Reign of Terrier

by Lori R. Taylor

  It was a short ride before they pulled into a lot that Princess immediately recognized.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  No, no, no, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t!

  The other woman stopped the car, and then they all three sat there, silent but for the renewed cries clawing out of Princess’ mouth. Finally, slowly, the driver turned. Her concerned frown had never quite cleared from her face. “You sure?”

  Tessa nodded. “I never … she doesn’t…”

  “Do you want me to come in?”

  “No. But if you could wait?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Take your time. I’ll grab us some coffee or something.”

  Both driver and passenger doors opened at the same time. Tessa got out and moved as if to put Princess down, but she clung to her neck and wouldn’t let her.

  She couldn’t possibly be thinking of doing this.

  Princess wished she could talk in a language Tessa understood. She wished she could explain to her that the incident in the park — that was a one-time thing. The mess of the house when she was gone? She’d never do it again.

  She could be good. The best dog anyone had ever known. She wouldn’t spook at loud noises. She wouldn’t try to dig her way free of walls. She wouldn’t look sideways at another dog ever again. She’d cuddle with her on the bed when she wanted her and stay out of her way when she didn’t. She’d learn to tell the difference between those two desires.

  She’d do anything Tessa wanted, anything at all. Become entirely different, or stay exactly the same. Anything she needed, if only she’d let her stay.

  She was home. She had to know that!

  But after a few half-hearted tries to pry Princess’ paws loose from her shoulders, Tessa gave up on the effort and instead carried her back into Pretty Paws.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tessa cried all the way home.

  Maggie met her on the bench between Pretty Paws and Staples, where she’d had the second half of her breakdown the other day. She took one look at her and silently handed her a cup of coffee, strong and black the way Tessa liked it.

  Neither of them moved for a long, long moment. Finally, quietly, she asked, “Ready to go home?”

  Tessa nodded.

  They’d made it halfway to the car before she lost control of her tears.

  Mercifully, Maggie didn’t say anything, didn’t ask if she was okay, didn’t mention the fact that the dog she’d had in her arms on the way here was no longer in her arms. She drove in the same kind of worried silence she’d maintained during the drive up and didn’t press.

  If there was anything left in her to feel anything but tear-soaked misery, Tessa would’ve been grateful for her discretion.

  Everyone had been kind at the shelter, accepting her “I’m not in the right head space to have a dog” without further questions, despite the stupidity of her reasoning. Eliza had been sympathetic, nearly tearing up herself at one point as Tessa hugged Princess goodbye, and Leslie had been calm and utterly professional.

  She told Leslie what she could about Princess’ bout of separation anxiety and aggression at the dog park, and she’d made some adjustments on the computer — presumably some kind of notes about what to tell the next person interested in her so that there’d be no surprises.

  Then she gently pried Princess away from Tessa, ignoring the way Princess growled and snapped, and disappeared into the kennels.

  And now … now Tessa was home, in the silent, empty house, an insincere promise that she’d call Maggie if she needed her still warm on her tongue, finding that the tears she’d already cried were not all that her body could make.

  Princess curled up on the blanket Leslie had given her in lieu of her usual bed and didn’t bother to hold in her cries anymore.

  The kennel next to hers, the one that had belonged to Labby during her previous stay here, was empty now, and the neighbor on the other side, a dark-haired pit bull, had never noticed Princess one way or the other, so she didn’t even have a neighbor to whine back at her.

  Princess never liked Labby — he was dumb as a rock and far too excitable, jumping and barking and slopping his tongue along things for every tiny thing that happened in the kennels — but he was also willing to listen to his fellows, to jump around when another dog was happy and whimper when someone was sad. And while she’d never liked his noises, there was probably something to be said about having another echo back your feelings, to sense that you were being understood when you needed it.

  She needed it now, and Labby was gone.

  He’d found his home, and now Princess had none.

  For a while, she was sure this wasn’t what it appeared, that it couldn’t be true. Tessa was dropping her off here while she went to do other human things — there were human things that couldn’t allow dogs — and she just didn’t want to risk her cushions and windowsills again. Of course, Princess couldn’t explain to her that she wouldn’t do that again, that no matter how anxious and afraid she was being left alone in the house, she could control herself, and she would, for her. She didn’t even scratch at the kennel door, as if she could prove to herself, even without wood and plaster and stuffing, to show her restraint.

  For a while, she sat as proper and quiet as she could, right at the place where the kennel door would swing open, waiting. She’d wait forever, she decided. Because Tessa promised her that she would always come back.

  But as time passed and still Tessa didn’t come, her resolve wavered. Not her loyalty, never, but the belief that this was just something to do with her to protect her cushions while she was away became increasingly difficult to hold onto. The dinner cart rattled, and though Princess couldn’t help but wince, she was still determined to prove herself, and she refused to let herself panic. She didn’t snap at Eliza when she set a dish into the kennel’s holder — she didn’t even look at her.

  Because Tessa would come back, and Princess would be able to prove to her that she could be trusted alone in the house.

