by S. Bennett
Atticus is laying in the hallway in his froggy position with his head resting on his front paws. He watches us with interest, wondering if perhaps there’s a treat in the box I’m holding.
“You know women pay a lot of money for this look,” Charmin says as she eyeballs my reflection critically. “They call it ombre.”
I snort. “It looks ghetto.”
Charmin gives me a cocked eyebrow. “Are you doing this for Darren?”
Pivoting to face her so fast my hair swings out and slaps her in the face, I assure her, “Absolutely not.”
“That’s an awful big protest your lodging,” she teases.
I shove the box into her chest, and she grabs it while snickering at me.
I glare. “Just shut up and color my hair. And besides… Darren liked me blonde.”
Charmin takes me into the kitchen, making me sit me down at the table as the bathroom is too tight and confined. Atticus flops down over near the window air conditioner, now dubiously regarding the bottle of formula Charmin’s putting in my hair. He gave it a sniff when she opened it, sneezed six times, and then staked a position away from the nasty-smelling stuff.
“What’s going on with Darren?” Charmin asks as she works the locks of my hair, using gloved hands to protect herself and a towel around my shoulders for the same. “Are you going to go out with him?”
“I don’t know. He’s been awful persistent, that’s for sure.”
Since our meeting for coffee just two weeks ago, he’s sent me flowers four times and has texted me nonstop, always in the morning to say he hopes I have a wonderful day. The cards with the flowers have been benign and not overtly pressuring. Things like “Because you deserve these,” and “Hope these brighten your day.”
He texts me random questions, trying to learn more about the new Hazel. I want to ignore it all, but it’s hard to.
Darren is trying to court me, something he never had to do before. We fell into lust, then love, much of our early relationship fueled by booze and pot. Twice he’s asked me out for coffee, and twice I’ve declined. Politely, of course.
It’s not that I’m not interested, because there is some interest. He’s my husband, and he made a mistake. We have a history, and there was love. He’s apologized, and I think he’s truly regretful. I’ve even accepted his apology. The interest I have is in being with a life partner again. Someone to share burdens and laughter with. Someone who has my back.
It would be very, very easy to go back to that. Sure, I’d lose a little bit of self-respect, but no one ever said marriage was easy.
But then I focus on that self-respect thing, and it’s a big deal for me. I’ve only learned how to respect myself in the past several months. It’s so new I don’t want to fall back into old habits. Every day I wake up, I wonder how I can better myself and my life. I work every day to make it happen.
“What do you think I should do?” I ask.
“Honestly?”
“No,” I reply with a heavy dose of sarcasm in my tone. “I want you to lie to me.”
“Then I’d tell you to take him back.”
We both laugh for a moment, but then she adds, “I think you’re doing very well by yourself, and I get you’re a forgiving person, Hazel. But I’m sorry… he kicked you out and moved another woman in. He broke your heart, not even giving a damn whether you were surviving. I get he had some quick remorse and realized the mistake, but in my opinion, that’s not something you can ever overcome. I think your marriage will always be marred by it to such an extent that it’s going to fail at some point.”
“That’s kind of how I feel.” I’d been thinking about this a lot because Darren was doing such an impressive job of getting my attention with the flowers and texts. “But I don’t want to miss something either. That one possibility that if I’d just give it a chance, maybe something great could come of it. Like maybe we could talk about having kids or something.”
She clucks her tongue chidingly. “Zebras don’t change their stripes, Hazel.”
“I know,” I mutter.
Darren never wanted kids, and it’s something I’ve always dreamed of. I guess I assumed he’d change his mind over time, but he never did.
“What do Oley and Bernard think?” she asks.
Funny that she should bring it up. We had a huge discussion about it this past Friday over baseball and pizza. Charmin hasn’t had the privilege of joining us on Friday nights since she works, but she proclaimed that during football season, we were doing tacos and football at Oley’s house. I haven’t told him and Bernard about it, but I like the idea and I don’t want to lose what good we’ve built with Bernard. He’s actually developing a routine with friends.
“Bernard says I should cut ties and run.” While she doesn’t know him the way I do, I’ve filled her in a bit on Bernard and his background.
“I could see that.”
Yeah, it’s what I would have expected of a man who walked out on his family because life got hard for him. I know that’s a harsh view of Bernard’s situation, and I am not without sympathy, but I see how Bernard is with me, Oley, and other people he interacts with. He has so much to offer his family. I know he doesn’t think so, but he’s so very wrong about it.
“And Oley?” Charmin prods.
“He’s more traditional.” When I asked Oley his opinion, he stroked his chin a good long while contemplating his answer to me. I know the fact I asked his advice was important to him, and he wanted to make sure that what he told me wouldn’t be a bunch of hot air. “He doesn’t see the harm in giving it a shot. But he says I should ease into it slowly, and perhaps just date for a bit.”
“So you’ve been given three opinions.” I can feel her gathering my hair up, wrapping it in a wet, thick bun on top of my head. She secures it with a clip. “But what do you think you should do?”
“There’s no easy answer.”
“There is… it’s called listening to your gut,” she challenges.
“That’s not so easy to do when you doubt yourself.”
