Love and the Silver Lining

by Tammy L. Gray

  “Girl power, remember? Part of that is helping each other feel better. You need to stop hiding behind fraying clothes that are a decade old.” When I don’t say anything, her arms drop and her voice becomes a plea. “Just promise me you’ll try them on. I only picked ones I thought would look really good on your body type.”

  I chuckle because there’s no use arguing with her. Call Zoe what you will, but she certainly does make life a lot more interesting. “Fine. I’ll wear the new clothes . . . when practical,” I clarify. “If . . . you promise me you’ll never change who you are for a guy again. That means no weird vegetable diets because some jerk is superficial enough to worry about your dress size.” The more I think about Nate, the angrier I get. “Stay true to you. That’s my bargain.”

  Zoe swallows, and I can tell she’s fighting back tears. I expect her to argue or at a minimum defend her choices. Instead, she walks over and hugs me, tightly and with purpose.

  I’m affectionate by nature, my whole family is, but I get a sense that neither Zoe nor Bryson had that luxury while growing up. This hug feels too wrapped in need to be something commonly received.

  “It’s all going to be okay,” I say, rubbing her back the way my mom used to rub mine when I was little. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s all going to be okay.”

  They’re the same words I’ve been telling myself for weeks now. Maybe one day I’ll believe them, too.

  thirteen

  Zoe’s already gone when I wake up on Sunday morning. So are the awful vegetable drinks, which means she’s hopefully sticking to our bargain. I found a six-pack of them in the trash when I poured my second cup of coffee.

  Normally, I’d be getting ready at this time, eagerly anticipating morning worship at the church I grew up in, but something in me refuses to go today. Maybe my inner rebel is coming out after all.

  Besides, I need to get out to Charlie’s and start working with the other dogs. Sam was a win, but an easy one. The others are going to take far more time and discipline. Starting with Bentley. If I don’t get his jumping under control, there’s no way I can place him in a home with children. And this dog, more than any other, needs lots and lots of playtime.

  The drive to Charlie’s has become routine now, so much so that I no longer need Bryson’s hand-drawn directions or the barely there bar on my phone. I don’t even have to slam on my brakes anymore to make the turn into Charlie’s sharp driveway, which is a good thing since I practically fishtailed the first time I took this route without Bryson’s help.

  Louie’s barking penetrates through the windows the minute I cut the engine. The edge of fear in his bark means more to me now that I know his history. Ms. Elledge was able to find information on both Penny and Louie, but not the others. Penny’s story is one I’ve heard too many times to count. A family bought a breed of dog they didn’t do the research on and was later surprised to learn that dog behaved as nature intended. After crating and neglecting Penny for a year, they tried to surrender her to a no-kill shelter. By then, her temperament had become so fierce, the shelter declined and she ended up at the local pound. Sue Ann kept her number on file with the front desk for just such an occasion and picked Penny up the next day.

  Louie is an entirely different story and especially heartbreaking. Ms. Elledge thinks he’s two years old, but they don’t know for sure. The first family who found him said he’d been dumped in the country and showed up on their property searching for food and water. She wrote that she suspected he was repeatedly abused prior to the dump. His fur was patchy, his paws were split, and he walked with a limp. The first family was scared of him, but their neighbor knew Great Danes were gentle giants and found him a home versus calling Animal Control. Unfortunately, that home had no training for Louie’s erratic behavior. So for six months he’d been sent to one place after another, until a friend of a friend called Sue Ann for help. At that point, Louie had been in seven different homes, and despite knowing she was going into surgery, Sue Ann didn’t have the heart to refuse him a stable environment.

  It’s weird. I never knew Charlie’s wife, and yet I feel her loss every time I step foot onto this property.

  Louie’s barking is joined by Bentley’s when I emerge from around the house. Bentley seems especially agitated today, but I imagine it’s because Sam is no longer next door. “Sorry, buddy, but I promise she found a great place to live, just like you will.” I stop at his kennel and he leaps forward, his paws punishing the posts that are already bent. He waits for me to pet him, but I refuse. “Down,” I say forcefully. He doesn’t get down. Instead, he barks in my face, a way to prove he’s still the alpha.

