I slid down with my back against the door, pulled the towel from my hair, buried my face in it, and cried. And cried. It felt like losing my mother all over again. Only worse, somehow. Back then, I’d taken off a couple of days to deal with it, to deal with the to-do list of putting someone to rest. There hadn’t been time for tears.
William came over and slumped next to me. I raised my head long enough to notice his eyebrows drawn tight at the strange noises coming out of me. After I put my face back in the towel, he nudged my ear so that I turned to him. He licked my face with the force and thoroughness of someone who means it. I put my arm around him and sobbed into his neck.
Two-and-a-half years ago, I’d managed my emotions with the same efficiency I checked items off the list. Contact friends and family, check. Obituary, check. Funeral home, check. Flowers, check. Grave marker, check.
Return to work and take on more projects, check.
Stephanie, you’re going to have to face this sooner or later. The longer you wait…
I’m fine. I’ve dealt with it.
What are you afraid of?
I think—
No, how do you feel?
Without work, an empty to-do list loomed in front of me like something ominous from a B horror flick. A black hole that I was about to tumble in to. There, grief would swallow me. I’d become one of those depressed people who didn’t care how they looked. I’d lie on the couch all day and gain weight. I’d stop answering the door.
William sighed. He needed to go out. He needed a bath. I did have a to-do list. I would think of other things for it soon. Like cleaning up that stupid breakfast.
I stood and faced the mess. I should fire dear Mr. Fagen and take over the yard and house maintenance. That would keep me busy. But my heart wasn’t in it, and it wasn’t fair to him. He’d been trying to help, though the why of it escaped me.
The bacon was burned, the eggs dry, the toast cold. I made a plate, and sat at the table to start a list. With only one bite swallowed, William whimpered. Right. He needed to go out.
Gabe’s truck sat in the shade of the huge ginkgo by the back gate. No other evidence of the man. Just as well. I’d never been so mad and sad and confused. I probably owed him an apology. Did owe him an apology. It was just coffee, right? Which reminded me that I desperately needed a cup. I’d be incoherent if I tried to talk to him, anyway.
After taking William to the park across the way, I went back inside, poured a small amount from the full pot, then emptied my ice-cube trays and filled them with what remained. I left these on the counter to cool while brewing a fresh pot from non-mom beans. There were fourteen cubes per tray, three trays, forty-two cubes total. If I used one per year, they’d last until I was eighty-eight years old. By then, I might be done with this particular form of insanity.
Guilt tugged at me for complaining and eating the breakfast Gabe had made. He’d went and bought the supplies, too. I wrote down “Reimburse Fagen for groceries,” and “Buy new ice-cube trays,” and began feeling more right with the world.
That is, until the strange vision arose in my head.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
It lasted not more than a second, but the air caught in my throat anyway. I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself. Had I dreamed this during my nap? Dreams didn’t return with such force. I gulped coffee. William put his paw on my leg. I covered it with my hand, then rubbed my tired eyes.
“It’s okay. Good boy.”
In response to the vivid scene, a new wave of sadness and grief and…betrayal washed through me. Betrayal? Unfamiliar as I was with emotions, this stumped me. As if I could discern the nuances when I scarcely felt them.
I shook it off and ruffled William’s head. “We need some exercise, eh, boy?” He wagged his tail and gazed at me with devotion. That lurching feeling in my chest returned—something of recognition and—well, it couldn’t be love. But what else would make my breath and heart jam together that way? I needed an appointment with Jean, pronto. The events of the past twenty-four hours had addled my brain.
“Let’s go for a run,” I said to William. He bounced on his hind legs with excitement, as tall as me when reared to his full height. “Then a bath, okay?” Undaunted, he continued to wag and bounce while I got him into his new collar and leash, and we were out the door.
Fresh air cleared my head, but I grew winded quickly, the after effects of alcohol and sugar overload from the night before still taxing my system. We slowed after a block. William walked calmly beside me. Hard to believe anyone had had trouble with him. Which made me wonder about Heather’s fanciful and ridiculous notion he was my lover from a previous lifetime. It was odd I felt so connected to him and we rubbed along like we’d been doing it forever. He was a good dog, was all. And I was overdue for canine companionship.
Okay, any companionship. I thought of the sight and smell of Gabe and my tummy did its silly little flip again. A man like that never wanted for companionship of any kind.
What are you afraid of, Stephanie?
I think—
FEELings…
We’d wandered toward the main street. It would be busy with people and dogs. Despite his stellar behavior, I wasn’t sure how William would react. We cut down an alley that would take us toward home. As soon as we did, I had second thoughts. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but bad elements popped up every now and then anyway, and the alley was too empty. I could see the street at the other end, but it seemed far away. I decided to go back the way we’d come.
William’s deep-throated growl caught me off guard. He’d stopped and bristled, his whole body tense. A young man stood in our way holding a gun. Instinctively, I turned. Another kid stepped out from behind a dumpster and blocked escape.
My mind went blank. Scream, I thought. Yes, I should scream. Instead, I froze.
Not William. He charged, grabbed the gun arm in his massive jaws and pushed. A shot exploded into the air, the boy screamed, the gun dropped, both kids ran. Or tried to. The one behind me made it. The first one played a deadly game of tug-of-war with the Conqueror.
I kicked the gun under the dumpster. Otherwise, helplessness made me limp. William had changed before my eyes from a scraggly mutt to a ferocious guardian angel. He growled and snarled and whipped his head around like he intended to tear the kid’s hand off. Blood splattered through the air from bites. The boy had given up trying to get away and cried in terror, his free arm across his eyes as if blinding himself to the truth would make it stop.
A police car screeched to a halt in the head of the alley.
I found my voice. “William. Stop. Let him go.”
With a final disgusted shake, he dropped the offending arm and trotted over to me, sitting at my feet. I hesitated before petting him. His jaws and cheeks were smeared with blood. The whole thing had lasted seconds but felt like an hour, a day, a lifetime. He glanced at me with an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
That weird sense of recognition hit me again. I doubled over like I’d been kicked in the stomach and began to shake. My vision darkened. Vaguely, I was aware of someone asking if I was all right, the crackle of a police radio, another siren, flashing lights, paramedics. They sat me down, put a blanket around my shoulders.
I am running. Being chased. They are coming too swiftly. On horseback. Ahead, a place of safety. I can’t reach it. They grab me.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
Treachery. Anger. Betrayal. Disbelief. Sorrow.
Impossible feelings to know all at once. I coughed—the lung-searing hack of someone who was drowning—someone who was burning. A kind voice swam through to me; a gentle hand put cool water to my lips.
——
An hour or so later, a police cruiser deposited William and me at our house. Gabe came running from the backyard. I heard myself saying, “I’m all right,” over and over. There was a conversation between the policewoman and Gabe, his strong arms were around me, and then I was in my bed, Willi
am tight at my side. I wasn’t all right, not at all.
Tomorrow, I remembered, would be Mother’s Day.
Chapter 5
The Man, The Dog, His Owner & Her Lover, a Witting Woman novella Page 4
