My parents got Duke before I was born. They adopted him from the local animal shelter because Amma was too lonely when Appa traveled for work and was gone for so many days every month. “Duke is silly and does funny things that make you smile when you are sad. When you talk to him, he will listen,” she said to me once. “He’ll say stuff back to you in the gentlest ways. There’s no such thing as too much love when it comes to a dog.”
I hug Duke tight. “When will the yelling stop?” I ask him.
He tilts his head and turns a full circle.
“Duke, when will he stop?” I ask him again.
Duke licks my feet and puts his chin on my lap. He understands me better than Appa does.
I don’t sleep at night. I haven’t slept for many nights. Appa lost his job last week, and he has been angry since then.
Suddenly I hear footsteps.
“Sangeethaaaaaaaa!”
Appa’s screechy loud voice makes me tremble. If only I could stuff my ears with giant balls of cotton. I jump out of the bed and crawl under it before the door swings open.
Appa barges into the room, shouting, “Sangeetha, come out!”
My heart thumps and I see Amma’s feet behind him.
“Come out!” Appa yells. “I know you’re hiding.”
“Stay there, kanna!” Amma cries.
Appa drags me out and raises his hand. His whiskey breath makes me want to throw up.
Amma tugs at his arm. “Don’t do that. She’s just a child!”
He lifts his hand to strike my face. I shut my eyes. I can’t scream even if it is going to hurt. But Amma stops him.
Duke jumps off the bed and starts barking. His tail winds down toward the floor.
Appa yells over Duke’s barks, “You should’ve come out when I asked you to. Be respectful, Sangeetha.”
“But, Appa, you’re the one who…”
I know he wants me to be quiet, but I can’t anymore.
He glares at me. He raises his hand again, but this time, Amma slaps him. “I’m calling the police if you try to touch her again.”
Appa shoves her against the wall. “You do that, and they’ll take her away. I know what Sangeetha needs better than you do. You don’t know how these things work.” He turns around and points at me. “You better behave.” He slams the door as he leaves the room.
I am shaking, but I don’t cry. I don’t want Amma to be sadder than she already is. I get on the bed again with Duke. Amma slides her arm, warm, around me. I hold her embrace. I want us to be happy like we are when she reads me a story. I flop on the bed the way Duke does when he’s exhausted after a long run.
But Amma doesn’t laugh. She keeps a serious face. She adjusts her salwar kameez. “We can’t take this anymore. He cannot lash out at you. Wait here, Sangeetha.”
I pull at Amma’s dupatta. It slides from her shoulder and falls on the bed. “Don’t leave me by myself. I’m scared, Amma.”
Amma wraps the dupatta across her chest. “I’m going to check on your father and then call your aunt. I’ll be back soon.”
She locks the door on her way out of the room.
* * *
—
The next morning, I hear a mild creak and the door swings open again. Amma slips into my room before the sun is up.
“We must leave home right now,” she whispers in my ear. “Just you and me, Sangeetha. Quick. Let’s go.”
I rub my eyes and yawn. “What about Duke?”
Duke wakes up, too, and looks at me with his brown eyes, his tongue sticking out.
Amma stares at him with her hand on her chin. “Kadavuley!” Did she forget the dog? “I hate to leave him with your father,” she says. “But I don’t have a plan now. We can’t take Duke with us.”
I try to imagine Duke searching for me around the house. It’s a depressing image.
Dressed in pajamas, I carry my sneakers and step out. The dog follows me as I tiptoe past my parents’ bedroom. I peep through the open door. The room smells of alcohol, like it always does. Appa is sleeping and snoring. He doesn’t notice us.
I go to the kitchen. We don’t turn on the light. Amma starts packing in the dark and whispers under her breath, “Get as many things as you can before your father hears anything. We must rush. We don’t have time.”
We fill a backpack with clothes and snacks. I put bananas into my pockets. I pick up my favorite book, Charlotte’s Web, which lies on the coffee table. Like Wilbur, I want to fling myself in the mud and weep. But I have to toughen up for Amma. My eyes get watery. I wipe them fast. I slide the book into the backpack. There’s no space for anything else.
