“I can’t believe you almost walked right past me.” He held out his hands in mock dismay. “You would have kept going if I hadn’t stopped you.”
“Right. Okay then, if you could step aside, I have to get going.” A hundred times she’d thought of what she would say to Marco if she ever saw him again. “I have to get going” wasn’t what she’d planned, but it fell out of her mouth in a calm, cool manner like she ran into her ex-husband every day.
“You have a dog now,” he said, leaning over, but as his hand came close, Anni took a step backward and stiffened. Her tail hung flat on her back end. She made a low growl followed by a sharp yip, and he straightened up in alarm. “But not a friendly dog.” He glared at Anni.
Andrea looked down at Anni in shock. She’d never seen her do that before. “She likes most people.”
“Anyway.” Marco always did have a tendency to change the subject to suit himself. He fixed his gaze on Andrea and suddenly she found herself immobile. The power he’d once exerted over her had come back. “That guy you were with?” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the coffee shop.
“Philip?” Her mouth suddenly felt dry.
“Yeah, I guess. Philip.” He said the name with disdain. “I’d be careful if I were you. I don’t know what he’s told you, but I’ve seen that guy out with another woman.”
“I don’t really think this is any of your concern. We’re divorced, remember?” She took a deep breath before giving the leash a slight tug to direct Anni to walk around him.
His arm came out to stop her. “Yeah, I remember. Boy, do I remember. It was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I miss you, Andrea.” His expression softened to one that she remembered well. In the past, he could tease her out of any bad mood, get her to accept any lie, sweep suspicions away like they were nothing. And she’d always drifted along with whatever he wanted. A happy Marco made life easier, more fun. And he was good-looking. She’d forgotten how good-looking, with naturally broad shoulders and a strong jawline. The kind of manly physique cartoonists drew to depict the hot lifeguard at the beach, the one carrying the pretty young thing out of the water.
Marco gave her a smile, a smile just for her, the kind that used to make her melt. He missed her. He’d made a mistake. She paused for just a second, every possible response streaming through her head. Marco, her first love, stood before her, admitting he’d been wrong, saying he missed her. Just what she had once hoped to hear, back in the day when she wished they’d get back together. Their marriage hadn’t been bad, not at all. When they were together, life had been easy, there’d been a pattern, a routine. She knew his family and he knew hers. They had history. He was charming and good-looking. Bold and confident. Just the man you’d want to give a toast or tell a joke. Yes, Marco had been her first big-time love. And now he stood before her wanting a second chance. Really. She blew out a puff of air, watching it turn into a mist of cold and, in that instant, it all became clear. He’d been her first real love, but he wasn’t going to be her last. And she would never go back to him.
“I was hoping we could still be friends,” he said, giving her his most charming smile, a sort of self-confident smirk.
“That’s not going to happen,” she said. “Because we never were friends.” And she clicked her tongue and directed Anni around him.
“How about you think about it?” he shouted when she was halfway down the block. A gust of cold air carried the words so that she heard them as crisply as if he were by her side.
For a split second she thought she was going to be the bigger person and ignore him, but something got into her, and in a flash she’d pulled off her glove. “How about you think about this,” she called out, her voice strong, turning in time to see his shocked expression as she flipped him the bird.
Clearly, that was not the response he’d expected.
TWENTY-ONE
On Saturday afternoon when Lindsay got home from working a shift at Walgreens, she burst through the door calling for him. “Dad!” she yelled. “Dad, where are you?”
At the sound of her voice he left the laundry and jogged up the basement steps, thinking there was some tragedy. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
His daughter stood in the entryway, her hair and jacket dusted with snow. She owned a hat but almost never wore it for fear of hat hair. “There’s nothing wrong.” She took off her gloves. “I just wanted to tell you something before I forgot. I wanted to tell you first thing this morning, but you were still asleep.” She said it accusingly, like he wasn’t supposed to be sleeping in on a weekend morning. Like it was unfair she had to leave the house at seven thirty while he stayed in bed.
