Читать книгу Second Chance - Elizabeth Wrenn - Страница 13

EIGHT

It was a short honeymoon. Heloise slept for about an hour, allowing me to make dinner, but then it declined from there. I’d pulled out the old baby gate, so she was confined to the kitchen, but she’d peed on the tile floor not once, not twice, but four times before bedtime. She’d also demonstrated an endless appetite for chewing: fingers, clothing, Lainey’s and my hair, shoelaces, her crate, the desk chair legs, the cat – although he was learning to stay just out of her reach. Neil and the kids had played with Heloise a bit right after dinner, but between my anxiety about how we should play with her, and her propensity to relieve herself at inopportune moments, all three decided she was too much trouble and were downstairs watching TV before her second pee. Finally, at about nine, she collapsed in fatigue, and I’d carried her up to her crate in our bedroom. Then I, too, collapsed into bed.

Now it seemed I’d slept mere moments and she was whining. Again. I hadn’t even gotten back to sleep from the last time she’d woken me. Us. I couldn’t help but wonder if the person who’d made the requirement that the puppies sleep in the bedroom of the raiser was in fact a puppy raiser himself. I fumbled for the small alarm clock by my bed: 1:49. A.M. She hadn’t even made it an hour. She’d woken twice already, once around eleven thirty, and again shortly after one a.m. I’d taken her out to the front lawn, into the cold night, both times. The first time she’d peed; the second she’d just chewed on a stick.

Neil groaned angrily, wrapped the pillow over his head and rolled over. Heloise started barking. I stumbled out of bed, felt my way across our dark bedroom to her crate, making shushing noises. Before I could open the door, Neil sat up in bed. ‘Deena! Shut the damn dog up! I’ve got patients in the morning!’

All I could think was, You sure don’t have patience at night. But I said nothing.

‘Put it in the basement.’

‘I can’t. She’s supposed to be with me.’

‘Then put it in Sam’s room and sleep in there.’

‘Fine,’ I said, kneeling by the crate.

‘Fine,’ he said, then grunted, pulling the covers over his head.

When I opened the door to her crate, Heloise was in my arms in a single leap, all wags and licks, delighted at my touch. But I was aching with fatigue, and her charming ways were losing their appeal as the night wore on.

‘It’s okay, girl,’ I whispered. After my interview, Bill had brought over an extra crate for Heloise to sleep in so I wouldn’t have to carry one up and down my stairs each night and morning. He’d also told me that the puppies could usually make it through the night by the time they were twelve weeks old or so. I had a minimum of two more weeks of this. I wearily rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. But, weary or not, I had to take her out again, just in case. As I rose, Heloise in my arms, my knee banged into the corner of the metal door, slamming it with a clang. Still gripping Heloise in one arm, I grabbed my knee with my other hand, holding my breath in a silent scream of pain, trying to balance on one foot with a puppy in my arms. My balance wasn’t up to the task, and I took several hopping steps, banging my shoulder into the wall. ‘Shit!’ I whispered loudly. Neil groaned again under the covers.

With Heloise chewing on the sleeve of my pajamas, I leaned against the wall till I could breathe. I looked at Neil in our bed, in a cocoon of covers, already using the whole bed, his legs forming a long L across my side. I tucked Heloise back into the crate, closing the door. I quickly lifted it by its carrying handle and walked out of the bedroom.

I paused in the hall at Lainey’s room, her door open to let Hairy come and go. Her old fairy nightlight that she still loved, but hid when she had a friend over, cast just enough glow to see that she was on her side, face resting peacefully on just the lower corner of her pillow. Hairy was contentedly sprawled across the rest of it. I tiptoed on. Matt’s door was shut.

At the end of the hall, I stopped at Sam’s door. I’d kept it pretty much closed since he’d left, entering only to dust and sigh. I held Heloise tight with my arm and turned the knob with my free hand. The door opened with a small creak. The single wedge of light from the hall made the trophies, team pictures, and memorabilia on the shelves look somehow historic.

Heloise started squirming, so I stepped in and set her crate under Sam’s desk, next to the twin bed. Before she could start up again, I grabbed her leash and we headed downstairs, and out into the night. Again.

