A New Leash on Life

by Suzie Carr

  “Well, today I have reason to be. Someone bought my house.”

  I dropped beside her. I hung my head and braced it between my hands. “Ugh, I feel terrible.”

  She placed her hand on my back. “Don’t.”

  “But, I do.” I pulled at my hair, and even that didn’t relieve the pressure mounting. “It’s so unfair.” My words garbled under my anguish.

  “Hey,” she said, lifting my chin with her finger.

  I looked into her soft, reflective eyes filled with gratitude instead of hatred. I sniffed back some tears.

  She circled under my eye to catch them. “Why are you crying, my friend?”

  “Because I just ruined your life.” I ground my teeth, adding to my pressure.

  “Because of four walls?” She swung an arm over my shoulder and pulled me in. “Oh come on, now. You know me better than that.”

  I rocked side to side with her. I could paint a rock for her and she’d act no differently over it than she would if I presented her with a diamond necklace. “How long before they kick you out?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I snapped up. “What are you going to do? Hang out with the new family while they play X-Box on the weekends and offer them reiki treatments in between their turns?”

  “I’m not being kicked out.”

  I shrugged away from her arm, frustrated with her need to drag everything out at snail’s pace. “What the fuck is going on?”

  She laughed. “Seems you’re not the only one Chloe has a soft spot for.” She winked. “She really surprised me when she told me her plan. Please don’t ask me to go into the details because I wouldn’t remember. She spoke like an investor and I pretended to understand just to be nice, but that lingo goes right in one ear and out of the other.”

  “Chloe bought your house?”

  “Technically, I think so. I signed some papers and she brought those over to the county office and filed some paperwork, paid up the back taxes and mortgage and is the owner on paper, but I still get to have my name on the title. I don’t know it all. Too confusing. I just know that I don’t have to go live with Phil and give up my independence.”

  “You could’ve lived with me.”

  “Well, I started dating Phil again once he got back from his mother’s. It was the wisest choice. The last thing you need is me clinging to your couch every night. Besides, I really did need a proper reiki room.”

  “So you were going to use Phil?”

  “It would’ve been an even exchange. I give he gives. We all win.”

  I winced. “So, what do you do with him now?”

  “He’ll probably be thrilled that he doesn’t have to rearrange his life for me and my candles and sage sticks. He’s a sweetheart, truly. He’ll remain my friend.”

  Phil would be heartbroken without the romance. “I really thought you two were adorable together.”

  “Well, it’s your fault, really. You got me all crazed up about Jacqueline and finding her again.”

  “As a bisexual, I would imagine, it must be hard for you to choose between a man and a woman.”

  She tilted her head and mocked me with a smirk. “Being bisexual has nothing to do with who you love. Love knows no sexual boundaries.”

  “I don’t buy it. You and Chloe are both wishy-washy.”

  “I can’t speak for her. For me, if I ran into Jacqueline again, I wouldn’t let go this time.”

  “Then, that’s a mighty big lid to uncover. What if she’s still married?”

  “That’s why I’m not opening it. Imagination is key. I can live in my dreams. Just as long as they’re not clouded by unnecessary baggage, like men I don’t care to live with if I don’t have to. Speaking of baggage, this means I won’t have to pack up all of my crap.”

  “So, what’s in this for Chloe?”

  “Once my credit is back up and functioning, I’ll be able to get a loan and pay her out. I’m sure she’ll get some money back on her investment of me, eventually.”

  No words managed to filter through the questions running around my brain. Was this a scam? Could someone be this generous? What did she want from me if not my love?

  When I got to my truck thirty minutes later, I texted Chloe to thank her. She replied with a smiley face and the simple message, “I know you would’ve done the same.”

  How did she go from being the selfish one to being the redeemer? Why did she bother? One minute she’s tossing flirts and the next she’s stepping back into the arms of a boyfriend.

  I wanted her to flirt with me. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted her to work by my side every day and not just on Saturdays now. I liked seeing her face during the day. I loved eating sandwiches and potato chips in my office with her.

