“I know, right? He’s got a bad case of short man syndrome,” I observe.
We walk outside, and she hands the package of tissues to me. “Thanks,” she says softly.
I shrug. “No problem.”
“Well, see you next week,” as she forces a smile across her tear-stained face.
“Goodnight, Cybil.” I wave and jog across the lot to my car. Alex drives past just as I open the door and slide across the leather driver’s seat. His eyes narrow and the hateful look he gives me causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. “Jerk,” I say to myself.
I can’t seem to get warm and blast the heat on high. I have a creepy sensation of being followed in spite of my frequent glances in the rearview mirror to assure myself I’m just imagining things.
I drive a little faster than I should and as soon as I shut the car off in front of the garage, I sprint toward the house. I breathe a sigh of relief once I’m inside and the door is locked behind me. The light over the stove casts a warm glow around the kitchen but it does little to remove the chill in my bones. I kick out of my boots and hang my coat on the hook by the door, rubbing my arms to chase away the chills. I dash up the stairs and take a hot shower before turning in for the night.
Chapter 53
T’s sitting at the breakfast table when I wander into the kitchen. I hug him around the neck, happy to see him.
“Miss me?” he teases.
I grin. “Not really. I just need your help with something.”
Gwen chuckles from the counter, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee.
“What sort of deviant behavior are you planning to drag me into?” he questions as he raises an eyebrow skeptically.
“You wish!” I punch him playfully on the shoulder. “Mama Dog has to go to the vet’s office later today. They’re keeping her overnight. She’s getting spayed tomorrow and I wasn’t sure how I was going to get her to town in the Bimmer.”
He gapes at me and nods curtly, “Oh, I see. What makes you so sure I want that mangy mutt in my car?”
“Hey, now. Don’t let her hear you talk like that. You’ll hurt her feelings.” My lower lip juts into an exaggerated pout.
He shakes his head. “Fine. What time?”
“How does three sound?” I ask. His eyebrows draw into a thinking frown, so I add, “Or whenever works for you.”
He pulls out his cell and tells me, “I think that’ll work. Let me make a quick call to rearrange my schedule a bit.”
I stare into the open fridge, contemplating whether I want orange juice or a bottle of water. I opt for the juice and grab the carton. Gwen puts a gigantic homemade cinnamon roll, still warm from the oven, on a plate in front of me. “Are you going to ask about the puppies while you’re there?” she asks.
I blow out a noisy breath, revealing my minor annoyance with her on the subject. “Yes. I’ll ask about finding homes for them.” I take a bite of the sweet roll. “I think we should just build a fence and keep them all.”
“Okay, Callahan, I’ll meet you there,” T says into his phone.
My stomach knots and I stare across the table at him. “What was that all about?” I ask.
“I bought a piece of property, and there’s this small shack of a house on it. Callahan’s convinced he wants to rent the place and fix it up as part of his rent. I’m going to meet him over there in a few minutes,” T tells me.
“Over there?” My eyes narrow. “Where exactly is this piece of property?”
“Not far,” he grumbles vaguely. He exchanges glances with Gwen and I know immediately that they’re in on some big secret. He glances at his watch and pushes back from the table. “I’ll be back in about an hour to take you and the mu—…the dog to town. Be ready.” He zips out the door in a flash before I can press him further for more information.
“What’s going on?” I focus on Gwen for an answer.
“Nothing,” she says. “What makes you think something’s going on?”
“You two are hiding something. Don’t play stupid with me,” I say.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. I know she’s lying because her eyes dart around the room instead of focusing on me as she talks.
“Mmm hmm. Don’t tell me then,” I say with a glare. “If it has to do with Ian, I don’t care anyway.” I bite off a big hunk of cinnamon roll and chew while giving her the evil eye.
The corners of her mouth twitch, and I know she’s fighting back a smile. I’m glad she thinks this is funny. Because I don’t.
She rinses off her plate and refills her coffee cup. “The pink is an improvement, by the way.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I tell her. “I’m already bored with the color and trying to decide what’s next. Teal or raspberry.”