  Sometime later, long after night had settled into the sky beyond the windows, Leslie came for her final rounds, taking out in a group those dogs who could comfortably be in a group and making sure the outdoor runs for those who couldn’t were used and cleaned for the night.

  She paused at Princess’ door before leaving, crouching down to be eye level with her but not opening the door. Her voice was quiet, sympathetic. “Sorry it didn’t work out, pup.”

  Princess looked at her. She hadn’t moved from her resolute position at the door, and her muscles were cramping from the strain of staying so still for so long.

  And, for the first time since Leslie put her down in this familiar old kennel, she understood.

  Tessa was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

  Princess threw her head back and howled her grief up at the concrete-gray ceiling.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tessa slept through most of the next day and woke too early on Monday morning to rumpled sheets and an empty bed.

  The hole gouged out of her chest hadn’t closed — she doubted it ever would, not when it was so distinctly Livy-shaped and there was no chance of it ever being filled properly again — but the sharpness of the edges had dulled a little with the long, if fitful, sleep. She’d heard of people sleeping off their feelings and wondered now why she’d never actually tried it, because even with the promised gloom of the clouds outside the window, she felt better.

  Marginally was, after all, still better.

  She got out of bed, the first time she’d done so except to pee since crawling into it on Saturday afternoon. She looked a mess: hair knotted with sleep and stringy with more than twenty-four hours between washes, eyes puffy and red, pajamas gritty with dried sweat and clinging in her armpits where the sweat hadn’t finished drying.

  Today was the day of her interview with Dr. Dale.

  She should’ve canceled on Saturday. The thought of going into Pretty Paws ever again, let alone as a candida
te for some kind of hire, was mortifying beyond the telling of it. She’d screwed up so colossally in front of everyone, so many times, and her face, ears, and even her neck, flooded with heat at the idea of walking in there once more.

  Yes, she should’ve canceled the interview. She should pick up her phone right now and cancel it this instant.

  But she couldn’t. Even looking at herself in the mirror, forced to stare down the physical evidence of how much a mess she really was, she couldn’t make herself reach for her phone.

  If she canceled now, she would be not only showing her true boneless colors to Pretty Paws, but she would be letting down everyone who had ever cared about this path she was on. Irene, her mentor who was waiting to hear about a successful interview (Tessa had made a point to let her know about it last week). Livy, who had pushed so hard and wanted this so much for her. And now, even Princess, who had believed in her without even knowing why. Who had looked at her like she could do no wrong, and who she had just a few dozen hours ago proved wrong in the most horrible way she could imagine.

  She couldn’t even pretend to not realize that Princess hadn’t wanted to go back to the shelter. The way she’d clung and begged to not let her go when Tessa tried to set her down on Saturday was unmistakable.

  She thought Tessa was being selfish, and she had no way to explain to Princess that it wasn’t selfishness making her give her up, but love.

  Tessa loved her, but that meant only that she couldn’t, couldn’t keep her.

  She went to her office, figuring that she might as well get her work done, and found an email from her boss waiting in her inbox from Saturday.

  Tessa,

  You need to redo the Roanoke Business and Loan sheets. How did you miss that the numbers you were using weren’t Roanoke, but Boscow & Taylor? I’ve been lenient with you the last few months because I know you’ve been dealing with a death, but I can’t tolerate this kind of sloppiness from you anymore.

  Beginning now, you are under strict probation. If I see another instance of such carelessness, I will be forced to terminate your employment with us.

  Dan

  She stared for a long, long time at the email, feeling all sort of things that she couldn’t quite parse. Guilt. Shame. Confusion.

  And then, anger.

  The mistake hadn’t been Tessa’s on the Roanoke project — she’d used the numbers given to her for them. She double-checked the folders then to confirm, and yes, the data she’d used was absolutely the one labeled “Roanoke Business and Loan,” just as it had been when she first received it.

  Tessa was many things, and a lot of them weren’t things she was proud of, but she wasn’t sloppy. Even six months ago, just days after Livy’s funeral when she’d gone back to work because there was nothing else for her to do, she’d been meticulous. She’d used the excessive care needed for the job to distract herself from her grief and loneliness, and she had the pleased emails from her boss to prove that.

  She was never sloppy, never careless, and to be accused of it now, for a mistake that wasn’t hers, and that he was implying that he’d been letting her poor work slide — it was infuriating.

  She answered in a blaze of heat and frustration.

  Dan,

  Find someone else to do the Roanoke numbers. I quit.

  Tessa

  Then she hit “send” and sat back in her chair, staring just as long and hard at her words as she had his.

  She’d done it. She’d finally done it.

  There was no way forward now but to get Dr. Dale’s externship, receive her certification, and strike off into the career she’d always wanted, rather than the one that was safe and comfortable.

  Her hands shook. Her stomach trembled. Her smile hadn’t been so big and bright since before Livy’s death.

  Crying and sleeping helped to clear Princess’ head, and after refusing three meals, breakfast on Monday was welcomed.

