As if he’d just remembered the start of their conversation, Mark asked, “So you talked to Charlie?”
Billy shook his head. “I tried calling him, but…” He stopped, feeling a wave of anger swell inside of him again. “Screw Charlie,” he said, before diving back into his lunch.
⁕
Billy pulled out of Nick’s Pizza’s parking lot and, instead of steering left toward home, he turned the wheel right toward the beach. Some morbid sense of curiosity was prodding him to visit the scene of the tragic accident. For whatever reason, he felt compelled to see it.
As a lifelong resident of Westport, Billy had learned to avoid Route 88 in the summer. While the smarter townspeople traveled the back roads to get to the banks of the Westport River, or the dunes of Horseneck Beach, those who didn’t know any better took their chances and traveled Route 88 at their own risk. Whether it’s because of a drunk driver or some knucklehead in a hurry to go nowhere, he thought, somebody always dies.
Billy traveled the first few miles and could already feel the warm air beckoning the sun-worshipers to the ocean. Each year, thousands answered the call and made the dangerous trek.
As he drove, Billy considered the insane trip. Starting at the north end, there were five intersections to get through. Each set of lights was an obstacle, but if you could avoid being broadsided by another anxious beach comber then you still had to maneuver through the hills of winding asphalt. The speed limit began at fifty-five miles per hour and tapered down to forty. Normally, these signs were ignored and many drivers exceeded it by twenty to forty miles per hour more. For those who were in a real hurry, they were allowed to pass at almost any point in the road. It was absolute lunacy and that craziness had cost the lives of many people.
Besides guard rails and the woodlands which lined both sides of the highway, the only scenery to behold was the white crosses that marked their victims’ final moments on earth.
Just as he could taste the salty air on his tongue, Billy hit a bend in the road and spotted two police cruisers securing the accident scene. He slowed the Honda to a crawl and craned his neck to take in all he could. There wasn’t much to see; beyond the flashing blue lights, a set of dark skid marks led off the road, down an embankment and into the woods. But it was enough to turn his stomach. A kid, my age, died right here just a few hours ago, he thought. That’s nuts. In his mind, he tried picturing what might have happened. Instantly, he imagined Dalton lying trapped in his crushed car, bleeding to death—alone and afraid. His eyes swelled with tears and he looked skyward. Bless him, Father, he silently prayed, and please ease his family’s pain.
A couple hundred yards down the road, Billy spotted a large, bald man squatting in the opposite breakdown lane; he was clearly surveying another set of tire marks. Is he a cop? Billy wondered. He supposed it would have been odd otherwise, but the man wasn’t wearing a police uniform.
Upon reaching the next intersection, Billy circled back like one of the seagulls that called out in the distance. He drove past the accident scene one last time—slowly. Although the bald man was gone, the queasy feeling in his stomach returned as he passed the two police cruisers. Dalton had his whole life ahead of him, he thought. What a terrible way to die.
He was nearly home when it dawned on him. I have my whole life ahead of me, he thought. Thank God.
⁕
Billy got home and noticed that Sophie’s bedroom door was closed. She must be home, he thought. Her car’s in the driveway. With Jimmy on his shins, he headed for the door. Billy lifted his fist to knock on the door when he heard Sophie talking to someone and laughing. “I wonder who she has over?” he said to Jimmy and knocked. There was no answer. Instead, her laughter grew louder. Billy knocked again and yelled, “Sophie?” Again, there was no answer. Curious, he slowly opened the door to discover Sophie lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and laughing. While Jimmy bound into the room, Billy quickly scanned it. There’s no one else in the room, he thought and watched Sophie push Jimmy off her bed. He then glanced at her desk, where her cell phone was sitting—unused. “What are you doing, Sophe…” he began to ask.
“Nothing. Why?”
“I just heard you laughing.”
“So what? I thought about something funny,” she said, shooing Jimmy away from her—which Billy had never once seen her do.
