Hello Love

by McQuestion, Karen

  Dan’s stomach dropped. “Do you want me to get rid of Mom’s things?” He glanced around the room. Everything here held memories of Christine. She’d picked out the furniture, the paint color, the flooring. She’d chosen which photos to frame and had arranged the furniture, more than once. He’d have to strip the house down to the studs to remove her influence.

  Lindsay’s face softened. “Well, that sounds horrible when you say it like that. No, I don’t want you to get rid of Mom’s things. But you know, Aunt Doreen did offer to go through the closets and pack up her clothes to donate to Goodwill.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t do it myself, but you know that Mom would like that. You know how big she was on helping people.”

  Aunt Doreen was really Lindsay’s great-aunt—Dan’s aunt. She’d been to their house many times since the funeral—dropping off meals, staying with Lindsay when she had her wisdom teeth removed, and another time, waiting for the plumber when Dan had to work. Aunt Doreen had buried a son and a husband, the fun-loving Bruno. She knew firsthand about death and the grieving process and the value of time to heal, but the last time she’d been at the house, she had been appalled by how many of Christine’s personal possessions were still around more than a year after her death. Aunt Doreen had just come out of the bathroom that still held Christine’s toothbrush and cosmetics. All of it there because Dan didn’t have the heart to dispose of anything. “You know,” Aunt Doreen had said, “after Bruno died, it helped me to pack up his shaving things and donate his clothing. It didn’t take away from my memories and I was glad to think of someone getting a warm winter coat and everything else.” That was when she’d offered to do the same for Lindsay and Dan.

  “Thanks, but I’m not there yet,” Dan had said.

  Aunt Doreen had nodded. “I understand. The offer stands if you change your mind.” She gave his arm a maternal squeeze. “It really does help.”

  He’d forgotten the conversation, but it all came back to him now. Rewinding the memory, he spotted Lindsay in the scene, sitting on the couch looking at her phone. Even when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, she was there, taking it all in. “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “Your mother would like that. I’ll give Aunt Doreen a call and see if she can come out this weekend and help us go through some things.”

  TWELVE

  Andrea pulled into her garage, a feeling of relief washing over her. She’d made it home without being followed or arrested. And Anni hadn’t freaked out, which was good. If the dog had started barking or moving around in the car, she didn’t know what she would have done. Anni’s peaceful acceptance of the situation made it all seem right.

  She shut off the engine and pushed the remote to close the garage door behind her. The jolt of the car coming to a halt had roused Anni, who opened her eyes and looked around. Andrea reached over and rubbed Anni’s head, scratching behind her ears. “We’re here, girl. We’re home.” Andrea had never stolen anything before, not even gum from the drugstore when she was young and the other kids were doing it. And now she’d stolen a dog, a living, breathing animal, who had been someone’s pet. So unlike her. So daring, so despicable.

  She sat in the dark car sorting out her feelings while petting the dog, who pushed her head against Andrea’s hand. On the one hand, it was wrong to steal, no doubt about that. It was one of the top ten worst things to do, right there in the Bible. And on the legal side, there were laws against taking someone else’s property and awful penalties. Jail time. And in this case, it might be even worse because Anni wasn’t just property, she was a pet. Even though Andrea had never had a dog, she knew how people felt about them. People loved their dogs. They were their children, their companions, sometimes even their soul mates. Some people swore that their dog had an almost psychic connection with them, sensing when they were sad and bringing them comfort. If Andrea had thought she was taking that away from the frat boys, she would have started up the car and taken Anni right back, right then and there.

  But in her heart, she knew that wasn’t the case. Simone had said the frat boys had picked Anni up; that she was a stray. So she hadn’t had a good home to begin with and the frat boys were no better. In fact, they were abusive.

