Say That Again

by Sasson, Gemini

  Jenn drooped back in the chair, staring wistfully at Hannah. “But you were always crap at reading mine. Right now, I’m thinking how tired I am and what a long day this has been. I need to sleep. So do you.”

  “So what do you propose we do? Take shifts?”

  “I don’t see any other way. Do you?”

  “I’ll go first.” Hunter patted his pocket to locate his phone. He took it out and checked the battery. “I’m good till morning. You can talk to Maura. She always did listen better to you.”

  “Yeah, give me the hard job.” Standing, she kissed Hunter on the cheek. “Before I go, I thought I’d grab a bite in the cafeteria. It should still be open, don’t you think? I can bring you something.”

  The view through the lone window in the room revealed a half empty parking lot ringed by tall lampposts. The sun was long gone, but the clock on his phone had said only 6:15 p.m. It seemed to Hunter like it was closer to midnight, the day had been that long. Yet in so many ways, time had lost all meaning.

  “Hunter, do you want me to bring you anything?” she prodded.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Coffee would be good.”

  “I’ll bring you a sandwich or slice of pizza, too. I know how jittery you get when there’s nothing but caffeine in your system.”

  Jenn went back to Hannah one more time to sweep her fingertips across her small forehead and down her cheek. “I hate to leave her.”

  From behind, Hunter wrapped his arms around Jenn. “You need your rest. I’ll be right here.”

  She turned in his arms to gaze into his eyes. “If she so much as blinks ...”

  “I’ll call you. Promise.” The kiss they shared was one more of desperate hope than deep love.

  Shortly afterward, Jenn brought him a cheeseburger, a glass of apple juice, and a large coffee. In truth, she looked tired enough to fall asleep on her feet. Hunter insisted she take the coffee for the drive home.

  When she was gone, Hunter flicked on the TV, if only because the noise made him feel less alone. He dozed off for a while, but woke just before 9 p.m. when Dr. Pruitt came in to check on Hannah. He was an older man, polite, but lacking the intensity that Dr. Townsley had. Dr. Pruitt explained that he would now be handling Hannah’s case, as Dr. Townsley, who had merely been filling in for another doctor, was moving to Indiana. Not that Hunter would miss her personally, but he knew that if she hadn’t been at Somerset Community, Hannah might not have had this second chance.

  That night, Hunter would often drift off to sleep, then awaken with a start, thinking it was morning. Usually, no more than an hour had passed. Always, Hannah was the same: silent, inert, unresponsive.

  At 7 a.m., Hunter’s phone woke him. It was his mother.

  “Any change?”

  He stretched his legs, pushed the blanket from his lap. “No, Mom, nothing. I’m sorry. I wish ...” His words trailed away. He didn’t know what to say.

  “At least nothing else bad has happened, right?” Lise offered, filling up the silence. “I mean, Jenn said there could be all kinds of complications and so far, well, she’s hanging in there.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Standing, he tried to rub the kink from his neck from sleeping in the chair.

  After a few more stilted minutes of conversation, Lise told him she’d be by with Jenn in a couple of hours. Another team of nurses shuffled in and out, plus a new doctor who didn’t bother to introduce himself.

  Hunter was feeling the pull of sleep again, but he didn’t want to miss anything, so when yet another nurse cruised in, he asked if she could stay for a few minutes while he fetched himself a cup of coffee. She offered to get it for him.

  “I’m going to take a wild guess,” she said, “and say you’re a two sugar, two cream kind of guy.”

  “Spot on.”

  “Be right back. I’ll steal it from the break room, just around the corner.”

  Resisting the comfort of a chair, he squeezed Hannah’s fingers lightly and bent close. “Hannah ... listen.”

  He was about to say more, but he thought he detected the slightest twitch of her facial muscles. Then her eyelids fluttered. And opened.

  His heart nearly exploded with joy. He leaned over her, so she could see his face clearly in the morning light, now pouring through the window.

