by Phoebe Fox
“Not at all. What he did was cowardly. Unconscionable. Cruel.” Dina’s face softened just slightly. Encouraged, I went on. “But he thought he had a reason for it—however misguided his actions might have been. Sometimes it’s more useful to examine both sides of the coin in trying to figure out what went wrong. Not to assign blame—on either party. But because, for all their painful after-effects, breakups are one of the greatest learning opportunities life offers us. They teach us what we want—and what we don’t want. And let us learn what we might do differently in our next relationship.”
“Not pick a douchebag, for starters,” Dina muttered.
“See?” I said. “Already you’ve learned one excellent strategy for next time.”
For a moment she looked at me, eyes narrowed, before she realized I’d made a joke.
“Right,” she said, her stiff posture relaxing a bit. “First check box: No douchebags.”
“But don’t feel you have to have that tattooed on to remember it,” I said dryly, tapping my own shoulder to remind them of my “No more jackasses” tattoo.
Laughter filled the room again, and the smallest of smiles graced Dina’s lips. “Yeah, okay, Brook—I think I can remember without that.”
I smiled back at her, and then addressed the group again. “Okay, who else has something to offer Dina?”
Betty raised a hand. “I know we need to be balanced and positive and constructive and all,” she began when I indicated she had the floor. “But first she can bash him a little, can’t she?”
“It can help healing to lance the poison first, sure,” I agreed. “But only if that’s helpful to the person going through it.”
Betty looked at Dina. “How ’bout it, honey?” she asked.
Dina sat forward in her chair, now fully engaged. “Oh, hell, yes, Betty. Let’s bash that bastard for a while.”
I sat back, content to watch as the group started verbally lynching a man they’d never met, and Dina’s smile grew dazzling.
My own smile stretched my face as I walked out to my car afterward, and it broadened when my phone rang and I saw that it was Ben. He’d had to stay in Cedar Key last night for an early meeting today with his client, and I was looking forward to his return for our date tonight.
“Hi!” I chirped. “Perfect timing—the session just let out, and it was so good, Ben! One of the participants had a breakthrough—well, not a breakthrough so much as sort of a melting of her polar ice caps—and the whole group kicked in to support her, and...it was just everything I hoped for when I started these. It was fantastic!”
“That’s great. Congrats, Brook. I know you must be so proud.”
“Thanks—I am. I feel awesome.” I heard traffic sounds in the background. “You’re already on the road? Your meeting must have let out early.”
“No,” he said. “I had to leave in the middle of it.”
“Uh-oh.” I laughed. “That couldn’t have made the temperamental millionaire happy.”
But Ben didn’t laugh. His tone was flat and tight when he said, “My mom’s in the hospital.”
ten
I broke land-speed records sailing up McGregor and across Gladiolus to the condominiums where Ben said his mom lived.
He hadn’t told me much—she’d fallen and hit her head on her tile floor. Jake started barking nonstop until an irate neighbor finally came over, looked through the front sidelight, and saw his mom’s legs in the hallway. He called an ambulance and the police; the latter broke into the house so the former could help her.
Now Ben was flying down I-75 and straight to the hospital as fast as he could—“Please be careful,” I’d pleaded uselessly—and I was headed to get Jake.
“I’m sorry to ask,” Ben said. “I know you have clients who—”
“Ben, please,” I’d interrupted. “Of course I’ll go get him.”
On the way I rescheduled for tomorrow the two appointments I’d had on the slate this afternoon, though I usually tried to keep at least Sundays free. I wished I could cancel them altogether—I didn’t know whether Ben might need me—but when someone was dealing with acute heartbreak, you couldn’t leave them hanging.
Ben’s mom lived in an over-fifty-five community of tile-roofed stucco town homes tucked away behind the upscale Bell Tower shopping mall. He’d started to give me intricate directions to her unit, but I knew he had other things on his mind. “Just give me the number—I’ll find it.”
I should have listened. After fifteen minutes, I understood why they called it a “complex.” Every time I thought I was headed to where the map showed me, I wound up at the community pool—each time via a different street. It occurred to me that when you’re planning a community for an aging population, it’s not a great idea to create a maze.
Finally—through sheer luck more than planning—I saw her building number, 826, on the side of a building as I cruised past, and I whipped into a visitors’ spot. Ben’s mom’s unit was around back, along a sidewalk that wound through head-high hibiscus and oleander bushes.
Ben had told me where to find the spare key—tucked under a garden gnome in a bed outside her front window—but there was no need, I saw as I rounded the corner: The police had kicked the door in, and there was a half-inch gap where it no longer latched.
It was dead silent inside, and my heart pounded—had Jake gotten loose in all the confusion?
But when I pushed the door open, there he was: sitting facing me as if he’d known I was coming—or was guarding the door, I realized uneasily, as I saw that his hackles were literally up. I slowly crouched just inside the entry. “Come here, buddy. It’s okay. It’s me. Brook,” I added inanely, as if that would help him recognize me.
