The painkillers had worn off by now and my foot was throbbing meanly. It was exhausting to hop across the sand—the crutches dug deep holes each time I pressed on them, but I labored along.
As we drew closer to the pier, it struck me that I was showing an absolute lack of good judgment. It would have been a lot smarter to keep both my cast out of the sand and the sand out of my cast, but I was drawn to the pier. Standing there completed my day. It was the only way I could say good night to Dan.
Okay, maybe I was also a bit lonely and hoping to see someone.
My heart jumped when I saw Sam, sitting up, his blankets wrapped around his shoulders, his normal leg tucked underneath and his prosthetic leg stretched in front, shining silver, catching the declining rays of sun. His cane rested against the pier railing.
“Hey!” he called out, then coughed from the effort. “You’re not supposed to be walking.”
“I’m not exactly walking!” I called back, and he laughed.
He laboriously stood up and made his way down, swinging his prosthetic leg out over the step below, placing his cane carefully before transferring his weight onto both.
“Don’t come down,” I protested.
“I’m fine.” When he got to the bottom, he shook out one of the blankets and laid it across a step. “You want to sit?”
I sat. The dog sat.
“He seems to be getting more relaxed around people,” Sam remarked.
“I hope so.”
We didn’t speak. The water murmured against the pilings.
“I thought you came here in the morning,” I finally said.
“I’m not comfortable doing it anymore,” he said. “More people on the beach.”
“Tourists,” I agreed. “The summer crowd is starting. It’s a private beach, but they wander across.”
He looked at me and gave me a wry smile. “Is it okay if I come at night?”
“It’s not mine personally; it belongs to the town,” I said, then realized I sounded snotty. “I mean, everyone is welcome.”
“We can share the moon,” he said.
My stomach gave a lurch. “Don’t trust the moon,” I said. “Don’t ever trust the moon.”
* * *
We sat there in silence. The breeze became more insistent as the sun started its journey behind Provincetown. One by one, red, blue, green, and gold lights highlighted the restaurants, the little theater clubs, the boutiques. A long strip of gold lights illuminated MacMillan Wharf. Provincetown was waking up, ready to party.
“It will be dark soon,” I said. The day was disappearing; it was getting harder to see his face.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Would you like . . .” he started, then paused. “You are probably busy.” He began again. “So . . . okay . . . yeah—so, what are you doing for dinner?”
I hadn’t thought where things could lead. I wasn’t looking for things to lead anywhere. I just wanted the next moment to be okay, and then the moment after that, to let me survive without pain. Still, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I was planning to open a can of soup and then go to bed.”
“Oh. Okay,” he said.
We left it at that, but I felt—what? Guilt? I should be sitting with Dan. Boston was over two hours away and Dan used to make the trip here every Friday and return to work on Monday. I should be sitting here with Dan. It was our ritual, summer nights on the pier. He would spend the day fishing while I spent the day helping my father in the store and then Dan and I would meet on the beach and swim in the twilight before we ate dinner. I should be sitting here with Dan.
Minutes passed. I could almost believe it was Dan breathing next to me, sharing the blanket. We were both too full of our own thoughts and the day finally tiptoed away without notice.
* * *
We left the pier, the three of us. Sam offered to walk me home.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t the point.
Besides, I had the dog and what was the point of having a pit bull if I couldn’t use him to escort me safely home? We all strolled to Sam’s car and I thanked him again for driving me that morning.
I watched the Eldorado make its way down the road, a bright pink beacon shining into the dusk, and the old feelings came back. Dan and I walking home, hand in hand. Dan leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the neck. Dan and I killing off the last drop of wine, sitting on the deck, before we went to bed.
The loneliness suddenly stabbed me like a shard of glass. Why couldn’t I finally let it go, give it all a kiss good-bye and reach out and take what was being offered me?
