nine
After Bryson delivered the good news, he took me inside to meet the other two dogs and Charlie, who said approximately two words to me before disappearing into his bedroom.
Bryson apologized for him, but I know it’s not personal. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that I refused to open the door for my best friend or answer phone calls. There’s a bit of security in isolation, like if you can pretend the world doesn’t exist, you won’t have to face your present reality.
I scribble another note on the page in front of me, using Zoe’s coffee table as my new workspace. I have my plan all laid out for each dog. The easiest one is Sam. I spoke to Sue Ann’s contact at the rescue foundation today and got their adoption-fair schedule, which basically runs every Saturday during the summer. They primarily stay within Ellis and Tarrant Counties so none of the fairs are too far away.
Ms. Elledge put me down on their list and then went into great detail about what an amazing woman Sue Ann was and how much they miss both her and Charlie. She’s also going to see if she can find any additional history on the dogs Sue Ann adopted so I know exactly what I’m dealing with.
Done with four of the five plans, I tear a new page out of my notebook and move on to Louie. He’s the one who stumps me the most. He’s not aggressive, yet I wouldn’t put it past him to lash out in fear. He hides the minute you come too close to his cage yet barks until his throat gets too hoarse to continue. In the two hours we were there, Louie only stayed quiet for the fifteen minutes I was inside the house. Getting him to trust me enough to even begin making progress is going to be the real challenge, especially in six weeks’ time.
“Knock knock.”
“Hey!” I wave Cameron in from the couch and bite my pen. Louie will definitely have to be the last one placed. He’ll need to see me care for him safely for a while.
“No Zoe tonight?” Cameron shuts the door behind him. He brought his guitar and our ongoing list of summer movie rentals.
“Nope.” I set down my notebook and shift over to give him room.
The minute Cam sits, Piper is up in his lap giving him a slew of kisses. She adores him, even though he mostly tolerates her. “How’s life with a roommate? Things going okay between the two of you?”
“Yeah. She’s hardly ever here, so we pretty much do our own thing. It feels a lot like living alone, actually.”
“I guess that’s better than catfights and hair pulling, which was a real possibility. This is Zoe we’re talking about.”
I chuckle. “She’s not that bad. I mean, what little I’ve interacted with her doesn’t seem that bad.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he says dryly as he sets Piper on the floor. Normally, she’d hop right back up, but she seems to have gotten her fill of affection and trots back to her doggie bed in the corner. “So what’s all this?” He picks up one of my pages, studies it like it’s illegible, and sets it back on the coffee table.
“I’m finalizing my strategy for Charlie’s dogs.”
His perplexed expression tells me my answer did nothing to explain.
“Charlie’s a friend of Bryson’s, which is crazy because he’s seventy years old. Oh, your dad knows him, by the way. Bryson said he connected them after he moved in with you guys.” I shuffle my papers into a pile. “Anyway, we went out to his farm today, and Charlie has these five incredible dogs that he was going to surrender to animal control, which we all know means they’ll be euthanized. Especially these dogs. They’re all in really bad shape.” I take a breath as my story comes out more like a run-on sentence. “I don’t know what happened: I just found myself volunteering to get them adopted. Well, begging was more like it, because Charlie’s mind was made up, but somehow Bryson convinced him to let me find them homes.” I fall back on the couch. “Pretty insane, huh?”
“Very insane.” Cameron stares at me, and I can’t tell if he’s still confused or just trying to filter through all the data. “I had no idea Bryson had friends, especially ones who are senior adults.”
“I know, right! But I’m excited. This feels . . . good. And nothing else has.”
“That’s great, Darcy.” He squeezes my thigh in his usual supportive manner. “I’m glad you have something to keep you busy. Your TV and internet habits were getting a bit concerning.” He winks at me, and I push his arm away, fighting a smile. He pushes me back, and luckily we’ve grown up a little since high school so it stops there. “Exactly how did all this come about? I mean, I’ve never known you and Bryson to hang out before.”