Jake let out a bark so loud I swear my heart stopped beating, followed by a terrifying growl, and for a moment I was certain Ben would come hours from now to find out why I hadn’t picked up his dog, and find my gutted body on the floor. But then I heard a soft whine from his throat, and the big white dog lowered himself to the ground and laid his head between his paws, his big brown eyes looking weary and sad.
I stood up slowly, and Jake’s brushy tail began to gently wag. Either this was a clever con to get me within eating distance, or the poor dog was simply confused, scared, and perhaps grieving.
I decided to bank on the latter.
Walking to him with my hand extended, I said in a soothing voice, “Okay, Jakie. It’s okay, buddy. Remember me? Daddy’s...um, friend?” He didn’t move from his prone position, but his liquid eyes stayed glued on me, and—I made sure to notice—his tail still swayed gently.
I stopped two feet away, took a deep breath for courage, then gradually lowered myself into a crouch again, and then to a full sit on the floor. I was either laying myself out as an entrée or making myself unthreatening. I’d find out which one in about two sec—
A hundred pounds of Great Pyrenees lurched onto me with the force of a cannonball, and I went over backward, hands flying up to protect my face.
From his tongue. His really slimy tongue. Ew. “Okay, Jake,” I said, futilely pushing him away. “Okay, pal, that’s enough.”
He was straddling me on all fours, but as my hands grasped his huge head he flumped down, sprawled out on top of me with his head resting on my chest.
I was completely pinned, and frankly I felt Jake was taking liberties with my body we hadn’t really discussed yet. But as he let out an enormous sigh that spoke of nothing so much as relief from his troubles, I couldn’t help bringing my hands around his big torso and petting his soft fur. “That’s a good boy, Jakie. It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you,” I murmured softly.
After a few minutes of this sort of thing I stirred, and Jake reluctantly lifted himself off me. I stood and made a quick circuit through the house to make sure no one had taken advantage of the broken door.
Jake literally dogged my every move, staying pressed close to my side and nudging his head under my hand as we walked through the condo.
I didn’t know how Ben’s mom usually kept house, but unless she’d been broken into by a meticulous maid service, I realized no one had been inside. The only sign of what had happened was the broken lock and an overturned sofa table near where she must have collapsed. No blood, thank goodness, and I hoped that meant she hadn’t been badly injured. I righted the table, along with the lamp that had fallen with it, unbroken on the tile floor but for the shattered bulb. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Ben as I peered into closets looking for a broom.
“Hey, Brook. Did you find Jake?” he answered.
“I’ve got him—he’s fine,” I said quickly, hoping to assuage some of the tightness in his voice. “Any word on your mom?”
“I’ve been calling the hospital—they say she’s okay, but I haven’t been able to talk to her. Thanks for doing this. With all this, worrying about Jake was...” He trailed off.
“I’m glad I’m here. And I think Jake is too,” I said, twisting my fingers through the long fur on Jake’s head, pressed into my thigh.
“Do you mind taking him home with you for now? I promise I’ll come get him later—I just don’t know what time I—”
“Don’t worry about it. He can stay with me as long as you need. He’s a good dog,” I said, as Jake looked up at me as if agreeing with my assessment. “But listen, the police had to break in, and your mom’s door doesn’t lock anymore. I hate to leave the place open like this. Want me to have someone come fix it?”
“Would you?” he asked, his voice heavy with relief.
“It’s done. We’ll hang out here till we get someone out—Sasha used to date a locksmith who I’m guessing owes her a favor.” Because he nailed one of her coworkers in the bathroom on a night Sasha took him to a newspaper party, I didn’t feel the need to add.
“Thanks. Really, Brook—thanks a lot. I’ll call you later.”
After we hung up I called Sasha, who called her ex-beau and I presume guilted him into dropping everything to come fix the door, since she texted right back and said he’d be there within the hour.
While I waited I found a broom—hanging neatly on a rack just outside the door to the garage, of course—and cleaned up the glass shards, trying to keep Jake at a safe distance. He wasn’t much on personal space, though, so after I finished I sat on the floor with him, carefully running my fingers over the pads of his paws to check for glass. Jake lay on his back while I did it, his tongue lolling out as if I were giving him a foot massage, so I guessed he was uninjured.
I found his leash on a hook inside the kitchen pantry—everything had a place in Ben’s mom’s house—and put it near my purse, Jake taking that as a cue to leap around the room like a giant white bunny. Assuming that to mean, “I have to pee,” I walked him in the small yard outside the condo unit until the locksmith arrived, and while he worked I wandered with Jake through the house, looking at the pictures on every wall and flat surface: A black-and-white wedding photo of a handsome couple I assumed was Ben’s parents. He had a crew cut and a square face, with crescents for eyes when he smiled. His mom was striking: long dark hair that looked insanely thick, huge dark eyes, and full lips. I couldn’t see Ben in any one feature on either of them, although there was a clear family resemblance.
In the living room I saw the same man in a military uniform, and a police uniform, and later a suit. The two of them holding a baby that had to be Ben, chubby and smiling. Toddler Ben standing at the shore of a lake, covered in mud. Naked Ben, three or four years old, in the middle of a street in the rain, a bar of soap in his hand and a delighted grin on his face. Ben graduating elementary school; Ben graduating high school; Ben graduating college. What seemed like annual family photos lined the wall leading back to the master bedroom, and I walked along it like a time line, watching the man I was dating grow from a baby to an adolescent. His smile struck me in every picture—he seemed like such a happy, easy kid. It reminded me of Ben now: He had a way of looking at everything as if he found it delightfully interesting—including me.
