by Lisa Sorbe
Asha trots along beside me, matching her gait to mine like she’s concerned I’ll tumble into another snow drift if she gets too far ahead.
“Oh, come on!” Ben calls behind me, laughter still ringing through his words. “Lenora, I’m sorry!”
I flip him off without turning around, which only makes him laugh harder.
Within seconds, he’s caught up to us. Though to be fair, I haven’t gotten very far. The scrape of his shoes on the snow is muffled against the whistle of the wind, but I feel his presence at my back, like a little shock of electricity between my shoulder blades. When he reaches out, tweaking the sleeve of my coat, I shrug him off.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, falling into step beside me. The humor in his voice has finally died out. Either that, or he’s doing an amazing job containing his amusement.
I ignore him and plow forward. His apology means nothing. Words are words are words. And the truth is, it’s not even needed. Because the person I’m really angry with is…myself.
But Ben doesn’t know that. Has no idea about the guilt I hold over Lenora’s death. In his mind, I’m some materialistic bitch from Los Angeles who didn’t care enough to visit her grandmother during her final years. In fact, I’m sure he thinks her death means nothing to me. That the only thing I care about is getting my hands on her money.
And maybe, somewhere deep down, I’m worried that he just might be right.
“Look,” Ben says, barreling on despite my silent treatment. “I wasn’t laughing at you, okay?”
I humph, opening my mouth against my better judgment. “You know, I really hate it when people say that.”
“Well it’s the truth.”
I humph again.
“It’s just that, when I turned around to check on you, all I saw were two snowshoes sticking up out of this pile of snow…” The laughter is creeping back into his voice. “And, I mean, man…you were in so deep. So deep.” He’s losing it again, and this time his laughter is contagious, like a tickle against my ribs.
I pull my scarf back up and press my lips together hard.
“And then when I pulled you out, the look on your face…” He pauses, reaching up to rub away a tear.
“So you were laughing at me.”
He groans. “Fine, whatever. If that’s your takeaway, then yes. I was laughing at you. But if the snowshoe was on the other foot…” He shrugs, letting his voice trail off, chuckling at his own joke.
“You’re hysterical.”
“Oh, come on,” he prods. “Don’t even pretend you wouldn’t love seeing me ass end up in a snowdrift.”
I pretend to think. “Hmm. Now that you mention it, that would totally make my day.”
He nudges me. “See?”
“Fine!” I give in, throwing up my hands. “And speaking of making my day, I was wondering…” I bite my lip, working up the courage to go on. Because the subject I’m about to bring up may or may not be a tender one. I’m still not sure what circumstances led to Ben living with Lenora, and if it has to do with money—or lack of it—then there’s a possibility that I could be sending Ben out in the cold with nowhere to go.
He continues on beside me, as patient as ever, waiting for me to speak.
I sigh. “I was wondering about our, um, living situation. Now that, you know, Lenora’s…not here.”
“Ah. You want me gone, but the thought of turning me out onto the street with nowhere to go is making you feel guilty.”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
To my surprise, Ben laughs. The near permanent scowl fades, softening his brow, and his flushed cheeks push up in a grin. “I figured as much. And not a problem. Believe me. I, ah, understand why you wouldn’t want some strange man that you barely know living across the hall from you.”
I don’t deny it. Although, if I’m being honest, that’s not the only reason. My feelings about this guy are all messed up. I’ve never felt such a mixture of disdain and fascination with anyone before.
He’s gorgeous but surly. His cooking is amazing and the gentle way he handles Asha makes my insides all warm and mushy. But it’s a stark contrast to the way he deals with me. He’s also brooding and intense and rough around the edges—though he did offer me his coat at Lenora’s funeral, which proves he has a soft side. And he did just pull me out of a snowdrift, the size of which I could have easily drowned in. I mean, we were lacking witnesses. Aside from Asha, that is. He could have just continued on his merry way, perhaps even piling more snow over me and leaving me to freeze to death.
Then there’s the fact that he loves animals so much he wants to build a place to keep them safe. However, on the flipside, there’s something about his mysterious bond with Lenora that I just can’t shake. Something that spells caution across my vision in flashing red letters whenever I think about it too deeply.
Of course, there’s always the possibility that I’m just jealous of Ben. Jealous of what he had with Lenora. Because his apparent closeness with her just further amplifies my distance.
Ben continues on, unaware of my contradicting thoughts. “There’s a studio apartment above the clinic that I can move into. It’s small but cozy. It’ll suit us fine for now.”
The crunch of snow beneath our feet eats up the seconds as I picture Ben and Asha—both so large—residing in such a tiny space.
When I don’t say anything, Ben nudges my arm. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Really. It’s where I stayed before. Plus, it’ll be nice to be so close to work again.”
“Your boss won’t mind?”
Ben’s laugh breaks through wind’s white noise. “Considering it’s my practice, I should think not.”
My mouth drops beneath my scarf. “Your practice? Wait.” I stop, holding out my arm and body checking him across the chest.
He pauses and looks down at me, amused.
“So, you’re not the janitor?”