♦
Charmin did a great job. She even gave me a quick haircut. Taking a few inches off did wonders for the bounce in my hair. I have to resist looking at myself in the rearview mirror on multiple occasions, having forgotten what it was like to have nice hair. After Charmin rinsed out my hair, she insisted on drying it, cutting the dead ends off, and curling it. She then pulled out her makeup basket. I’d forgotten what makeup did for my looks, so I settled in to let her play around on me while Atticus moved to the couch for a long nap.
Sometimes that goofy dog will curl into a tight ball while he sleeps, which given his size still takes up an entire cushion, but today he went to his back, which is his preferred method. Those double-jointed hips or whatever he’s got going on that lets him do his froggy position on his stomach makes it so his back legs fall completely open. It would be lewd in a way if it wasn’t for his long fur, which covers most of his boy parts. Hilariously, the pattern of colors on his body ended up so the hair covering one of his balls is white and the other is black. I’ve taken to calling them salt-and-pepper balls.
Speaking of salt-and-pepper balls, it’s why I decided to take Atticus to PetSmart after Charmin finished my hair for a new toy and some decadent treats. Tomorrow he’s getting neutered, and I’m already feeling guilt over the pain he’s going to be in.
I’m also strangely sad he’s losing his nub-nubs. Oley explained the importance of it for health benefits, and I know I’m making the right decision.
But I love my dog the way he is. The good and the bad. The wily behavior and destructiveness. The unrepentant spirit when he’s bad, and the way he looks completely satisfied when I laugh at his antics. I don’t want anything to change his personality, but Oley told me that was not a particular worry with this procedure.
I pull the Impala through a parking spot into another, so I can go straight out rather than have to back up. Atticus has taken to wearing a chest harness, and I c
lip his lead to the ring on the front.
He’s a perfect gentleman, settling at my left leg in a nice trot, front paws raising extremely high as he prances into the sliding doors of PetSmart.
I knew Atticus was a special dog when I saw him tangled up in barbed wire and covered in mud, but it’s disconcerting to me how much attention he garners. Yes, the Bernese Mountain Dog is a beautiful breed and they’re not very common. Their striking colors and luxurious long fur causes eyes to turn.
But Atticus has something else about him that makes people stare. Maybe it is the way he holds his head high like he’s royalty, or the way he trots like a show horse with chest all puffed out and fluffy tail in a perfect arch over his back. But if people see past all the pretty and look him right in the eye, they see the mischief and unfettered joy to be alive. Maybe that’s why they gravitate to him.
The downside to his breed is that he is generally wary of strangers. It’s not as noticeable in a public place like this, but if someone he doesn’t know comes to my apartment or Oley’s house, then he’ll go completely defensive. He barks… loud booming noises that vibrate my body. If the person is invited into the house, Atti will continue to bark but will do so while backing a safe distance away.
He’ll then quiet and observe for a bit, still at a distance. We usually tell visitors to ignore him. He’s definitely all bark.
And that’s when it gets interesting. Atticus doesn’t like to be ignored by anyone, so if he determines the person is cool, he’s going to come right in and get all friendly with crotch sniffs and stuff. But if there’s something he doesn’t like—and I’m not sure if that’s by scent or perhaps doggie intuition—he goes over to his favorite spot to lay down and merely watches our guest very, very carefully.
I don’t bother with a cart once we enter the store, because we’re only going to get one toy and one bag of treats. I keep repeating that to myself over and over again. Sometimes I have a hard time limiting myself, and now that I’m working a solid forty hours a week at the clinic, I can afford this stuff for Atticus.
We head over to the toy aisles. I let Atticus stick his face into the bins on the bottom shelf and check out the ones hanging up he can reach. We walk up and down, letting him explore thoroughly. Finally, he settles on a thick braided rope with a rubber ball attached to the end. He loves to play tug-of-war and to chase things, but he’s not that great at catching. Maybe he thinks the rope end will help him out or something.
After his choice is made, we head over to the treats. I’m fairly particular about what type of food he gets, and I do my usual perusal of the ingredients and where the product is made. Atticus gets bored, flopping to the tiled floor with a doggy sigh.
“Just give me a few more minutes, little man,” I say as I read the ingredients on a bag of bison jerky. “Then we’ll head home, play a little outside, and I’ll make you a fantastic dinner.”
“You in the habit of talking to your dog?” a deep male voice says from my left.
My head snaps that way, and my face flushes when I see a tall and extremely good-looking man with a large bag of dog food propped up on one shoulder. He’s not military, and it’s his longish blond hair and goatee that give it away. He’s got on faded jeans, work boots, and a t-shirt that doesn’t fit him at all. Maybe two sizes too small, which given how well built he is, is a very, very good thing.
The responding laugh I give is nervous. “Well, he can’t back talk or disagree, so yes… I talk to him a lot.”
The man throws his head back and laughs, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. Like so nice, he could be a model for toothpaste or something.
He nods toward the general direction of where Atticus had been laying. “Your dog is gorgeous, and his owner is equally so. Could I interest you in some coffee right now?”
I stare stupidly at the man, not sure if I heard him right. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone pay me a compliment, so I almost doubt the veracity.
