One Careful Owner: Love Me, Love My Dog

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  My voice trembled, and Dan looked away discreetly.

  “All I can tell you is that Denver PD have a file on him a couple of inches thick. There was a lot in it. Bad stuff. I can’t tell you more because part of it is an ongoing investigation . . .”

  Cold sweat trickled down my spine, and my hands shook.

  “Shit, Dawn! We’ve been friends a long time. You know I care about you and Katie . . .”

  I did. I did know that, but I didn’t want to believe the things he was saying about Alex—couldn’t believe them. It just didn’t seem possible. But then again I didn’t have a great track record in picking men. I didn’t want to believe what Dan was telling me, but at the same time . . .

  “Is . . . is Katie in danger . . . from him?”

  He blew out a long breath.

  “Honestly? I don’t know. All I can tell you is that the guy isn’t stable. You remember what he was like when he first came here?”

  I did remember, only too well. But he was grieving at the time and having a tough time at work. But he’d also admitted that he hadn’t been in his right mind. What would it take for him to relapse? Would he be dangerous?

  “Do you really want someone like that around her?” Dan continued. “Around you?”

  Tears stung my eyes and I shook my head.

  “Is . . . is it bad?”

  Dan gave me a look full of pity.

  “Seriously, Dawn. The guy is looney tunes.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, but you had to know. And in any case, you can do better than a man like that. You deserve better.”

  He stood up, running his hands along the brim of his hat as he stared down at me.

  “You let me know right away if he gives you any trouble. Any time, day or night. I . . .”

  Whatever else he was going to say was bitten back and he shook his head.

  “I gotta get going.”

  Having delivered his message, he slid his hat back on his head, adjusting it to a jaunty angle, then touching the brim with his finger.

  “You have a good day. Crystal says hi.”

  And he walked out of the office.

  I sat stunned, unable to move, thoughts racing through my mind. I tried to recall all the things Dan had said: unstable, a police record.

  I didn’t want to believe it.

  Images of Alex with Katie, playing with her, reading to her, tucking a blanket around her as she slept. And with Stan, those large hands so gentle and caring. And with me, my God, the way he was with me—passionate, intense, focused. And loving. When he looked at me, I felt loved.

  But I couldn’t deny the times I’d seen him anxious, unable to communicate, falling apart. And angry. I’d seen him shake with rage. I’d seen his eyes darken murderously, and even before I’d known this, I’d felt him capable of violence. I’d seen his bloody knuckles the night he’d brought in that poor dog. I’d seen, and refused to believe.

  Tears of frustration leaked from my eyes and I swiped them away angrily.

  So unfair!

  But Dan was my friend and a police officer—he’d always supported me.

  I’d been taken in, lied to by another man. So what was new? Just another woman who’d believed what she wanted to believe, seen what she’d wanted to see. No, nothing new under the sun.

  It had only been one night. Not enough time to fall in love.

  The lies we tell ourselves when our hearts are breaking.

  I went through the motions for the rest of the day, but I felt numb. And when I picked Katie up from Holly’s, I hugged her extra tightly.

  She squirmed out of my grip.

  “Mom!”

  I forced a smile. “Sorry. I forgot my little girl is all grown up now.”

  She gave me a funny look, then started telling me about her day. I only half-listened, putting ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘wow’ into more or less the right places.

  Finally, she pinned me with fierce scrutiny.

  “What’s wrong, Mom? You’re acting all weird.”

  “Oh,” I laughed uneasily. “I’m just tired. Long day. How about a Disney marathon tonight. Only girls allowed.”

  “What about Alex and Stan?”

  My fake smile froze. “I don’t think they’d like Disney,” I said lamely.

  “No, Mom,” she huffed, as if explaining to a two year-old. “That’s because they’re boys.”

  “Don’t you want to watch movies tonight?”

  She shrugged. “I’d rather go to Alex’s house. It’s cool.”

