by Robin Brande
“One year on my birthday, when it was Jamey’s turn, he said, ‘I like that Eliza loves me despite all my faults. I don’t like that Eliza loves me despite all my faults.’
“We waited, and finally I had to remind him: ‘You have to give a reason for both.’
“‘Okay, I like that Eliza loves me despite all my faults because it makes me feel secure. I don’t like that Eliza loves me despite all my faults because it makes me feel responsible.’”
“People weren’t sure whether to laugh or not. Because sometimes Jamey could be deadly serious when you thought he was joking around.
“‘Responsible how?’ I asked him.
“He thought about it, then said, ‘I feel like if I go, you’ll never be happy again. Because you’ll forgive me. And maybe you shouldn’t.’
“Everyone got very quiet, and Jamey made some joke to break up the tension, but he knew I wasn’t finished with him. He knew I’d pester him the minute we were alone.
“‘What did you mean by that?’
“‘That I love you. Happy Birthday.’
“‘No, Jamey, what did you mean by that?’
“He tucked my hair behind my ear, the way he always did. ‘If I die, I die. And I won’t be sorry. I’ve had a great life. Mainly because of you.’”
“I waited. Finally I said, ‘So that’s all? That’s what you meant? What was that thing about forgiveness?’
“‘I don’t know, El. I was just talking. Come on. It’s bedtime. Happy Birthday.’”
“Why do I remember every word?
“Because it was my twenty-ninth birthday.
“And my husband Jamey Shepherd died the following week.”
* * *
“Come on, Daisy.” It was light out now, sometime after six. Eliza had had three cups of coffee already and felt jittery and weak.
She wasn’t sure about that column—not at all. It might be too personal. It might be too soon. It might be something she should never say out loud.
She felt the same way about the book.
Every month that went by was a month closer to her deadline, and she still hadn’t written more than the introduction. She hadn’t tried to interview any of Jamey’s friends. She hadn’t made any notes, or gone through their old columns or any of their old magazine articles. What was the point? She remembered everything, and didn’t want to know any more. Even stories from his boyhood—like shooting the pigeon with an arrow—she thought she’d want to know, but she didn’t. She just wanted to keep him as he was, encased in glass, something she could take out and polish and look at any time she liked.
And he was really no one else’s business.
You’re messed up, she told herself as she stood and arched her back. Encased in glass? Secret? Jamey lived in the public eye—that was his work. It’s why you still have any work at all. People read you only because you were his wife. You had adventures to write about only because he took you along. Item number two on your fraud list: I am no one without Jamey.
Ugh. Stop it. Please. It’s the heat. Shut up and go do something normal.
“Come on, Daisy,” she called again. “Let’s go for a walk in the sauna.”
* * *
The sweat actually felt good. Like she was purging her body of its worst, most vicious thoughts. The clammier her clothes became, the more sweat that slid down her back, the cleaner she felt. It really was like a sauna, drawing out all the toxins, purifying her so she could start again fresh.
They had crested the hill a little while ago, and taken the trail to the right. They would end in the woods, Eliza thought, where it was at least shady, if not cool, but she’d take the longer route to get there, to really build the sweat. She needed to come back in a better mood, for once, and stop biting Hildy’s head off. It wasn’t her fault she owned a house with no air conditioning in a place where no humans should really be expected to live. Well, maybe it was, but there was nothing Eliza could do about it now. She needed to figure out a way to adapt. It was only for this one summer, then she could go back to a heat her body understood.
She’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Jamey, the column, the heat, the house, Eliza didn’t realize at first what was happening.
“Come on,” she said, pulling the dog. “Leave it.”
But Daisy wasn’t dragging the leash because she’d found something irresistible to sniff. She was dragging because she was sick.
The dog’s sides heaved as she tried to vomit, but only a cloudy phlegm came out. Then Daisy’s eyes rolled, and she toppled onto her side, convulsing.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—”
Daisy panted and seized. Eliza knelt in horror beside her as the little dog began to die.
20
Eliza stood back up and frantically looked around. If she could leave Daisy in the shade somewhere, run back to the house for some water—
No, she should carry Daisy back now. Find a vet. Take her to an emergency pet clinic.
She won’t make it. She’s dying. You’ve killed this dog, you selfish, crazy—
In the distance she saw movement. A runner, about to turn onto a different trail.
A runner she recognized.
“David! David!”
He halted where he was, saw her, changed course.
“Come on, Daisy, it’s okay. You’re okay, you’re okay!”
The dog continued to heave and pant. Her eyes were white slits behind her eyelids.
“What’s wrong?” David stood flooded in sweat, huge drops of it melting off his body. Bear came up a few steps behind, panting.
“I pushed her too hard. She overheated. We’re not used to humidity like this.” Eliza’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, David, if I’ve killed Hildy’s dog—”
“You haven’t killed anybody,” he said. He scooped up Daisy and took off at a run. “Come on—I’m down the hill.”