  I feared losing her again. I couldn’t pretend I enjoyed being alone anymore. I wanted to snuggle up in bed with her and watch movies on cold, rainy nights. I wanted to go hiking with her and a couple of the dogs and picnic on a rock. I wanted her to want me again. One thing was for sure, she would be tied to me for a long time if she waited on Melanie’s credit to increase.

  A frothy mix of euphoria bubbled over in me. Get a hold of yourself, girl.

  ~ ~

  Josh visited me that night at my apartment, like he did most every Tuesday night since our parents died. He offered me a Corona from the twelve-pack that he carried in, and I took it from him much like a weary child stole back her baby doll after a punishment episode.

  “What are you so stressed out about?” he asked.

  “I shouldn’t be stressed out.” I wagged my head side-to-side. “I’m just overwhelmed by some things.”

  “Let’s hang out on your deck.” He walked straight through my living room, past the mess of clothes I’d left on my recliner that morning and right out of the sliding door onto my deck, which overlooked the quiet terrace below. Of the twelve apartments in my complex, Josh and I, on his routine visits, were the only ones who enjoyed the peace of the fake palm trees, climbing ivy and bright stars.

  Before my parents’ accident, Josh avoided me. He treated me like one of the unpopular kids in high school. On holidays, he’d arrive late just so he wouldn’t have to engage in small talk. At his wedding, his wife, Bridget, invited our cousin, Marilyn, to be a bridesmaid instead of me. When I graduated with a four-year degree, he didn’t even bother to mail the RSVP back. He just didn’t show and didn’t bother to tell anyone. He treated me no better than he would treat a bum on the street. I always assumed his coolness rose out of his jealousy over how our parents treated me like the sane one and him like the dumb fool. I was the golden child, he the reckless lunatic.

  Our father especially treated Josh like shit. The two could barely sit through a dinner together when Josh and I were in high school. My dad would take his plate into the den and eat on a tray table in front of the television set as he watched reruns of the Dick Van Dyke show.

  Josh didn’t care much for our mom, either. He once slipped to me that she annoyed him, especially the way she cackled whenever she spoke.

  I happened to love that most about her.

  Things weren’t always strained in my family. Things turned around for the better just about the time we were setting to graduate high school. Josh made All-America and colleges up and down the coast were recruiting strongly for him. I remember my dad peppering his finest advice to him throughout all of this recruiting. He wanted Josh to choose his favorite team, Notre Dame. Josh wanted Florida State because he wanted to live in a warm climate. My mom begged him to choose somewhere close by so he could still drive home for dinner on the weekends every once in a while. Josh eventually caved to our mother and chose College Park. This thrilled them because not only would he play for a great team, but they could easily get tickets and see their son in his glory.

  Then after a few wild party nights and groundings, he acted out and backed out of his decision to go to College Park, instead deciding to go to his first choice, Florida State. But he decided too
late. Florida State rescinded their offer and scholarship because they’d given the opportunity to another bright star. So, Josh, to the surprise of many, rescinded on a full ride to College Park and ventured to a third division school in south Florida.

  The next time I saw Josh was on his wedding day when my dad handed him a cigar and a brandy and begged him to do a shot with him. Josh obliged, looking very much like an older man now towering over our gray-haired dad. That was the last time I could recall seeing the two of them sharing a pleasant memory together, smiling, arm-and-arm, caring about one another once again.

  The next time I saw the two of them together, Josh knelt beside his coffin blubbering away, hugging me tight as we mourned the death of both of them.

  Since then, Josh had been the epitome of the perfect twin brother. My parents’ death jolted him back to life, to responsibility, to the great brother I remember him being as a kid. He watched over me, protected me, guided me to make the right decisions and to constantly be aware that this world was a terrifying place filled with people just vying to take over the control.

  So, as Josh sat down next to me on my deck, it surprised me when he said how blessed I should feel that Chloe showed up willing to help, and that I shouldn’t have been confused by it.

