Walk the Dog

by Isabel Jolie

  “Dad, you wouldn’t be a burden. I want to be here for you. And for Mom. You’ve been there for me my whole life. I love y’all. I owe you everything.”

  “We love you too, sweetie.” He exhales and situates himself in the Adirondack chair, shifting his legs while grasping the cane for support. Once situated, he resumes. “While I disagree with your mother’s methods, your return is good timing. Frank, Todd, and I are looking to step out of the business, pass it onto the next generation. If you don’t step in, the whole plan gets dicey.”

  “I’m meeting them for lunch next week.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. I’m surprised you don’t know.”

  “Well, everyone’s been treating me like a goddamn invalid, but I suppose it’s good for you to meet with them on your own. It’s a good start. They need to see you can take over our third of the business. You let me know, though, if they aren’t treating you like a partner. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them force my family out of a business that was my family’s to begin with just because they each have sons who already work there.”

  The topic clearly pisses him off. Deep lines form all around his mouth, and the flex of his jaw looks like he’s grinding his teeth. “We’ve had this succession plan for decades. It was a mistake to invite them into the business as partners.” He sucks on the joint and rests his head on the back of the chair.

  “I still can’t believe your mother. Using my illness.” He shakes his head and scowls then passes me the joint. “Sometimes it’s like I don’t know her anymore. She and I...we agreed we’d talk to you. About the business, not about this.” He waves over his stomach and chest, making it clear by this he means his health.

  I reach out and hold his hand, resting my head on the back of the Adirondack chair as the effects of the ganja begin. My muscles relax, and a calmness sweeps over me. The anger, confusion, and pain in my chest dissipate. I watch the clouds float by as my father does the same.

  Chapter 18

  Mason

  Kara and I stroll down Montague Street to the park. My thick coat does a poor job of blocking the cold winter wind. My hands, the skin raw from frequent washing at the clinic, ache in the bitter cold, a reminder I need lotion. Kara chatters happily beside me as I pat down my coat and discover I do have a pair of gloves stuffed in the oversized pockets. I’m pulling them on when Kara leaps ahead of me shouting, “Mommy!”

  I quicken my pace to minimize the distance between my daughter and me. Amber waves, a huge smile plastered across her face. Her dyed hair, a mix of black, purple and white-washed violet, is pulled back tight in a harsh ponytail. As I get closer, I notice her hair is matted and needs to be brushed. If it weren’t for having a four-year-old girl, I’d probably never even notice something like that. Amber has three nose rings, and I suspect she’s added to the collection of ear piercings. Her ripped jeans, black leather motorcycle jacket, and red Doc Martens scream band girl.

  I wrap her in a hug when I reach her. Every time I see her, full of big dreams, guilt gnaws at me for knocking her up when she was so young. I remember that Saturday like it was yesterday, when she appeared at my door and asked, “Hey, do you remember me?”

  I absolutely remembered her. I met her when I’d first arrived in New York after vet school and had two weeks of freedom before getting my ass handed to me as a first-year veterinarian. I had two weeks to get settled and blow off steam before starting my new job. She’d been this nineteen-year-old dropout, full of life and all about letting loose and having fun and pursuing her dreams of being a musician. We met during my first night of freedom and were inseparable for the next two weeks. I went all out, telling myself it was the undergrad life I denied myself as a driven, competitive student aiming to be a vet. We had an unforgettable two weeks, then I started a new job, and she disappeared.

  That first year as a vet threw me hard. I aced vet school. But real-life practice was anything but textbook. I found myself second-guessing every diagnosis, referencing books, and spending too much time per patient. That first year was brutal.

  When she didn’t return my texts, my ego took a hit. I thought of her a lot. Our two weeks of unfettered freedom. Sex every day. At clubs in the bathrooms, in my apartment. But I’d accepted I’d never see her again. Then she knocked on my door six months later. Crying and showing too much to continue the tour she’d been so psyched to be a part of as a back-up singer and bassist. She hadn’t yet procured the four-hundred-square-foot rental she now keeps, more as a storage unit than anything else. With no other option, she came to find me.

