by Cook, Claire
I got up at the crack of dawn and drove to the beach to watch the sunrise, munching on another handful of blueberries I'd foraged off the land. The beach was practically deserted. I sipped my coffee, leaned back on my elbows. I kicked off my flip-flops and wiggled my toes in the coarse Marshbury sand.
As I watched the salmon and pink sun peek up over an endless blue ocean, it felt like I was making my own sunshine for the first time in years.
I could have called Michael to pick me up on the way to work on Monday, but I didn't. Of course, he could have called me, too. It was as if once he'd moved out, we'd cut the cord. Or maybe he was doing his own family detox.
I parked my car at the Marshbury station and found a seat way in the back of the train. It was a long ride, more crowded with each stop. I tried not to think about the packed subway ride that was waiting for me on the other end. No wonder people fantasized about living on deserted islands. But I was ready to come back to the world. I was ready to get on with my life.
John Anderson wasn't waiting in front of the Necrogamiac building with two cups of Starbucks coffee. Not that I expected him to be. I opened the door for myself, checked the sign next to the elevator, took the stairs up to the Human Resources department.
Keli was sitting at her desk, wearing a miniskirt, legs crossed in shiny hot pink skyscraper heels. One shoe was firmly planted on the floor, the other dangled precariously from one toe.
I cleared my throat. "May I talk to you for a moment, please?"
Keli jumped, her dangling shoe skittering across the floor. She got up, yanked down her miniskirt, did a high-low hobble until she caught up with her shoe.
"Hey," she said as she sat on the edge of her desk and wiggled her shoe back on. "What's up?"
"Now," I said. "Let's go."
I was ready to grab her if she decided to cut and run, but she followed me peacefully to the nearest restroom. I held the door for her, then shut it behind me. I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Knock-knock," I said. A good preschool teacher always has a knock-knock joke handy.
"Who's there?" Keli said in a singsong-y voice.
"Orange," I said.
If she didn't actually gulp, she wanted to. "Orange who?" she said softly.
"Orange you glad I'm onto you?" I said.
She wrinkled her nose adorably. "Are you okay, Sarah? You're acting really strange. And by the way, have you had any trouble logging into the Gamiacs' private chat room? It's been acting really wonky lately."
"Let's talk wonky," I said. "You put the moves on a certain someone. He tells you he's not interested. But instead of backing off, you decide you're going to try to sabotage his relationship with the person he is interested in. So you figure out his dog, like most dogs, hates the smell of oranges."
I hadn't had many Nancy Drew moments in my life, but I liked it. If I ever needed a break from teaching, maybe I could open up my own private investigation firm. I reached into my shoulder bag, pulled out the orange blossom perfume stick, the organic orange essence lip balm, the pure blood orange lotion, and placed them next to the sink, one by one.
Keli watched my every move. "It's just this thing I do," she said. "It's like I look around at everything I don't have yet and think: I want that and that. And that. And then I figure out how to get it all."
I stared at her.
She tilted her head and smiled. "I'm very resourceful. But don't worry. Once I have it I don't want it anymore anyway."
"And worst of all," I said, "you involved the Gamiacs. You took advantage of the trust I put in you. You changed the password."
She smiled harder. "No worries. I'll put it back right now."
"You can't put it back. You're no longer an administrator."
Her eyes darted toward the bathroom door, as if she might be contemplating a quick getaway in her pink skyscraper heels.
I wanted to grab her by a clump of perfectly foiled hair. Or even an earlobe. But I was a professional, so I merely gripped the back of her arm firmly and pushed the door open with my other hand.
I walked her to the elevator, pushed the button, waited for it to open.
"Sit," I said, as I gave her a little shove toward the tufted elevator bench.
Keli sat.
I leaned against the door to keep it open. I crossed my arms over my chest and gave her my best teacher glare, fine-tuned through years of practice.
"What?" she said.
"I want you to sit right here in this elevator, all morning if you have to, and I want you to think about the kind of person you want to be."
I reached into my bag again and pulled out the posts I'd printed. "And then, once you've finished your time-out, you're going to come with me and apologize to the Gamiacs. Then you're all going to read your posts out loud, discuss what you've learned since then. Then we're going to take them outside and burn them. And then we're all going to move forward."
I knocked on John's office door.
"Come in," he said in his professional voice.
I opened the door and leaned in. "Listen, I know this isn't the time or the place, and I know you've got work to do, and I have to get back to the Gamiacs, but I just have to say this. In a million years, I don't think I'd find someone I'd rather be with, and I know I'm the one who's been screwing things up. You're right, I keep looking for reasons that this can't work, stupid things like distance, and family, and Horatio, not that Horatio is stupid. By the way, do you happen to know if he hates the smell of oranges?"
John shrugged.
I took a deep breath. "I kind of just got back from a semi-deserted island, and the whole time I was there I kept trying not to think about you, but I couldn't. And it wasn't because I didn't want to be alone. It was because you would have made it better. You would have known that Irish road bowling didn't really originate in Ireland, but in Scotland, or Germany, or Poland, and you would have wanted to take a walk on the beach as soon as we got there, and mostly, you would have laughed in all the right places. I don't really get the whole pinball thing, but I know that second chances don't only happen in pinball, and, well, what I'm trying to say is that I'd really like to give it another shot."