  “Hannah, sweet pea, can you hear me? It’s Daddy. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Her eyes darted back and forth, unfocused. Her brow folded in confusion. She tried to move her mouth, but the tube they’d inserted down her throat got in the way. It took a few moments for Hunter to realize she wasn’t fully cognizant. It will take time, he reminded himself. She’d gone through so much. This was merely one of the steps in her recovery.

  He waved his hand just inches from her face. There was no reaction. Next, he snapped his fingers beside one ear, then the other. She turned her head slightly. He spoke her name. Nothing.

  Soon, her face fell into smooth, relaxed lines. Her eyes drifted shut again.

  Hunter sat down and dialed Jenn.

  “How is she?” Jenn asked.

  He could barely summon his voice. So many emotions were bubbling to the surface. “She woke up.”

  “She did?” Jenn’s breaths became audible, then turned into snuffles of relief.

  The nurse walked in, her eyes searching his face. Hunter took the cup of coffee from her and took several sips, even though it burned his tongue.

  Jenn, her breathing calm at last, spoke, “Hunter, what aren’t you saying?”

  He set the cup on the windowsill and pinched his eyes shut. “Jenn ... she can’t see.”

  chapter 10: Echo

  It quickly became clear that being an older puppy in a selection of much younger, pudgier, and cuter ones was a mark against me. My legs were long like a spider’s, my movements more awkward than roly-poly, and my once fluffy fur was now sleek and short. I was smarter and of a more reserved nature, while they were playful and outgoing. When people came and looked us over, I hung back, wishful that Mr. Beekman would return for me and reunite me with Tinker, because from the moment I laid eyes on her, I sensed on some level that I already knew her. But he never did.

  With every set of visitors, the other puppies rushed forward to tug on pants legs and lap at faces. I, meanwhile, grew more and more despondent.

  The number of puppies dwindled at a sporadic rate. Sometimes three or four departed in a day. Sometimes several days went by when no one came to see us. But with time, we became fewer and fewer.

  I should have been happy about this, for it meant my odds of being ‘adopted’, as Evelyn termed it, were greater. But I was twice as big as the remaining pups now. And not at all as attractive. I sensed the pity as people looked past me, the polite disregard. No one ever called me ‘cute’ or ‘pretty’, like they did the other puppies. I knew that attractiveness was an important thing, even though I could not fathom precisely what it entailed. I only knew that I was not.

  When the Grunwalds showed up, there were only two of us left. The other puppy, too new to have a name, barked and raced around, beside himself with glee. He was miniature in size and fragile-looking, although he didn’t seem to notice how small he really was. I sat against the back wall, resigned to a life in the shelter. Although I still didn’t like the smells, they had become tolerable. Perhaps in time I would no longer notice them.

  The noise was another matter, however. The volume and relentlessness set me on edge. Every bark was a reminder that if I did not find a home by the time I looked full grown, I would be moved to the kennel runs. There, my fate was questionable. Far fewer people visited that area of the shelter. And it seemed to me that more dogs went in there than ever came out.

  The Grunwalds — the parents, a grandmother, and no less than six children — were a boisterous lot. Almost a litter, except that they were obviously of different ages. Since humans seemed to keep their young around longer, I could see the advantage of only having one at a time. Althoug
h maybe they did have multiples and there was a shelter where they gave their extra children away? I pondered it and decided this was not the case. I had never seen a human mother with more than one infant at a time. And yet... the two youngest of the Grunwalds were mirror images of one another and both the same height, no taller than their mother’s hip.

  Evelyn explained that we were both up to date on our vaccines — I had taken my shot stoically, while the others had screamed and resisted — and that whichever pup they chose, they would be given a certificate for a free spay or neuter, whatever those were. Some sort of prize, I supposed.

  After a brief exchange with Mr. and Mrs. Grunwald, in which Evelyn asked if they were prepared to commit to a dog for the next ten to fifteen years, to which they of course said ‘yes’, she excused herself, stating that this mythical Aaron, whom I’d never seen, was not in today and she had to man the front desk again.

