Читать книгу Second Chance - Elizabeth Wrenn - Страница 11

SIX

The parking lot was covered in a wet, late March snow and most of us were shivering; the temperature had begun dropping again just after noon. But the crowd was waiting patiently, as were the various dogs. Well, most of the crowd was patient. Lainey and Matt kept jumping up and down, swinging their arms, whining, ‘When is it going to get here?’ ‘We’re freeeee-zing to death!’

‘I’m sure it won’t be long now,’ I kept saying.

‘I’m going over to the 7-Eleven to get something to eat,’ said Matt, already walking away.

‘Here, Lainey,’ I said. I fished in my purse for my wallet, handed her a ten. ‘This is for both of you. But just hot chocolate and a snack, okay? Nothing else. And I’d like the—’ She snatched the ten from my hand and ran after Matt. ‘— change back.’ I smiled sheepishly at Bill.

He reached out and patted my shoulder. ‘Excited to be getting your pup?’ Once again I was surprised by his touch. Surprised, but pleased.

I nodded. ‘And nervous.’ There was an understatement. I scanned the crowd again.

Bill had explained on the drive down that there would be people here from several different puppy-raising clubs from all over the greater Denver metro area. As we stood in the three or four inches of snow, he filled me in on the who’s who of folks from the Fairview group, names that largely went in one ear and out the other. Only one or two sounded familiar from the couple of puppy meetings I’d sat in on last month.

The kids, thankfully, had been uninterested in going to the puppy meetings, or studying the manual. I was feeling like it really was my own special work. But two weeks earlier I’d received ‘the call’ from Bill, and that had piqued some interest from the kids. Bill told me the breed, the gender, and the first letter of the name of the pup – H. He explained that every pup in the litter received a name beginning with that letter, and that K-9 Eyes tells the puppy raisers only the first letter, in case something comes up requiring a last-minute sibling substitution. The kids and I thought of dozens of name possibilities for my dog, a spayed female yellow Lab, just as I’d requested. We’d put a long list of H names on the refrigerator, each circling our favorite. Lainey liked Harmony. Matt was rooting for Hooter. I had circled, in bright blue marker, my own choice on the list: Hope. Neil refused to join in, but then one day a new name was mysteriously scrawled at the bottom of the list. It was Helen, his mother’s name. In the past weeks Neil and I had fallen into a relationship not unlike graduate students sharing a house: careful, quiet, usually speaking only to discuss some household logistic. My conversation with Bill now was much easier.

‘Are all these people getting dogs today?’ I asked as Bill waved a greeting to someone across the parking lot.

‘Well, most of them,’ he said. He blew warm air into his cupped hands. ‘Lots of families here though, so of course that can be five or six people for one pup. Basically this crowd falls into one of three categories. First-timers, like you.’ He smiled. ‘Then there are some folks who are getting another puppy after a sabbatical from raising. Like Jeannie Marris, although I’m actually picking up her pup for her today. This will be her sixth or seventh dog she’s raised.’ His voice lowered just a fraction. ‘Then the last group is here to return the dog they’ve raised for the last year or so.’

They were easy to spot; they were the ones with full-grown – and remarkably well-behaved – green-jacketed dogs. These people stood on the edges of the group and in almost constant physical contact with their dogs.

‘A few of these,’ Bill said, ‘will get another puppy right away. Today, even. Most will wait a while, though. They need to grieve the loss before starting again.’ He pointed to a snow-covered picnic table under a big cottonwood. There, a boy, maybe sixteen, his face covered in acne, sat on the bench, bending over a large black Lab. His hands stroked either side of the dog’s big, square face. I could see the tears on the boy’s rough cheeks. He lowered his head, burying his face in his dog’s scruff, his arms wrapped around its rib cage. The boy’s shoulders began heaving. I had to look away.

I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or emotion making me shake. This was an uncomfortably mixed group. Half were in mourning, spending the last few precious moments with their dogs, the other half waiting expectantly, joy mixed with a bit of trepidation, as they were about to be presented with a new and darling baby. It was as if the hospital had placed the morgue in the same room as the maternity ward.