Was I going to spend my life in mourning, opening the Galley every day and baking bread and making sandwiches, and loving Shay’s baby from June to the end of August, and closing the Galley every night and going home and standing on the pier to rail at the water and the moon until I was so empty of pain that I could allow myself to believe that perhaps this night, just this night, I would stop waiting for two dead men to return and I would be able to sleep? Did I want to spend my life waiting for two dead men?
Yes. I did.
Maybe you can’t help it if your genes are crazy.
Chapter 8
The dog was not exactly a big hit at the Galley.
I insisted on going to work the next day; what else was there for me to do? The dog came with me. What else was there for him to do? Sam was kind enough to pick us up in the morning and take us home at night. I hadn’t asked him to; he just appeared, the splendid pink Eldorado glinting outside my kitchen window just after sunrise in the morning, a flower just bloomed.
“I hope your aunt doesn’t mind my dog in the car,” I said to Sam as he drove us to the store.
“She doesn’t know,” he admitted. “I wipe everything down before I return the car, and then spray it with stuff to make it smell good. She thinks I have OCD.” He chuckled softly.
“Well, I do appreciate it,” I said. “You doing all that for me.”
“Actually, I do have OCD,” he added.
* * *
I took precautions with the dog in the store, of course. I couldn’t leave him home alone—he needed medications throughout the day—and I couldn’t leave him outside. He had been gentle, even timid so far, and I decided to keep him behind the counter with me. He had his new leather collar on, and a nice long leash that allowed him to luxuriate in his new red plaid bed and quietly observe the routine of the Galley.
Of course, Mrs. Skipper was the first customer of the day. Despite her age, she darted quickly through the aisles like a minnow, filling her basket, her long, thin fingers grabbing a box of detergent, a box of noodles, a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer, two bananas, a dozen eggs, the mail from her box. She walked to the counter, bent from fighting the winds of aging, and ordered the usual cherry Danishes, one for herself and one for The Skipper, then stopped mid-sentence to stare at the dog. He was sleeping in his bed behind the counter.
“Where did you get that dog?” she demanded, pointing to him. “I don’t remember a dog.”
“Got him yesterday.”
Shay stopped bagging Mrs. Skipper’s groceries and turned around. “He’s a lovely dog. Just needs some TLC,” she said.
“You know what he is, don’t you?” Mrs. Skipper was now standing on tippy-toes in her little white orthopedic shoes, peering over the counter to get a better look.
“Yep,” I replied. “He is a good dog.”
“He’s one of those killer dogs,” she pronounced. “I think there’s even a village ordinance against owning those things.”
Shay picked up the groceries and carried them to the door. “I’ve lived here my whole life, Mrs. Skipper,” she said gently, “and I’ve never heard of any ordinances about dogs.” She held the door open and stood there, waiting.
Mrs. Skipper stood her ground. “This is a nice, quiet village,” she said. “There has never been a dog in this store since your great-gr
andfather opened it and we don’t need one now. Especially that one. We don’t want trouble.”
I took umbrage. I do love the word “umbrage”; it sounds like an artist color—burnt umbrage. “He is staying right here, Mrs. Skipper,” I said firmly. “I don’t believe he’s making any plans to storm the village, so he’ll be fine.” The dog was looking up at me, his ear stumps pulled back worriedly. He knew what we were talking about—pit bulls know. “He’s my dog,” I said. “I am taking care of him. Pete Vegara keeps his big shepherd with him at the hardware store and it’s never been a problem.”
“But this is a pit bull,” she retorted. “We’ll see if we’re going to allow a killer dog in this village. In the general store, no less!”
“The dog stays,” I said, trying not to let the tremble I felt in my knees show in my voice. “He’s just a dog.”
“A dangerous dog.”
“He’s done nothing,” I countered firmly.
“Yet,” she snapped. “He’s doesn’t belong in this town.”
“You don’t own it,” I heard myself saying.
She looked me straight in the eye. “We run it, dear. And we’re not going to let you drag in some mongrel to terrorize everyone.”