  Anni tilted her head, luxuriating in being petted. “Did they kick you?” Andrea crooned. “How could they do that to you, sweetheart?” Such an innocent being, this small creature with the big, dark trusting eyes. Kicking her would be like kicking a baby. And who could leave such a sweet dog chained up out in the snow and the cold? Assholes. No, she wouldn’t be returning the dog, and she wasn’t going to get into trouble either. She would be careful, so careful that no one would ever know what she had done. Anni was with her now, and there was no turning back. She would keep Anni and give her the love she deserved.

  THIRTEEN

  Aunt Doreen came over that Saturday, and set to work emptying closets and drawers, sorting through Christine’s clothing and other personal items. Working quickly and efficiently was her usual way of doing things. Doreen was one of the busy retirees; a trim, gray-haired lady on the move. No rocking chair and remote for her. She volunteered and walked two miles a day and took interest in everyone and everything. And today, she acted as if she were honored to help sort through Christine’s possessions.

  She made Dan and Lindsay part of the process, coaching them through the sorting and asking their opinion, while clearly steering them toward parting with most of the items. “Some poor soul is going to love getting these blouses,” she said, neatly folding the jewel-toned tops and placing them in a box labeled “Donation.” “Some young woman going back into the workplace who needs professional clothes. Maybe a young mom who took a break and doesn’t have the budget to buy a new wardrobe.” The same young woman was going to love Christine’s blazers and dress pants. Doreen tilted her head to the side as if picturing what the recipient would look like. “Christine would love knowing you’re doing this, Dan,” Doreen said. “She was all about paying it forward.”

  Together Lindsay and Doreen sorted through Christine’s jewelry, keeping the few nice pieces for Lindsay and setting aside the rest to donate. According to Doreen, the costume jewelry would be the perfect accessory for the fictitious young woman’s new look as she headed into the office her first day.

  After a few hours they were done. At first it had been painful, but Dan had been surprised at how cathartic the whole thing had turned out to be. Doreen was right: donating the clothes was a way of honoring Christine’s memory. They didn’t benefit anyone hanging in the closet. “And look,” she said with glee, moving the empty hangers in the front hall closet aside. “You have so much more space for your coats now. Everything’s not crammed in there anymore.”

  By the time they were finished, it was nearly dinnertime and somehow Dan got wrangled into going out for dinner at a Mexican restaurant with Doreen. She’d offered to take both of them, but Lindsay had to take a shower and meet up with Brandon.

  “I guess it’s just us then,” Doreen said brightly, hoisting a box to carry out to the car. Following her lead, Dan grabbed another box, which they would, Doreen said, drop off on the way to dinner.

  An hour later they were munching on chips and drinking margaritas at La Fiesta. “I’ve never eaten here,” Dan said, looking around at the murals on the brightly painted walls. “What’s good?”

  “Everything,” Doreen said, her finger jabbing the menu in front of her. “Every single thing. You can’t go wrong, really. I think I’ve had everything on the menu. Bruno and I used to eat here a few times a month.” Bruno had been dead for several years. Even though he’d been in his late seventies, it was a shock when Dan and Christine got the call about his fatal heart attack. He was a stocky man full of love and enthusiasm, seemingly in good health. At the funeral, hundreds of people had shown up, most of whom only knew him as the local pharmacist. It was amazing how one person could touch so many lives.

  “You m
iss coming here?” Dan asked, guessing.

  “Oh no, I come here all the time. I miss Bruno, though. That never changes.” She dipped a chip into the salsa. “But we were lucky to have all the years we had. You and Christine were lucky too. It should have been longer, but at least you had true love. Some people never get that.” Her eyes were fixed on him, waiting for a response.

  This was not the conversation Dan wanted to have with Aunt Doreen, or anyone else for that matter. Even at home he and Lindsay avoided lengthy conversations about Christine, afraid they might make each other cry. It was easier to keep busy and hold in the pain. Maybe easier wasn’t the right word. It was never easy. Just a way of coping. “You’re right,” he said, and changed the subject, telling her the latest news of his parents, who had retired to Tucson several years earlier.