  I invited her to live with me. I tried hard to make it work with her. One night, I went all out. Scattered roses throughout my studio apartment, lit candles, bought a thick platinum band with tiny diamonds around it. I figured the ring matched her rock and roll vibe. Back then she had jet black hair.

  She opened the door, and I got down on one knee. I held out the ring box, nervous as hell, not sure at all we’d make it for the long haul, but every part of me felt asking her to marry me was the right thing to do. The responsible thing to do.

  After declining my proposal, she sent a nameless guy from a band to pick up her stuff. She emailed me to tell me she didn’t love me, she was too young to get married, and she was putting the baby up for adoption because it would be best for the baby. Maybe adoption would have been best for Kara, but I couldn’t.

  When Amber scoops up Kara, the worn leather jacket sleeves slide up on her arm, exposing a new tattoo, scrawled across her wrist and onto her palm. It reads Entertain Us. Fitting, I suppose, for a band girl, flitting between bands, searching for her big break. Now twenty-three, Amber shows no sign of choosing any other kind of life. If her tattoo accumulation continues, she’ll soon be limiting her career options to either band gigs, waitressing, or non-corporate environments. Fuck. I hate myself for even thinking like that. I’m only thirty-two, but damn if being around Amber doesn’t make me feel like a stodgy old man.

  Amber’s piercings glitter in the sunlight when she smiles up at me. “Hi there, stranger,” as she slaps my butt in her playful way. She’s always been an over the top flirt.

  But today, as the three of us walk to the park, the family that could have been, a surreal sensation overwhelms me. As if I’m having an out of body experience, I watch the three of us. Kara between us, a hand in each of ours, swinging. They are singing the song about rainbows, and I stare ahead, physically present yet detached. Fear finds crevices deep within. The intrusion quakes my core. Amber and Kara sing about lovers, dreamers, and rainbows, while a neon yellow sign flashes caution.

  Amber never wanted to be involved in Kara’s life. I’m the one who has been pushing this for years. I’m the one who has taken great care to keep Amber updated, hoping to entice her into her daughter’s life, careful to avoid pushing her away. No phone calls for months on end? Never said a word. No birthday phone call? No Christmas present? None were expected. She’s been completely absent. As agreed, I’ve kept the door open, on the chance she might change her mind.

  When out of the blue she called and asked if she could see Kara, I didn’t hesitate. We haven’t talked about Mommy much. Kara couldn’t miss what she had never known. I waited until they met to tell her Amber, this stranger, was her mother. She accepted that she travels far away for her job. There hasn’t been an emotional attachment. Kara hadn’t met her. But now I see it growing before my eyes. What the hell am I doing?

  I lived the pain of craving a dad. The sadness when a birthday passed unacknowledged. The crush of not being invited for a visit over summer break because of an insane business travel schedule. Reading Facebook posts about his new kids. And here I am paving the way for a repeat life for my daughter.

  We arrive at Pier 6, and I have no memory of the way over, other than squeezing my daughter’s small glove as we swung her into the air. Amber and Kara run toward the slides, giggling like two little girls heading off to play together. The scene before me is what I’
ve always wished for. Amber enveloping Kara in motherly love. Playing with her. Being in her life.

  Awareness of tomorrow looms overhead. One day, Amber will receive a text about a gig, a huge opportunity, playing bars in multiple states that promise tremendous exposure, and she’ll be gone. We won’t hear from her for a few months. I’ll call when Kara asks to speak to Mommy, and she’ll decline the call. And I’ll say something like, “Mommy’s probably working right now. She’ll call us back.” And I’ll tickle her or throw her in the air. But how many more years will tickling and air tossing create a successful diversion?

  I find a bench and sit, remove my gloves, and stare at my hands. Delilah might be right. Maybe I should press for full custody now. Amber is a giant wild card in my daughter’s life. She could settle down and become the co-parent I hoped for, the loving mom Kara deserves. Or she could follow in my father’s footsteps, wave goodbye, and essentially close the door. Or she could become something far worse. She could weave in and out of her life, and eventually arrive back in Manhattan and want her to live with her half the year and parent in a completely irresponsible way, leaving a too-young girl at home alone or taking her out in venues a child has no business in. We might not agree on how to parent at all.