“But you were talking to someone,” he said, confused.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Sophe, I’ve been standing at your door, listening to you talk to someone. And then you…”
“Then you must be hearing things.” Her face instantly changed from happy to mean, a rarity for her. “What’s your problem, Billy? I can’t laugh anymore?”
“I never said that. But you…” He stopped, catching a faint whiff of some oddly familiar scent. It smells like pot, he thought, but he immediately rejected the idea. No way. Not Sophie. “What the hell’s that smell?” he asked.
“I’ve been burning incense,” she fired back. Now enraged, she sat up. “You know what,” she barked, “just close my door behind you and take Jimmy with you!”
Billy grabbed the whimpering dog and escorted him out of the room. At the door, Billy stopped and watched as his sister looked back at the ceiling and began giggling again.
Billy closed her door and stood with his back against it. He looked down at Jimmy, who was still upset. The look in the mutt’s dejected eyes said it all. “Don’t take it personal, buddy,” Billy said. “It’s definitely not you.” He shook his head. “She’s the one who’s screwed up over something.”
Jimmy looked at Sophie’s door one last time, before ambling off to Billy’s bedroom—where the world made much better sense.
Chapter 5
On the morning of Dalton’s funeral, the long slow procession crawled past Billy’s house. He stood in his front yard, with Jimmy by his side. He’d contemplated attending the ceremony, but he really hadn’t known Dalton. “It would have been weird if I went to the funeral home,” he whispered down to the mutt. A black station wagon, overstuffed with flower arrangements, was followed by the polished hearse, carrying the remains of a life that had barely gotten started. Billy shook his head and vowed, “I’ll never drink and drive again.” As the brake lights illuminated the rear of the hearse, Billy recalled his grandpa’s peculiar advice: ‘Never laugh at a passing hearse because someday it’ll be you.’ He looked down at Jimmy again. “It could have been me in that casket, buddy.” He shook his head again. “Never again! I don’t want to be like Dad. Remember those days, Jimmy?”
The dog whined.
The shiny black family car crept by next. Billy got choked up for the faceless shadows that sat behind the dark, tinted glass. I can’t even imagine that kind of pain, he thought sadly. And the parade of cars that followed—each with its headlights and flashers on—lasted for nearly ten minutes.
Jimmy sat up on his haunches with his head bowed—as if he were aware and showing his respect for the tragic human loss.
From beat-up clunkers—clearly owned by Dalton’s young friends—to nicer rides driven by those who’d made their money, the ten minutes it took for them to pass was more than enough time for Billy to take stock of his recent mistakes. He also thought about all his friends who texted while driving—shocked that some of them were still walking amongst the living—and added that to the promises he’d made to himself. “No more texting and driving,” he told Jimmy.
The dog’s eyes stayed fixed on the cars driving by.
Watching all the young kids in the long parade, Billy imagined it was like a second graduation or some morose high school reunion that was taking place much too early. “Never again,” he reminded himself and headed back into the house to get ready for his first real job interview.
⁕
Four Paws Animal Shelter—the local pound—was located on a dead end, and it was at the ver
y end where the tar had been ripped up by seasons of bullish snowplows. The town didn’t even patch the road, never mind tar it. Billy steered the tired Honda into the shelter’s bluestone parking lot and smiled. This place changed my life, he thought, picturing Jimmy as a small pup. Shutting off the ignition, he took it all in.
The building was made of cinder blocks, painted drab green, and the roof’s dark shingles needed replacing. A chain-link fence sprung out from both sides of the building, clearly meant to enclose the entire backyard—whether to keep the animals in, the humans out, or both. The cinder block fortress could have easily been located on a military installation; it was cold and impersonal. Two small windows were located on either side of the drab bunker, with a gray double door in the center. The doors were filthy; scuff marks on the bottom and dirty handprints up top. Oh man, Billy thought. His first impression of the place was abysmal.
