Murber Strikes a Pose

by Tracy Weber

  I opened my mouth to argue but stopped, suddenly dizzy. Irregular-feeling heartbeats fluttered in the soft pit of my throat. Rene was right. Those weren’t the real issues. Even thinking about a future with Bella pushed me right to the edge of a panic attack.

  I pretended to be calm as I returned to the table. “Honestly, Rene, even if I could work out everything else, I don’t think I can stand the loss.”

  “What loss? What are you talking about?”

  “Bella’s going to live, what, another eight years, maybe ten, max? And who knows what effect her disease will have on her life span. Then she’ll die and I’ll be all alone again.”

  Rene looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember what I was like when Dad died? I could barely get out of bed. The grief was so intense, I thought it would kill me.”

  “But honey, that’s normal! Everybody grieves when they lose someone they love. And in spite of your squabbles, you and your dad were practically inseparable. Of course you were depressed for a while!”

  “Grieving may be normal, but not like this. It lasted for over a year.” Even talking about that time brought back an unwelcome feeling of nausea. “I didn’t want you and Sam to worry, so I put on a good front and pretended to be OK. But I felt empty inside for a very long time. In some ways, I still do.” I looked down at the table. “It’s like Dad took a piece of me with him when he died, and I never got it back. I simply learned how to function without it.” I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.

  “I know I’d fall in love with Bella. How could I help it? I’d get used to having her in my life, used to her company—then she’d be gone.” My eyes burned with held-back tears. “I can’t do it again, Rene. I simply don’t have any pieces left to give.”

  Rene leaned forward and touched my arm. “Oh, sweetie, you can’t be serious. You can’t possibly go through life without loving. I’d rather die myself than lose Sam, but that doesn’t stop me from loving him all the same.”

  “I know, Rene, but that’s different. At least you and Sam have a fighting chance of living out your lives together. With Bella, I already know the ultimate outcome.”

  If Rene’s confused look was any indication, she still didn’t understand. Frankly, neither did I. Not really. That last fight with my father had changed me in ways I still didn’t fully comprehend. I flashed back to that awful scene: the yelling, the accusations. The sound as the door slammed behind me. The words I couldn’t take back no matter how hard I tried.

  No. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, talk about that night, not even with Rene. Prickly defensiveness edged out all other emotions. “I’ve made my decision, Rene. I’m not keeping Bella. I’m not willing to get attached to an animal that way. Now drop it.”

  Rene grabbed my hand earnestly. “Kate, this isn’t healthy.”

  I ignored her.

  “Have you considered counseling?”

  Even my skin felt sharp, barbed like a porcupine’s quills.

  “I have a friend who’s a psychologist. Maybe she could—”

  “Enough!” I erupted, snatching my hand back. “A lot of people don’t have pets. It’s not a crime, or a sign of mental illness. I owe it to George to help Bella, and I will. But I’m not keeping her. That’s final.”

  Rene stared at me in shocked silence. I felt awful for snapping at her, but at least she got the message. I suspected I’d hear more from her later, but for the time being, she quit pushing. Instead she played the “Rene is a goofball” card, and for once I was glad for the charade. In fact, I had never loved her more. Instead of forcing the subject, instead of insisting that I confront my issues, she looked at her watch and pasted on a fake smile.

  “Well, look at that, miss grumpy-pants. It’s six-thirty! Your date will arrive in thirty minutes! I need to get out of here, and you, Miss Kate, need to get working on that face of yours. Do yourself a favor and don’t go light on the makeup. You look exhausted.”

  Rene grinned slyly, “By the way, I went undercover and made an espionage visit to a certain pet store. I checked out your guy. He’s gorgeous!”

  “Oh, Rene, please tell me you didn’t—”

  “Don’t worry, silly. I was subtle. I made up a story about a new pet kitten and everything. Which reminds me, you owe me twelve dollars and seventy-nine cents for kitten chow.” She stood up, preparing to leave. “Be sure to call me first thing in the morning. I want details. Lots and lots of disgusting details.” She grabbed her jacket and dashed to the door.

  “Got to run, literally. I can feel that biscotti adhering itself to my thighs.” She hesitated at the door, then ran back and gave me a deep, long hug. “You know I love you, right?”

  Tears filled my eyes as the door clicked softly behind her. The room felt eerily, depressingly quiet in her wake. But in spite of my current melancholia, my decision about Bella was final. Rene might think my choice was unhealthy, but the Yoga Sutras disagreed. Attachment, they said, led to suffering.

  What Rene called neurosis, I called self-preservation.

  And so I reburied my fears, relocked the hole in my heart, and drowned out my dreary thoughts by playing my favorite Lady Gaga CD. Evidently, denial was a skill well-honed by practice. By the time I finished belting out the final lyrics of “Poker Face,” I felt close to normal again.

  Bella scoured the floor, looking for crumbs, as I continued to get ready. I put on my new favorite outfit and looked in the mirror, suddenly self-conscious. “What do you think, Puppy Girl? Does this skirt make me look good or just desperate?”

  Bella refused comment.

  I turned to the mirror, buttoned up the top two buttons of my blouse, then changed my mind and unbuttoned them again.

  “What do we care? I don’t even like this guy, and you only like his dog treats.” I widened my eyes and liberally applied deep black mascara. “We girls can get along fine on our own. He’s probably dating that twenty-year-old bimbo by now, anyway. Besides, I don’t need any man. I’m a completely self-sufficient woman.”

  Bella lay down, sighed, and rested her head on her paws. Go ahead, delude yourself, she seemed to say.