* * *
Eliza followed as fast as she could, but the sauna sapped her of her breath. She slowed to a walk, keeping sight of David and the two dogs in the distance. She followed them down the hill, and then along a trail toward the left. Finally she saw his house up ahead.
She picked up her pace again, and arrived just as David swung open a gate and disappeared behind it. She heard a splash. She ran through the same gate to find David and the two dogs in the water.
He cradled Daisy, gently dipping her in the swimming pool while he scooped up handfuls of water to pour along her scalp. Bear paddled nearby, lapping up water as he swam.
“Here,” David said. “You hold her. I’ll call the vet.”
Eliza pulled off her shoes and socks, took her keys and phone out of her pocket, and jumped into the water. As David handed her the limp dog, she could see he was still fully dressed, down to his shoes. He took them off once he climbed out, then pulled keys out of his pocket and unlocked his door.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
Eliza nodded. She felt frozen, useless. “Come on, Daisy,” she whispered. “Come on, sweetie. Please be all right.”
The dog’s eyes remained closed. Her breath came out in shallow pants.
Please don’t let me kill this dog.
When David returned, he carried an armful of towels. “The vet says take her out, gently. Don’t move her too much. Let her cool down inside.”
Eliza nodded. She swallowed hard. David knelt at the side of the pool, one of the towels laid across his arms. “Hand her to me. That’s good. She’ll be fine.”
He sounded so calm. So sure. Eliza slowly transferred Daisy to his arms, then remained in the pool, just watching.
David covered the dog and very gently dried her. Then he carried her toward the house.
“Towel’s there,” he told Eliza. “Come in when you’re ready.”
Eliza nodded. It was all she could do.
* * *
She found David in the kitchen, kneeling next to a dog bed on the floor. Bear stood nearby, pantin
g and curious.
“Should I...get some water?” Eliza asked. Her voice shook.
“Not yet,” David said. “She’s too weak to swallow right now.”
Eliza sank to her knees on the polished oak floor. Absently, she noticed she was still wet. But so was Bear, and David didn’t seem to mind the water pooling underneath him. Eliza let herself drip.
Minutes went by, with just the sound of both dogs’ breathing. Daisy was taking deeper breaths now, which Eliza felt was an improvement. But she was afraid to ask David what he thought. In case he might tell her the truth.
Finally he looked up. “Are you all right?”
Eliza nodded. And forced herself to answer, “Yes.”
“You can get her some water now,” he said. “Bear’s bowl is over there. For when she’s ready.”
Eliza felt grateful for something to do. Her legs felt stiff as she stood. She walked over to where David had pointed and picked up the bowl. Her hand trembled. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Then she carried the bowl to the sink.
She had to know: “Is she going to be all right?”
“I think so,” David said. “Yes.”
Eliza bent over the sink and let out a sob. Just one, before she was able to stop it. She clamped her mouth closed, held a hand over it for extra security, and with her other hand shut off the faucet.
She picked up the bowl and turned. David was standing there.
“Eliza.”
She stepped into him and pressed her face against his damp shirt. “Oh, God,” she murmured, and then the tears came, more of them than she could possibly hold back.
David took the bowl from her, set it on the counter, and then wrapped her in his arms.
“You’ll be all right,” he told her. “I promise. Don’t worry, Eliza, you’re fine.”
Not the dog is fine or Daisy is fine or don’t worry, your dog will live.
David was right: Those weren’t the words she needed to hear.
“Shh, Eliza, you’re all right...don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
She stood there and let him hold her while she cried out all of the tension of the morning.
21
He smelled clean, and like chlorine. Eliza breathed him in once more before she finally pulled away.
A small puddle had formed beneath them. “I need to go get a towel,” Eliza said, twisting her face toward her shoulder so she could wipe her nose against her short sleeve. “I’m ruining your floor.”
David squeezed her arm, then let her go. “I’ll check on Daisy.”
Eliza took her time out by the pool. She dried her hair and clothes on one of the plush towels David had left on the deck, then she put her socks and shoes back on. She picked up her phone, but realized her pocket was still too wet to put it back inside.
Besides, she should probably make a call.
“Hi.”
“Everything okay?” Hildy asked. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
Eliza cleared her throat. The mature thing—the brave thing—would have been to tell the truth. She wasn’t feeling very brave.
“We ran into David Walsh. I’m over here at his house.”
“You don’t say,” Hildy answered. It was hard to miss the implication in her voice.
“We’re just...” Eliza cleared her throat again. “I asked him to show me around. He has a pool, too. Daisy and I might take a swim.”
Coward. Liar. Dog killer.
“So, um...we’ll be along,” Eliza said. “In a while.”
“Take your time,” Hildy said, chuckling. “You kids have fun. Be home before dark. Or don’t.”
“Ha, ha,” Eliza answered, feeling anything but merry. “I’ll see you in a while.”
