by S. Bennett
The door to Tipsy’s opens, and my stomach tightens when I see Chuck walk in. He sort of struts, shaking hands with people and giving back slaps. He shoots a wink at Charmin with what I bet he thinks is a roguishly charming smile, but I think he looks like an idiot. I roll my eyes when she giggles and winks back at him.
He shoots a sidelong glance my way, smirks, and then turns toward Cary sitting at his usual table and about seven beers deep into drinking tonight.
My stomach clenches painfully tight and I rub at it, watching with worry as they talk. Bile rises in my throat when Cary leans to the right to see past Chuck, straight at me.
“Shit,” I mutter, now feeling like I’m going to hurl.
Frozen, I watch as Cary gets up from his chair and strides to the swinging pass-through door at the end of the bar. A quick glance at Chuck and I find him grinning evilly at me. My eyes move to Charmin. Confusion coats her face as Cary steps behind the bar and brushes past her, moving straight for the storage door. I leap at him and yell, “Don’t,” but I know it’s futile.
I’ve been ratted out.
Cary steps inside and I follow, closing the door behind me, shutting out the noise of the bar.
“I can explain,” I say urgently when Atticus comes to greet a new friend. He jumps on Cary, putting his paws, which are getting a lot bigger each day, on his thighs.
Turning sideways, Cary dislodges Atticus and turns to glare at me. “You have to be kidding me, Hazel.”
“I’m sorry. I know—”
“Just stop,” he growls, his eyes glazed with beer and anger I’d been hiding a dog in his storeroom. “Do you know how many health violations you’ve caused?”
“You sell frozen pizza in a toaster oven,” I point out rationally. “I don’t think it’s really affected.”
“You lied to me,” he continues, rolling right over me. “Kept an animal where food products are stored. It was probably pissing and shitting on everything.”
“He didn’t do that,” I defend Atticus. “Well, a few times, but I cleaned it up really good.”
“You’re fired,” he says bluntly as he turns for the door.
“What?” I cry out as I lunge for him. I grab his arm, forcing him back to look at me. “Just like that? No warning?”
“Just like that,” he affirms with a nasty smile on his face. “Chuck’s sister is looking for a job, and she’s a lot better looking than you are. It’s better for business.”
With that, he goes back into the bar and slams the door behind him.
Mess with my dog for shitting in a shoe and I’ll go Rambo on your ass.
Call me ugly, and I have no fight in me.
My shoulders hunch, and I swallow against the tide of emotion rising within me. I’d seen Darren’s new girlfriend—she was there the day I moved out—and she’s way prettier than I am. I know what it’s like to have my looks work against me.
I push that aside, though, giving Atticus a tremulous smile. He whines in response because he knows there’s nothing genuine in it. “Stay here. Be right back.”
When I open the door and step in behind the bar, Charmin meets me there. She’s wringing her hands with worry. The sympathy in her eyes does nothing for me.
“You sure know how to pick ’em, Charmin,” I murmur softly as I push past her. I go over to the tip jar that covers my half of the bar, which is always pathetically less full than Charmin’s, and pull the cash out.
I don’t bother counting it right now, although I can guesstimate I might have close to twenty dollars in ones in there.
I grab my purse from under the register and stomp to the storeroom, my gaze fixed on the floor so I can avoid Charmin.
She steps in my path. “I’m so sorry, Hazel.”
Lifting my head, I lock my eyes on her. “Sorry enough to kick Chuck out and let me and Atticus stay rent free until I can find a job? Oh, and you’ll have to buy his food, too, since I can’t afford to now that your douche of a boyfriend got me fired.”
Tears well in her eyes. I know she feels terrible, but she can’t answer me.
But she’s not my problem. She’s one of the causes of my problems.
Pivoting, I head into the storeroom to grab my dog. I don’t say goodbye, and I don’t look back.
♦
Back at Charmin’s apartment, I find Chuck’s tennis shoe that Atticus shit in on the front stoop. It still has the offending substance in it, and I can’t help but feel satisfied it wasn’t a solid dump. He’ll never get that mess out completely.