“Okay, what is it?”
“I had a dream last night and Mom was in it . . .” She shook her arms out of her sleeves and hung her jacket on the hook by the door.
Oh, here she went again. Since that first time, Lindsay had had several dreams involving her mother. Each time she was convinced it was Christine talking to her from the other side. Dan didn’t want to squash her beliefs, but the dreams had gotten kind of convoluted. Sometimes she only had a sense that her mother was there. Other times Christine was there but didn’t say anything, just looked on, smiling happily as if she were glad to see Lindsay. Clearly, her mother was on her mind, which was understandable. Lindsay was going through so much with it being her last year of high school. The prom and graduation were coming up, both things Christine would have had a hand in. Certainly, the two of them would have gone shopping for dresses and everything else. He understood how much Lindsay missed her mother. Christine’s absence loomed large in their household and their hearts.
“And—wait, you look like you’re not going to believe me,” Lindsay said, the corners of her mouth suddenly turning downward.
“I’m listening. I’m listening,” Dan said. “How can I not believe you when you haven’t said anything yet?” He leaned against the doorframe, giving her all his attention.
“Because the last time I mentioned Mom was in my dream, you asked if I wanted to see the grief counselor again.”
She’d been irate at the suggestion. And it was just a suggestion. Being a parent was so hard now that he didn’t have someone else to turn to when he wasn’t sure of the answers. And this dream thing struck a nerve with him. So many times when falling asleep he willed himself to dream of Christine, but it never happened. Why would she visit Lindsay, but not him? “I know,” he said. “But that was last time. Could you give me the benefit of the doubt?”
“Okay,” she said begrudgingly. “Anyway, I dreamed about Mom again and this time she talked to me and gave me a message for you. I actually woke up and wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget. The paper is next to my bed, but basically she said”—she looked up at the ceiling, remembering—“I needed to tell you to visit Aunt Nadine.”
“Really.” Inwardly he groaned. Not Nadine.
Nadine wasn’t really Lindsay’s aunt. In fact, she wasn’t related to them at all. Nadine had been Christine’s boss and when Nadine had retired ten years earlier, Christine had kept in touch, taking over the daughter role because Nadine’s sons weren’t all that attentive. Nadine had limited mobility due to severe arthritis, and later in life she experienced a series of strokes; now she lived in an old folks’ home. Officially it was a rehab center, but in Nadine’s case, she was there for good. Christine had kept up with visiting about once a month after Nadine went to live at the Phoenix Health Care Center and even took Anni with her on occasion, but Dan hadn’t even thought about Nadine at all since Christine’s death. And if he had thought of the old woman, it would not have been good thoughts. Nadine was difficult. Sharp-tongued, critical, argumentative. Dan understood why her sons didn’t come around much. “I have no idea what you see in that woman,” he’d said to Christine. She didn’t have a good answer, just that Nadine was in a lot of pain. She’d been a terrific boss, and had hired Christine when the
job market was terrible. Christine had a strong sense of loyalty. She said, “Have some compassion, Dan.”
Dan had compassion. What he lacked was patience. “So I’m supposed to visit Nadine?” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Of all the things for Lindsay to dream.
“I know. Weird, huh?” Lindsay said, grinning. “But better you than me. Aunt Nadine is so annoying.”
“So annoying.”
“So, are you going to do it?”
“Visit Nadine?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I know you think it’s just a random dream, but what if it really is from Mom? It’s the kinda thing she’d do, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, your mom had a soft heart,” Dan agreed. “I’ll think about it. You know, for all we know, Nadine isn’t even there anymore.”
Lindsay regarded him blankly. “Where would she go?”
“Another facility. The hospital. Or she could have died, even.”
“I’m sure she didn’t die,” Lindsay said, frowning.
“She might have. It’s not like anyone would have told us.”
Lindsay dug her phone out of her purse. “Well, I think you should go. I mean, big deal, it’s just an hour of your time.”