  Instead of staying behind the low wall and observing the puppies at first like most people, the entire Grunwald family poured into the puppy area. The two identical boys zeroed in on the smaller puppy, passing him back and forth as he wagged his silky tail. The grandmother picked me up, scowled, then set me back down. The two middle children, a girl and a boy, punched each other, then whined to their mother, while the oldest two girls leaned against the wall, jabbing their thumbs at small handheld devices.

  “Which one do you want?” the father asked to no one in particular. “And hurry up! We ain’t got all bloomin’ day.”

  “This one! This one!” the youngest pair shouted as they jumped up and down, the tiny puppy bouncing in the one boy’s arms.

  Just as he thrust the puppy at his father, the puppy peed right onto the father’s boots.

  “Aw, God!” The man backed up, waving his hands in front of him. “Put him down, for crying out loud.” His face twisted in disgust. “Mavis, grab the other one and let’s go. I’m not taking home a piss-pot for a dog.”

  “But it’s a puppy, Earl.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Puppies pee. Besides, you said it was going to be an outdoor dog. So what does it matter? If the boys want the Yorkie-Poo, let them have him. He can stay in the garage when it’s cold.”

  “Look at him, Mavis. The thing weighs four pounds. He’s a stuffed toy, not a dog. They’ll step on him and squash him flat. They need a bigger dog. A sturdy dog that can take a bit of rough and tumble.”

  “Then why don’t we look at the adults? I saw some real pretty ones standing in them runs when we drove up.”

  “Get a clue, will you? There’s a reason those older dogs are in there. It’s prison for dogs. I’m not dealing with someone else’s problem. These pups are from accidental breedings. They’s mixes. Healthier than those purebreds you pay a thousand bucks for.”

  Her gaze falling on me, she sneered. “You just don’t want me to have that Pekingese I saw at the pet store. That smooshed-in face was sooo adorable.”

  “I ain’t payin’ for no Pekingese, Mavis Veronica Grunwald. So get that out of your thick head right now. You think the ATM just magically spits out free money?”

  “They have payment plans,” she muttered.

  “We’re getting the big one.”

  Squinting, the oldest girl looked up from her device. “Something happened to his tail. What’s wrong with it? Is it tucked between his legs?”

  “It’s gone,” the second tallest girl said. “S’pose he was in an accident?”

  “Maybe he was born that way?” the mother said. “Aren’t some dogs born like that, Earl? Like bulldogs? My cousin Johnny had a bulldog with a short little screw-tail once.”

  “He ain’t no bulldog, Mavis. He’s black and white. Must be part Border Collie.”

  That was the first time I realized that sometimes dogs are smarter than human beings. It would not be the last. I was born bobtailed. It was common for my breed, the Australian Shepherd. I’d heard Carol say it many times when people came to look at my litter. My mother had been a dark blue merle, a dazzling patchwork blend of gray with black spots. Her chest and legs were white. I remembered that much of her. Carol had told people our father was a red tri, meaning he was three colors: red, copper, and white. Indeed we had been a motley crew of merles and solids, with varying amounts of white trim, four of the seven of us with copper also on our legs, cheeks, and eyebrows.

  I had been the plainest of the bunch, dark-faced and with yellow eyes that spooked a lot of people, judging by their wariness. Strangers had a habit of staring at me, remarking on how different I was — how much plainer, how much quieter, how much smaller. Evidently, it was not a compliment. I had grown since then, but I was still plain and quiet. I have never understood why being calm and less barky was considered a flaw, though. ‘Still waters run deep’ has a lot of truth to it.

  The oldest girl flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder and sneered at me. “He’s ugly. Just a plain, ugly black dog with a lil’ bit o’ white on him.”

  “We’re getting the big one.”

  “He’s shy,” Mavis protested. “Don’t wanna have nothing to do with us.”

  “He’ll get used to us.” Earl grabbed the twins by their coat collars and prodded them out of the puppy area. “Let’s go, Tristan and Troy. Come on, the rest of you. My shift starts in an hour and I need to get home and change. Last thing we need is for me to get fired, ’cause ain’t no one else puttin’ food on the table.”

  “Now you know I’d be working if it wasn’t for my bad back. Can’t help that I got a bad back.”