He cocks his head and studies me. While the laughter may have died on his lips, it’s alive in his eyes. They crinkle at the corners, indicating the grin hidden by his own scarf. “You thought I was the kennel tech?”
“Janitor, kennel tech. Potayto, potahto.”
Ben folds his arms across his chest. “Well, I’m definitely not above cleaning a kennel or two. But no, I’m not, in your words, the janitor.”
I just stare at him for a minute, wondering how this surly man—who I’m still not sure I trust and who I also might dislike more than I’ve ever disliked anyone before—can possibly be a healer of four-legged fur balls.
But then I think of the way he is with Asha, of the silent strength he seems to possess, and how, every now and then, his eyes seem to darken with a depth of responsibility I can’t even begin to imagine.
And just like that, my understanding of Ben starts to shift.
“You’re a doctor?”
I can’t quite keep my astonishment out of my voice.
“A veterinarian.”
Ben can’t quite keep the smugness out of his.
I start walking, mulling this news over. “Welp. Color me surprised.”
“Why’s that?” Ben trudges along beside me. “And how would one actually go about coloring herself surprised?” he teases.
I ignore the latter question. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought you were maybe in some dire financial straits, and that’s why you were living at Lenora’s. But, well, if you’ve got a medical degree, surely you’re not that bad off.”
I think of my own financial situation and feel a flutter of worry at how I’m going to get by while I wait for my inheritance.
“Veterinarians in small towns in the middle of nowhere have a vastly different income ratio compared to the ones in bigger cities. Besides,” he says, “my living with Nora had nothing to do with money.”
Then what did it have to do with, Ben?
Because a man your age doesn’t just move in with a woman Lenora’s age without a reason.
“Everything has to do with money.”
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Ben’s voice is stiff. “Well, if that’s your take on life, then I feel sorry for you.”
“Well,” I shoot back, “you can’t survive on hopes and dreams, can you? Anyway,” I rush on without waiting for an answer, “why not just buy a place? Why squish you and Asha into some tiny studio apartment?”
“Because,” he says, “it’ll only be temporary. Come spring, we’ll be relocating the clinic so it’ll share space with the rescue. And I already have plans to live on site, so…”
“Wait. You’re building a whole new clinic? Holy…” I consider the scope of this. “Wow. So this is, like, a really big project, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“And here I thought it was just going to be something simple, like installing some kennels in Lenora’s old barn or something. Maybe plug in an extra space heater or two.” My laugh is so dry it could spark kindling. “Boy, was I way off.”
Ben stops and stares at me, his brows coming together, the brooding look one I recognize. Though now, I don’t see it as an angry face. Instead, I’m starting to realize it’s the expression of concern, of focus, of resilience. It’s the look of someone who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders, with no one to help ease the burden.
“My hope is for more than just a few kennels. In a barn.”
And now…I feel like an ass. But just as I start to apologize, Ben brushes it off.
“Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have snapped. But this project? It meant a lot to Nora. Means a lot to me,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “I just want to make sure I get it right. She trusted me with…” He swallows hard. “…with everything. I don’t want to screw it up. And damn if I don’t wish she was here to help see it through.”
I’m not sure if it’s all this stomping around in the snow or the vulnerability that Ben is, for the very first time, showing, but something inside of me melts—from either sympathy or exertion, I can’t tell which.
“Tell me about it,” I say. “The rescue. Your plans. Lenora’s plans.”
It’s like I can feel the energy coming off of Ben in waves, all the emotion surrounding this one thing, this one goal. I can sense the enormity of it before he says anything at all, just by the way his presence shifts beside me.
“Well, it’s not going to be just a rescue,” he says.
And just like that, my whole world expands.
Because everything tumbling from his lips triggers a meaning in my own life that I’ve always sensed was missing but never knew how to fill.
Suddenly I’m six and hugging Lenora’s golden retriever Queenie to my chest, feeling her silky muzzle pressed against my cheek.
Then I’m seven, watching as Cliff hands my dog, Daisy, over to our old neighbor, Mrs. Foster, before he moved my mother and I to Los Angeles to live with him in his big, cold house.
Fast forward to ten, when I’d help Lenora feed the feral cats in her barn, spending hours upon hours of my visit trying to earn their trust and then feeling the pure unbridled joy when I finally did.
Ben explains how the kennels won’t be actual kennels, but tiny rooms the size of closets with runs attached and raised beds with blankets and memory foam pillows atop temperature controlled floors. There will be continuing education courses for veterinarians and staff that will help pull in extra income, and onsite dog training classes as well as behavioral therapy for pets with trust issues. A portion of the property about the size of a football field will be fenced off entirely, providing space for the dogs to run free several times throughout the day.
“I don’t want them cooped up, going stir crazy,” he says. “Ideally, they’ll have just as much interaction and stimulation as they would if they were in a home with a family.”
I blow out a breath, turning everything over in my mind. “Wow,” I finally manage. “I had no idea. That sounds absolutely amazing.”
“Amazing, sure. Now if I can just pull it off.”