  All the insecurities, all the anxieties I’d ever had about my abilities as a mother came crashing in. Just one day, and she’d rather be with him . . . a crazy man.

  “We’re not seeing them tonight,” I said, more coldly than she deserved.

  Katie huffed some more and we rode home in stiff silence.

  When my phone rang and Alex’s name came up, I jumped so much that I jerked the steering wheel, making Katie squeal.

  “It’s Alex,” she said, pointing at my phone holder on the dashboard.

  “I’ll get back to him later,” I lied. “It’s dangerous to be distracted when you’re driving, even with a hands-free phone.”

  She gave me a look that said she wanted to call me on my bullshit, but didn’t say anything.

  A minute later, a text came in.

  * Dinner tonight? Stan’s cooking. *

  “Mom?”

  “I’ll text him later.”

  Katie stared thoughtfully. “Are you mad at him?”

  “That’s enough, Katie. I said I’ll text him later.”

  She refused to speak to me for the rest of the journey, only thawing out when I offered to make her favorite pancakes for supper.

  Alex texted me several more times before the phone fell silent.

  Each one hurt my heart a little more. I knew it wasn’t fair to leave him wondering what he’d done, when he’d done nothing . . . or maybe something . . . something terrible enough to worry Dan. It was all so confusing.

  I decided to sleep on it.

  That plan might have worked if I’d actually gotten any sleep, but I spent the night tossing and turning, trying to banish the images of his hands, darkly tanned against my pale thighs, spreading them open as his tongue lashed me.

  I was adrift the whole night, lost in that stormy sea of caring, but by morning, I was drained and miserable—and no closer to knowing what to do.

  I found myself lying to Katie again as she inspected my red eyes and swollen eyelids.

  “I’m fine,” I muttered. “I might be coming down with something.”

  She looked so worried, hugging me tightly, that I had to pretend there was nothing wrong. It was the worst sort of lie.

  “It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”

  I stumbled through the day, making mistake after mistake, until Gary sent me to the medicine cabinet to do inventory, something that was usually Ashley’s job.

  But when I got home after collecting Katie, I wanted to turn around and go somewhere far, far away.

  Alex’s battered truck was parked outside my house, and Alex and Stan were sitting on the doorstep.

  “Alex!” yelled Katie happily, leaping out of the car and running to throw her herself at him.

  He caught her easily, twirling her around, making her shriek with laughter. Then she scooted down next to Stan and rubbed his belly while he panted with pleasure.

  Alex was watching me warily, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  He was wearing a white shirt and those soft worn jeans again, and my mind was assaulted with memories of what it felt like to run my hands over the thin material, feeling his heat, watching those sensitive honey-colored eyes darken to teak as arousal took him.

  I breathed deeply and steeled myself. Time to be an adult and stop hiding. The ostrich approach to relationships was not one I’d recommend . . . from bitter experience.

  “Hello, Alex. How are you?”

  He gave an awkward half-smile and shrugged his shoulders.


  “Have you got time for a coffee?” I asked coolly.

  His smile slipped at my tone, and his shoulders slumped. He glanced at Stan and Katie, then nodded uncertainly.

  I sent Katie to play with Stan in the backyard while the coffee machine gurgled and hummed. Alex watched me silently from the tiny table, and it didn’t escape my attention that he hadn’t tried to touch me. I poured the coffee and handed him a mug.

  “We need to talk,” I began, aware that my current coolness and prior behavior meant talking was probably beyond him right now.

  His expression hardened and he set his untouched coffee on the table, waving his hand, indicating that I should begin.

  “I’ll be straight with you, Alex. Katie is the most important thing in my life and I don’t want her upset. Her father is barely present in her life, and she gets attached to people. But you should know that . . . my daughter always comes first. Always.”

  His eyes lit up and he smiled, nodding in agreement.

  “G-g-great k-kid.”