  “You been on your back way too much, woman.” Earl shooed the boys out into the hallway. “No job I know of you can work lying down.” Snickering, he lowered his voice. “Well, there’s one I can think of... That is how I met you.”

  She punched his arm — and not in a teasing way. “You’re just with me ‘cause no one else would sleep with you. I know I was your first.”

  “First, but maybe not my only.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means maybe we wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for the first accident.”

  Mavis glanced at the twins through the open doorway, then grumbled, “How do you explain the second, third, fourth, and fifth ones, huh?”

  They huddled together, sniping at each other. The middle girl picked me up, her arms clamped around my chest, my back legs swinging freely. She was barely strong enough to hang onto me, but no one seemed interested in helping her.

  The rest of the day went like that. Bickering and name calling, shouts and curses. My fur being grabbed, my ears tugged. They placed a snug chain collar around my neck with tags on it. Every time I moved, the metal tags plinked. I didn’t like the feel of it, or the sound. Torture. Absolute torture.

  As soon as we were inside their double-wide trailer and the middle girl, whose name was Tiffany, set me down, I ran and hid behind the couch. The twins dragged me out.

  One tossed a ball down the hallway. “Fetch!” Troy commanded.

  I watched it bounce over the stained carpet, smack against a door, and come to a stop. Tristan ran to get the ball.

  “Not you, idiot!” Troy said. “The dog’s supposed to get it.”

  “I know. But maybe he doesn’t know what ‘fetch’ means just yet.”

  Ten more times Troy lobbed the ball down the narrow hall. After a while, I refused to even look at it. I didn’t like their shouting, the hollow sound of the ball colliding with the closed door, the dimness of the hall, or their rough hands on me. Eventually, they gave up and went outside.

  Wary that they might return, I crept into the kitchen and lay beneath the table. The grandmother was there, chopping vegetables and throwing them in a pot. Then she mixed something in a bowl, formed it into a lump on a spoon, and tossed it into a pot of hot grease that sizzled. After that, she washed dishes and set the table, never once looking my way.

  My bladder was getting full. This place didn’t exactly smell clean — I could tell a lot of food and drinks had been s
pilled on the floor and left to soak into the rugs and floorboards — but I didn’t want to pee inside. That was just ... wrong.

  So I stared at her, willing her to notice me, wishing she’d take me outside and let me relieve myself. I stared at her so long my eyeballs were swimming.

  Making sure the twins were not within sight, I walked up to her and sat, squeezing my hind legs together to keep the pee from leaking out. I nudged her knee with my nose. She swatted at me. I whimpered. She kicked me in the leg with her heavy leather boot.

  Limping, I returned to beneath the table. More time passed. She dried the dishes and put them away, stopping now and then to stir the pot of vegetables or scoop one of the greasy, doughy things out of the other pot and adding more. Desperate for relief, I slinked into the living room.

  Although it was still daylight out, heavy curtains were drawn across the window, darkening the room. Only bursts of light from the TV lit the over-full confines. Two couches were shoved against opposite walls. In one, Mavis was stretched out, wearing oversized sweatpants and a football jersey. Three empty beer cans sat on the end table next to her. On the other couch, the oldest girl sat with her legs crossed. I called her Scowler, because that’s what she did all the time — scowl.

  Scowler glanced up from her handheld device, then back down. “What’s he doing in here? Thought y’all said the dog was staying outside.”

  “Soon as your father gets home from work and gets around to putting some water in the bowl and straw in the doghouse.”

  A loud noise came from the TV and Mavis jerked upright. A moving picture of a car exploding and bursting into flames flashed across the screen. For a moment I thought it was a window to outside, but then I realized the scene lacked dimension. It also lacked scent. How could they spend so much time watching something that wasn’t real? Could anything be more boring?

  Mavis squinted at me, fighting sleep. “Take him out, will you?”

  “In a bit,” Scowler said.

  “Now!” Mavis barked.

  “I said in a bit!” Scowler shouted back without looking up, even as her fingers flew over the device, tapping away. “Movie’s almost over, all right? Geesh, get off my back.”