I’m so embarrassed over my inability to even respond that I turn to look at Atticus for help. I find he’s gotten to his feet at some point and has backed a few paces away. He doesn’t normally bark in public places, but he’s got that look on his face like he totally wants to bark at this dude. Moreover, I can read his expression.
He doesn’t like this guy at all.
I sigh inwardly, take a deep breath, and turn to face the man. He watches me expectantly, an easy smile on his face.
My smile back is genuine. “I really appreciate it, but I’m going to have to decline. Thank you, though.”
The man doesn’t look crushed, but he does seem slightly disappointed. He nods his head. “Sure thing. Have a great day.”
“You too,” I murmur as he turns and walks away.
Turning to Atticus, I bend over and scratch his head. “Okay… tell me honestly. Was he like a serial killer or something? Were you sensing some weird perversion?”
Atticus grins back at me, eyes closing halfway in pleasure from my head rubs.
“Or…” I ponder as I consider my dog and his penchant for mischief. “Or are you just threatened by someone paying attention to me, and thus taking attention from you?”
Atticus chuffs in response, and I’m not sure what that means.
If I had to take a guess, I would go with the latter. He enjoys being my sole focus of attention a little too much.
CHAPTER 29
Atticus
Sometimes I try to remember my family before Hazel. It’s getting foggier, but I remember full bellies of Mama’s milk and tussling with my brothers and sisters. I remember my owners were nice, and I know I probably caused them worry when I escaped.
But it all seems so long ago, almost as if it was a dream.
I ponder these deep thoughts while I lie beside Hazel on our couch-bed. She bought a new mattress for it since I chewed a hole right in the middle of the old one. That was one of those rare occasions when I was slightly contrite when she yelled at me. It was the earlier, puppier days where she wasn’t as forgiving of my antics, convinced she could train the ornery out of me.
She’s since been a good pupil and learned otherwise.
Hazel is propped up on some pillows, and I’m on my back in my favorite position. My neck is curved so I can lay my head on her thighs. She idly strokes the side of my face, and that feels really nice. I can feel my eyes getting heavy with sleep.
“So tomorrow’s kind of a big day,” Hazel says, and my eyes pop open.
Immediately, I roll to my stomach and turn my head so we’re staring at each other, eye to eye. Oley once told Hazel it was unnatural for a dog to stare as intently as I do. He did an experiment one day where he timed how long I’d stare at Hazel. He stopped the timer at two minutes as Hazel and I held eye contact, barely blinking. Oley just shook his head in amazement while Hazel laughed and hugged me.
I like listening to Hazel talk, and she talks to me a lot. I think I’m her secret keeper because I can always feel her emotions as she confides, and they are often deep and painful.
Because I know it makes her feel good to talk to me, I always give her my full focused attention.
I cock my head and perk my ears up extra high. Because they are large and floppy and fall forward, the difference between a “regular perk” and a “high perk” is minute, but I like to think Hazel recognizes it.
“I’ve invited my ex-husband over tomorrow night,” she goes on.
I don’t know what an ex-husband is, but I don’t like the uneasy vibes rolling of my mom. She’s worried, so that makes me worried.
“He wants to give our marriage another shot,” she says. “I feel like I need to at least introduce him to my new world… see how he fits in it. Because I’m not going back to that world I once lived in.”
Hazel’s words are fierce. If she were a dog, I imagine she’d have a deep growl ushered in behind them for emphasis.
“I wonder if you’ll like Darren,” she muses.
That still provides
no clarity on what an ex-husband-Darren is, but if he’s anything like the man at the pet store earlier this week, I will not like him.
That man had weird vibes rolling off him. And I could smell something on him that wasn’t right. It’s like he wanted all of Hazel’s attention, and that isn’t something I can be on board with.
More than that, I could tell he was interested in her because she was woman. No one in our lives has been interested in Hazel that way. Oley and Bernard love her because she’s a friend. Same with Charmin. They’re smart people, and they realize they come below me in the pecking order.
I don’t think the man at the pet store would let me take top dog spot. He’d want to be, and yeah… just not going to work for me.
So I made sure Hazel knew I didn’t like him. She’s a smart woman. She took my advice and sent him on his way.
I wonder if I’ll need to do that with this ex-husband-Darren person.
I guess it will depend on what he smells like and how he sounds. I’m prepared to chase him away if necessary.
If worst came to worst, I have no problems with biting him so he gets the message.
We will just have to see how this plays out.
CHAPTER 30
Hazel
I pace the foyer of Oley’s house with a nervousness I had not expected. This was the logical thing for me to do, I was sure of it.
Peeking into the living room, I see Bernard slipping Atticus some pepperoni off his pizza slice. “Don’t give him that,” I snap irritably. “You did that last week, and he burped and farted pepperoni smell for two days after.”
Oley laughs, and Bernard gives Atticus a speculative look, but he doesn’t offer any more of his pizza to my dog.
The knock on the door has me spinning that way. I wipe my sweaty hands on the front of my shorts.
Oley calls softly in his gentle, southern voice. “It will be fine.”
“Sure it will,” I mutter under my breath.