  I hesitated, searching his face for any hint of dissembling, but there was nothing. Oh God, this was so hard. Hope blazed in his eyes as I sat on the edge of my chair, tense and uncomfortable, taking several deep breaths before I continued talking.

  “Alex, is there anything I need to know? I don’t know anything about you, not really. You never talk about yourself, and it makes me feel like you’re hiding something . . .”

  He sat unmoving, his expression frozen in horror as I plowed on.

  “So, if it affects Katie in any way, I want to know. Or at least give me the chance of . . . of walking away—before I get in too deep.”

  It was a partial truth, but it was as close as I could get without explaining that Dan had visited me. I was desperate for . . . something. But I wanted it to come from him. I wanted, no, I needed Alex to explain it to me.

  He screwed his eyelids shut, a deep sigh tumbling from him, and he appeared to be in pain. Then he opened his eyes, naked with emotion, and his piercing gaze seemed to push under my skin like a surgeon’s blade. I had a sudden and urgent desire to hug him and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

  Then I realized that his hands were shaking and he was sweating heavily, his breath coming in short pants. His skin was ashen, with an unhealthy sheen across his forehead.

  Oh my God! I think he’s having an anxiety attack! And I remembered that Dan had said he was unstable . . .

  “Alex? Are you okay?”

  He shook his head and stood abruptly, pacing the room, wrapping his arms across his chest as if he could physically hold himself together that way. He took deep, gulping breaths, and gradually, after several minutes, his color returned to something near normal.

  I poured him a glass of water and he drank it quickly, wiping his hand across his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly, guilt turning my stomach. “I didn’t mean to . . . it’s just that Katie . . .”

  My words tailed off.

  Stan poked his head into the kitchen and trotted over to Alex, gazing up at him anxiously.

  He crouched down next to him, burying one hand in the soft fur that grew in a thick mane around his neck.

  “I was m-married,” he said, his voice almost inaudible.

  Married?

  Whatever I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. I sat back in my chair.

  He didn’t look at me as he continued speaking, his voice a low, colorless monotone, the robotic voice he used when he was trying to force words past his stutter.

  “When she left, I started drinking and . . .”

  “Oh! You drink? A lot?”

  My sudden interruption threw him off track, and he paused to gather himself, but after two shocks in two sentences, my heart was beating wildly, wondering what else he was going to reveal.

  He swallowed, and continued kneading Stan’s fur.

  “I did drink. I’d had a really bad time at work, and I lost my job—and my brother . . . it was a way of coping. I’ve stopped now. I haven’t had a drink for nine months. I just find it . . . hard to talk about.”

  This time he met my eyes, begging me to hear him, but I was afraid of what he’d see in my face as I turned away.

  “I . . . I didn’t know. I’d never have guessed . . .” I stammered.

  “Stella . . .”

  My eyes opened wide.

  “Stella? What about my sister?”

  He looked back at Stan who was whining softly.

  “She hit on me . . .”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” I laughed unhappily.

  He plowed on ruthlessly, but by now his reckless honesty was too much. Too much.

  “But after I’d seen her at Spen’s party, I told her I couldn’t be around anyone who drinks. She didn’t take it well.”

  “So Stella knows?”

  He nodded.

  “Thank you for telling me,” I said stiffly.

  The silence seemed to take on a mass and volume that weighed me down. When I forced myself to meet his gaze, my protective gates had already slammed shut, leaving Alex on the outside. And I still had no idea what any of this had to do with a police file in Denver, but I’d already heard enough. He’d thrown so much new and worrying information at me in the space of a couple of minutes that I had no idea where to start.

  Divorced. An alcoholic. Fired from his job.

  He sank back into the chair, his head in his hands, and when he looked up, his eyes were bleak.

  “D-do you want me to go?”

  No! my heart shrieked.

  I wanted him and I was desperate for him to stay.

  But I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t be that irresponsible.

  Not for me and certainly not for Katie.