  I leave him there and start getting the food bowls ready. I do Louie’s first, mostly because I’m one to get the hard stuff out of the way. As he has since I took over his care, Louie darts to the side of his doghouse the minute I touch the latch on his gate. The space is only a few feet wide and butts up to the back corner, but the tight fit seems to give him an extra measure of security.

  “Now, how are we going to get to know each other if you keep yelling at me?” I ask him in my most calm and tender voice. His bark gets more severe, but I expected as much.

  Like Bentley, Louie’s food and water are in gravity-controlled feeders. They should require filling at least every three days, but Louie barely eats enough to stay alive, so once again they don’t need any filling. My stomach curls at the thought of him starving himself. Abused, abandoned, passed off again and again. Of course this poor dog is traumatized. Who wouldn’t be?

  “Alright, Louie, we’re going to try something new today.” This exercise isn’t a cure, by any means, but it will show him I’m not a threat. And while I know in my heart he’s not either, I prop the gate open just in case I need a quick escape.

  Ever so slowly, I lower myself to the ground in a position my mom used to call crisscross applesauce. The barking escalates and he’s added a growl in there, as well. An extra warning for me to stay away. “It’s okay. I’m just going to sit right here. You and I have to learn to trust each other.”

  The barking continues with a quicker cadence. I can tell he’s getting tired, so I just sit there and wait, taking the opportunity to examine him fully.

  Louie’s blue markings are nearly perfect, except for a white patch at his toes. His light-gray fur is thinner than I’d like to see, and his protruding rib cage confirms his poor eating. His elbows are marred with scar tissue, which is common for Danes but excessive on him. He likely spent many months on concrete without any bed. His head is nicely shaped, square with a thick jaw. Even with the continual barking, I can tell his jowls are huge.

  “Something tells me you’re a big slobberer, huh?” We used to get a lot of Great Danes in our salon, not for a grooming but to clip their nails and clean out their ears. Louie’s head is bigger than any I’ve seen, and his size is pretty exceptional, too, especially since he won’t stop growing for another few months. “I bet you’re already thirty-four inches at the shoulder. What do you think?” I pause to see if he’ll react in any way, but he continues to yelp, his voice growing hoarser.

  “I’m not leaving until you calm down, so if I were you, I’d save all that energy for tomorrow, because we’re going to be doing this exercise until you stop barking at me.”

  This close, the noise echoes in my head like a clanging gong, but I push through, knowing this dog has suffered far worse than I am in these seven minutes.

  Louie finally drops his hindquarters in a tense seated position.

  “Now, that’s not so bad. Just stop shouting and I’ll let you be all by yourself.”

  Another excruciating five minutes pass until finally there’s a short pause between each bark. He slides his front paws forward and eventually drops to his elbows, his stomach flat on the ground. The pauses get longer and longer, and then finally Louie lays his head between his front paws and only lifts it to bark three more times before going silent. His torso is manically constricting in an
d out, so I know he’s still agitated, but at least he can sense he’s not in immediate danger.

  I continue to sit, relishing the stillness. My back aches and my tailbone has gone numb, but it’s all worth it. Louie is staring at me, examining me the same way I did him earlier. Louie’s eyes are an especially vivid blue, and his ears, though clipped, were likely not trained as long as they should have been. The tip of the right one flops over periodically, giving him a much less intimidating profile.

  “You’re quite the beauty. It probably saved your life. People tend to keep the pretty pets.”

  He sighs like he agrees with me, and I can’t help but smile. I know I can help him. I know it so clearly that it makes my stomach twist and my heart rate spike. Me and dogs; I don’t know why God gave us a bond, but He did.