  He lit a cigarette, a habit he picked up in college and never quit. He offered me one. I reached over and stole one from his pack. He lit it for me. The good brother. We sat smoking on my deck, one cigarette leading to three, then four, then five. By cigarette number six he had me fully convinced that Chloe was a genuine friend, and I should be happy for her that she loved some guy.

  “Don’t waste your time obsessing over her. She’s involved with someone. She’s complicated. She’s moved on with her life and so should you,” he said to me, crushing out his final cigarette.

  I trusted Josh. “You don’t think it’s possible that she’s still in love with me?”

  “After thirteen years?”

  I drew on my cigarette and pondered this. “I need to get laid, don’t I?”

  He stole my cigarette from my fingers. “Now you’re speaking truths.” He inhaled the last bit of it and tossed it into the fountain below. “You need to get the control back. You’re sounding like the old, desperate Olivia. That’s painful to listen to. Get out of that mode and find some hot chick. Go have some fun.”

  Later as I retrieved the cigarette from the water, I shook my head. He hit it head on. I had zero control over my feelings for her. Chloe steered this ride, and I loved the rush of it all too much to get off. I liked sitting beside her and watching her kick it into high gear. She revved my engine. The rush powered me. Her sex appeal could drive me from point A to point B in a flash. I wanted things to go right back to how they were before, before she stomped on my heart like she was crushing out a cigarette.

  ~ ~

  To get my mind off of Chloe, I turned to Google and researched Melanie’s former lover. Scrolling before me were listings of Jacqueline LaFleur’s book in various online stores, including Amazon. I clicked onto her author page and stared at her picture. Her face was smooth and barren of makeup, her eyes happy, and her jaw strong and square. Boxy and masculine, she sported a short silver hairstyle. A gorgeous red-haired dog sat next to her, sporting a leather doggie vest, a smile planted on her face.

  I clicked on her Facebook link and landed on her fan page. Her timeline showed her in many pictures with her red-haired beauty named Penny. She was tagged. Curious ever more, I scanned Penny’s page, too. Jacqueline had written a long biography. Ah, a woman with tremendous heart.

  “My special angel, Penny, is a mixed-breed; a cocker spaniel, beagle, golden retriever mix with a cubby bear snout. I adopted her on March 6, 2010 at age two. Penny lived in a foster home with my friends. I first learned of Penny when my friends sent me a picture. I fell in love with her instantly. I drove immediately to meet her. When I arrived, Penny laid curled up on the couch next to my friend, Kyle.”

  I adored this woman.

  “Here is how Penny came into my life. Penny, docile and loving, was being fostered because a local no-kill shelter was overloaded. The shelter took in dogs from the south who were rescued and sent north for adoption. When Penny arrived, she had an ID tag on her collar with someone’s information. At home with my sweet baby girl, I stared at her tag and contemplated calling the number, hesitant of losing Penny. One night, I called anyway. What I heard, I truly didn’t expect. Sure enough, the woman on the other end of the line knew Penny. She told me that she lived in South Carolina, where “kill shelters” were a tragic reality. She decided to go into a kill shelter one day and ask which dogs faced euthanization within those twenty-four hours. Included in that group was Penny. This lady adopted all of the dogs who were scheduled to be killed, four in all. She brought them to a vet and had them all fixed and immunized. Then she brought them to a groomer and had them shampooed and primped. After that, she contacted the shelter up north and had them shipped there and put up for adoption in a safe place where their lives weren’t threatened.”

  Melanie needed to contact this lady.

  I continued reading.

  “She attached her name and address to the ID tags of the dogs, just in case they were lost in transit. The lady didn’t do this for any reason other than altruism. She saved my Penny’s life, and I will be forever grateful to this angel on earth who brought my ANGEL to me! So, PLEASE consider adopting a pet from a shelter. They are filled with angels just like Penny.”

  When I stopped crying, I clicked into Penny’s photos. Penny obviously enjoyed lounging by the pool and eating ice cream cones. I loved how Penny’s face lit up when she sat next to her mama in the sidecar of her motorcycle. Jacqueline and Penny could roll. I liked them already.