  As I check my email, a new email from Delilah appears in the list. When I called her last night, it went to voicemail. Like it always seems to these days.

  December 1

  To: Mason Herriot

  From: Delilah Daniels

  Hi - So, my dad’s doing good. He’s walking with a cane now, which is new. I’ve been doing research on multiple sclerosis. I’ll tell you all about it when we talk.

  In some ways - mystical ways - it’s good MS hit. He’s stepping back from the company and enjoying life. Otherwise, he would have worked hard until he ended up six feet under. At least now he’s embracing his next life phase.

  Did Kara like the flowers I sent her? Sorry I’ve missed your calls. I’ve been falling asleep early.

  How are you? How’s the clinic? Do you ever watch the clouds? You should. It’s sort of meditative.

  I miss you. I miss you in a way I didn’t think possible.

  Love,

  Delilah

  I lean back on the park bench. The gray sky obscures the Manhattan skyline, wrapping it in fog. I imagine Delilah has a blue sky in her back yard, with the kind of white, fluffy clouds that change shape as they shift overhead. She’s already forgotten it’s winter, and white fluffy clouds, the kind worth watching, are a rarity here.

  “Daddy!” I barely have time to lift my arms before a small body crashes into my torso. Her eyes sparkle, cheeks bright pink from the cold air, and her nose drips a little. I pull out a tissue from my coat pocket and wipe. She grins. “We did all the slides.”

  “That’s awesome. Which was your favorite?”

  She whips around to point, and as she does, sends my phone flying. Amber bends and picks it up, glancing at it before handing it back to me. She pauses a moment before asking, “Who’s Delilah?”

  Before I can answer, Kara’s jumping up and down, eager to answer. “She’s our friend. She sleeps over. She slept over with me. And with Daddy. But she had to move to New Orens to help her daddy.”

  I take my phone back from Amber, close out of email, and slip it into my pocket. I wait to see how Amber handles this. Will any mothering instincts kick in? Will she ask me about a woman staying over? Will she connect the dots and remember I had a date the night she abandoned our daughter and that this might be the same woman?

  Amber toys with a few of the leather and chain bracelets on her right wrist. Kara climbs into my lap and cuddles, shivering a bit.

  “You’re cold, aren’t you, baby girl? Want some hot chocolate?”

  She grins and nods multiple times in quick succession. I stand and snap open my jacket to tuck her partially inside. I love that she’s still small enough that I can hold her on my hip and warm her inside my coat.

  I point to a nearby street vendor selling hot chocolate, and she curls into me. “Do you think he has marzmellows?”

  I bounce her as I tramp in that direction. Amber steps up beside me, and I almost trip over my own feet when she positions herself under my right arm, the one not holding Kara, and her left hand tucks into my jeans pocket and curves around my ass. She backs away as I stumble then I charge forward to the vendor with a speed Amber’s shorter, booted legs can’t match.

  We’ve been together countless times over the last four years since my marriage proposal, admittedly when she was pregnant, but not once has she touched me or remotely flirted with me.

  My heartrate spikes, and I smoosh Kara closer to me. “Hi. Yes, we’ll take two hot chocolates with lots of marshmallows.” I turn as Amber reaches us. “Would you like a hot chocolate?”

  She tilts her head and opens her mouth slightly, rolling her tongue against her teeth. I’m hypnotized by a small piercing, the glint of silver against her tongue. “I’ll share yours.”

  I set Kara down on the ground so I can pull out my wallet and pay for our drinks. “Make that three, please,” I say as I hand over my credit card.

  The three of us meander down the black path in the park, often stepping on the grass to avoid speeding inline skaters and joggers, and the many city dwellers with a faster pace than four-year-old nibbling at marshmallows can muster. Kara stops to pet every single dog we come across, always taking care to ask permission, the way I’ve taught her.