Duke follows me everywhere. He doesn’t leave my side. He was a true friend last night through Appa’s screams. He’s been there every time Amma locked me in the room. He knows how to keep me warm and safe.
“What will happen to Duke?” I ask Amma again. “If we’re not around, who will feed him, walk him, and let him out?”
“No more questions, Sangeetha,” says Amma. “Don’t cause any more problems than we already have.”
“But we can’t leave him here. Not with Appa.”
“I said no.”
“Please, Amma. What if he hurts him, too?”
Amma ignores my words.
I grip her hands. “I can ask Joe. He might say yes.” Joe is our neighbor. He is an old man who lives alone. My parents have known him since I was born.
She looks down at her watch and shakes her head. “All right, kanna…seekrama pannu. We need to hurry. You must be quick.”
I put Duke on the leash. We step out of the house. Amma closes the door quietly. Outside it’s still dark and raining.
I’m worried—we don’t know where we’re going or what we’ll do, but Duke doesn’t know that. He pees in the yard, smiles at me, and wags his tail. He thinks we stepped out for a walk. I pet and kiss him, taking in his wet dog smell.
Amma checks on the car. “Take him over to Joe while I load our things, will you?”
Duke and I run over to our neighbor’s house. I knock on the door. I’ve been taking chess lessons from Joe for a year, and in return, Amma makes masala dosas for him. Her rice crepes with coconut chutney and potatoes are his favorite, but I’m not bringing him masala dosas this morning.
Joe agrees to keep Duke for us. “I knew this day would come, Sangeetha. I told your mom I’d help you,” he says. “I won’t let your dad see Duke. I can hold on to him for a few days. But if I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to call the animal shelter. I don’t have the money to take care of him for too long. I’m sorry.”
This is what I know: I trust Joe.
“Will you be okay without Duke?” he asks.
I hand over the leash to Joe. “I’ll miss him. And you. Thank you for your help.”
“Take care of your mom, sweetie.”
I shake Joe’s hand. “I’ll remember the chess analysis tips you taught me.”
He gives me a firm handshake with his warm hands. “Good, kiddo! Remember—take notes of your moves. Recognize your patterns.”
“Sure!” My eyes turn to Duke. “He likes peanut cookies. If you give him one every day, he’d be so grateful.”
Joe smiles. “I know Duke’s favorites. You find a place to settle down. We’ll be seeing you then.”
Duke pulls on his leash and whines. I swallow my tears and leave without looking back. I go to our driveway, where Amma’s car is parked. Drizzle falls on my face. The raindrops mist my cheeks like the dew that pearls over Amma’s rosebushes.
Amma races over to me and tugs my arm. “Hurry up, Sangeetha! We have to leave before your dad wakes up.”
I get into the car. Amma pulls out of the driveway. We pass Joe’s house. The door is closed. At the corner of the street, I roll down the window and glance ba
ck at our house one last time. I don’t see Appa. What will he do if he finds out that Duke is with Joe?
I sit with my arms crossed over my chest. It’s warm in the car. I already miss Duke. My world is so gloomy. All I want is a happy family. I don’t want to feel scared and anxious about my parents all the time. I wish things were different. But what am I to do?
Amma doesn’t talk. On any other day, she’d launch into a fun conversation, but today, it’s deadly silence. We drive away from our neighborhood, and then we’re out on a back road. After a while, I notice that Amma is driving in circles.
“Where are we going?” I ask her many times.
She puts her hand to her face. She’s on the verge of crying. “Don’t ask me anything, Sangeetha.”
“Amma,” I whisper, and lean toward her seat.
She tightens her grip on the steering wheel and stares at the road. She wipes the tears that roll down her face and continues driving.
“Please, Amma. Don’t cry.”
She doesn’t speak. I have to do something. So I start to sing. I sing to her all the songs I know so she feels better. I’m not sure it’s helping, but I sing anyway.