Though I was part of the latter group, I was compelled to watch the former, knowing that that would be me in a year. The teen boy was now kneeling on the ground, in the snow, his Lab eagerly licking the tears off his scarred cheeks. A smile slipped over the boy’s face, his chin up, head turning left then right, tanning evenly in the rays of canine love.

The roar of an engine gearing down suddenly turned the group’s attention, en masse, to the street. A white motor home with a green K-9 Eyes logo was rumbling toward us. I glanced at the 7-Eleven – still no sign of Lainey and Matt.

Expectant silence fell over the group as we watched the truck slow, then turn in to the lot. A little girl in the crowd began to clap her mittened hands, jumping with excitement. My stomach was doing a similar move. As the vehicle parked, I stole a glance at the boy. He had his arms possessively around the Lab’s neck, his head on the other side of the dog, shielding himself from the view of the motor home.

The door opened, a cheery woman of about sixty emerged, standing on the high step of the motor home. ‘Hey, ya’ll!’ She waved her arm over her head, her apple cheeks pushing up into her sparkling eyes. She was small, but strong and sturdy-looking, her short, curly blonde hair liberally sprinkled with gray. ‘Come on, everyone, scooch in! We’ll keep each other warm! And that way I won’t have to shout,’ she yelled in a voice that could carry halfway to Nebraska. As most of the crowd compressed toward her obediently, I got the feeling even the biggest male German shepherd wouldn’t mess with this woman. I also got the feeling that same dog would adore her.

‘I’m Josie!’ She nodded around to the group. ‘I know you folks are anxious to get going, so here’s how we’re gonna do this. We’ll start with the pups, then collect the big guys. When I call your name, step right up, take your pup and papers, then clear right out, please.’ She grinned, and disappeared into the truck.

I scanned again for Matt and Lainey. They were probably looking at magazines.

‘I think I should go get my kids,’ I said, turning.

Bill put a hand lightly on my sleeve. ‘No, you need to stay here, in case you’re called. They’re big kids. They’ll keep an eye out.’ But I doubted they would. They would expect me to let them know that the truck had arrived.

Josie emerged again, this time carrying a sleepy-looking yellow Lab puppy. My heart raced. Matt and Lainey were on their own. This might be my dog!

Bill had assured me that many people requested a specific breed or gender for all kinds of reasons. K-9 Eyes tried to meet the requests, although it was never guaranteed. I suspected he knew my request was based on housekeeping; the yellow hair wouldn’t show as much on my tan tile and oak floors. I hoped he hadn’t guessed that I’d requested a spayed female because I figured she and I would have something in common right from the start.

‘Covington!’ Josie called out. Okay. Not me. I let out a shaky breath, unaware that I’d had it trapped in my lungs. A couple about my age stepped forward, the man receiving the puppy. ‘This is Amaranth,’ said Josie. ‘Here’s your packet.’ The man and woman burst out laughing, but immediately headed back through the crowd, the woman linking arms with her husband and stroking the puppy’s head.

Amaranth? What a name for a little pup. Or even a dog. I knew the puppies arrived with names and the names must be honored, but … Amaranth?

‘Marris?’ This time she stood on the step holding a German shepherd puppy that appeared to be two-thirds ears. ‘He looks like a little donkey,’ I whispered to Bill, and we both laughed quietly. The pup gazed at the crowd, more than a little fear evident in his sweet, brown eyes. No one was stepping up to claim him, and I felt myself leaning forward, wanting to gather him up in my arms and reassure him.

‘Marris?’ Josie repeated, even louder.

‘Oh! Golly! That’s me!’ said Bill, lightly touching his forehead and striding to the front. He called to Josie, ‘I’m picking up the pup for Jeannie Marris. She’s at her niece’s wedding this weekend.’

‘Hey, Bill! How are ya?’ said Josie. ‘Say hey to Jeannie for me. This is Donald.’

I lifted my purse in front of my face and giggled into the leather wall. Donald. Donnie. It just sounded too much like donkey. But once that shepherd grew, I figured no one would laugh at his name. Or his ears.