  “They’re the smart ones,” Doreen said. “Fleeing the frozen tundra and following the sun.”

  Over dinner they discussed movies, and the book she’d read recently for her book club. Then she asked, “How come I never see you at church anymore?”

  He hadn’t gone to church since the funeral. “I sit in back. You must not see me.”

  “Ha-ha,” she said. “You need to start coming. It might do your soul some good. If nothing else, you’ll get to see me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, then gave her an update on his job at the brewery. Anything to change the subject.

  “Tell me,” she said over dessert (fried ice cream for him, flan for her), “have you thought about getting a new dog?”

  “No.” A knee-jerk response, said more vehemently than necessary. He didn’t mean to be rude; it just came out that way.

  “Well, that was quick.” She laughed. “You wouldn’t consider it at all? Not even for Lindsay’s sake?”

  He shook his head. “Never. There’s no replacing Anni. She was one of a kind. Christine said she was a person disguised as a dog.” He smiled at the memory. “And Lindsay will be going off to college soon, so it would be pointless to do it just for her.”

  “I see,” Doreen said, her lips pursed. “I only mentioned it because a dog can bring such joy. Bruno always said there was nothing like the unconditional love of a dog. We had many over the years and none of them replaced the other. They each had their own unique place in our family.”

  “I understand. I just don’t think it would be right for the dog or for Lindsay at this point.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Do you get out at all?”

  He grinned. “All the time. I’m here with you tonight, aren’t I?” Truthfully his social life had ground to a halt after Christine died. For the first few weeks after the funeral, he’d gotten a few pity dinner invitations, but after a while, even that dried up. The world seemed made for couples, and he was now the odd man out. “I’m fine, Doreen.”

  But she wasn’t going to be deterred. “Lindsay says you never go out. You work and come home and that’s it. You’re still a young man, Dan. You can’t be a shut-in.”

  “I’m forty and I’m hardly a shut-in.”

  “But Lindsay says—”

  Like most teenagers, Lindsay didn’t know the half of what he did to keep their lives running. “Yes, I know. She said I go to work and then I’m home. But I also go to the grocery store and get my hair cut and do yard work. Snow blow the driveway. And I watch the Packers games with Peter.” That had happened only once, but still, it counted. Peter was his brother, and Doreen’s nephew. The familial reference had to carry some weight. “You don’t need to worry about me, Doreen. I live a full life.”

  “So you don’t have any problem with socializing? Maybe going out to dinner once in a while, seeing a movie?”

  “Certainly not.” Then he added, “When I have the time.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she said, “because I did something I was afraid would anger you, but now it seems like you’ll be okay with it. There’s this lovely woman, the daughter of a friend—” He felt his jaw drop and she must have seen it too because she held up a hand to keep him from saying a word. “Just hear me out. She’s really a lovely person. You would like her, really you would. Early thirties, pretty, smart. She had a bad breakup recently. The guy is a real rat. She’s been so down on herself lately, it breaks my heart to see.”

  “And?”

  “I told her all about you, and she’s not interested in dating either, so don’t get ahead of me here,” Doreen said hurriedly. “But it’s nice to have someone to see a movie or go out to eat with. You have to admit that would be nice.”

  Dan cleared his throat. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think—”

  “She’s the loveliest person. A little chatty, which might be nice because it makes it easy to talk to her. You would like her; really, you would.”

  “So you said.”

  “I gave her your number and told her she simply must make the call because you’re such a quiet, shy man.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” She leaned back, took the napkin off her lap, and set it on the table. “You can always say no, but why not give her a chance? She already knows this won’t be a romance, so there’s no pressure that way. Just a companion, someone new to talk to.”

  “I really don’t need anyone new.”

  “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong.” Doreen patted his arm. “Staying stuck at home is dishonoring Christine. She’d want you to be out in the world interacting with other people. Doing things. Going places.”