  I scout up ahead, searching for a bench to fit the three of us. There’s no top on Kara’s hot chocolate so she can access the marshmallows, and the only reason her coat isn’t covered in a sticky mess right now is that she’s been picking the marshmallows off one by one.

  As I point our trio in the direction of an open bench, Amber’s smooth, melodic tone interrupts my focus on getting us seated spill-free. “So, tell me about Delilah.”

  Kara opens her mouth wide, exposing a gooey half chewed marshmallow. “She’s an artist. Her favorite princess is Tiana. She looks like Cinderella. She colors good. Her daddy’s sick.”

  We sit on the bench with Kara between us. I slide back, sipping the now lukewarm beverage, choosing to blend into the background as mother and daughter bond.

  Amber scoots back on the bench too, angling so she is facing me. “Are you dating her?”

  I drink my hot chocolate to buy time for a response. After a moment, I answer, “Yes.” I stare straight ahead at the skyline.

  “Is it serious?”

  I continue staring, annoyed. This isn’t the kind of conversation I want to have in front of my daughter, and I make it a point to not ask Amber about her dating life. But, in all fairness, this is a woman in contact with her daughter. If I ever met a man in Amber’s life, I’d probably ask questions. If she came around enough for Kara to be involved in her life.

  “Are you going to answer me?” Amber reaches out and prods my shoulder in a teasing manner. She’s chuckling. To her, it’s funny.

  “I am serious about her. But she had to move home to help take care of her father. I don’t...the future isn’t...I don’t have answers.” I can feel her staring at me. “We’re figuring things out.”

  “Where’d she move to?”

  Kara pulls on Ambers coat to get her attention. “New Orens.”

  “New what?”

  I clarify. “New Orleans.”

  “Wow. That’s far. So, you’re dating other people too, then, right?”

  Technically, we’re dating exclusively, but emotions were high when she agreed. All of her actions since landing in New Orleans indicate the ‘let’s be friends’ request is coming. I’m bracing for it. But Amber doesn’t need to know any of that. Nor does Kara. “No.”

  I get up and excuse myself to go to the restroom. I don’t need to go, but I need a break from this conversation. When I find my way back to them, Amber’s on her phone, and Kara is playing on the dead grass in front of the bench. “You guys ready to go?”


  We don’t make much headway before Kara yanks at my coat and whines, “Daddy, how much farther?”

  We’ve traveled a long way for little legs, so I bend and scoop her up onto my hip. Amber keeps pace alongside me, and after about a block, she loops her arm behind my back and squeezes or tickles Kara, making her laugh.

  Amber’s close to my side, and a skateboarder approaches from the opposite direction. On instinct, I wrap my right arm around Amber’s shoulder and veer to the right to get out of his way. Within seconds, Amber’s hand fills my jeans pocket. She smiles up at me, and it could be my imagination, but I think her fingers curve around my ass cheek again.

  I glance down at her questioningly, and she says, “My hand’s cold.”

  I kiss Kara’s forehead and continue home. If someone were to take our photograph right now, we’d look like the perfect family, out at the park on a Saturday afternoon.

  Amber asks, “Hey, you guys wanna get pizza for dinner tonight?”

  Kara bounces on my hip and squeals, “I do! When we get back, can we play Candyland?”

  Amber says yes, and the three of us continue down the path, a picture-perfect family.

  Chapter 19

  Delilah

  The clouds scatter across the sky. The fluffy cloudscape exhibits a wide array of shades of white, as if an artist mixed a palette of white, cream, and possibly the smallest touch of black, and with heavy strokes, created the scene. I press my back against the solid wood of the Adirondack chair, riveted.

  Dad taps my wrist and gestures with the lit joint, asking if I want another hit. I have a nice buzz going, and at this moment, the sensation that the only thing that matters are the clouds above overwhelms my mind. For some reason, Dad likes to open his mouth and speak when we sit out here. I prefer to commune with nature, to lose myself in the moment.