I looked over my shoulder. Still no sign of Matt and Lainey.

‘Munger?’

My heart banged into my sternum. I spun back around. Bill was working his way through the crowd, grinning at me. Josie was standing on the step, searching the crowd. In her arms was a perfect, petite yellow Lab pup, her soft eyes barely open in the bright sun, the tip of her tiny perfect tail poking out from under Josie’s elbow.

‘Munger! Listen up, people!’

‘Me! Here!’ I called, raising my huge purse above my head. I quickly pulled it back down, feeling the red fill my face. This is not an auction, Deena! I slung my purse back over my shoulder and worked my way through the smiling, parting crowd.

I stood in front of her, my heart still pounding, but at the same time some sort of rigor mortis setting up in me. Josie slipped the warm ball into my stiff but cradling arms. ‘This is Heloise. Here’s your packet.’ She tucked it firmly under my arm, and I struggled to hold puppy, purse, and packet.

Time stopped as I gazed into the puppy’s shining brown eyes. Her tan eyebrows lifted, her small forehead wrinkling skin that was at least a size too big for her face. Her perfect triangular ears lifted too as she gazed up at me. Her eyes were rimmed in thick black – like puppy eyeliner. I put my cheek against her head, so soft and warm. She licked my chin eagerly, her sweet puppy breath filling my senses. If this were a movie, I thought, this is where everything would go into slow motion and a symphony would swell and crescendo. Then the camera would pull in tight on my face, then tight on—

Werrrrittt! The needle pulled across the record in my mind.

Did she say Heloise? I looked at the writing on the top of my packet protruding from under my arm. Munger/Heloise.

That was a name for a Holstein, not a dog. I’m goin’ out to milk Heloise, Pa!

‘Step back, please,’ said Josie firmly, but not unkindly. She smiled at what must have been a slightly stupefied expression on my face. I turned and merged back into the crowd. I searched for Bill, and found him leaning against his car. And hurrying across the street were Matt and Lainey, each with a cup of cocoa in one hand and a magazine in the other. The packet was slipping out from under my arm. Despite the temperature, sweat was running into my eyes.

I started walking across the large parking lot to meet the kids halfway, but turned, instead walking in Bill’s direction. I glanced back; the kids looked momentarily stunned, then they too veered toward Bill’s car.

He was smiling at me. I could feel an absurdly large grin on my own face. Bill was holding Donald in the crook of one arm, rubbing a knuckle behind one of his huge ears. I deeply inhaled and exhaled, again not realizing I’d been holding my breath. If I was going to succeed at this, or even survive it, I’d better learn to breathe. I looked at my furry baby, held securely in my down coat arms, lowered my face to hers, and again breathed in her sweet puppy scent. Heloise. Now that I thought about it, it was a lovely name.

‘Mom! Why didn’t you come get us?’ Lainey demanded, breaking into my puppy reverie.

I saw Bill study her, then glance at me.

‘Well, honey, they called my name. Look, this is Heloise.’ I pronounced the name carefully, Hell-oh-wheeze.

‘Heloise? That’s a weird name for a dog!’ said Lainey, sticking her comic book under her arm and scratching Heloise behind the ear. Heloise immediately mouthed her finger, and she laughed. ‘She’s cute! Can we call her Harmony?’

‘Don’t let her mouth your finger like that, okay, sweetheart?’ Bill said pleasantly.

Lainey looked taken aback but didn’t move her finger. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Bill, gently pulling her arm away from me and Heloise. ‘These pups need to learn right from the start not to be mouthy with people.’

Lainey looked sideways at Matt, but said nothing more.

Bill turned to me. ‘Do you want to head home or stay? They’ve started the recalls.’ He nodded toward the truck.

I watched, transfixed, as the acned teen again knelt by his dog, now next to the truck. Josie waited quietly nearby, no longer in a hurry, giving them time. The boy grasped his dog’s head and shoulders in a last tremulous embrace.