David waited in the doorway out to the pool while Eliza finished her call. “Did you tell her?”
Eliza shook her head guiltily.
David smiled. “I wouldn’t have, either.”
* * *
Daisy slept. Eliza sat on the floor beside the dog bed—Bear’s dog bed, which he’d graciously relinquished while he slept on a rug a few feet away—listening to her breathing, resting her hand against Daisy’s chest every few minutes to make sure her heartbeat felt the way she remembered it.
“Would you like some coffee?” David offered. “Or water?”
“Water, please,” Eliza said. “Thank you.”
She accepted the glass from him, then held on to his wrist. She looked up, feeling just as cowardly as she had when she’d spoken to Hildy.
But this time she forced herself to be brave.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Not just for the water.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t mean...about Daisy.”
“I know.”
“So...thanks.”
She let go of his wrist and scooted back against the wall to sit more comfortably while she rehydrated. She didn’t realize how dry-mouthed she was. She hadn’t drunk anything since before they left the house that morning.
“What time is it?”
David looked at the clock above her. “About ten-thirty.”
“Oh, David, I’m sorry—I should let you get to work.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I’ve taken up your whole morning—” She started to get up, but then realized there was no point. She wasn’t going anywhere without the dog, and she wasn’t about to rouse Daisy yet. She wanted that dog to sleep until she could wake up healthy again. However long it might take.
David joined her on the floor. He’d changed out of his wet clothes into dry shorts and a T-shirt. Now he offered Eliza the same. “At least a T-shirt,” he said, when she refused. “You might be here a while.”
Eliza tugged at her shirt. “It’s almost dry. I don’t want to put you out.”
“I have more than one T-shirt.”
“Actually,” she said, “I could use something else. The only thing I’ve had this morning is coffee, and I think with the stress...I could use a banana or something if you have it.”
David pushed off the wall. “I can do better than that.”
* * *
He loaded plates and utensils onto a tray, then carried it over to her by the wall. He positioned himself next to her on the floor, and handed her one of the plates.
On top of the omelet was a layer of melted cheese and single slices of mushroom, tomato, and avocado. “That’s so you know what’s inside it,” he told her. “Old restaurant trick.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. He was being so nice. More than nice—heroic. To save her dog and cook her a delicious meal. It was laughably unreal. If she felt like laughing.
She took her first bite, then another. The omelet was perfect: fluffy, seasoned just right, with oozing melted cheese and lightly sautéed mushrooms. He must have added the tomato and avocado later, Eliza guessed, because both were slightly colder and fresher-tasting, making it perfect for the summer.
“David...” She savored another bite. “This is...” She turned to smile at him. Then on impulse, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I’m going to be saying that every time I see you: thank you.”
They ate the remainder of their brunch in silence. Eliza glanced over at Daisy every few minutes—she couldn’t help herself. But the dog seemed to be sleeping naturally now.
“Will she ever wake up?”
“Eventually,” David answered.
“How will I know...if she’s all right?”
“I think you know it now. She’s still alive. Her breathing is normal. When she wakes up she should be very thirsty. The vet said not to let her drink too much at a time, or she’ll vomit.”
Eliza took a deep breath and released it. “Okay. She’s going to be all right—I’m just going to have to believe that.”
“Are you still hungry? Do you need anything else?”
“Well, actually, I do.”
* * *
It had occurred
to Eliza that at some point her mother-in-law was going to expect a full report. Not about Daisy—Eliza still wasn’t sure whether or when she was going to confess that—but about the interior of David’s house.
“Hildy is sort of...nosy about other people’s houses,” Eliza explained. “She really wanted to see what your mother’s was like.”
“What did she think?” David asked.
“She liked it.”
“What did she think?” David asked again.
“That it was pretentious and overdecorated.”
He laughed. “What would she think of mine?”
So far Eliza hadn’t paid it much attention. Her limited line of sight had been trained on Daisy’s chest. But now that she felt she could relax a little more, she took the time to gaze around the kitchen.
“It’s nice,” she said. “Hildy would think it was masculine. She’d like the black stove and black refrigerator against the cherry cupboards. She’d think that was very distinguished.” She remembered Ted had a similar kitchen—same kind of wood, same colored appliances—but his had felt wrong somehow. Unused, cold. Something that might be there just for show.
David’s, on the other hand, was clearly a kitchen that got used. It felt worn in, comfortable, real.
Maybe more like the man who owned it, Eliza thought, than she understood before.
David set the dishes back on the tray. Then he stood up and offered Eliza his hand. “Want the full tour?”
“Guess I’d better,” she said.
* * *
She noticed he hadn’t stuttered once. Or hesitated in that way she assumed was his strategy for avoiding a stutter—the way he’d pause, reset his mouth, start again.
But he also didn’t say much. More, maybe, than he ever had with her, but still not that kind of careless banter his brother was so skilled at. David wasn’t trying to be charming, as far as she could tell. He was just being a good host.