“It’s kind of crazy, actually.” I cross my legs in a pretzel and tell him the entire story from the moment Bryson stormed into Zoe’s apartment until the last twenty minutes when he had me drive home so I could get a feel of the area. Cameron listens without a word, his fingers periodically picking at the guitar strings. Music is so ingrained in him that half the time he doesn’t even realize he’s playing.
“Now I have a month and a half to place these dogs, and from what I saw today, it’s going to take a miracle to pull it off.” I look down at my stack of notes and feel the enormity of failure. “I can’t explain it, but I can’t not do this. They need me, and after all the disappointment lately, it feels really good to be needed.”
He pauses, somehow bothered by that last comment. “Of course you’re needed. I wouldn’t have made it through this past year without you. I mean, it’s great that you have the dogs to focus on and not all the disappointment, but don’t think for a second that they’re the only ones who value you being here.” There’s too much desperation in his voice not to catch my attention, and it’s the first time I really notice the stress in his forehead and the darkness under his eyes.
“Cam, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine.” He shakes his head. “I already promised myself I wasn’t going to unload all my problems on you again.”
“You’re not unloading. We’re friends. That’s what we do. Goodness knows, you have a lot of I-owe-yous piled up from my one million phone calls during the divorce.” I squeeze his hand. “Talk to me.”
“Honestly, I don’t even know exactly what it is.” He sets down his guitar and glances around Zoe’s immaculate apartment. “I feel like I’m running on a treadmill, or worse, moving backwards.” He stands, his movements agitated. “When I left the praise band, I made myself a promise. I was going all in, no excuses, no limits. And if we didn’t get signed by my thirtieth birthday, then I would be done, with no regrets because I knew I’d laid it all on the line. Darcy, these next eight months with Black Carousel are it for me. If we’re not signed by March, I’m done. I won’t spend the rest of my life chasing a fantasy.” He blows out a shaky breath. “Before, when you were leaving, it all made perfect sense. You’d pursue your dream; I’d pursue mine. But now that you stayed, I need you to know there is an end date to my obsession. I want a family one day. I want a wife and kids. I promise you; I won’t feel this unsatisfied for the rest of my life.”
“I know you won’t.” I stand and walk to his side. His shoulders slump. Spent. Weariness all that’s left in his expression. My heart tugs in my chest. He’s sacrificed everything for this shot. To watch it slip through his fingers would be devastating. “But more importantly, I know it’s going to happen, Cam. All of your dreams. The music, the stage, the screaming fans, your name as a headliner. It’s all going to work out.”
He shakes his head as if to ward off any more unrealized promises. “I’m not so sure anymore. I feel like I’m watching my life slip through my fingers. You included. Which I know sounds ridiculous since you’re here and we’re us, but I can’t help but have this sense that I’m going to lose you.”
“That’s absurd. We’ve been best friends our entire life. Nothing is going to change that. I won’t let it.”
An anguished smile pulls at his lips. “Sorry, it’s been a tough week. Bryson won’t even discuss another tour, and rehearsals have been horribly inconsistent. Plus, we both know I’m not
at my best when things feel uncertain.”
“Hey, if you need something to take your mind off things, you could always help me with the dogs.” It’s a rhetorical offer. We both know that while Cam respects my love for furry beasts, he does not share in the joy.
“As appealing as that sounds . . . between work and rehearsal, I’m lucky to even get a night like this.” He rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to pull himself out of the mood he’s in and sits down, his guitar immediately finding its way into his lap. “At least one good thing has come from all this turmoil; I have another new song.”
I try not to cringe. “Good for you. That’s four now, huh?”
“Six, and they just keep pouring out of me. You’ll really like the one I wrote yesterday.”
That I seriously doubt. I haven’t liked any of the songs Cameron’s played for me lately.
“I’m going to go make some popcorn. Wanna pull up the next movie? They’re all in my watch list.”