‘Let’s go,’ I said, the tears welling in my eyes.

We gave the puppies a chance to pee, which they both took advantage of. Bill opened the back of his ancient station wagon, revealing two small crates for the dogs. The crates were on top of a platform box, built onto the floor of the back of his wagon. He lifted a thin, hinged door and stowed the leashes and paperwork inside. Matt and Lainey climbed into the backseat and traded magazines.

Bill tucked Donald expertly into one small crate, looked at me expectantly, then to the other crate.

‘Do I have to put her in there?’ I asked, clutching her to my breast. Bill nodded. I somewhat clumsily set the squirming Heloise into the crate. Bill quickly latched it before she could get her gangly feet under her and sprint out. She immediately started whining. I looked at Bill, my lower lip out. This time Bill shook his head, smiling.

‘Nope. She’s safer back here.’ He turned both crates around, so we’d be able to see the dogs through the silver bars of their little prisons on the trip home. ‘Okey-doke, troopers,’ he said, closing the wagon door on Heloise’s whimpering.

We pulled out onto the street, and when Bill shifted into second, Heloise geared right up, too, adding sorrowful little yips to her whines. I’d read in a women’s magazine about results from a study that showed that a baby crying in a public place would raise the blood pressure of nearly all women within earshot, but if the woman was a mother, her pressure soared. Evidently my maternal instincts covered even young canines. The need to rescue surged in my bloodstream. I thought of the teen boy, wondering if he’d finished his good-bye to his dog yet. Wondering what he’d do the rest of today. Tomorrow. The next day.

My two teens in the backseat had already said goodbye, as in checked out. They both wore their headphones, the volume high enough to drown Heloise out and for me to hear the bass pulsing through on their different choices of music. I wondered if they’d have any hearing at all by the time they were my age.

I looked out my window, watching the strip malls whiz by. When we stopped at a red light, my eyes landed on a young mother walking along the sidewalk, a baby on her chest in a carrier. Then the light changed and they flew behind us, along with the donut shops and dry cleaners. I had to blink back sudden tears. Heloise switched to moaning. My eyes became unseeing, as colors, shapes, and years flew by.

The thing I remember most is clenching newborn Sam, still waxy and bloody from birth, to my chest. And I acutely remember them taking him away from me. Repeatedly. First they’d taken him from me to clean him up, weigh him, and who knows what. I felt like they’d pulled some vital body part out of me and disappeared with it. Which, of course, they had. Then they took him again ‘to let me sleep.’ But even with drugs, sleep eluded me. I pressed the buzzer and pleaded for my baby, till finally they’d wheeled him in in a Plexiglas bassinette, like my disembodied heart beating in a petri dish beside me. I longed to hold him, but I was too exhausted and in pain, and the nurse would not lift him out for me.

‘You need your sleep, doll,’ she’d said. ‘He’s fine in there.’ I was more assertive with Matt and then Lainey, often sleeping with them in my arms. I’ll never know if I would have slept if I had been able to hold Sam, but as it was, I spent all the dark hours of that newborn night with my neck bent toward him, watching him watching me. I never closed my eyes, much less slept. Nor did he. I lay in the dual company of my wakeful but quiet baby and the unshakable thought that I was doing something wrong before he was even a day old.

‘Yowww, yip, yip!’ Heloise’s mournful cries filled the car.

‘She’s a noisy girl, that one,’ said Bill, his eyebrows raised above his crinkling eyes and warm smile. But it was his hands, lightly gripping the steering wheel, where my gaze lingered. Long, rectangular backs, not too hairy; slender, strong fingers with clean square nails. I’d always been fascinated with hands. I’d fallen in love with Neil’s hands, when we’d first met. And Neil had loved my hands, too. ‘Strong but feminine,’ he’d said, on our third date, holding both of mine in both of his between two mugs of coffee at a Denny’s after a movie. ‘If I could have looked only at your hands to decide if I wanted to date you, the answer would have been yes,’ he’d said, then added softly, ‘and I would have been ecstatic when I saw all of you.’ Then he’d blushed apple red. I’d laughed, but my internal romance-o-meter just about blew off the dial.