One step into the place and the smells—urine, pine cleaner, feces, and more pine cleaner—overpowered all the other senses. Billy stopped short and gave himself a minute to adjust to the rancid odors. An old, dull linoleum-tiled floor, which had probably been yellow at one time, was undoubtedly original to the building. It didn’t appear it had ever been waxed, which made good sense. But I wonder if it’s ever been mopped? Billy thought.
A reception area with an unmanned desk welcomed visitors. It wasn’t a big area; there was an industrial clock, a calendar with kittens, which hadn’t been flipped and was two months behind, and framed prints of dogs running in an open field. Everything looked old and unkempt, except for the fish tank which burst with vibrant colors in the corner of the dull world. The sparkling turquoise blue was home to a dozen small fish of different shapes and colors. Billy spent a minute bent at the waist, watching them swim and play.
A small office was located to the right. The walls were paneled brown, the floor tiles, a blah gray. Even the sun that filtered through the windows seemed gloomy. The door was cracked open a bit to the room on the left; Billy could tell it was being used to store file cabinets and supplies.
Once Billy became acclimated to the smells, his sense of hearing was pushed to the forefront. A muffled orchestra of barks, whines and cries seeped out from beneath a green door he couldn’t wait to peek behind. He knocked a few times on the mysterious avocado-colored door and waited. The barks and cries continued. There’s no way anyone could ever hear me knocking, he thought.
Suddenly, the door opened and a short, stout woman stood before him. Billy felt nervous. “My…my dad said he arranged an interview for your open summer position?” he blurted. From the look on the lady’s face, he wondered whether his father had confused this place with another.
The embroidered name on the woman’s shirt read Arlene. With two dogs under foot, she carefully looked Billy over, spending most of the time in his eyes.
Arlene Uslander had dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. With kind, brown eyes, she dressed like she worked at the zoo. She wore a tan khaki outfit with a button down shirt, green braided belt, cargo pocket shorts and thick socks inside a pair of worn work boots.
Oh boy, Billy thought, fighting off a wave of skepticism.
“Do you love animals?” she asked bluntly.
“I do,” he said, already bent at the waist, petting her dogs.
“That’s McGruff, my boyfriend, and the mangy looking one is King,” she said, introducing Billy to her four-legged companions.
Boyfriend, Billy repeated in his head and smiled. “Nice to meet you guys,” he said, scratching both of their necks.
“Do you have any?” Arlene asked.
“Do I have any…”
“Dogs, cats…animals at home,” she clarified.
“Two,” he said, smiling. “A dog and a cat. The cat’s name is Mrs. Pringle. She’s my mother’s,” he admitted, shaking his head at the foolish name. “My dog’s name is Jimmy,” he added, a sense of pride returning to his smile.
She studied his face and her eyes softened. “Looks like Jimmy means a lot to you,” she said.
Billy shook his head. “Actually, he means everything to me,” he said, nodding. “We adopted Jimmy from this place twelve years ago and he’s been my best friend ever since.”
“You’re hired,” she said matter-of-factly and extended her hand.
“I am?” Billy asked, unsure whether she was pulling his leg. “There’s no interview?”
Arlene smiled again and gripped his hand for a remarkably firm shake. “You just passed it.”
“Really?” he said, still trying to process the fact that he’d landed the summer job.
“Really,” she said. “You ready to get started?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She laughed. “I’m no ma’am, as you’ll soon find out. Call me Arlene.”
He nodded. “I’m Billy.”
She nodded. “Okay then, Billy, why don’t we get started with a tour of the place, so you can meet our diverse clientele.” She smirked. “And then we’ll start you on hosing down the kennels.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Until you see how messy those kennels can get,” she teased.
“Not a problem there,” Billy said confidently. “I’ve been cleaning up after Jimmy for years.”
Arlene had her hand on the green door’s knob when she stopped and turned back to face Billy. “You can bring him to work with you if you want,” she said.
“Bring who?” he asked.