Somehow time flies by quickly. Amma pulls the car over in a park. She turns off the ignition.
“Where are we going?” I ask her again.
“I talked to Mina chithi last night. She has invited us to stay with her.”
“Mina chithi?”
She nods. “Just until we figure out something for ourselves.”
I’ve never met Mina chithi. All I know is that Aunt Mina is my mother’s distant cousin. But I’ve heard Amma talk to her on the phone.
Amma turns to me. “We’re going south,” she says. “Houston, Texas. Our new home. Where Mina lives.”
I try to imagine Houston. I know that the weather is warmer there, and it’s home to the NASA Space Center. I try to imagine Mina chithi’s house. But all I see is Duke and the street outside my home in Seattle. I put my hand to my forehead and try to stay calm.
Amma’s phone dings. Joe’s sending a text and a picture of Duke.
Don’t worry about Duke. I really hope you’re safe and all is well.
I look at my dog’s picture on the phone. He’s smiling. My brain is spinning. I’m angry that I had to leave Duke even though none of this is my fault.
Amma starts the car. We keep driving from one town to the other. From apple orchards to parks to vineyards to the woods to dry lands. We drive for hours. Hours spread into a day. I miss Duke. My throat chokes. I can tell Amma is tired from the driving. Every time we stop for gas, she’s counting the dollars. She’s scared to use her credit card.
“What if your dad finds out where we are? We can’t be a family again, Sangeetha.”
“Love you, Amma. I’m sorry.” I pause. “But I worry that we shouldn’t have left Duke behind.”
Amma changes the conversation. “Well, Mina chithi’s house is only a thirty-five-hour drive from Seattle,” she says. “Plenty of new adventures ahead of us.”
“But Duke isn’t with us. How are we going to be happy without him?”
Amma has no answer.
My throat tightens. I can no longer pretend to be calm. I dig into my backpack and eat the last of the bananas. The fruit is overripe. I mash it between my teeth and let the sweetness heal the cracks in my heart.
We stay on the road until Amma says that we have little money left. It’s evening, and I’m hungry. I look into my backpack again. We’ve run out of the granola bars, the homemade murukku, and ribbon pakoda snacks. I put the empty plastic bags and snack wrappers in a bag to throw away later. “I wonder if Joe’s giving Duke a cookie right now.”
“Kadavuley!” she says, as if the gods can help. “There are six missed calls from your appa.”
“Are you going to call him back?”
Amma shakes her head. “I hope your father doesn’t see Duke. I also feel bad for leaving the pooch behind.”
“Duke will be all right,” I tell her. “Joe promised to take good care of him.”
“Sangeetha, listen.” Amma’s voice grows low. “Whatever happens with me and your father, I will do everything I can to keep you safe. I promise we’ll get through this together.”
My eyes begin to sting. “Appa scares me. But I miss Duke even more.”
“Sorry, kanna,” Amma mutters. “I know you do. But I’m here for you now. Okay?”
I don’t say anything. I simply nod. Amma’s words don’t help.
We drive through snowcapped mountains. The air gives me chills and cracks my lips. The rough wind pierces my skin, making it dry.
Joe sends another text.
Duke is well. Thinking about you two. Take care.
My head hurts. Amma is tired from the driving.
“Are you and Appa going to divorce?” I ask.
Amma takes her time to reply. “I don’t know yet, kanna. Let’s just say our marriage is not working.”
“You mean you can’t stand each other?”
Amma chokes. “It’s complicated. But we have to move on.”
Sadness brews inside me. I rub my eyes and look out the window, trying hard not to cry.
At night, Amma parks the car in an empty parking lot off the freeway near Boise. She pulls out a good warm blanket from the trunk. The night sky is filled with stars. We fold down the back seats and make our bed a cocoon of comfort. We try to sleep. I miss snuggling up with Duke. Would he be sleeping at Joe’s feet?