I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed that I’d even made a mental comparison between Bill and Neil. ‘She’s scared, I bet,’ I said, quickly responding to his comment about Heloise. I looked over my shoulder at the crates, self-consciously tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ I cooed across the backseat. ‘It’s okay. There, there.’

Both Lainey and Matt pulled up one earpiece of their headphones.

‘What?’ they both asked.

‘I’m talking to Heloise.’ I pointed over their shoulders. They both slid their pulsing headphones back over their ears.

Heloise was looking right at me. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ I repeated, turning back around.

Who was I kidding? It wasn’t okay. She’d been taken from her mother and now was in my care, and surely even her young, unrefined dog sense told her of my lack of experience, that my need for escape from my own existence had landed me in this canine terra incognita.

I looked back again, careful to avoid eye contact with Matt and Lainey, and through the door of the other crate I could see little Donald, lying quietly on his side, gazing toward me, his expression for all the world looking the dog equivalent of embarrassed exasperation. He seemed to be thinking, Girls! Or maybe it was Labs!

I was starting to feel carsick from looking backward. Twisting forward once again, I told Bill, ‘Donald seems to be doing fine.’

‘You know, Deena,’ Bill said, ‘Heloise might be picking up on your anxiety. They’re like kids that way. They instinctively tune in to whatever you’re feeling.’ He shot an encouraging smile my way.

It was like he’d read my thoughts a moment ago. I’d often wondered if it was I who had kept Sam awake that night, and for many nights after, bathing him in my anxiety. It was an indisputable fact to me that I instilled fear more often than courage in my kids. They were always fine after they’d fallen if Neil was on the scene. But the moment I dashed over to their crumpled bodies on the sidewalk, the tears began. Too often, theirs and mine.

‘So what should I do?’

‘Just talk to me. Try to forget they’re back there.’

Easier said than done with Heloise playing every part of The Backseat Opera. Plus, I didn’t know how to talk to men. I didn’t even talk to my husband anymore.

‘So, too bad about the Nuggets, eh?’ Oh, that was bright, Deena! I hated sports. I had just stated my sum total knowledge about Denver’s basketball team. Last night while chopping green pepper for the salad, I had overheard the television Matt was watching in the living room. The Nuggets had lost every road game and all but one at home this season. Even I knew that was bad.

‘Uh, I don’t really follow sports too much, Deena.’

I smiled with relief. ‘Me either, actually.’ I bit my lip, thinking, as Bill merged onto the interstate. Kids! ‘Tell me about your kids, Bill.’ Parenting was a subject I could converse in. Or at least commiserate in. On the drive down, he’d obliquely mentioned having kids, so I knew we had that in common. Heloise had switched to barking now. I couldn’t help but smile, thinking that this little puppy was using ambulance logic, switching from siren wails to horn blasts to get people’s attention.

‘Oldest is twenty-eight and working for a high-tech firm in Denver.’ He spoke calmly, but just over Heloise’s volume. ‘Next is twenty-six and in grad school. Next is twenty-four and in seminary. Youngest is fourteen and getting an advanced degree in hormones.’ Bill chuckled, darting driver’s glances at me. He must have read my face, revealing active calculation occurring in my brain. Numbers are not my strong suit, so it pretty much always looks like I’m chewing on a lemon rind when I do mental math.

‘Yeah, there’s a big jump there,’ he said, nodding and smiling. ‘My wife, now ex, went through a kind of withdrawal and, to be honest, it was kind of a last-ditch attempt to save our marriage. Glad we had Macie though. She’s a pistol, but a lot of fun. She has strong opinions on everything and lets you know ’em. But she’s been the most hands-on with the pups.’

I stared at this charming, handsome man next to me. This charming, handsome divorced man. Clearly after many years of marriage. I suddenly jerked upright, realizing I was twisting my wedding ring again, a nervous habit I’d had for the over two decades I’d worn it. But now a rush of guilt made me clasp my hands tightly in my lap for the remainder of the drive home.