Paradox Love: Paradox Love Book 1

by Dorothy Gravelle

  Sometimes she had the good fortune of eating every last piece. Sometimes Kyle would have to run to the bathroom. Sometimes the phone would ring. Those times she’d follow her nose all over the kitchen floor discovering each little treasure she’d sent cascading earlier. That was the best of both worlds – food and following her sniffer. It was glorious.

  Other times, Kyle didn’t get busy. And on those days, he’d grab his little hand vac and suck up all the loose kibble before Lucy could get to it. Those were not quarter cup days. And they weren’t good days. They were hungry days.

  Lucy’s breakfast activities were about as much as Kyle could take, and most mornings he’d hoist her up after no more than ten minutes out of her kennel.

  That was it. She’d waited all night for those few minutes. And they were gone. Confined once again, she’d watch Kyle leave the guest bedroom, where he kept her kennel. She had a limited view as he walked back and forth around the house getting ready for work. She’d release a cry from time to time, an expression of anticipation for what was coming next.

  Soon enough, she’d hear the lock clicking on the front door and Kyle would be gone. On a handful of occasions over the weeks that he’d owned her, the door had clicked again shortly thereafter. One time he’d forgotten something, came back in and snatched it up before running right back out the door. Another time, he realized he’d left the milk on the counter and dashed back in to put it away.

  Those times gave her a twinge of hope – a desperate hope that maybe today would be different. But there wasn’t to be a miracle. There was only the cruel tease to precede a day stretching out at a wretchedly slow pace.

  Kyle was devoted to his work. Most days Lucy waited for him in that little space for twelve hours or more. She slept whenever she could ignore her hunger, but there were too many hours. When she would wake between naps, always she would look to the open guestroom door and listen for Kyle.

  There were days that she could not hold her bowel or bladder, though she fought against relieving herself with all the willpower she had. There was a deep sense of failure and shame as she backed up as far as she could into the corner before finally giving up. The act of relieving herself served to effectively reduce the already too small space. She would have to curl up tighter to avoid soiling herself.

  On those days, when the door would click after the long passing hours, Kyle would know instantly by the smell that she’d had an accident. He never scolded her directly. He didn’t have to. The clean-up was punishment enough.

  “Okay Lucy, you know the routine,” he’d say as he carried the kennel through the house and out the sliding glass door to the backyard.

  And even with the stench of it, even with the shame of her failure, she didn’t want to come out of the kennel. Because of the shame of her failure, she didn’t want to come out. Sometimes that trepidation actually had her backing up into the mess. Kyle would pull her out and go about the task of cleaning out the kennel with the use of the garden hose.

  Lucy would slink away to the grass or find someplace to hide. She hated what always came next. His hands fitted with bright yellow rubber gloves, he’d pluck her up and carry her to that spot where the hose would turn on and the icy cold water would soak her coat. After a thorough scrubbing, he would dry her lightly with a towel before he promptly made his way inside, closing the door behind him.

  Not until all the kennel bedding was clean and dry and Lucy herself appropriately dry would she be allowed back in the house. Hungry and damp, she would halfheartedly partake in some exploring of the backyard. But not for long. Her time was largely spent parked on the patio outside the sliding glass door, her eyes searching for him, waiting for that moment when she would be allowed in.

  On such occasions, there was no crazy running about. She could sense his disappointment. No words were necessary. She’d done wrong and she didn’t want to do anymore wrong. Kyle would finally open the door and she’d walk in, head down, over toward the quarter cup ready for her in the kitchen. There was no spilling, no giddy romps. She ate quietly.

  And afterwards, she didn’t know quite what to do. Sometimes she’d slump to the floor next to her bowl and lay quietly, as though she’d come to understand the importance of the peace that silence seemed to bring to her master.

  Other times, she’d look for him in the living room, where he sometimes settled in for a time in the evening. She wasn’t allowed on the furniture, so she would sit as close to him as she could on the floor, accepting whatever closeness was to be. And there were times that he would reach his hand down and lightly caress the top of her head.

  “Good dog, Lucy. Good girl.”

  TV nights were the best. They were the longest periods of freedom from her kennel and the longest stretches of time spent with Kyle. Tonight was a TV night. She was cuddled up against Kyle’s feet. His hands were not making their way down to scratch her head, but that was okay. It was enough to be there, to be out of confinement, to spend a few hours scratching the surface of contentment.

  Kyle’s hands were busy pulling tissues and wiping his face. He was suffering with a pronounced bout of depression and whatever it was he was watching on television wasn’t helping. At some point, he slumped to his side, one hand now hanging over the couch, his head resting on the cushion.

  Lucy didn’t know what to think. Pats to the head were understood. But this was different. Kyle stroked the length of her back, his fingers making their way up and down in the most exquisite gesture of affection he’d ever offered. And it went on and on. After a time, she felt the urge to reciprocate, reaching up to lick his hand, his arm, and then sitting up to kiss his tear stained face.