In the morning, we’re back to driving again. We stop at a rest area on the freeway. My stomach rumbles. Amma buys me a burger. I wasn’t expecting a home-cooked breakfast. Piping hot, fluffy steamed idli or deep-fried vadai. Spicy sambar and coconut chutney. Nope. But I’d rather eat a sugary bowl of cereal. A burger? It’s cheap, I know. Amma buys an extra one for the road.
When we’re just about to leave, we see a woman outside the store, waving to us. Her hair is scruffy, and her clothes are dirty. She has a puppy, too…a black one with some white on the upper body and parts of his legs and feet. I can’t tell the breed, but the dog is sturdy, and big-boned like Duke.
“I’m Grace,” the woman says, and she points to her puppy. “He’s Buddy.”
Buddy moves his empty food bowl around with his nose and barks. He sniffs my hand. He is hungrier than I am. I give the extra burger to the woman. She divides it in half and shares it with the dog.
I pet Buddy. He licks my fingers with his soft tongue. He wears a cross around his neck. It reminds me of Duke’s tag, with its picture of Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god, remover of obstacles. Every evening, Amma would light an oil lamp before the pictures of deities at the household altar. We’d chant the Gayatri Mantra while Duke curled by my feet. I would press my palms together in prayer and close my eyes. I like the sounds of the mantra. Our chanting would waft through the room and comfort us on difficult days.
I want to help Grace and her dog, but we don’t have any money. I whisper into Amma’s ear. “Could we take them along with us? Doesn’t look like they have a car.”
Amma catches my eye and nods. She turns to Grace. “We can drop you on our way. Do you have anywhere to go?”
“Where are you headed?” Grace asks.
“Texas,” Amma replies.
Grace shakes her head. “Could you drop me at Provo? I have a friend in Utah.” She straightens her tattered shirt and loose jeans.
“Come on, then,” says Amma.
The warmth of helping floods me. I love it when Amma is this way.
We get into the car. Grace sits in the front, while Buddy sits with me in the backseat.
All of us are quiet except Buddy. When Amma rolls the window down, he sticks his face out and sniffs the air. I sneeze and wish I could enjoy the wind like he does.
“What
breed is he?” I ask Grace.
“He’s an Alusky,” she says. “A mix of Alaskan malamute and Siberian husky.”
I pet his soft fur. “Ooh! That’s fancy. No wonder he looks like a wolf dog.”
Grace laughs. “I get that a lot. I was lucky to find him abandoned on the road five years ago. He’s a good dog.”
She has a catchy laugh.
“Buddy reminds me of Duke,” I tell her.
“Who’s Duke?” Grace asks.
“My dog,” I say. “He’s in Seattle right now. With my neighbor.”
“Why is he with your neighbor?”
I look up at Amma and then at Grace. “My dad’s out of town. So our neighbor takes care of Duke whenever we’re away,” I say, although it is not the truth. This is the first time we’ve left Duke with Joe. I see Amma raising her eyebrows at me in the rearview mirror. I shrug. Lying is not okay, but I know we cannot share our story with a stranger.
“Oh!” Grace smiles. “What breed is Duke?”
“A lab-shepherd mix,” Amma replies. “I got him from a local rescue. Adopting Duke was one of the best decisions I made.”
“You bet,” Grace agrees. “I can’t imagine life without Buddy. He makes every day a bit better.”
I ask for Amma’s phone. There are no messages from Joe. Perhaps Duke misses me, too.
At a rest area in the afternoon, I open my bag and search for something, anything to eat. But there’s absolutely nothing.
Grace gives me a packet of potato chips. “Here you go,” she says. “I have two of these.”
Grace seems nicer than Appa, and she smiles a lot. I can’t imagine Appa smiling when things aren’t going right.
I look down at the phone, and now there’s a text from Joe.
Walked Duke. Hope everything’s okay!
I write back:
On our way to Houston. We’re well.
Buddy rolls over on his back for a belly rub and makes me laugh. He’s as goofy as Duke.
Grace gets out of the car near a traffic signal in Provo.
The Hero Next Door Page 8