“Do you want me to put your groceries in your car, Mrs. Skipper?” Shay called from the door.
Mrs. Skipper turned her attention to her. “Thank you,” she said. “I better leave before I get ripped to shreds.” She followed Shay out to her car, letting the door slam and the little bell tinkle behind her.
“People can be so funny,” I said to Shay when she returned. “I mean, the dog is no threat. . . .”
“She’s just an old crank,” Shay reassured me. “She’s never liked me. Don’t let it bother you.”
I looked down at the dog who hadn’t broken his gaze from me during the whole conversation. It was the kind of stare that told me he was afraid of what my next words would be. The kind of stare that says, I am throwing my heart out there for you to pick up, if you want to. Please don’t ask me to leave. I knelt down awkwardly on the floor next to him and reached out to touch his head. He flinched but let me touch him.
“I made you a promise that I would take care of you,” I said fiercely, “and I don’t break my promises. You’re going to stay right here.”
“Then you’d better get him a license right away,” Shay interjected from behind me. “So he can stay right here legally.”
* * *
The rest of the day went without anyone else commenting on him, except for an occasional murmur of surprise or an offer of a belly rub, which I knew he wasn’t ready for and circumvented. He slept behind the counter, took his medicine wrapped in bologna slices, shared part of the Sandwich with me, and got up to yawn leisurely when Sam appeared to drive us home. He followed me into the pink Eldorado and while Sam drove, the dog smushed his nose, like he usually did, against the back window to watch the road, leaving huge nose prints all over the glass.
“My aunt needs her car back, so I’m planning to buy myself a car,” Sam announced as he parked outside my front door. I eyed the back windows. His eyes followed my gaze.
“Artistic fellow, isn’t he?” he remarked.
“Let me clean that before you leave,” I said.
“Don’t bother,” he said, grinning. “I always clean the car before I return it to my aunt anyway. But I’m planning to get a car of my own, she needs this back.”
“Good luck,” I said. “They’re pretty expensive.”
“Well, I have some money saved up,” he said. “I lived at home after I retired from the service.” He paused. “I was hoping maybe you would go with me and help me find something nice. I don’t know where anything is around here. Then your dog can mess up my windows.” I liked his easy nature.
“I’ll see how Shay is feeling. If she’s okay, I can take the time off,” I replied, and explained about the dog license. “Maybe we can get both things done in one day.”
“It’s a date then,” he agreed, and then saw my face. “I mean, an adventure. Yes, ma’am, we’ll have an adventure.”
I thanked him for the ride and turned toward my house.
“You know,” he called after me, “he needs a name if you’re going to get him a license!”
I stopped in my tracks. “You’re right,” I said. “I can’t just call him the dog.”
“A proper name,” Sam added. “It’ll help him feel better about himself, too.”
I looked at the dog, standing next to me, wearing his new green leash and leather collar, dressed for a new life. He was squinting up at me with his small almond-shaped pit-bull eyes, one swollen shut. He cocked his head, his broken ear pricked as high as it could go.
He did need a name.
But I couldn’t allow myself to name him. It would have made him mine, it would have unsealed my heart, and I couldn’t do it. A sealed heart seals out pain.
* * *
Dinner.
I poured the dog a bowl of crunchies and opened a can of soup for myself. We ate together on the back deck, the light glancing off the bay in the distance and fracturing into a jigsaw of pink and tangerine against the darkening blue sky. The water rolled across the beach like a cat, lithe waves purring softly. Someone walked by and waved; everyone knew me. I liked that everyone knew me. I liked that this was my place, sitting here on my deck and listening to the water hum its contentment along the shore.
The dog finished his food and came over to lie at my feet and watch with me. It was comforting, I realized, to eat with him. He was someone to talk to, someone to look at, someone to give a piece of chicken from my soup bowl and say, “Hey, try this, it’s not bad for canned soup, right?” or just to call to him, “Hey, you’re a good dog!” He seemed friendlier, more relaxed, the fear and sadness that had filled his eyes was slowly starting to dissipate.