  That night, there was no kennel bedtime. No sad goodbye and sleeping alone. That night, Kyle rose from the couch and coaxed her to the bedroom. This was forbidden territory and she was afraid to follow him. He understood why. He bore his own shame for his treatment of her. He directed her to jump on his bed, but she most certainly would not be following that command. He stooped to pick her up, then placed her on the bed, fluffing up a pillow just for her.

  If the little beagle could have articulated the emotion within her at just that moment, she would have described her current happiness as better than food. Better than any food measured out in any cup in anyplace anywhere.

  “Good girl, Lucy. Good dog.”

  The petting continued as Grace relaxed, able to stretch out completely to sleep for the first time since belonging to Kyle.

  And as Kyle settled in for the night, his inner counselor spoke to him. It advised that he was not at this time and might perhaps never be fit to own a dog. Lucy deserved more.

  CHAPTER Nine

  Luke pulled into the parking lot of Cardinal High, the wheels of his SUV tracing the familiar route winding toward the back of the school to the practice fields. As the head coach to his alma mater’s football team, he practically lived in this place.

  Coaching wasn’t the same as playing, and sometimes in moments of honest reflection, he’d acknowledge the distinct ache of that regret. He would have been good. Really good. And he knew that.

  But the past was full of what ifs. He’d learned through counseling that to dwell on it was not only fruitless, but could lead to progressively more depressing thoughts and feelings, which then fed the need to lean on his addictions. He’d been sober now for more than ten years.

  And although coaching was most certainly nothing in comparison to playing, it was football. It kept him sane. It kept his mind sharp. He needed it as much as any drug he’d ever taken.

  When he was on the field with his boys and the grass was pounded by the weight of their practice battles, the scent that rose from the earth was the smell of football. Racks of well-worn equipment hanging in the locker room. That was football. The barrage of strategic plays that raced through his head and contemplated in direct relation to the strengths and weaknesses of his guys, that was football.

  It was football and it was enough. Enough to
compensate for the missing pieces of a full life. After all he’d been through, he was certain of this. He could have gone the rest of his life with the game as his center, his reason for waking in the morning and occupying his final thoughts before giving in to sleep every night.

  He also knew what others thought of such nonsense. His parents, his counselors, his doctors, none of them believed football was enough. According to every person whose opinion was valuable to him, life was about more. He couldn’t blame them and at the same time, could never explain it well enough to make them understand. And so, football became another thing he stopped talking about, even to his wife.

  She began as a receptive listener as he rattled off ideas for new plays and spoke about the boys he coached. She didn’t know the game well, but that was easily forgiven, because she seemed so interested. She asked questions. She was genuinely excited when he came to her with a new idea.

  Sharing his passion for the game was the icing. It was also a bridge between himself and Sandra. That connection served to help break down the wall he’d built over the years. He could let her in, because she got what made him tick. Her genuine interest and respect for his passion for the game was an incredible gift. It made him love her. Finally, he was able to be completely honest with himself and to acknowledge he was in love again. Finally.

  The thing was, after a while, he could sense her mentally drifting away whenever talk turned to football. She was over it. At first, the change was subtle and could be explained away by the little interruptions in life.

  Luke was stepfather to Sandra’s two young children. As delightful as they were, it was sometimes easy to affectionately refer to them as little interruptions. But little interruptions had early bedtimes. So in the waning hours of the evening when it was just the two of them, there were no excuses.

  She didn’t ask about it anymore. About practices and plays and the boys and their family situations. And when he brought it up, she’d release an audible sigh, only half listening while she immediately went about some household chore. She’d fold laundry while occasionally commenting, “uh-huh,” or, “oh really?”

  Perhaps if she understood how profoundly her loss of interest would effect her husband, she would have tried a little harder. But she didn’t understand it fully. To her, their combined attention on football was disproportionate to what was really important in a marriage.

  To her, all the football talk was his way of avoiding discussing those more important things. It was a simple misunderstanding that began as something small and then festered, until Luke found himself living a marriage not unlike the one he grew up witnessing. Once again, there was too much yelling in his home.

  He exited his vehicle and headed for the main building, while at the same time pulling a notebook from his bag. New ideas were always coming and he was prepared. He scribbled down notes as he entered the corridor.

  This was his ritual. He’d arrive an hour early for practice, always parking in the same spot. He entered the school through the athletic building and walked the long, winding corridors all the way to staff lounge. Sometimes it was relatively quiet, only a sparse collection of faculty present. Other times, the bustle of after hours activities rivaled those that occurred during the day.

  Either way, that long walk down the corridor was his personal calm before the storm, his pre-practice meditation, if you will. With every step, he was mentally preparing to make it another great practice.

  He wouldn’t have known it, wouldn’t have noticed, but there were a handful of teachers who made it a point to stay in their classrooms late enough each day to watch him walk by. Some facilitated, “chance meetings,” when possible, which wasn’t difficult, given his predictable schedule. Luke was still a magnet and still oblivious, mostly. If you wanted to talk about the team, you had his attention.