  “I don’t really think it’s right to act as if you’re speaking for Christine.” Dan had said her name more this evening than he had in all the months since her funeral. “That’s not playing fair.”

  “I see your point, but I still think it’s true. Christine thought the world of you. She wouldn’t want you moldering at home. And believe me, if the shoe had been on the other foot and you had been the one to die, I’d have encouraged Christine to get out there and socialize.”

  “Thanks,” he said dryly.

  “This world is made for the living, Dan. Death, and accepting death, is a part of life. You’re only forty. You could live for a few more decades and you deserve some happiness along the way. Going out to eat with someone and making polite conversation doesn’t take away from what you had with Christine.”

  He exhaled loudly. “I just don’t think I can do it, Doreen. Making small talk with a strange woman sounds exhausting to me. Can you just tell your friend’s daughter no for me?”

  She gave his arm another pat. “Just think about it. One dinner, or maybe even just out for coffee. It won’t kill you.”

  FOURTEEN

  Andrea had been home all of ten minutes when she realized she didn’t have any dog supplies. As a new guest, Anni had shown good manners, following her from the garage into the kitchen and taking ladylike slurps from a cereal bowl Andrea had filled with water. When the dog glanced upward, Andrea read it in her eyes. “Are you hungry, girl?” She rummaged through her cabinets, moving boxes and cans aside, as if dog food would magically appear there. She wasn’t normally well stocked with food. It was just her living in the condo, after all, but now she clearly saw how pathetic her pantry really was. Crackers, energy bars, canned chicken noodle soup, and dry pasta. The only thing that could possibly work was a can of tuna (and even that was iffy), but after she dusted off the top and saw that the expiration date had come and gone, it was no longer a contender.

  Clearly, she was going to have to buy dog food, but how? Leaving Anni alone in the house seemed risky. Despite the dog’s sweet disposition, it was possible she had a destructive streak and Andrea didn’t want to chance it. The second thought, taking the dog with her to the grocery store, wouldn’t work either. That left PetShop, a place she knew allowed animals. Anni followed her to the bedroom and watched curiously as Andre
a pulled a plastic storage container out from under the bed. Her wrapping paper bin. She found some red velveteen ribbon, cut off a length, and looped it through Anni’s collar. It was as good a leash as she was going to come up with on short notice.

  The drive to PetShop was uneventful, with Andrea driving very carefully, and Anni scrunching down in the front seat like a fugitive. When they arrived at the store, and Andrea opened the car door, Anni leapt out of the front seat with a joyful exuberance, almost as if she knew where they were. Andrea looked down at her in wonder. How trusting she was. She thought again about the frat boy shoving her really hard with his boot, making her cry out in pain. Even the thought made her shake her head in anger. What was wrong with people?

  The idea that the frat boys or someone who knew them might be in the store and recognize Anni crossed her mind, but she was less afraid than she’d been before. They didn’t strike her as the type of people to shop at PetShop. There hadn’t been any dog toys in the apartment, and the chain they used to keep her tied to the balcony was industrial strength, clearly not intended for a dog. No, it was fairly safe to shop here.

  Inside the store, Anni walked alongside her. They passed cages filled with squawking birds, but Anni expressed only a mild interest. Going past the gerbil and hamster cages, the dog kept her nose forward as if she couldn’t be bothered with such things. Anni acted as if shopping at PetShop was routine for her, while Andrea felt a little overwhelmed.

  Going down one aisle, Andrea noticed a white-haired lady pushing a small terrier in a cart, and like proud mothers they exchanged nods in passing. Andrea chose a leash, and weighed several dog toy options, finally throwing a variety into the cart. From there she picked out some treats, dog shampoo, and an oval bed, putting it on the floor and pressing on it to see how comfortable it would be. She urged Anni to step inside the bed and said, “Lie down,” then beamed with delight when the dog did just that. “Good girl!” Anni had to be the smartest dog ever. Andrea couldn’t believe how quickly they were getting everything done.