After I unclip Atticus from his leash, I let him roam around while I get packed up. I don’t even bother keeping an eye on him, not worried he’ll have an accident. I hope he pees and poops all over the place.
My possessions are meager. When Darren had asked me to leave over four and a half months ago, I was so stricken with grief and terror that I wasn’t thinking clearly. There was also a part of me that thought he’d come to his senses and tell me it was all a joke. As such, I only packed a few pairs of jeans, several shirts and sweaters, as well as a handful of underwear and bras. I threw these items in a trash bag along with some toiletries, making sure I took my good winter coat and a pair of high-heeled shoes, although I have no idea why. I didn’t bring a single dress, and had nowhere to wear them.
Those are the same exact items I pack up tonight. The only additions are cans of Atti’s dog food, his toys, and the kibble treats. I also pull out the money I’d stashed away for rent and utilities, then add it to my tips from tonight.
Throughout it all, Atticus sits and watches me stoically. He knows our life is changing tonight.
Before we leave, I decide to help myself to some food. It’s the first time since I’ve been living here I’ve eaten any of Charmin’s stuff. I pull the pack of bologna out and fry some up, eating it on thin white bread slathered with mayo, salt and pepper. I also place a few slices of cooled bologna on the floor for Atticus, and we have ourselves a goodbye feast.
When I’m done, I take one of Chuck’s Mountain Dews out of the fridge and chug it. Atticus washes his bologna down with some water out of his bowl.
Wandering the small apartment one more time, I make sure I’m not leaving anything important behind. I even walk through Chuck and Charmin’s bedroom, even though nothing of mine would be in there. Grumpily, I wonder if I can get Atticus to crap on command because I’d like to leave a pile behind on their bed.
As I’m walking out, I spy a photograph stuck into the edge of the dresser mirror. It’s of Charmin and me. It was taken at Tipsy’s, and I don’t even remember the night. We both have beers in hand, which means it was either a Tuesday or a Sunday, and we have our arms wrapped around each other, heads tilted in and touching.
Like we’re the best of friends.
Scoffing, I snatch the picture, tear it in two, and lay it on the dresser. That’s my goodbye note.
Because the garbage bag I’d used to put all our stuff in is full, I put my winter coat on, which is fine. It’s a chilly mid-April night, and the warmth feels good.
Because I anticipate an entire night of aimless wandering, carrying a heavy-ass garbage bag over my shoulder, I know it will come off before too long.
Atticus is very well behaved on his leash as we head north on the southbound side of Highway 17. There’s a lighted intersection about five hundred yards up, and we can cross over that way.
I have no clue where to go.
I have no idea if I will be safe once I finally decide on a destination.
It’s only going to get colder tonight once I finally pick a spot for us to try to sleep, and I wonder if it’s possible to freeze to death in April.
CHAPTER 19
Hazel
The sound of a door opening vaguely penetrates my sleep. The jangling keys sound familiar, too. I’m exhausted from the worst night of sleep in my life, so I try to put it out of my mind in the hopes I’ll fall back under.
But Atticus stirs in my arms, and that causes my senses
to fire. I crack an eye open, not understanding exactly where I am for a moment.
My left hip aches mightily as I roll to my back and stare at the speckled water-stained ceiling tiles above. Atticus starts bounding across the tiled floor, and that’s when it hits me.
I’m at Dr. Peele’s clinic, and that’s him walking in the front door.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath as I scramble from the floor. My hip screams with pain, and my left leg is slightly numb from laying on that side.
I bend over, snag the pile of towels I’d used as a pillow last night, and hobble over to the big laundry bin tucked under a counter. Before I can make it, Dr. Peele is coming through the door that separates the exam room from the back supply area where I’d bedded down for the night.
Dr. Peele may be slow and hampered physically by age, but his mind is as sharp as they come. His gaze rakes over me, taking in my rumpled clothes, rat’s nest hair, and the pile of towels in my arms.