  “Okay, buddy, I’m going to get up now. Nice and easy.” I move my legs first and freeze when he growls. I give him a few seconds to calm again before pushing myself to my feet along the fence. Louie stands, too, and soon the barking starts back up.

  I temper my frustration as I close his gate and force myself to focus on the small victory. He didn’t bark for two minutes with me inside his kennel. It’s minor, but it’s something.

  Bentley runs along his cage as I pass by him again, eagerly awaiting his turn. “I’ll get to you, but I need to take care of the other two first.” Plus, it’s good for him to wait. He wants to be in charge, and there’s no way I can properly direct his behavior if I let him win.

  I do my usual courtesy knock and let myself in the back door. “Charlie, I’m here to feed the dogs.”

  The routine grunt doesn’t come. Instead, a much younger, much more familiar voice answers. “Go right ahead.”

  Bryson’s here? I glance out the window looking for his truck, but there’s only a small Toyota Corolla in the driveway.

  I quickly take care of Penny, who tries to nip at my hand while I unlatch her cage. She’s unruly today as if she, too, can sense that another change has taken place. Turns out that Sam didn’t just calm my anxiety but all theirs, as well.

  After two running laps around the barn and a near catastrophe when Penny’s leash slipped out of my grip and she hightailed it for Bentley’s kennel, I get her back in her crate and vow to bring some toys with me next time. The only time Penny isn’t snapping at something is when she has some loud and squishy object in her mouth. Go figure.

  I wash my dirt-stained fingers in the kitchen sink and grab a paper towel from the holder. I dry my hands, wipe my face, and try to figure out why I suddenly feel butterflies in my stomach. Maybe it’s Bryson’s presence, or maybe it’s just the idea of seeing Charlie now that Sam is gone. Yeah. I’m going with the Charlie theory. The other is too confusing to consider.

  Both men are on the couch, hunched over and watching a small laptop. I pause when the voice I’ve listened to every Sunday for the past six years echoes from the speakers. Pastor Thomas.

  Quietly, I move around the living room until I’m standing behind them, watching the same thing they are—a livestream video of today’s worship service.

  Guilt gnaws at my chest. Unlike Charlie, who’s still in the throes of grief, I really have no excuse to skip except my own stubbornness.

  Bryson turns around and acknowledges my presence with a small lift of his chin. It brings another wave of guilt because I can see the question in his expression. Why am I here when I should be there? Even worse, he knows the answer because I practically spelled out my rebellion in the parking lot yesterday.

  I slip back around the couch and ignore how Bryson’s gaze follows me across the room.

  Macey’s tail wags when I clip a leash onto her collar. She’s peppier today, and I wonder if it’s the result of Bryson being here, or maybe it’s simply that Charlie is dressed in real clothes and not the robe and sweats he’s been wearing all week.

  I tug on her collar and guide her out of the room and into the backyard. Pastor Thomas is preaching on obedience this morning, and right now that’s the last thing I want to hear.

  fourteen

  By the time the back door screeches open and Bryson emerges from the house, I’m so frustrated with Bentley that I nearly scream.

  “How’s it going out here?”

  “Terrible.” As if he feels the need to show him what I mean, Bentley lunges toward Bryson, nearly pulling my arm out of its socket. “I can’t get him to listen to me because he’s too busy trying to go after all the things he’s not able to chase while in the kennel.” I get my footing, and now Bentley is the one who’s running and running with no forward progress. “I need a smaller yard. One without trees and squirrels running everywhere.” Bryson chuckles at my misery, and I throw him a hot glare I usually reserve for my brother. “It’s not funny.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his lips together to stop the ongoing smile. “It’s just rare to see you so frazzled. Especially with an animal in your grip.”

  “Bentley is no ordinary animal. He’s a tank. A stubborn, bullheaded, will-not-listen-to-anything tank.” I look down at my boots, which are covered with Bentley’s muddy paw prints. Failure, once again. “I don’t know, Bryson, maybe I was too confident. Maybe I can’t—”

  “There’s no second-guessing now. You made a promise. To Charlie and to these dogs.”