It was colder than even an hour ago, but this sky seemed to be yielding up a second layer of stars. I snapped on her leash, set her on the lawn, shivering in just my flannel pj’s and Matt’s boots, praying for her to quickly do her business. I’d only read chapter one in the manual, overwhelmed by the many rules, not the least of which was that the puppies were always supposed to be on their leash when eliminating. Heloise looked up at me, wagged her tail, and began sniffing the grass. Good girl. But she soon found a small stick and plopped down with it, the ends protruding from either side of her mouth. It pushed her lips up in the back, giving her a toothy grin. I sighed. She didn’t have to pee. She needed a puppy cigarette break. I was in no mood to enable her habit. I pulled the stick from her mouth and carried her back upstairs. At the top, I started to turn right, to the master bedroom, remembered, turned again, and carried her into Sam’s room. I tucked her into her crate and closed the door. Immediately she began to whine.

‘Shhh, Heloise!’ I whispered. I stuck my finger through the silver squares and she mouthed it. I withdrew. Sitting, she pointed her little snout up toward the ceiling of her crate, barked twice, then twice more.

‘Shh!’ I whispered with more urgency. Heloise stood, wagged her tail and barked again.

‘Mah-amm! Shut the dang dog up!’ Lainey yelled from her bedroom, her voice cracking with sleep and anger. I opened the crate again and took Heloise out, just as the door to Sam’s room opened. I turned, startled. Matt stood in the doorway, wearing only his pajama bottoms, his broadening chest incongruous with the little-boy knuckle rub he was giving his eyes.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘I don’t know, honey. I guess she misses her mom.’

He nodded sleepily.

‘Everything’s okay, honey. Go back to bed.’ Matt shuffled back into his room. I waited, breathing only when I heard his bed creak.

‘Are you too young to have left your mother?’ I whispered, kissing Heloise’s soft ear. I left her on the floor and moved to Sam’s desk, did a little figuring with a pencil, but couldn’t get the seven-years-to-one ratio to work out in weeks. But it seemed like she was comparable, developmentally, to a human one-year-old, mobile, exploring the world with her mouth.

A one-year-old taken from her mother?

That didn’t seem right! I turned in my chair and reached for her. There was no Heloise. Panicked, I peered under the desk, in her crate, calling her name in an urgent whisper, ‘Heloise! Hell-oh-wheeze!’ I scanned the room and realized Matt had left the door open. The stairs! I stepped into the hall, terrified I’d see her crumpled little body at the bottom. But there she was, safe and sound, not at the bottom, but at the top, just finishing up a nice little pee.

Heloise woke me again at six forty. I’d finally drifted off in Sam’s bed sometime around three, after locating the carpet foam and working on her pee spot. Still, I managed to spring out of bed when she started whining, not wanting her to wake the household again. Holding her in my arms, I stepped around the spot, which I’d marked with three of Sam’s old summer league swimming trophies as stanchions, positioned equidistantly around the circle. The gold figurines, each bent at the waist, hands behind them, looked ready to dive into the pee spot.

Downstairs, I clicked on Heloise’s leash, quickly slipping my feet into Matt’s boots again. We stepped outside. It was no warmer out, despite the rosy eastern horizon. Finally she lowered her haunches, and I sleepily told her to do her business, praising her as she did. When she finished, I lifted her under her front armpits, her little body hanging below so any little drips could air-dry as I carried her into the house.

In the kitchen, I scooped two cups of puppy chow into her stainless steel bowl on the counter, as she manically jumped at my legs and against the cabinets. ‘No, Heloise. Down.’ Damn. Chapter one said not to say ‘No’ or ‘Down.’ Down was solely for lying down. I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to say instead of ‘No,’ and frankly, ‘No!’ pretty much covered my feelings on the matter.

I’d gotten her too soon. I hadn’t studied enough. I was in over my head. There was a puppy meeting that night, but the day stretched out miserably between then and now. Already my body ached with lack of sleep.

I grabbed Heloise under one arm and put her bowl on the floor. She was flailing wildly, so I positioned her about two feet away. ‘Easy now, girl. Wait. Wait.’ I slowly let go and she shot toward her food, her mouth gulping before it even touched the mound of nuggets.

I stepped to the refrigerator, grabbed the egg carton, thinking my family deserved pancakes this morning, given all of Heloise’s noise last night. But by the time I put the eggs on the counter, Heloise had already finished her breakfast. I looked at the microwave clock. Almost seven. I was behind schedule. The kids would be down for their breakfast any minute.