“Just an hour.” She didn’t seem to realize how long an hour could be under the worst circumstances.
“And it’s a nice thing to do, right?” Now Lindsay sounded suspiciously like Christine. A good attribute, usually, but in this case it seemed like emotional ammunition.
“Right. Well, I’ll think about it,” Dan said, but already he knew there was nothing to think about. Nadine had been Christine’s friend. What would they even talk about? Besides, he still had some reports to go over for work and he needed to make a trip to the hardware store for water softener salt. Even if he wanted to go visit Nadine (and, truthfully, he didn’t), it wasn’t feasible. He just couldn’t fit it into his schedule.
TWENTY-TWO
Andrea grew to love the sound of a dog in the house. The squeak of a toy as Anni carried it across the room to her, the sound of canine nails against the tile, the whimpering of appreciation when she got her morning ear rubs. Again she thought of how Anni had been mistreated by the frat boys, and how close she had come to not having Anni in her life. Imagine if Stan had been well enough to deliver the letter? The frat boys would have pawned Anni off on someone else, or dropped her off at the pound. Then some other lucky person might have adopted her. Or maybe not. Maybe no one would have adopted her and she would have languished in some cage somewhere. That scenario was too horrible to even contemplate.
“You’re my girl now, aren’t you?” she asked, stroking Anni’s smooth fur, fully aware that her behavior was now mirroring that of people she used to make fun of. Well, so be it. She’d been in the dark and now had seen the light. Crazy dog lady. They could put it on her tombstone.
Today they were heading out to see Gram at the Phoenix Health Care Center. Andrea timed their Saturday visit for just after lunch. She and Anni pulled into the parking lot at one o’clock exactly, and were through the glass doors a few minutes later. She hadn’t called ahead. There was no reason to, since Gram’s existence went from moment to moment and her memory of Andrea was sketchy, if at all. A sad truth.
Anni strained at the leash, her nails clicking lightly on the grooved linoleum. Past the double doors, they stopped at the front desk to sign in. The woman behind the counter, an older lady with a silver bouffant hairstyle, gushed over Anni in a sweet, high-pitched voice. “What a cutie. Our residents love it when dogs come to visit. She doesn’t mind strangers petting her, does she?”
“No. She’s as gentle as a lamb,” Andrea said, and then, remembering Anni’s reaction to Marco, almost amended her statement, but the woman was already giving directions to a man who had arrived just after them.
They took the elevator to the third floor. Once they were buzzed in to the locked ward, down the hall they went, Anni trotting amiably alongside Andrea. As they passed open doorways, Andrea heard the residents’ comments.
“What a cute dog.”
“Hey, puppy!”
“So precious.”
“I hope that thing doesn’t start barking.”
Andrea had to grin. There was always one grouch in the crowd. When she got to Gram’s room, number 312, she paused and knocked on the slightly open door before entering. The room was a double, each side containing a twin bed, dresser, chair, end table, and lamp (the lamp was bolted down, Andrea had discovered during an earlier visit). A TV was suspended at the end of each bed, and the privacy curtain pulled back so that she could see the entire room at a glance. Today the room was quiet, both TVs off, and the roommate’s side empty. Gram sat in her recliner, head back, eyes closed.
“Hey, Gram,” Andrea said, leaning over to kiss her papery cheek.
Gram’s eyelids fluttered, and she yawned. When Andrea was younger, Gram had colored her hair light brown, but the last ten years had not been kind to her. Dementia left her unable to keep up with her usual beauty routine, and the staff was too busy to do much more than run a comb over her head and help her brush her teeth. Family members used to take her home for visits, but she got too confused and upset, so eventually those visits stopped.
“Gram?”
“Hi, honey.” Her eyes held a glint of recognition.