  I look up at him, relieved he doesn’t give me an out, but feel no less defeated. “Then what am I supposed to do? I can’t train him here.”

  “We’ll go to my place. Small backyard. No trees. And if he ruins something, it’s no big deal because half my stuff needs an upgrade anyways.”

  I consider the offer. It could work, and at this point I’m willing to try anything. “Any idea how we’re going to get this beast to stay in the back of my truck?”

  “Let me look. Sue Ann had plenty of supplies. I’m just not exactly sure where she put them.” He darts into the barn while I continue to wrestle with Bentley’s leash. Minutes later, Bryson returns carrying a large metal crate that will easily hold a massive yellow Lab.

  “And you said you never play the hero,” I tease, following him.

  “No, I said Cam never let me play the hero.” He slides the crate into the bed of my truck and opens the latch on the crate’s small door. “Two very different things.”

  I guide an eager Bentley over to the tailgate, and it takes no prodding for him to leap up into the cage. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before and enjoyed it. I give him a treat all the same when he lies down and lock the crate up so there’s no chance of his flying out the back.

  “Why did you always let him win?” I’m curious because I’ve never considered Cam to be dominant, especially with Bryson.

  “I don’t know. I guess some things are worth the fight and others aren’t.” He pauses and rests his elbow on the truck. “Back then, there was so much turmoil at home. I didn’t want any on the playground. And besides . . .” He pushes off and studies me with that superior smirk I’m starting to think is more defensive than arrogant. “Every good story needs a villain, and I’m an expert at playing one.”

  Guilt returns again but for a very different reason. I judged Zoe without truly knowing or understanding her. Every day I’m learning I’ve done the same thing with her brother . . . for years now. “If you say so.” I toss my keys to Bryson and hop into the passenger seat. Maybe it’s time to fix both of those mistakes.

  The headway Bentley makes in Bryson’s backyard is staggering. In only an hour, I managed to get him to sit, stay, and even take a pig ear without mauling me.

  Now I get to bask in the glory of my progress while Bentley gnaws vapidly at his treat in the corner of the yard.

  The screen door opens, and Bentley looks up once but then quickly returns to his mission.

  “I thought you might be thirsty.” Bryson holds two large glasses of iced tea, and I eagerly accept the gift.

  “I am. Thank you.”

  He leans lazily against one of the overhang posts and watc
hes the now-calm canine. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not moving.”

  “Food is a very good motivator.”

  “True.” He holds his sweating glass to his chest and leans his head against the post, his eyes closing. “It’s nice out here today.” It’s so rare to see Bryson still that I can’t help but watch him more than anything in the yard. The black is still there, covering his torso and legs, and today more than ever it feels like a shield instead of a part of him. Bryson’s always had a quiet strength about him, but lately it’s the hidden things I see more. The loneliness, the self-deprecation, and that same quiet need his sister has that he never expresses.

  “I heard you playing inside. Is that a new song?”

  His eyes open as if he’s forgotten I’m out here with him. “Yeah. No lyrics yet, but I can’t seem to get the melody out of my head.”

  “I liked it.” And I really did. It was soft and gentle, unlike anything I’ve heard him play before. “I think Bentley did, too. He seemed to behave a little better when the music was going.”

  “Nice to know.” Bryson shifts so his back is against the post, and his eyes are now focused on me. “It’s always a good sign when a dog doesn’t feel the need to howl in agony at one of my songs.”

  “Play him Cameron’s new one. I’m sure the reaction would be very different.” Bryson tenses the moment the last word leaves my lips, and I want to kick myself. They aren’t just Cam’s songs, they’re Black Carousel’s now, too. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

  “Yes, you did,” he says plainly. “Though I can’t understand why. I think it’s the most honest thing he’s ever written.”

  I shake my head, the lyrics coming back with horrible clarity. “Nothing in that song reminds me of Cameron.”

  “Then maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”