If there is life after death, as Lenora so strongly believed, then I hope she’s somewhere else—like maybe exploring the cosmos and digging for relics on other worlds or hanging out with my grandfather and his exquisite thighs—rather than here, held back by my petty mistrust of Ben.
Of course, he could be lying. And sure, his sincerity and passion could all be a ruse. But if there’s a chance he’s not, and if this wonderful vision he shared with Lenora really can come to pass?
Well, then. I owe it to her, if not to him, to make sure that it does.
So, with this in mind, I reach out, brush my gloved fingers over the sleeve of his coat, and do my best to push each and every doubt I have about Ben Sloane to the back of my mind. “We can pull it off.”
Ben nods and drops his scarf before he speaks. “Thanks. Lenny,” he adds, and the sweet way one corner of his mouth quirks up is so adorable I have to look away.
“Yeah, well,” I say, pretending to study something on the horizon. “This isn’t entirely a selfless act. Just, you know, doing my duty and everything.”
Ben chuckles. “Oh, I’m aware.” But his eyes are crinkled in a smile when I glance back, and there’s no venom in his words. Seemingly content, more so than I’ve ever seen him, he bends down and scoops up some snow, barely breaking his stride. Forming it into a ball, he calls out. “Asha, go long!”
The dog’s ears twitch and, after tossing a quick glance at us, she takes off at a sprint, leaving a flurry of snow in her wake. Ben waits a few seconds and then throws the snowball, arcing it just right in the air to give Asha time to turn and catch it. She gnaws at it, and it crumbles in her mouth. Then she sits, tail scraping across the snow like a broom, as she waits for another.
“Asha. You said she was a stray?”
Ben nods, bending to gather more snow. “Yep.” He throws the snowball and Asha leaps into the air. When she catches it, it explodes in her face. Landing, she shakes her head and dashes straight for us, running circles around our feet. “Nora actually found her. You know how she feeds”— he pauses, catching himself—”used to feed the feral cats that live in her barn?”
“Yeah. What did she have? Like four or five?”
“Seven.” He glances at me as we walk. “But don’t worry. The barn is on the half of the land that Nora left for the rescue, which means you won’t have to deal with them.”
Before I can respond, he rushes on.
“Anyway, about a year ago, Nora found Asha huddled in the barn. She was only about six months or so, but she’d managed to squeeze herself through that tiny cat door. When Nora came in with the food, she saw Asha lurking in the shadows and called me over right away. Of course, you can imagine what she thought.”
“Wolf.”
“Yep. But by the time I got here, Nora had Asha in the damn house, feeding her blueberries and trying to teach her to sit.”
I laugh just picturing it, because it’s her, it’s so her. And it feels good, so good, letting go, remembering without the guilt, the feeling coursing through me, fluttering through my chest, bursting forth like a caged bird breaking free.
“Lenora was great with animals.” I stop to shake some snow off the back end of my shoes, the motion making me sway. Without a word, Ben offers an arm, and I grab it, steadying myself. “She had the sweetest golden retriever—Queenie, her name was—for years. She had to put her down just before I graduated from high school. Cancer.” I wave the statement away as if it’s nothing, though my heart constricts as I remember the day Lenora phoned with the news. But she was strong, so strong, reminding me that death was simply a doorway into another realm. Nothing more, nothing less.
I sniffled into a Kleenex while I listened, wanting to believe her.
Even in the midst of devastation, Lenora always found the good.
Maybe it was because of her work, all the digging she did into the past, that gave her such a positive outlook on the future. Living outside of time, as she put it, allowed for a broader perspective, offered a cosmic glimpse into the way life cont
inues to evolve. Sometimes thriving, sometimes faltering, sure. But always moving forward, always expanding despite the odds working against it.
“Nora loved Asha,” Ben says, and though he’s speaking to me, his voice sounds distant, as if he’s talking to someone else.
I sneak a peek at him. “You said you shared custody. What does that mean?”
“Nora wouldn’t give her up. But Asha was, well…” He sighs, working his mouth a bit before continuing, like whatever he’s about to say, he wants to make sure to say it delicately. “Asha was just too much for Nora to handle. On her own, I mean.”
“Makes sense. Asha’s a big dog with a lot of energy.”
“Ninety-nine pounds of furry fun. Right, Ash?”
Asha barks.
“So I offered to help. Made sure Asha got enough exercise, brought her into the clinic with me on Nora’s bad days…”
“Bad days?”
Ben hesitates.
“Ben?”
“Nora had some issues…getting around the last year.”
I squint against another burst of wind, brushing snow out of my eyes. “Yeah, for a few years, actually. It was one of the reasons she stopped coming to California. The plane ride was too hard on her, sitting all that time. I know she had pain in her lower back, but she told me she was seeing some specialist down in Duluth who was really helping.”
She never talked much about her discomfort. Then again, did I ever really ask?
How easy it is to get caught up in our own dramas and forget those around us. Our own struggles often loom so largely, appear so insurmountable, that we don’t even think to see how those we love are faring with theirs.
I should have asked. I should have been more present.
“It did help. For a while,” Ben says. But his voice is stiff, and the joking banter we shared earlier is gone. “But that wasn’t the only issue.”