“Jimmy.”
Billy felt a bolt of joy rip through him. This is too good to be true, he thought. “Really?”
“Really,” she said, chuckling at his reaction. “We actually like having dogs around here.”
He nodded, feeling foolish and happy at the same time.
As Arlene opened the door, she said, “Welcome to the pound.” She stopped and turned. “Actually, the word pound makes me laugh. This is a shelter.”
Billy nodded.
“Outside our doors is where life will pound the hell out of you.”
Billy chuckled and, as they stepped inside, he realized his first impression of Arlene was completely off. After spending fewer than five minutes with her, he could tell she was a wonderful human being: caring and kind. And from the way she treated the two dogs that clung to her shins, the soft-hearted caretaker obviously loved animals. They’re not just her passion, Billy immediately decided, they’re her purpose.
The animal shelter’s back room was also constructed of cinder block, painted hospital white, with brown-painted steel-framed doors and windows, all of it screaming government funding.
Once they reached the kennel area, the worn linoleum transitioned to a polished concrete floor. Beneath twenty-foot ceilings, the interior kennels stood eight feet high, secured by chain link doors. From the first look, Billy’s memory was jarred and he immediately returned to the day—all those years ago—when he’d picked Jimmy as a family member.
⁕
Walking into the cell block, competing scents of urine and disinfectant hung in the air. A wide variety of four-legged inmates, filling the cells on both sides of the drab green corridor, awaited their fate. Some were crying, while others had surrendered in a heap on the floor. The younger ones appeared oblivious to their grim surroundings.
In the furthest corner kennel, a black mutt with white socks was sitting, licking his paw and washing his ears and face.
“At least this one’s clean,” Billy’s dad joked.
The dog stood, walked to the kennel door and placed his right paw up on the silver mesh, right where Billy’s hand rested on the other side of the cold steel.
Billy’s entire body tingled.
“And clever too,” the old man muttered under his breath.
Although the black dog didn’t have the striking features of some of the other dogs and was a lit
tle bigger than the other puppies that frolicked in the cell beside him, he clearly used what he had—his brain.
Billy remembered his father taking a long look at the dog. “Looks like he’s mostly Labrador retriever with something much smaller mixed in…maybe ground hog?”
Billy’s mom slapped her husband’s arm and laughed.
The old man shrugged. “His mother could have been half wolverine, half squirrel. Whatever he is, the one thing I know for sure is that he’s no pure blood.” His dad looked the dog over again. “Yup, he’s definitely a mutt.”
“He’s so cute,” Sophie said.
The shelter’s caretaker nodded. “This one’s a sweet-tempered dog with a good disposition,” he said before opening the cage door.
Billy and the dog lunged for each other, Billy wrapping the panting dog into his arms. “He’s perfect,” Billy said and stared into the dog’s chocolate eyes. “Jimmy’s perfect.”
“Jimmy?” his dad repeated. “Are you serious? What about Bear or Rufus…or even Brutus?”
Billy shook his head.
“What about Sprinkles?” the old man teased.
Billy shook his head.
“Jimmy?” his dad asked.
“Jimmy,” Sophie confirmed.
Billy nodded.
Jimmy licked Billy’s face, as if offering his sticky seal of approval.
The big man laughed. “Okay then, let’s go home, James,” he said to the mutt.
“No, Dad, it’s Jimmy…after Uncle Jimmy,” Billy insisted, referring to his dad’s older brother who had only survived eleven hours after birth, and who Billy had always felt sorry for because he’d been cheated so badly. “Jimmy,” Billy repeated firmly and that was it.
⁕
Returning to the present, Billy noted that stainless steel half walls separated each kennel and each pen was three feet wide but deep all the way to the rear door. Every kennel had a run that was half inside the building and half outside. A small door led to an outside run, hooked by a rope that could be pulled to lift the door and allow an animal out. Billy was surprised to find that it was a sanitized environment.
The Changing Season Page 9
