy driven by nothing more than two bony hands grasping the steering wheel. I could have kicked myself for my stupid idea.
“Faster!” Deb said.
I lurched to the right lane but within seconds a tiny Smart Car emerged from a parking spot. We veered back into the left lane, rocking violently like we were on a sideways roller coaster.
“Actually, your driving is kind of making me sick,” Deb said in a quiet voice.
And then I smelled it. I looked out the window at the bungalows that lined the neat street but there were no signs of farms anywhere close by. I opened my window.
“Do you smell that?” I asked. I jammed the radio button off. The car seemed suddenly bigger, emptied of all that dance music.
“Um, Rain? I’m … really sorry.”
“Oh. Is that you?”
“Um, no,” Deb said in a tiny voice. “It’s kind of … dog vomit.”
“Dog vomit?! Dog vomit?!” I yelled at Deb.
“I think your driving made Bronx carsick.”
I twisted around and glanced behind me. A sticky patch of dog vomit flecked with chunks of Choco-chickies lay under his matted head and dripped off the seat, forming a sickening puddle in the foot well. I could feel my eyes filling up. Deb rested her hand lightly on my shoulder. “Maybe the vomit is good because the chocolate is coming out.”
That vomit might have been good for Bronx. And it might have been good for Deb. But it was very, very bad for my sister’s car, which meant that it was very, very bad for me. I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Bronx was trying to rise on his forelegs. He looked around him and then sank back into his seat, his eyes closed again.
I thought of the Post-it notes in my desk. This is the list I would have made.
People Who Have Totally Legitimate Reasons to Hate Me:
#1. Daniel: Because I killed his dog.
#2. Leah: Because I killed her car.
#3. Bronx: Because I killed him.
And as a freebie I’d throw in Mrs. Levine just because she hated me already.
“I’ll figure out a way to clean out the car,” Deb said.
“My sister … ,” I stuttered. “I have to pick her up —”
“We’ll get rid of this stuff and the smell,” she said.
“— in the morning.”
“Yeah, that might be a problem,” she said. “It’s here!” She pointed to the small bungalow with a large sandblasted sign that said Emergency Animal Clinic. I lurched into the driveway. Deb threw open her door and sprinted toward the house. I peered back at Bronx who was trying to rise to his feet again. That was definitely an improvement. Deb emerged from the animal clinic with a burly man pulling a gurney. He removed a wooden board with black straps dangling from the sides from the stretcher.
“OdoBan,” the man said while he manoeuvred the board under Bronx. “You can get it at any Home Store — it gets out bad dog smells.”
The man buckled Bronx down on both sides of the wooden board. He and Deb eased the board from the car onto the gurney then pulled it toward the clinic.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to help?” Deb called behind her.
“Your place is with Bronx now,” I said. “Go to him now. He needs you.” It was like a scene from a cheesy movie where you’d expect to hear the swelling of violins in the background as the heroine ran in slow motion to her beloved. Except we were dealing with a barfing dog, a putrid car, and a whole lot of people who were going to be pretty ticked off by the time this incident was over.
Deb nodded tearfully at me and mouthed thank-you-I’m-so-sorry as I backed the Saturn out of the driveway.
I drove to the twenty-four-hour Home Store where I purchased the animal cleaner, then rushed home. I found a plastic bucket but no rags anywhere in the laundry room so I ran upstairs to my bedroom, grabbed the only thing I could find — my favourite night T-shirt — and ripped it into large pieces. I filled the bucket with warm water and spent the next couple of hours in the frozen night, scrubbing vomit, scouring the upholstery, and wiping all the plastic parts in Leah’s car.
At 3:30 a.m. I opened the windows to air out, prayed it wouldn’t rain or snow any more that night, and dragged myself up to my bedroom and crashed fully clothed into my bed.
chapter 26
Disaster DNA
At 6 a.m. I was awoken by my cell phone shrieking in my ear.
“Rain, it’s me,” Leah said.
“You okay?” I said.
“My shift is over and I’m at Finch Station and I’m really, really tired,” she said. “Can you pick me up?”