Sometimes she couldn’t remember Andrea’s name, but knew she was her granddaughter. Other times, especially in the evening, even that bit of information was lost. Andrea never knew what to expect from one visit to the next, but knew it was best not to push it because she didn’t want to upset her grandmother. She clasped her grandmother’s hand, taking care to be gentle. “Hi, Gram. It’s me, Andrea. Look, I brought a friend.” She gestured down to the floor next to the recliner where Anni sat, her tail sweeping the floor.
Gram peered over the side and a pleased expression came over her face. “Would you look at that. A sweet little doggy.”
Anni opened her mouth and a short, clipped bark came out, like she was responding to Gram. Andrea put her hand over Anni’s nose to keep her from prolonging the conversation. “This is my dog, Anni.”
Gram looked at Anni and then at Andrea, her face pensive. “I had a dog a long time ago.”
“Yes, you did, but that was a different dog, not this one.”
“Oh.”
“Do you want to pet her? She’s really sweet.”
“I would like to pet her.”
Andrea adjusted the recliner so Gram could sit up, then brought Anni closer. Gram ran her hand over Anni’s back and head, and the dog sat still except for her thumping tail. “Such a sweetheart,” Gram murmured. “Hello, love.”
During earlier visits Andrea had tried to fill the silence with chatter about the weather, current events, and work, but she’d learned that the words flew by Gram like so many sparrows, and caused the older woman grief trying to make sense of the patterns. The visits were less stressful for both of them when she made a point to just be there, speaking only when needed. Anni’s presence made the silence enough. Her happy tail wag and appreciative gaze filled the room with all it needed.
“Such a sweetie,” Gram said, stroking Anni’s head. “I used to have a dog.” She’d reached far back into her mind and accessed the part that recalled being a dog owner. Gram had, in fact, grown up on a farm and had a childhood full of dogs. So many years ago, but still present, back in her memory.
Eventually Gram sat back, tired, and watched as Andrea had Anni do a few tricks. “Sit,” she said, and without a moment’s hesitation, the dog sat. “Beg.” Up went her paws, and Andrea pulled a treat out of her purse to reward her. After that she had her play dead. “Smart doggy,” Gram said, clapping lightly.
They sat there for a time in companionable silence. Noises drifted from the hallway, the squeak of a pushcart, the sounds of conversations, laughter. “C
an I help you, Mrs. Hoffman?” floated a voice from across the hall, most likely an attendant speaking to a patient, Andrea guessed.
Gram folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I just need a little nap,” she said, struggling to get the words out. Her eyelids closed.
“Do you want me to pull the lever so the chair goes back?”
“No, honey. I’m fine.”
“Okay then, Gram. Anni and I are going to go, but we’ll be back next week, okay?”
Gram’s head leaned to one side and she took a deep breath, already drifting off to somewhere else. Andrea liked to think she’d heard her. She’d seen the light in her grandmother’s eyes when they’d first arrived and knew their visit had made a difference. They would be back.
Leaving took twice as long as arriving. Several people in the hallway, staff and patients, stopped her and asked if they could pet her dog. One woman in a wheelchair parked outside her room said, “What’s her name?”
“This is Anni,” Andrea said, directing Anni to a spot alongside the chair so that the woman could reach her.
“So soft,” she said, her fingers trailing down onto Anni’s back. Her white hair was short and wispy. Her lavender sweatpants matched her sweatshirt, which had several birds appliquéd on the front, to make it fancy. Andrea had noticed that most of the residents wore this kind of thing. Clothes chosen for the ease of getting on and off. As comfortable as the scrubs the staff wore. “So pretty,” the woman said.
After a few minutes Andrea said, “It was nice talking to you, but we have to go now.”
They went down the corridor and through the security door. When one of the two elevators arrived at their floor, the doors opened and a tall elderly woman with a walker emerged, accompanied by a female attendant. As they came out, the attendant kept a steadying hand on the woman’s arm. She walked in baby steps, her eyes on the floor. When her gaze landed on the dog, the old woman asked, “Is that Anni?” The incredulity in her voice made it sound like she’d never seen a dog before.
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