I was not planning to walk the beach tonight. It was too much of a struggle through the sand, and my ankle was still aching from my earlier attempt. I knew Sam might be on the pier, rolled in his khaki wool blankets. He might even be waiting for me, but I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want things to evolve beyond where they were right now.
I was genuinely tired and went into the kitchen. The dog waited next to me as I washed our small collection of dishes, refilled his water, brewed myself tea. He whined by the door until I opened it and he vanished into the dusk for exactly ten minutes to do his business—in the yard, I hoped—before returning. He watched me as I locked the back door, locking the two of us safely inside, then sat by the tub as I showered, followed me into bed. He took over my pillow and quickly fell asleep. “Come here!” I called aloud to him. “Good boy. Did you know you were going to have a home?” I rephrased it: I didn’t want to disappoint him. “A home with me, until I find you a forever home?” The stump tail wagged slowly, even though his eyes remained closed.
He knew.
* * *
I thought I would finally sleep. I was feeling the beginning of a sense of completion, a small oasis of peace opening within me, as I lay in bed listening to the dog breathe.
I thought about Shay being pregnant. She had a great family and I loved them. Her mother was affectionate and kind and funny; her father, strict and loving. They would honor this new life, surround it with goodness. Was I envious? Oh yes! I wanted that. But at least I would be part of it.
The dog whimpered in his sleep. I wondered if this dog had been sent to me. Why was I allowing him to pick at the corners of my heart, breaking its seal, allowing who knows what to creep under the layers? How could I not allow it? Tomorrow I would ask Sam to take us to Town Hall first thing. I needed to protect this dog, to make sure he could never be taken from me until I was ready to let him go. It was important for me to keep my promise to him.
A strangled cry, sent up from a bad dream, came deep from the dog’s throat. I sat up to stroke his rough skin, rub a gentle circle around his broken ears, whisper soft words, my lips pressed against his heavy hea
d.
The young moon, just a few days old now, tried to slip its meager light through the window, looking for attention. A waxing crescent, inexperienced, slight, too tender to press its arc fully against the night sky, supplicating, like a child, seeking my forgiveness for the full moon that had broken me.
I tucked the pillow around my head, rolled onto my side with my back to the window, and refused to look at it.
Chapter 9
The dog was sitting and facing the back door, whining softly, by the time I woke up. He knew Sam was coming and seemed impatient. I let him out to do his business, marveling at how fast animals pick up routines. Then I chided myself for also anticipating Sam’s arrival so keenly. We were becoming friends. There was an easiness between us that I liked, a comfortable friendliness that seemed to work for both of us. I hadn’t wanted anyone new in my life, but now there were two, a man and a dog, and it was okay. It was all temporary.
The dog was back in five minutes, to take up his station again at the door.
The pink Eldorado, glowing in the morning sun like a watermelon slice, rolled in front of the house right on time. I had already eaten my toasted muffin and had a pot of coffee on standby. The dog had a bowl of crunchies and a muffin. Sam would lean against a wall, have exactly one cup of coffee with one sugar, which he wouldn’t finish, refuse a muffin because he had already eaten at his aunt’s, and then stand politely, his back still straight against the wall, his hands clasped behind, while I washed the bowl and the cups and put them on the drainboard. Every day.
Routine was my savior.
* * *
Sam was dressed in a pair of navy slacks, a light blue shirt, and a charcoal sweater. The casual beach look was gone. The beard and mustache were shaved off, revealing a square chin and an open, strong face. His hair was combed neatly, and his dark eyes looked piercing under his thick brows. He was imposing, handsome even. I couldn’t help but take a peek at his feet. He was wearing socks and shoes, looking as normal as anybody. I stepped back to admire him.
“Wow,” I said. “You look really great.”
And All the Phases of the Moon Page 5