Before T returns, I change into some grungy sweats to wear when we take Mama Dog to the vet’s office. I put on my old coat and boots before making my way out to the garage. I bought a collar and leash the other day and haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to manage to get her to cooperate long enough to put it on her. I’m hoping the treats I’ve got stashed in my coat pocket will be a sufficient bribe.
When I kneel to look inside the doghouse, she eyes me warily. She’s not mean, but she’s always been a little distrustful of people. She trusts me more than anyone else. And she’s not particularly fond of men. I pull a treat out of my pocket and she noses close enough for me to hurriedly snap the collar and leash around her neck. She surprises me when I attempt to lead her up onto the porch by following obediently beside me, heeling perfectly. I pat the top of her head, “What’s your story, girl?”
Gwen watches from the porch swing. “They say talking to animals is the same as talking to yourself.”
I snicker. “I’m pretty close to being certifiable anyway. No point trying to deny it this late in the game.”
When T arrives, he opens the hatch on the SUV. There’s a brand new Vari Kennel sitting in the back. Mama Dog surprises me again and goes obediently inside. Gwen yells across the driveway, “Why don’t you pick up a couple of pizzas for dinner later?”
Nodding my consent, I wave, and we head out.
At the vet’s office, I talk to Dr. Yeager about the procedure and mention that I have four puppies I need to find good homes for if she knows anyone who might be interested. One of the girls behind the counter smiles and tells me she’ll put a sign up on the bulletin board. I give her Gwen’s phone number.
T has some errands to run, so we kill the rest of the afternoon doing those before stopping to pick up two large pizzas. He grabs a six-pack of bottled beer and a bottle of red wine for me. “Celebrating something?” I tease.
“What? Everyone knows you can’t eat Stefanina’s pizza without a cold bottle of Bud,” he grins, reaching for a cigarette as we make our way back to the car.
As we turn off the main road my eyes narrow when we meet a truck. “Hey,” I glance over my shoulder. “Isn’t that Ian’s truck?”
“Probably,” T mutters.
I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Probably? What’s going on?”
T’s cheeks puff as he releases a noisy breath. He nods toward the barely visible real estate sign with “SOLD” on top sitting in the overgrown weeds to my right. “I bought that.”
My mouth drops open, “You bought what exactly?”
“The hundred acres next door to your place.” He grins, slowing to a stop as he points. “See the driveway?”
I squint. “Not really, no. For that matter, I wouldn’t have spotted the FOR SALE sign if you hadn’t pointed it out. I didn’t even know there was anything back there.”
“That’s the beauty of it. I practically stole it,” he comments as he eases off the brake and drives slowly past.
“Wait. Hold on,” as my mind whirls back to the morning conversation, “Ian’s going to live here?”
He gives me a sheepish grin and nods. “There’s a lot of
work to do around the place. There used to be a big dog kennel back there, and the place is just a friggin’ mess.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“You’ll never even know he’s here,” he protests.
“Oh, I’ll know.” I turn and stare out the window. “Trust me. I’ll know.”
Chapter 54
The thing about February is…well, is nothing. It’s short and it’s an in-my-face reminder of the fact that I’m alone. They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty. Sometimes, I wish hindsight was blind as a bat. I don’t want to remember the reasons why I’m alone, and I’m unable to think about Dalton or Ian without feeling an invisible knife carve into my heart with painful memories. Wouldn’t it be great to remember only the good stuff?
The morning is bright as the barely risen sun struggles to awaken the day. My foot pushes me lazily back and forth, as I sit on the porch swing staring down at the empty page in my journal. I take a sip of hot chocolate and pull the pen from its resting place above my ear, hoping just by holding it between my fingers it will inspire me to write.
I begin jotting down random thoughts, somehow managing to fill three pages, when the creak of the screen door brings me out of my trance-like bubble. Gwen joins me on the swing as she occasionally does.