  English teachers Shelly and Jenna were wrestling with the copy machine when Luke entered, carrying his bag and empty water bottle. The copier was open and Jenna was on her knees pulling out sheets of mangled paper. As Luke walked in, a stream of inappropriate thoughts ran through her head. Luke made her want him without saying a word, not one damn word. Shelly turned from the copying task to greet him as he made his way toward the water cooler.

  “Luke, how’s it going?”

  “Hi ladies. Problems?”

  Jenna pulled the last torn scraps from the machine and stood up. “I think we’ve got it now.” She went about closing everything back up while Shelly kept her attention on Luke.

  “Big game Friday night,” she commented as he began to fill his water bottle.

  “Absolutely. And we’re ready,” he smiled.

  Shelly was Luke’s senior by at least twenty years. She was happily married, but that fact didn’t keep her from daydreaming from time to time.

  There was something about the way he looked at you. It felt like a gift just to return that gaze, so much so that you had the immediate tendency to want to glance around and confirm that he really was looking at you. And he didn’t know he was doing it to you, how that simple act reached in and pulled. It pulled from places inside you that you didn’t know were there.

  There was a total acceptance in his eyes and a complete absence of judgment. You were who you were and his eyes just seemed to say that was perfectly fine with him. Fat, thin, old, young, it did not matter. When he looked at you, whoever you were, he acknowledged you without sizing you up. And that was only one part of it. The other part was, the man was just beautiful.

  So women like Shelly and Jenna and the others who hung around longer than they needed to in the afternoon, they didn’t care what he wanted to talk about.

  Jenna was still trying to get the copier going, without much luck. “I thought I had it, but it’s still not working.”

  What a happy problem this was. Luke dropped his things and walked over.

  “Let me take a look.”

  Jenna stepped aside just enough let him have space next to her, while glancing over her shoulder and offering Shelly a covert wink. She didn’t move over when his hip grazed hers and the warm skin of his arm was against hers.

  She told herself she was no home wrecker, but seriously doubted she’d have the resolve to turn Luke down, should he ever demonstrate an interest.

  They were a close match in degrees of attractiveness, her blonde hair a stunning match to deep green eyes and a physique kept shapely by regular workouts and a vegan diet. But looks didn’t seem to do it for Luke. He appeared no more impressed with her than her older, less put-together colleague, Shelly.

  “You’re almost there, Jenna,” he turned halfway to talk to her. “You’re just out of paper now.” He pointed at the blinking light that indicated the tray was empty.

  “Oh, duh. Okay.”

  She turned to head to the row of shelves that held the cases of reams.

  “No, I got it,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  Both women watched him bend to retrieve the box, a quick glance between them serving as a silent conversation conveying every naughty thought. He pulled a fresh ream from the box, removed the wrapping and promptly bent again to load the tray. Shelly’s eyes widened when they met Jenna’s, as if to declare, “Double bonus!”

  “Thanks for your help,” Jenna offered as he completed the task and returned to the water cooler to finish filling his bottle. Damn, she wished something else was broken.

  “Of course,” he smiled back. She wanted that look in his eyes to be a cue, a secret message meant to convey something, anything. But it wasn’t a message. It was just Luke being Luke.

  Bottle filled, he glanced up to the bulletin board on the facing wall, as he always did. From time to time, some tidbit of useful information was posted there. There was something new this time. It was a flyer titled, “Lucy needs a home.”

  Shelly took note of his interest and commented, “That’s a friend of Stan’s. The guy apparently realized he didn’t have time for a dog.�
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  “I see that,” Luke replied, as those details were disclosed on the flyer. “Well, he’s doing the right thing, if he doesn’t have time for her.”

  Luke and Sandra had discussed pets several times. She didn’t think the kids were ready. And even if they were ready, she wasn’t particularly excited about having a dog. His stepson, Nathan, was afraid of them.

  Lucy was a young adorable looking beagle with sad eyes. Luke pulled the flyer from the board and seemed glued to it as he exited. When he’d gone, Jenna turned to Shelly. “I wish I was Lucy. He’s gonna go get her. What a lucky little bitch.”

  “Ha!” Shelly returned. “Girl, you know I’d roll over, beg, whatever it took to get his hands on me.”

  They both laughed, their eyes following him as he retraced his steps towards the opposite end of the school.

  * * * * *

  It was a good practice. Solid performances. A few tweaks were necessary, but nothing major. Luke was content as he opened his vehicle door and climbed in.

  He pulled the Lucy flyer out of his bag and read it again. He was still waiting to own his first dog and was more than ready. The sad loss of his would-be girl, Noel, was a distant memory and the posting of this flyer seemed to indicate that the time had come.

  He contemplated calling Sandra, but he knew how that would go and he didn’t feel like fighting. A dog would be good for the family, good for the kids. Nathan’s issue was a poor excuse. Being around a dog was the best way to solve that. Maybe it was time for an executive decision. He reached for his cell phone and dialed the number.

  Kyle was cleaning out the soiled kennel when the phone rang. The relief in his voice was palpable the instant he understood that someone was calling about Lucy. He was brutally honest about the situation, about his lack of preparedness and his complete inadequacy as a dog owner. It made Luke want her even more.