“Did you sleep here last night, Hazel?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”
It’s the first and only time I’ve ever called him “sir,” and I didn’t think twice about it. I feel like a schoolkid standing before the principal who just got busted painting graffiti on the walls.
“But why?” he merely asks, locking his arm and giving his weight to his cane.
Turning to the laundry basket, I dump the towels in there and scrub my hands over my face. I use my fingers to clean the gunk out of my eyes before folding my arms across my chest and turning to face him. “I sort of had a bad night.”
“You look it,” he says pointedly.
“I got kicked out of my apartment because Atticus pooped in my roommate’s boyfriend’s shoe, and he gave her an ultimatum. Atticus had to leave, or he was leaving. She chose to keep the boyfriend and well, I wasn’t about to get rid of Atticus, so I didn’t have anywhere to stay. Then I went to work, and that same boyfriend came into the bar. He told the owner I had Atticus in the storeroom, and I had been keeping him there during my shifts. So I got fired from my actual paying job. I didn’t know what to do last night, didn’t know your phone number, and even if I did, I have no cell phone so I couldn’t call you to ask your permission. I’m really sorry I stayed here.”
After I finish that mouthful, Dr. Peele appears thoughtful. “Atticus pooped in his shoe?”
My head jerks back in surprise that he’s focused on that. “Um… yeah.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” he says, scratching at his head. “He’s doing really well with potty training. I’ve seen how well you work with him here, and he consistently goes to the door to be let out. Were you ignoring him?”
“No,” I say quickly since I’d rather Dr. Peele focus on this rather than the fact I squatted in his office building for the night. “In fact, I think he did it because he didn’t like the guy. He sort of looked… calculating while he did it, and totally unrepentant after.”
Dr. Peele’s bushy eyebrows jack upward. “You’re kidding?”
“I’m not,” I assure him, because there’s no doubt in my mind Atticus was letting Chuck know he didn’t like him. “And Chuck went after Atticus, and I went after Chuck, and then Atticus came after Chuck. It was crazy.”
His mouth drops open, and his eyes widen in disbelief. “What happened?”
I shrug. “Nothing. My roommate, Charmin, got things calmed down before it could escalate anymore, and then well… she sided with Chuck and said Atticus had to go.”
“So you were just planning on sleeping here at night?” he asks neutrally.
“Just for last night,” I correct. “It was an emergency. It was close to midnight, and I didn’t want to waste my money on a hotel. God knows when I’ll get the money owed me for working this week at the bar. Between last night’s tips and some money I’d set aside for rent and utilities I owed to Charmin, I’ve got about sixty bucks to my name.”
“What was your plan for today?” he asks.
“Honestly?” I throw back at him.
“Always honestly, Hazel,” he chastises.
“I was probably going to go rent a storage unit. Apparently, I can get one for twenty-seven dollars a month.”
I wonder if I can be neighbors with Bernard.
Dr. Peele gasps, his head shaking in disbelief. “You were going to do what?”
“I was going to rent a storage unit off Highway 17.”
“Are you crazy?”
I defend my course of proposed action with indignation. “My friend Bernard lives there.”
Dr. Peele’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “You’re friends with a vagrant who lives in a storage shed?”
“Well, he’s not really a vagrant. He… well… panhandles and lives in the storage unit, but he’s really nice and wise. You know… he just has this insight into life that many folks don’t have, and…”
My words trail off as I realize Dr. Peele thinks I have lost my ever-loving mind.
“I’m doing the best I know how,” I say in a soft voice, my gaze going down to Atticus. The puppy just patiently sits on his haunches at our feet. Mouth open, tongue hanging out the side. It’s his dopey grin. “But I found this dog, and my life has just taken a turn I never expected. I thought my life was shitty before, you know… with my husband cheating on me and then kicking me out. But now I’m jobless and homeless. You’d think it doesn’t get any worse than that, but actually… here’s what’s weird. My options are limited, my situation perilous, and yet… I’m happy. I have my dog and my health, and for the first time in my entire life, I’m trying to handle things on my own. I’m scared shitless, and yeah… still just happy. And it’s all because of that dog.”