He made an odd gesture with his eyes, as if something was stuck in one of his contacts.
"Are you okay?" I said.
He nodded.
"Um, in summation, I'd just like to say that I'm really sorry, not for all of it, of course, but for the parts that were my fault. So, if you can find it in your heart to hit the undo button on that last breakup . . .. Wait. Is something wrong?"
John pointed.
I turned my head. John's boss was sitting in a clear Lucite chair in the corner with his Nerf crossbow in his lap.
I resisted the urge to ask him to please shoot me now.
"Hey there," I said. "Happy Monday."
He nodded. "I've been hearing nice things about you. Keep up the good work."
I gave them both a little wave as I backed out of the doorway.
"Carry on," I said before I closed the door.
Chapter
Thirty-three
I opened my door.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked once we'd finished kissing.
"Absolutely," I said. I hooked one arm around his waist as I leaned past him to get a glimpse of his car. Horatio's head was hanging out the window and the rest of him was desperately trying to follow. He was barking like a maniac.
"Okay," John said. "So, how're we going to work this? Do you want me to bring him inside for you?"
"No way," I said. "Thanks, but I want you to take a walk around the block. When you get back, jump in the car and disappear for at least an hour. Maybe longer. I'll call you when we've got things all worked out."
"How about if I kill some time, then head to the grocery store and pick up something for dinner? Maybe bacon-wrapped scallops, grilled lobster tails, a nice kale salad?"
"You know how to make all that?" I leaned in and gave him another kiss. "I knew t
here was a reason I was risking life and limb for you."
"Oh, and by the way, I squeezed an orange into a glass and held it under Horatio's nose. He turned his head away in disgust."
"I surmised as much," I said in my best Nancy Drew voice. Someday I'd tell John about Keli's plot, but there was no rush. We had plenty of time. And it's not like Horatio had been all that crazy about me before I reeked of orange anyway.
John put his hands on my shoulders. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"
I nodded. "It's the only way. Don't worry, I've got The Dog Whisperer on speed dial."
"Seriously?"
"Nope, but I watched three episodes of the show last night. I'm good."
His Heath Bar eyes met mine. I gulped. He gave me a final kiss, then turned and walked away.
Fortunately, in the short time he'd been parked in my driveway, Horatio hadn't managed to swallow his leash whole. Still, he'd channeled both his Yorkie fury and his greyhound speed and was hurling himself in the direction John had walked off in. As he hit the back window over and over again, the aftershocks made him look like a deranged bobble-head dog.
By my expert calculation, the biggest trick was going to be to grab the leash without losing an arm. When we were kids, Johnny, or maybe it was Billy, had this long-armed plastic robotic claw he would sneak to the Sunday dinner table so he could terrorize us. We'd be minding our own business, shoveling forkfuls of mashed potatoes into our mouths, when suddenly—crunch—the claw would clamp down on a knee or an ankle. It was exactly the kind of thing I needed right now. I'd just slide it through the open window from a safe distance, squeeze the handle to tighten the claw on leash. And we'd be good to go.
Alas, no such luck. Instead, I was wearing my thickest zip-up hoodie, partly for protection, and also because it had deep pockets that I'd filled with a cornucopia of doggie treats. I'd also dabbed a little bit of peanut butter on my ankles, just for good luck. And to counteract any residual citrus smell.
I took a deep breath. I lifted my head high, threw my shoulders back, and approached the vehicle.
Horatio leaped over the console between the front seats. He stuck his head through the open window on the passenger side again and tried to claw a bigger opening.
"Use your words, not your claws," I said.
He launched into a ferocious series of barks.
"There, there," I said. "Just let it all out."
I waited until he quieted down, possibly due to laryngitis. Then I lobbed a juicy treat through the window in his direction. He scrambled for it.
"Okay," I said once I had his attention again. "Let's establish the rules."
He appeared to still be with me, so I continued. "When you grow opposable thumbs, I'll let you be the boss. Until then, I'm in charge. Got it?"
Horatio gargled some rocks.
I waited him out.
"I know, I know," I said when he finally settled down. "The truth is sometimes hard to swallow."
He tilted his head at me. I threw him another treat.
He caught it while it was still airborne, gulped it down.
I put my hand in my treat pocket. Horatio opened and closed his mouth slowly as he began to salivate, both eyes glued to my pocket. I closed my own eyes and offered up a moment of thanks to Pavlov. The guy was a genius.
"When you're ready," I said, like millions of teachers had said before me and millions more would say after me, "we'll proceed."
Horatio put his butt down on the passenger seat.
I threw him another treat.
He caught it without moving, like a canine Venus flytrap. Then he held up one paw in my direction.
"Cute," I said. "I like it." I threw him another treat.
Even the most brilliant lesson can lose your students if it goes on too long, so I knew I had to move quickly. The handle of Horatio's leash dangled halfway to the floor, which in my professional assessment was still dangerously close to his teeth. I leaned casually into John's car, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the door handle, wiggling the treats in my hoodie the way my father used to jingle the change in his pants pockets.