  “I think that would be best,” I agreed quietly, my voice surprising me with its firmness. “I need to think about this.”

  He nodded, as if expecting my answer, although he may have hoped for a different one.

  His expression was cold and shuttered as he straightened up and turned away from me.

  As Alex walked toward the door, Stan followed, moving stiffly, pausing next to me so I could scratch behind his ears.

  “Bye, Stan.”

  Alex hesitated, his shoulders rigid, but he didn’t speak again, and he didn’t look at me.

  Then he walked outside and loaded Stan onto the passenger seat.

  I stood by the front door, watching until his truck was swallowed up by the distance.

  Katie came running through the house.

  “Where’s Alex?”

  “He had to go home,” I said quietly.

  “When’s he coming back?” she asked sharply.

  “He’s not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just because.”

  “Because what? When are they coming back?!”

  “Katie . . .”

  “What did you do?” she cried, her lips trembling as she searched my face for answers.

  “I’m sorry, Katie, but it’s for the best.”

  “No, it’s not! It’s not best! It sucks! I hate you! You make everyone go away!”

  And with tears pouring down her face, she ran upstairs and slammed her bedroom door. I could hear her crying, great heaving sobs.

  My stomach flip-flopped and I felt sick. Was she right? Did I make everyone go away? Her father? Stella? And now Alex?

  I realized that I’d been too upset to even ask about his encounters with the police. And he hadn’t mentioned them. So he was a liar, as well. I had to remember that.

  I felt like crying for both of us.

  Dawn

  DID I JUST made the worst mistake of my life?

  Did I? Did I? Did I?

  That’s the thing about being sensible, responsible—it assumes that emotions should lose out to rationality. But is that the right thing to do? Who ruled that emotions are less important? Who said that reason weighed heavier in the evidence? Since when is the
head mightier than the heart?

  Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

  Shakespeare wrote sonnets about love, but if he wrote about the importance of being sensible, my high school English teacher never mentioned it.

  Or maybe I was an idiot and hopelessly addicted to the wrong men. Maybe I knew deep down that I couldn’t trust my own judgement.

  But if I’d done the right thing, why did it feel so wrong?

  Unstable.

  What did that even mean? Had Dan been referring to Alex’s drinking? And if so, why didn’t he say that? What had happened? What had Alex done to have a criminal record? If he had a criminal record—Dan said they had a file on him, but he didn’t say he was a criminal. But why would the police keep files on someone who wasn’t a criminal . . . and an ongoing investigation, no less?

  Dan didn’t have an axe to grind. He was a good, fair police officer, trusted and well liked. He was the person who told the gossips to shut the hell up when Alex first came here. Now he was telling me to stay away from him.

  I was so confused.

  Dan was my friend and I knew that he was looking out for me, but he was thinking like a police officer.

  What have I done? The question rattled around my head all night, leaving me wretched and wrung out.

  Why was I such a mess? The man admitted that he’s an alcoholic! I should be running in the opposite direction. But his kisses—I didn’t think I’d ever recover from those. The look in his eyes was pure desire, and I felt the same. I hadn’t felt anything like that in so long, if ever.

  And he was so sweet with Katie—I already knew that she liked him a lot. And I didn’t have to guess what she was thinking, hoping for.

  I felt horrible when I’d told him to leave. The look of devastation on his face was bad enough, but it was the quiet acceptance that ruined me—like he’d expected it all along. I cried non-stop for nearly half an hour after I went to bed, and I hardly ever cry.

  Unstable.

  And his house! It had been such a surprise. It looked like it belonged in ‘Better Homes & Gardens’—it was stunning. He’d transformed a ramshackle hovel into a show home that wouldn’t look out of place in the Hamptons, and Spen said that Alex had done all the work himself. The man has skills, but says he’s not in construction. Why wouldn’t he tell me about himself, about what happened with the police? What could be worse than admitting you’re a divorced, unemployed alcoholic?