I slowly lift my gaze up to Dr. Peele, ready for him to mock my silly words and aimlessness. Instead, he merely asks, “What time is my first appointment?”
“Eleven,” I say cautiously. I’ve taken to scheduling his first of the day at eleven rather than right at ten when he opens, because some mornings he gets here before ten, and some mornings it’s after. I suspect he has good days and bad days when getting out of bed in the morning.
“Come with me,” he says and turns as gracefully as one can when needing a cane for balance. “And bring Atticus.”
I snatch his leash off the hook on the wall, then clip it to his collar. He’s taken to the leash, and we’ve been practicing. I know this is something I have to make sure he gets down because in another few months, I won’t be able to hold him back if he gets a wild hair up his butt.
Atticus comes to a heel at my left foot, and we start off after Dr. Peele. As if Atticus senses we’re on a grand adventure of sorts, he even puts a little prance in his step, throwing his front paws up high with his snowy-white chest puffed out.
I follow Dr. Peele out of the clinic. While he locks up, I walk Atticus to the side of the building so he can pee.
When we get in the big Impala, Atticus gets on my lap and I strap both of us in.
I don’t ask where we’re going because I’ll learn soon enough. As long as it’s not the shelter where he’s going to try to force me to surrender Atticus, it can’t be all that bad. Dr. Peele doesn’t initiate any conversation on his end. The few glances I sneak at him, he appears to be deep in thought.
We head south out of town about three miles, cut over onto Dawson Cabin Road, and then take several turns onto smaller roads leading out into the deep country of Onslow County. I’m lost as I’ve never been out this way.
Finally, Dr. Peele slows and puts on his right blinker. We pull into a gravel driveway where a huge white farmhouse sits about two hundred yards off the road. Large oak trees provide a canopy as we drive up to a house that is worn with age but still spectacular. It has a blue tin roof, a sprawling front porch, and a double-car garage. There’s a barn that sits off to the right and slightly behind the house, also with white clapboard siding and a blue tin roof. There’s even a weather vane with a patinaed rooster sitting on
top.
Dr. Peele stops his car in front of the garage, then turns it off. After we exit, I follow him around the side, taking in the lush landscape of the property. There’s a pond out back with ducks floating in it, surrounded by marshy grasses and several pine trees. Beyond that, I see cows in a pasture separated off with wired fencing.
“Is this your place?” I ask as he starts climbing—with much difficulty, I might add—up a staircase that runs along the exterior wall of the garage. There’s a door at the top, and we slowly—very slowly—ascend it. I’ve got Atticus’ leash loose in my hand as he hops up the steps beside me, but hold my hands hovering right about butt height on Dr. Peele as he precedes me up, just in case he tumbles backward.
When he reaches the top, he’s only huffing slightly, which means his endurance is pretty good, but he’s got almost all his weight on his right leg. He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and motions me inside.
I enter a dim room that’s sparsely furnished with a couch, a coffee table, and a side table with a lamp. There’s a kitchen just behind that with a very short counter separating it from the living area. The kitchen has a really old refrigerator that’s about half the height of a normal one, an older stove, and a small sink. There’s an open door just off the kitchen and I can see it’s a small bathroom with a standing shower.
Dr. Peele flips on the lights, then hobbles over to the windows overlooking the back of the property. He pulls the curtains open to let in more light. Puffs of dust waft off them, throwing hazy streaks through the air.
I close the door after Atticus trots in, but keep him on the leash. I don’t trust him enough to go exploring on his own.
“What do you think?” Dr. Peele asks.
“About what?” I’m not being dumb or stupid. I think I know why he brought me here, but I don’t want to appear assuming in case I’m wrong.
“This apartment, Hazel,” he grouses. “That couch pulls out into a bed. A lumpy bed, but it’s better than a tile floor or a storage unit.”