"What a good boy," I said. I threw another treat, this time the smelliest one I had, past Horatio and onto the driver's seat.
Horatio turned and dove for it. I swung the car door open, grabbed the leash with one hand, keeping my other hand in the treat pocket. Then I turned around fast, as if I didn't even notice I was holding the leash.
I took a step toward my house. Horatio jumped out of the car. I butt-bumped John's car door closed. I gave Horatio a chance to pee, then I led him down the street, carefully orchestrating our route so it wouldn't intersect with John's. I stayed in the lead and kept the leash relaxed, occasionally making a correction by pulling up on it and calmly saying, "Horatio, heel."
I'd read that a tired dog is a well-behaved dog, and I knew it was definitely true for toddlers, so we walked and walked until I was sure we'd accomplished the canine equivalent of a good climb on the jungle gym. Then we reversed direction without a hitch and walked back to my house.
I opened the front door and went in first. I made Horatio sit in the entryway. Then I gave him a treat, took off his leash. He headed right for the pile of dirty clothes on the floor of my laundry room. He dropped one shoulder and rolled over on his back on top of my underwear, paws in the air, as if he'd found a dead bird.
"Okay," I said, "so we've got a few details left to work out."
Horatio and I were curled up on the couch. He was watching an episode of The Dog Whisperer I'd seen before. He rolled over so his head was in my lap, fully exposing his tummy to me, which is like the doggie equivalent of sending flowers.
"Love you, too," I said. I gave him a gentle belly rub.
Then I went back to my laptop. I found Annie and Lainie's Facebook page. "Good job!" I posted. I uploaded a picture of a transparent glass wing butterfly from Panama. I knew my nieces would love it. And I didn't really care what anyone else thought.
When my phone rang, I thought it might be John.
"We need to spend the rest of those gift certificates," somebody else said. "Summer will be over before we know it."
It took me a second to place Lorna's voice, as if Bayberry Preschool existed in a completely different dimension. The reality that a new school year was fast approaching descended on me, filling me with equal parts dread and anticipation the way it always did, since the days I'd been a student myself.
"Okay," I said.
"How 'bout tonight?"
"Sorry," I said, "I've got company."
"Then next week. And just to give you a heads up, Gloria and I will expect a full report on that company."
I looked at my phone for a moment after we hung up. Then I called my sister Christine.
"What's wrong?" she said.
"Nothing. Hey, do you want to get together, maybe next week, or the week after, just the two of us? Before school starts up and I get crazy busy again."
"Did you ask Carol first?"
I laughed. "I didn't. I swear. Listen, text me some dates that work for you. I have to go now. I've got something baking in the oven."
"Ha-ha," Christine said. "That's really funny."
The blueberry applesauce peanut butter treats were perfectly done, solid throughout and lightly crisped. The parchment paper had been a great suggestion. They didn't stick at all when I lifted them up with a spatula. I arranged them on a pretty platter edged with hydrangeas. And then I called John.
"We're all set," I said. "You can come home now."
Horatio and I greeted him at the door. I leaned in for a kiss.
John kept one eye on Horatio as we kissed. Horatio wagged his tail. I took a step back and smiled.
"I'm almost afraid to say anything," he said. "Well, I guess I should get that seafood right into the fridge."
I reached for his grocery bags. "I'll do it. Why don't you guys have a moment alone." Horatio wagged his tail some more.
&nb
sp; I took my time putting everything away. Then I picked up the platter.
"Appetizer?" I said as I walked back into the living room.
"Ooh, those look good." John reached for one and popped it into his mouth.
I watched him chew.
"Mmm," he said. "What's that I taste? Maybe blueberries?"
"Fresh from my garden," I said. I picked up another one and held it out to Horatio.
"Wait," John said. "I don't give him people food. It's not good for dogs."
I tossed it in Horatio's direction. He caught it while it was still in the air.
"It's not people food," I said.
John opened his Heath Bar eyes wide.
I smiled sweetly. "Don't worry. They're safe. No chicken by-products. Or at least not that many."
He scrunched his eyes shut and swallowed. "I guess I deserved that."
"Yeah, you did. And let's get one thing perfectly clear. Don't ever ask me to eat out of a dog dish again."
"Got it."
We looked at each other. "You know," I said, "I can't promise life will be easy if we try to make this work, but I think it will always be interesting."
Horatio wagged his tail. I threw him another treat.
New Leash On Life RECIPE
Horatio's Droolicious Blueberry
Applesauce Peanut Butter Treats
½ cup unsweetened applesauce
2 tsp. maple syrup
1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
1 egg
1½ cups old-fashioned oatmeal
½ cup blueberries
parchment paper
Preheat oven to 350. Line cookie sheet with parchment paper.
Process oats in blender until finely ground.
Mix wet ingredients in a bowl.
Add oatmeal and mix. Fold in blueberries.
Form dough into small round balls. Place on parchment paper and bake 20 minutes or until lightly crisped.
Let cool. Enjoy.