“Yeah, sure.” He grabs the remote to access my online video library while I make my way to the kitchen.
I feel bad for avoiding the song conversation, especially when music is usually a great tool to pull him out of his head. Ten minutes of playing and singing, even though I’m pretty much the worst singer in the world, and we end up laughing away all our problems.
But music, like so many other things these days, no longer has its healing powers. Cameron’s songs have grown increasingly dark, and the last one was so heavy, I wanted to mourn for the innocence he used to have.
A man bleeding never stands
On his knees he begs, watching them all, knowing, waiting
Who will see, who will fight, who will break?
I shake away the words that have haunted me since hearing them and focus on the popping sound coming from the microwave. In twenty-nine years, I’ve never felt uncomfortable around my best friend. But lately, I don’t know. It’s like we’re both treading water, desperately fighting for breath, and neither of us has the strength to pull the other to shore.
The popping slows to that critical point, and I quickly open the door to avoid burning.
“Go ahead and make two,” Cam calls from the living room. “I’m starving.” He smiles at me from across the room, and it eases some of my fear that he’s right and we are slipping away from each other.
We’ve both suffered great defeats this year. And I’m living proof that, good or bad, it changes a person. We just have to find our new normal, together, now that all the dust has settled.
I dump the first batch in a large bowl and start the microwave again. “Wanna order some pizza, too?”
Cam jumps from the couch. “Darlin’, you read my mind!”
I chuckle at his impression of a Southern belle as the rest of my concern melts away. We’ll get through this. We have to.
ten
By Friday, Sam’s coat has been completely transformed. It’s taken hours of work, but I was able to salvage eighty percent of her fur. She seems to instinctively know she looks good even without the benefit of a mirror. She’s strutting around with her head held high. And it hasn’t escaped my notice that Bentley has been pacing much more often along the fence that runs parallel to hers.
I set down his food bowl. “Sorry, old boy, but she’s way out of your league.”
Bentley takes his usual running leap and tries to knock me to the ground. I grab his collar, force him down despite his hundred-pound girth.
“No,” I say forcefully, annoyed that I now have mud smeared on my shirt. “We do not jump.” This guy is going to need some serious one-on-one leash training. I’ve tried several tactics this week and none of them has been successful. “Just you wait, mister. As soon as Sam finds a home, you and I are going to start bonding. And my definition of what that looks like is very different from yours.”
His tongue hangs from his mouth, his slobber coming out in streams as he tries to lunge at my face again.
Exhausted and ready for a shower, I give up on his bad manners for today and ease out of the kennel.
It’s time to go inside, though it’s that final task I dread the most. Charlie spends most of his day in the recliner, aimlessly staring at the TV. He’s acknowledged me once, but only to tell me I need to get that blasted dog to stop barking. I told him I was working on it, though truthfully, Louie has only gotten worse. He used to stop barking when I went inside the house. Now it continues until . . . well, I don’t know when because it never stops the entire time I’m at the farm.
I knock on the back door as a warning and slowly open it. The rooms are dark as usual, and I can hear the hum of a news channel in the background. Penny and Macey are the two indoor dogs. Penny is a purebred Jack Russell terrier, while Macey is a hodgepodge with so many different markings, I’ve only been able to narrow the breeds down to Red Heeler, pit bull, and possibly some Ridgeback in there as well. Ironically, it’s Penny who’s had to be crated because she viciously attacks Macey every time she’s let out of her cage. From what I’ve been told, despite having a fifty-pound advantage, Macey simply cowers and takes the beating.
“Charlie?” I call out carefully. “It’s Darcy. I’m going to feed and exercise the dogs real quick, okay?” I hear a grunt coming from the living room, which is my signal to go ahead but also to mind my own business.
Macey’s dog bed is in the living room with Charlie, and I swear she moves as little as he does. It’s like they’re both steeped in the same depression, even though they stay on opposite ends of the room.