I bolted upright. “I’d be happy to, but the only car here is yours.”
“I’m not doing well and I’m desperate. Can you just drive really, really carefully? The keys are in a ceramic bowl on my desk.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I threw on a stretchy skirt and a sweatshirt, grabbed her keys, and slid into the driver’s seat of Leah’s car. I glanced behind me. There was no sign of dog sickness and there was a pleasant scent in the air. It still made sense to drive with the windows down to be on the safe side though.
I pulled into the station where Leah waited. Her eyes were blotchy and her face was puffy from crying. The Zara bag carried the remains of her last night’s disastrous date. She walked over to the driver’s seat and threw in her purse. I climbed over the console and settled into the passenger seat while she threw the Zara bag in the trunk.
She lowered herself into the driver seat and let out a yelp. “Why does my car smell like … like … What is this?”
What was with the x-ray smelling abilities? I shrunk back in my seat and answered in a quivering voice. “Vomit.”
“Vomit?!” she yelled. “Did you use my car?”
I shrunk back toward the passenger window. How could I possibly explain this? “It’s a long story —”
She whipped up her hand to stop me.
“Please don’t say anything. I can’t handle your excuses now.”
She keyed the ignition and pulled a sharp left onto Yonge Street. Forget gas, the car was running on anger now. A horrible, terrible, frightening silence filled the car like a balloon about to explode. I gripped the armrest, terrified to look at her now.
Yonge Street was like an empty runway and the car was about to fly off the ground.
She didn’t say a word until we pulled into the Bernsteins’ house where for some reason Uncle Eli’s car was parked on the driveway. Leah sprung from the seat, unlatched the trunk, grabbed the Zara bag and slammed down the hatch, the car rocking back and forth from the force.
When we got into the house, Mira was carting her suitcase up the stairs.
“Girls!” she said. “We decided to come home early and beat the traffic back from Stratford. How are you?”
Leah threw her bag on the floor and took a deep breath. “Do you want to know what happened? Rain took my car without permission and threw up in it.”
Aunt Mira slowly descended the stairs. “Rain? Are you alright?”
“It’s a long story,” I said.
“You had no permission,” Leah said. She ex
haled through clenched teeth then turned to Aunt Mira. “I can’t take it anymore, Aunt Mira.”
“It,” meaning me.
This was clearly part of a larger conversation that she and Mira were carrying on about me. My shoulders crumpled.
“I don’t know what’s going on with her,” Leah said.
“What is going on, Rain?” Mira said. “Now.”
Leah glared at me with narrowed eyes. You could practically see the gears turning in her head and when she spoke it was barely a whisper. “You were there.”
I shook my head. This couldn’t be happening.
“You stalked me on my date last night.”
I gasped.
She turned to Aunt Mira. “The jerk I was dating —” Leah stopped and shuddered. She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped them with her fingers. “He dumped me last night, but he came back to check on me, and told me that my sister was lurking at the Sheraton, but I didn’t believe him.”
My mouth dropped.
“I thought I saw my car pull into the parking lot,” Leah said to me. Her face looked like it had been punched with betrayal. “So you followed me? I thought you were starting to grow up.”
“There’s a reason,” I sobbed. “I can explain.”
“She’s probably reading my emails,” Leah said to Mira. “She’s sneaking around at night. She looked like she might have been drinking at Jeremy’s engagement party. Who knows what she’s up to?”
Her eyes squeezed shut as a fresh batch of tears formed. “Aunt Mira, I’m so tired. I need to sleep now. I’ll talk to you later,” she said as she climbed the stairs.
“Rain,” Mira said in a quiet voice. “I’ve already spoken to your parents. We’ll have to reassess whether this year’s plan is working.”
I shuddered and wiped my eye with the back of my hand.
“Go get your lunch. I’ll take you to the bus stop in ten minutes,” she said.
Who cared about food? I gathered my knapsack and stumbled to the foyer where I slumped on the deacon’s bench. The last twelve hours had been a complete nightmare. I had a car disaster, a sister disaster, a dog disaster, and possibly a Bernstein disaster. I had disaster DNA imprinted on every cell in my body.