Shielding her eyes from the sun she turns to me. I tense involuntarily because I know it’s coming, the everyday lecture about trying harder to get rid of the puppies. “I think if you don’t find homes for them dogs by the end of February, you ought to consider taking them to the shelter in town.”
My jaw tenses. “I’ll keep them all rather than risk having them put to sleep.”
Her shoulders slump, and I know as much as she’d like to see them gone, the idea of having them euthanized doesn’t appeal to her any more than it does me. “Maybe they’ll find a good home.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’ll post something on the bulletin board at the grocery store when I go to my appointment later today. Maybe putting an ad in the paper would help too.”
The conversation ends when our attention is drawn to T’s Lexus pulling into view through the barren trees. Gwen pats me on the leg. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she says as she stands to go inside.
T climbs the steps and takes the vacated seat beside me. He smiles and reaches for his cigarettes. “Morning, baby girl.”
“Hi.” I eye him with a sidelong glance. “Why are you wearing that silly-assed grin?”
“I’ve got some good news to share,” as he blows a puff of smoke through pursed lips, trying — and failing — to make smoke rings. I watch impatiently while he smokes, waiting for him to enlighten me with his good news. Instead, he snuffs out the cigarette and pushes off the swing. “Let’s go inside.”
I tuck my pen up over my ear and follow him into the kitchen where Gwen’s working on filling up a platter with made-from-scratch pancakes. “Syrup’s in the microwave. Grab some plates,” she orders.
Once we’re seated, T opens up the morning paper. Apparently, he’s enjoying making me wait to hear whatever good news he has to share. Finally, when I can’t stand it any longer, I reach out and flick the paper in his hands. “Stop that,” he chuckles.
“Come on. What’s your good news?” I whisper as loud as my voice will allow.
He lowers the paper and smirks at me over the top. “Oh, that.”
I narrow my eyes at him and Gwen’s gaze darts between the two of us questioningly. “What’s going on?” she asks.
“T said he has some good news, and I guess he thinks it’s funny to make me wait before he shares it,” I tell her.
A smug smile paints T’s face as he folds the paper and lays it aside. “I talked to my lawyer yesterday afternoon,” he starts.
“And?”
“And he thinks the remaining members of Fate’s Crazy might just be ready to settle out of court.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “Sweet!” This is good news. I doubt very much that they have the money to fight us with anyway. “They were just doing it for spite anyway.”
“Exactly. My lawyer advised them they would be better off financially if we could all reach some sort of agreement out of court,” T says as he drowns his pancakes in maple syrup. “So, it looks like you probably won’t have to go to St. Louis for a court appearance after all, and this whole mess should be cleared up very soon.”
I hold up my hand, palm out, for a high five, “Hell yeah!” I whisper as loud as I can muster and grin as his hand slaps against mine. I haven’t been looking forward to going back to St. Louis. Facing Nick and the twins isn’t something I want to do ever again. T’s right. This is good news. I sigh happily and slump back against my chair.
Later, I help Gwen clean up the kitchen and start a load of laundry. Gwen informs me she’s going to go get groceries; she’ll see me when I get home from my appointment with Dr. Stephens. She tells me she’ll put something on the bulletin board there, so I won’t have to.
As soon as she leaves, I make my way down the hall to the piano room. It dawns on me that I haven’t sat down to play once since Emmy stopped coming.
I ruffle up my hair and slide across the piano bench. I’ve never been good at composing music, just writing the words. Dalton was the one who had the ear for the right melody to fit the words and as a team we almost worked almost intuitively together. I blink back the sting of tears threatening to escape. “I will not cry,” I chastise myself.
With my fingers on the keys, I remember what he used to tell me. “Rhaney, you have to feel the words. How do they make you feel? Once you figure that out, you just put the melody with the words.” I shake my head, trying to dislodge Dalton’s memory. I think of the song I’ve been piecing together, a sentence here, a chorus there. I’ve started calling it “My Coloring Box.” It’s been one of the hardest songs I’ve ever tried to write. I think that’s because the words hurt too much. Maybe when I stop hurting, I’ll finish it. Maybe that’s what scares me, if I stop hurting, will I cease to feel anything at all?