The photos stopped when he looked to be in his late twenties or so, and I noticed that there weren’t many pictures of any of the family after that. His dad died, Ben had told me the first day I met him. It was as if his mom had stopped commemorating their lives after he was gone. As if there were nothing worth remembering.
The thought made me sad. Was her life empty since her husband passed away? Had she given up since then?
If something happened to her, then Ben, an only child, would be alone in the world.
I still had a knot in my stomach about that when the locksmith finished and I paid him, then leashed Jake back up. For all the vaunted empathy of dogs, Jake seemed to have no sense of my state of mind, crammed into the front seat of my Honda Accord with his head out the window and his lips flapping into a giant grin in the breeze as we drove back to my house.
Three hours later my doorbell rang, and apparently it heralded the coming apocalypse, because Jake started up a ferocious chest-deep barking that sent a tsunami of adrenaline rushing through me. A burglar would have to be really stupid to break into any house where Jake lived.
I opened the door to Ben, and Jake did the bunny-bounce thing again before flopping onto his back and wiggling like a hookworm. Crouching down, Ben scratched his belly, rubbed his ears, and finished up with a few pats to the dog’s side before standing back up to greet me.
“How is she?” I blurted. I’d spent most of the afternoon gnawing over the fears that had sprung up at his mother’s house.
“She’s got a nasty bump on her head, but she’s awake, she’s talking, she’s lucid, nothing broken.”
He looked exhausted—worn out from the emotion of it, I guessed—but I could hear the lightness in his tone, compared to earlier, and a weight lifted from my chest. I hugged him. “I’m so glad. How are you?”
“Better now. She had me worried there for a while.” Jake was still bounding between us, and Ben leaned over to stroke his head, which seemed to calm the dog down. “Sorry you got stuck with the Kraken here,” he said.
I waved a hand. “He was fine. He’s really sweet.”
“He is, but I know he’s a handful. We’re working on the crazy, but Pyrs are a little willful.”
I’d rather noticed that, as I’d spent much of the last few hours alternating petting the enormous head pressed firmly into my lap with saying, “Okay, go lie down now,” only to have the cycle repeat about twenty times. But it was hard to say no to those big brown eyes. We get enough uncertainty and inconstancy from the people in our lives. It was nice to have a creature seemingly woven up of unabashed affection and need.
“He’s really a good dog,” I said.
Ben’s expression clouded. “Well, you haven’t seen the full-on Jake, then. It’s my fault. I’m not here often enough to give him consistent training. And Mom can’t—” His voice grew rough, and he shook his head. “It’s my fault.”
I heard what I thought Ben was really saying: This wasn’t about Jake, who truly, except for a little too much enthusiasm, seemed to be a fine dog. No, I thought Ben was blaming himself for what happened to his mother, for not being here. His guilt-stricken face broke my heart. “Come on into the kitchen,” I said, putting an arm around his waist and giving a tiny squeeze. “You need a beer.”
He followed me, but protested, “I can’t—I need to go and sit with her. I just wanted to take Jake off your hands and get him fed before I go back to the hospital.”
I was already in the refrigerator and had a bottle uncapped. Setting it in front of him, I walked past him to the pantry closet and opened the door, gesturing to the floor, where three small bags of dog food resided. “We stopped at PetSmart on the way home. I didn’t know what Jak
e likes, so I let him pick. So relax and have a beer—I can keep Jake.”
Ben was looking at the food with an odd expression—like it was either a van Gogh or roadkill; I couldn’t tell which. “That’s...Brook...” He stood up and pulled me against his solid body, his tight hug telling me everything he didn’t say.
eleven
That first night was an adjustment for both of us. Jake prowled the parameters of my room as I brushed my teeth, sniffing every inch of the floor, my bed, the nightstand, and my person.
When I got in bed the entire mattress dipped as he put his front paws on it and reared over me like a ghostly white specter. “Get down, Jake,” I mumbled wearily. For about an hour after that he kept pulling me back from the brink of sleep with intermittent barks. Finally, sometime in the middle of the night, he started regular, pathetic groaning noises, as if he were having an existential crisis.
I rolled over to look down at him, and saw him flat on his side as if he’d been deflated, facing me, his eyes glinting in the spill of light from the streetlight outside seeping between my curtains. “You okay, buddy?”
Jake moaned.
Reaching an arm to the floor, I rubbed his ears, and he nuzzled his nose into my palm.
The first of my two rescheduled clients from yesterday was due to my home office in twenty minutes when Ben called to say his mom would be released around one, and he’d be over once he got her settled. He sounded worn-out.
“Everything okay?” I asked before we hung up.
“She’ll be fine. I’ll tell you the rest when I see you.”
By the time he showed up later that afternoon, I’d worked myself back into a dull knot of worry for him. He looked drawn, his face absent its usual color and the skin under his eyes dark.