I follow my daily path through the kitchen first, no longer noticing its beauty like I did the first day—high ceilings, a huge wood-topped island that has to be eight feet long. The cabinets are a distressed white, while the countertops are black granite. Despite being an old farmhouse, the interior is elegant and welcoming. Or at least I see how it could have been that way at one time. The dining room is similarly special with a long, distressed farm table and buffet. At one point, I imagine there were people filling each chair. It makes me sad for Charlie all over again. Surely, he also sees the ghosts of what once was here.
Neither Macey nor Charlie acknowledges me when I step into the living room, not that I had much expectation otherwise. Macey hates it when I come because I force her to get up, walk at least two loops around the barn, and do her business. She, like Charlie, would rather sit here and waste away until they share Sue Ann’s fate.
I clip the leash to Macey’s collar and get her to reluctantly stand. “Um, Charlie, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be taking Sam to the dog fair tomorrow morning. Just in case . . .” I let my words trail off, unsure if I should finish advising him to say goodbye.
Charlie lifts his hand and rubs it over his face like he’s waking up from a long dream. His untamed white beard reaches the collar of the same red robe he wore yesterday. “I saw her last night. She looks real good.”
I wait to see if there’s more, but there isn’t. His hand falls back to his side, his head transfixed on the bright TV screen. I tug on Macey’s leash, and she slowly moves along the hardwood floor.
It wasn’t a real conversation by any means, but today definitely feels a little like progress. In my world right now, that’s a lot to celebrate.
It’s five-thirty by the time I get back to the apartment, and I’m gross enough to want to douse myself in hydrogen peroxide. My shirt is covered with hair, my boots caked with a layer of thick, black Texas mud.
The private alcove has become my transition space. I unlace my shoes, shake out my shirt, and brush as much dirt off my jeans as possible. When I feel sure I won’t trail filth inside Zoe’s apartment, I pull out my keys and opt to leave the boots until I can get back out here and clean them.
I slide in my key, surprised to find that I didn’t need it at all. Not only is the door unlocked, but Zoe is sitting on the couch, legs curled in front of her, a book in her hands. She looks cute enough to be in a TV commercial, even with her hair pulled into a messy
bun. More shocking is that Piper is snuggled next to her while Zoe mindlessly scratches her back.
I close the door, and both of them jerk up and turn to look at me.
“Oh, hey.” She sets her book in her lap and smiles. “I made dinner if you’re hungry?”
I should probably not look so surprised, but not only has Zoe been a relative phantom in this place, but I’ve seen no evidence that cooking has ever occurred here.
“Um, yeah. Famished.” It’s only then that my Benedict Arnold of a dog hops off the couch and comes to greet me, though barely long enough to count. She hasn’t been super thrilled with the smells I’ve been bringing home with me. It was the same when I worked for Pampered Pups. My dog barely spoke to me until I showered. “I just need to change real quick.” I walk carefully to the laundry room and shed the rest of my soiled clothes. I’ve learned to keep at least two spare outfits in here lately so I’m not streaking across the living room in my undergarments. I slide on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts and head back to the front room. “Sorry. I was way too disgusting to get anywhere near food.”
I continue into the kitchen to find a plate already waiting with a warming lid on top. After washing my hands, I carefully remove the plastic cover and see a visual masterpiece that could be photographed in a food magazine. On a bed of rice lie thinly cut strips of meat in a teepee formation, cooked perfectly medium, and layered on top of that are four asparagus spears. I look over the bar at Zoe. “This is really impressive. I didn’t know you cooked.”
She sets her book on the coffee table and eases off the couch. “It’s a hobby I picked up a couple years ago. I tend to do it more often when I’m alone and bored.” Her tone reveals hurt, like being alone isn’t necessarily her idea. “Nate’s doing boys’ night tonight, which basically means he’s going to show up here at two in the morning completely hammered.” She rolls her eyes, but I get the impression that despite her annoyance, she doesn’t plan to turn him away. “What do you have going on tonight?”
Love and the Silver Lining Page 8