“Rhaney, just play one note, then another and another, and pretty soon, you’ll find the right melody, trust me.” Dalton’s words hammer through my steel-encased, stubborn refusal to acknowledge that I still hear him in my head from time to time. I breathe a heavy sigh and do as his words instruct.
My fingers lead, I follow. They play a haunting melody of pain, regret, loss, and redemption. These are the feelings that surround me as the music begins to take over. Tears slide down my cheek and I realize that I’m not just mourning the loss of Dalton, but the loss of everything meaningful in my life, including my identity.
Something my grandma used to always say to me pops into my head. “If someone takes a piece of your heart, hunt ‘em down and get it back. You’re a strong girl, Rhane, but ain’t nobody able to live with half a heart.”
“But I can’t hunt him down, Gram. He’s dead. How do I get back a piece of my heart from a dead man?” I sob to myself. I pluck out a few notes on the keys of the old piano and realize that it’s not Dalton who has the other piece of my heart. It’s Ian, and judging from the text messages he’s still randomly sending me, he’s not ready to give it back just yet.
Chapter 55
My appointment with Dr. Stephens was a productive one this afternoon. I’m unable to objectively see the improvement he sees in my behavior patterns, but he is the professional and if I’ve learned anything, it’s to trust him at his word. He suggested I try something that I hadn’t considered doing.
He pointed out how alcoholics keep track of their number of days sober, and how maybe it would be a good idea to note the number of days I’ve gone without having a full-fledged blow-up. It’s not like I plan on standing in front of my anger management group and reciting, “My name is Rhane and it’s been forty-four days since my last tantrum.” Ugh, yeah, I don’t think so.
Something seems different as I park in front of the garage. Gwen’s still not home, but tha
t’s not what’s different. It takes a few seconds for the realization to hit me. Mama Dog watches me from the corner of the yard, and she’s alone. The puppies are nowhere around. The pups have never wandered far. In fact they are almost annoying in their bids for attention whenever I’m outside.
I search the property, following the barely-there path through the barren trees along the frozen creek. I’m sure they didn’t just run off, not all of them, not without Mama Dog, but that doesn’t make me feel any more at ease. After several minutes of looking, I head back to the house. For about two seconds, I consider hopping back in the car and driving over to the bordering property — Ian’s new place — to see if they wandered over there. “What a stupid idea,” I chastise myself. I know the puppies wouldn’t roam that far from home. Secretly I think I just want to see Ian and his new house. Stalker much?
Gwen pulls up and parks beside my car. I meet her halfway up the walkway. She nods and by way of greeting, orders me to “Grab the rest of the groceries out of the Jeep.”
“What’s wrong with this picture?” I ask, waving my hand around the space between the driveway and the house.
She stops walking and spins around. “Huh. The puppies are gone?”
From the tone of her voice I gather two things: it’s not a surprise and she’s not the least bit concerned. “Why do I get the feeling you know something about this?”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Maybe because you’re so good at assuming things?”
Okay. I deserve that. I clench my hands briefly, and move to help her bring in the rest of the groceries. “Seriously. Do you know where the puppies are? Because if you do, that’s cool, just tell me,” I say, depositing the bags on the kitchen table.
“They went to a good home,” she sighs, turning to me. “Don’t worry they’re fine. Trust me.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I’m telling you now,” she mutters. “Leave that hamburger out, I want to make a meatloaf for dinner.”
I guess that’s her way of telling me to stop asking questions. Even though I don’t question her further, I’m far from satisfied with her vague answers. Yeah, it puts my mind at ease that she knows where they are. Her assurance that they’re all safe and sound is somewhat comforting, but still, it annoys me how she took it upon herself to get rid of them and she didn’t tell me what was going on before it happened. I glare at her and toss the package of ground beef on the counter. “You could have said something before, you know.”
I Breathe You Page 22