  The sadness had receded somewhat over the last two lonely nights. It wasn’t gone — she doubted it would ever be, not anymore, not now that she knew what it was to feel at home, to be loved and trusted and cherished by her perfect human — but it had cooled enough to allow her to think again.

  No one would ever replace Tessa. It wasn’t possible. No one would ever be her perfect match, her true kindred spirit, ever again. She’d never be able to look another in the eye and in an instant know them better, deeper, than she knew herself. Those moments never came more than once in a dog’s life, and hers had already come and gone.

  But as her grief cooled and her hunger dimmed over Monday’s breakfast, she wondered if losing her one true human meant she had to be alone and miserable for the rest of her life.

  She didn’t think so.

  No one would ever be Tessa, but that didn’t mean no one could ever make her happy again. Princess liked Leslie, and if she were to take her home, she could definitely be happy with that. She liked Dr. Dale — not as much, since he was the man to jab her with needles and force foul-tasting things down her throat, but she wouldn’t be unhappy with him either. Eliza, the main volunteer at the shelter, often drove that terrible metal cart, but she had a kind voice and warm eyes. And while very few visitors to the kennels had anything pleasant to say about her in the past, Princess had never really presented her best self to them. Not all of them could be bad.

  If she were nicer to those looking for a dog, she was sure they would be nicer to her in return. And maybe one of them would be fine. Understanding as Leslie, gentle as Dr. Dale, warm as Eliza.

  They couldn’t ever be Tessa, no. No one would. But they could still be home. And Princess could still be happy.

  If Tessa didn’t want her, she had to love her enough to let her go. If her presence made Tessa unhappy, then Princess didn’t want to be around her. More than anything, she only wanted her to be happy.

  She could find her own happiness some other way, with someone who wanted her back.

  It meant that she had to give other humans a chance. She had to remember the taste of joy and home Tessa had given her and let it guide her toward being a more open, trusting dog who looked at others and saw their potential for compassion and warmth and love, not just their fears and flaws and cruelties.

  Not everyone was bad. She’d seen enough good in her life now to know that. And even those who weren’t her one true match could still possibly give her love and kindness.

  So, when the shelter opened for visitors on Monday morning, and when Leslie brought a woman and child down the double line of kennels, Princess didn’t snap and growl at them when they paused to glance at her. Instead, remembering how it felt to be rubbed on the itchy spot behind her ears, to be curled up in warm arms under soft blankets, to have a wandering foot bump fondly against her side while lying safe beneath a desk, she sat at the front of the kennel, looked up at the child, and wagged her tail.

  Both the woman and her child smiled. Their smiles were kind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It only took Tessa’s boss — her former boss — a couple of minutes to respond to her quitting; the email thread lit up with an unread message even as she stared at her inbox, trying to let it sink in that she’d actually done it, she’d actually quit. By what was visible of it on the preview line, she could tell that it was him trying to take back his previous message (can’t we talk about this?).

  Tessa deleted it without reading it. Because she was done with his crap. She’d quit, and she didn’t have to talk to him ever again, unless and until she decided she wanted to.

  Which wasn’t going to happen for a long, long time, if ever at all.

  He must’ve sensed Tessa would be doing something like that because a few minutes later, there was another message from him. This one she did open but didn’t bother to read, only replied immediately.

  One line, just as firm and terse as the previous one had been: I have another job starting. Please don’t contact me anymore.

  Then she got up from her desk and left t
he office, closing the door firmly behind her like she’d just stormed out of a real office and not just the third bedroom on her upstairs.

  She showered and dressed. It was still far too early to be getting ready for her interview with Dr. Dale, so she bundled up in her softest hoodie and jeans, made herself a cup of hot chocolate, and grabbed a book, something light and fluffy to take her mind off things. Livy loved trashy romance novels, the sort you could find for twenty-five cents at every garage sale and used bookstore on the planet, so Tessa had accumulated a few of those from her collection over the years. That seemed like the perfect nonsense to lose herself in for a bit. She was too lesbian to get the appeal of throbbing manhoods and engorged love-spears, but there was plenty of delight to be had in the particular shade of purple coloring the prose.

  The morning passed easily enough — the hot chocolate was spicy Aztec, the fancy stuff she insisted on if she ever had hot chocolate, and the book was entertaining and did the job she set before it, to take her mind off everything else. She felt every inch of alone, especially while reading about a heroine who had every man in town coming around, but for the first time, that aloneness wasn’t a part of that searing, sucking black hole at the center of her.

  It hurt. It stung all the way to the tips of her fingers, the bottoms of her feet, but it wasn’t the all-consuming sort of pain she’d started to grow used to. It just settled there around her, tingly but not unbearable, not the start of some terrible spiral into nothing like her loneliness usually was.

  It was true: you could be alone without being terribly lonely.

  It had been a long time since she’d realized that, and the realization felt good.

  At one o’clock, she put down the book, made herself a sandwich, and went back upstairs to clean up and get ready for her interview. She’d left her phone on the charger by the bed and found a text waiting for her.