Think and they shall yell. Right at that moment, Lainey hollered from upstairs, ‘Mom! Why are Sam’s swim trophies on— Ewww! Never mind! I think I know. The dog wee-weed here, didn’t she?!’

‘Just step around it, honey,’ I yelled. It was then I heard the preliminary retching. I spun around. Heloise looked like she was studying one particular square of tile intently, her little rib cage squeezing in and out. Then, in one enormous spasm, up came her breakfast, just as Lainey was walking into the kitchen.

‘Oh, God! Oh, how gross! Oh –my–God!’ She pivoted, her pink puffy slippers scuffing back up the stairs, her complaints continuing to drift down. ‘Oh, gag me, why don’t you! First this, then that. Why did we get a stupid—’ Her bedroom door slammed.

I looked down at Heloise again; she was enthusiastically reconsuming her breakfast. I turned away. I figured she couldn’t be too sick if she was so eagerly eating it again, but I thought I might be sick. I stood at the sink, my hands gripping the counter. I looked out the window at the new day starting as I listened to the happy smacks behind me.

I couldn’t face food. I pulled out several boxes of cereal from the pantry and left them on the counter. The kids would have to fend for themselves this morning. I took Heloise upstairs with me.

Neil was in our bathroom, shower on, door closed. I pulled our bedroom door shut and let Heloise roam. I’d put safety plugs in all the empty sockets and otherwise baby-proofed the bedroom, so I knew she was safe. Plus, she’d peed less than twenty minutes ago. I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt. I found my sneakers and was sitting on the edge of the bed tying the second one when Neil emerged from the bathroom in his robe, a towel around his neck.

‘Hey. Where’d you sleep?’

I stared at him, then said, ‘I took Heloise into Sam’s room so she wouldn’t bother you all night. Remember?’

He ran the towel over his ear and wet hair. ‘Not really. Where’s the dog now?’ He said ‘the dog’ like the words were large cotton balls rolling out of his mouth. But he was smiling.

I pointed. ‘She’s right there.’ Heloise was emerging from our small walk-in closet where she’d been exploring. She looked up, saw Neil, and I swear to God she smiled as she ran to him, her wagging rump making her course across the bedroom floor zigzag slightly. She jumped at his ankles, begging for his touch.

‘Hello,’ he said, tentatively reaching down to her. She happily wrapped her teeth around his finger in greeting.

‘Ow!’ He jerked his finger back, straightening.

I dashed over and picked her up. ‘Sorry. She must be teething. I’ll take her into the bathroom with me so you can dress.’

Neil glared, massaging his finger.

Safely in the bathroom, I closed the door. I set her on the damp bath rug, which I immediately had to pull from her mouth. I put it in the tub, and she turned her attention to sniffing the floor. I had just started brushing my teeth when Neil yelled.

‘Jesus H. Christ!’

I opened the door, toothbrush still in my mouth, and saw Neil, white-faced in the closet. His right hand gripped the hanger bar. His robe had come undone; his temper was not far behind. His right ankle was propped against his opposite knee in a kind of sideways flamingo pose. A small, smashed brown pile was on the floor under him. The rest was between his toes. A foul odor filled the room.

‘Oh, Neil! I’m so sorry. I took her out just a few minutes ago. She— I—’

‘Could you get me something to wipe this mess on, please?’ he said evenly, his face now filling with color.

‘Oh! Yes! Sorry.’ Careful to keep Heloise confined, I darted back into the bathroom and emerged with a roll of toilet paper. I unwound a wad and began to pull the mess off his foot. He grabbed it from me, doing the job himself. He dropped the tissue onto the pile and hopped, an angry pogo stick, into the bathroom. I followed him, grabbed Heloise, and retreated. The door slammed behind us and I listened as the tub faucets came on.

I looked at the poop and sighed. This was not turning out to be what I had pictured. I was beginning to wonder what I had pictured. Me and puppy rolling around in a flower-filled meadow. Me and puppy out in the world. Me and puppy creating a whole new life for me. Basically, a TV commercial.

It occurred to me, as I stood holding the contented Heloise in my arms, that any commercial that uses an adorable little puppy to sell their product should be required to also show dog poop oozing through the toes of an angry spouse. And if we’re going for truth in advertising, then ads with cute little babies should also show complicated, remote teenagers. Or the empty bed of a son who left for college and has barely been heard from since.

Everyone should have to tell the ending, if they’re going to lure you with a beginning.