  Jacqueline looked like she’d be a blast to down a few beers with. A real and true person. I could picture Melanie and her together, walking down the street— Jacqueline the protector with her hand pressed against the small of Melanie’s back guiding her to the ice cream stand despite Melanie’s argument against such artificial treats.

  I wanted them to reunite.

  I clicked back on to her page and read over her information. Widowed, she lived in Pennsylvania and had two kids in master’s programs at Delaware State. Pennsylvania wasn’t that far. My mind raced with scenes of the two reuniting after all of these years.

  I sent her a quick message telling her who I was and that Melanie, not a technical person, asked me to touch base and see if they could chat.

  If they were meant to meet, so be it.

  Half an hour later, my cell rang. “You should come to the shelter,” Melanie said, her voice cracking.

  “Why?”

  “It’s Snowball. She’s had a relapse.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chloe

  The staff suffered from work overload and the construction of the new wing hadn’t even begun. People dropped off more animals than the shelter could handle, and Olivia refused to turn them away. She called foster parents and other no-kill shelters scrambling to find temporary housing for them. She spent fifteen hours a day working at the shelter, and that didn’t include when she educated crowds on animal rights and responsible pet ownership issues. She answered the phone more curtly, trembled, and dashed around the shelter like her feet had transformed into roller skates. She looked ready to crack under the pressure. I’d never seen someone as dedicated and strong-willed. I told her she needed to hire more people. She told me she didn’t have time.

  People scuttled in with their pets, dropping their leashes in our hands and walking out alleviated of all responsibility, like we ran a five star resort. The number of people willing to discard their family pets like they were nothing more than trash saddened me.

  On Saturday, I helped out at the front desk and handled the dogs so Natalie could train a new volunteer. Olivia ran back and forth between clinic visits, caring for a relapsed Snowball. Melanie and Phil sat vigil by her side, hoping for the best. With
an IV hooked up to her arm, the poor little girl slept most of the time. Melanie sat beside her, holding her head in her lap, petting her, feeding her energy, no doubt. She kept saying how she should’ve visited her at Phil’s and kept up with her daily treatments. “This is why she relapsed. She was too weak to be on her own. My treatments were keeping her strong.”

  Phil patted her back and twisted his face into a sad smile shushing her and telling her not to blame herself. She leaned against him, anguish spreading across her face.

  The place felt more like a morgue than a place of hope. Men and women would walk their dogs into the shelter, hand off the leash to me, Natalie, or Trevor and ask us to find their beloved pets a good home. Are you freaking kidding me? What the fuck was wrong with people? I could see the death of a master being a good excuse, possibly even financial hardship if the dog suffered malnutrition because the family couldn’t afford to feed him anymore due to a job loss. Any other excuse sucked. A family pet should rank above smoking cigarettes and eating cheese doodles.

  Yes the accommodations were pretty, comfy, and safe for these abandoned pets, but they certainly weren’t home. No one spoiled them with constant love and petting and walking. These babies craved devotion not much differently than we did. We could’ve hired triple the staff, and we’d still lack the time to devote the kind of love they all deserved.

  People browsed the kennels and cat room as if browsing furniture. Not this one, he’s too curly. Definitely not this one, she looks too sad. This one is too tall. This one is deaf. Why couldn’t they see the love like the rest of us could? Maybe the beige walls looked too institutional? Department stores understood this philosophy. Dress up a display with fun colors and designs and the people will come. Maybe this place just needed some art.

  I went up to the front desk to where Natalie prepped a family about adopting a cat, and I called a friend I had met at a benefit dinner a few months back. I asked about the artist they had hired to paint a mural at a children’s hospital. Within minutes, I called the artist. He would arrive in three hours to consult. Before hanging up, he already fed me his ideas. He envisioned painting colorful birds, hopping rabbits, happy dogs, and curled-up cats all among a lush green field of wildflowers.