  I turned away from the mirror to glare at her. “What are you looking at, you hairy monster? You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place.”

  If that’s how Bella was going to act, I’d keep my thoughts to myself. I gave her the silent treatment and continued my mental monologue. I don’t care what any man thinks of me, but I’d hate to be seen in public looking like a homely house frau. I’ll just add some eye shadow, maybe a little concealer to hide those dark circles. I looked in the mirror. An exhausted zombie-woman stared back. Make that a lot of concealer.

  I glanced sideways in the mirror. I didn’t look too bad for a woman in her thirties. As long as I remembered to pull my belly in, I’d be fine. I smiled to check out my teeth in the mirror. The minute I stopped thinking about it, the inevitable pooch below my navel showed itself again. Lord, aging is a bitch.

  Bella sat up, tilted her head to the side, and watched me curiously.

  “Oh, so now you’re interested, Missy Dog? Well in that case, make yourself useful. Tell me how great I look.”

  Silence. Not even an appreciative sigh.

  “Fine. Be that way. Do you think I have time for some breathing exercises?”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Bella charged the door, barking furiously.

  Six-fifty. I should have known he’d be early. Bella alternated between hurling herself at the door and scratching it aggressively, as if she alone were our last defense against an ax-wielding psychopath. I could rest assured knowing I’d always be safe with Bella in the house—as long as the burglar rang the doorbell.

  “Bella, shut up!” I yelled. I took a final glance in the mirror and sighed at the futility of it all. Where did all that dog hair come from? I grabbed Bel
la’s collar and dragged the barking, frothing beast away from the door to lock her in the bathroom.

  I paused at the door and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. After a count of three, I opened the door and came face-to-face with—a perfect stranger. A gorgeous stranger. Clean-shaven, dressed to the nines, lean build. He wore a great big smile and carried a bouquet of—

  Flower-shaped dog cookies?

  “I hope you don’t mind,” said the voice I immediately recognized as Michael’s. “German shepherds are often territorial, and I didn’t want to take any chances. I know this is supposed to be our first date and all, so I really should be trying to impress you. But I figured I should start by winning over Bella. After all, we already know your bark is worse than your bite. Bella’s, on the other hand …”

  I was stunned. Shocked really. Unable to move. But only for a moment. I slowly smiled, reached out, and took Michael’s hand. In a voice so throaty and low I almost didn’t recognize it as my own, I said, “Get in here.”

  I pulled him into the living room, wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, and planted a long, hard kiss on those luscious, completely hair-free lips. I’m pleased to say he returned the favor.

  We never did make it to dinner. But I have to confess, dessert was simply fabulous.

  _____

  I rolled over a little after eight the next morning and opened my eyes. Bella glared back at me. Michael occupied her rightful spot on the bed, and she wasn’t happy about it. “Sorry, sweetie,” I whispered. “But sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  I flipped my back to her, ignored her silent recriminations, and snuggled up to Michael’s softly snoring body. I ran my fingers across the ripples of his chest. Yes, there was a God.

  The telephone’s shrill ring interrupted my reverie. This early on a Sunday, the caller could only be Rene. I cursed myself for being too cheap to order voice mail. Michael would never sleep through her teasing, prying, and likely X-rated message.

  “Hello?” I whispered, crawling out of bed and tiptoeing toward the bathroom.

  “So, how’d it go?”

  “Fine, but now’s not a good time to talk. Can I call you back later?”

  “What do you mean now’s not a good time? Wake up, sleepy head! I’ve been waiting for hours! You can’t get off that easily.” There was a moment of blissful silence, in which I thought I’d fooled her. I actually thought I might get away with it.

  I should have known better.

  “Oh, my God!” she yelled, practically deafening me. “He’s still there, isn’t he? He spent the night! You little tramp!” In spite of her words, she sounded ecstatic. “OK, spill. I need details. Lots of delicious details.”

  “Shh! I’m hanging up now. I’ll talk to you later.” I gently, quietly, tentatively placed the handset back on the receiver and looked toward the bed, praying Michael was still asleep. He hadn’t moved. For once, luck was on my side. I tiptoed back to bed and stealthily crawled under the sheets.

  “Was that Rene?” asked an obviously amused Michael, his back facing me. “Tell her hello for me.”

  “Yes, she’s such a snoop. I’m surprised she waited this long—”

  My slow-witted mind clicked into gear. I sat straight up in bed, gathering the sheets around me. “Wait a minute! How do you know Rene?” Michael rolled over and put his arm around me, flashing an engaging and sexy grin. He said nothing.

  I pushed him away. “That liar! She talked to you at the store, didn’t she? She gave you Kate-specific dating advice! You two traitors conspired against me!” I didn’t know which feeling was stronger: anger that they had plotted to thwart my resistance, or embarrassment that it was so easily overcome.

  “Now don’t be upset, Kate-girl. Our intentions were honorable.” He pulled me back next to him and nuzzled my neck. “And we both like you an awful lot.” I punched him on the arm. I tried to resist, but it was no use. I melted like cheddar on a grilled cheese sandwich. Who was I to argue? They obviously had me outnumbered.

  fourteen

  Michael and I kissed goodbye at eleven-thirty. I took the world’s quickest shower, threw on my yoga clothes, and rushed to class, remarkably unstressed about my tardiness. When I opened the studio a scant two minutes before noon, the line of disgruntled students didn’t faze me a bit.

  I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but that didn’t matter at all. I led my students through the entire range of yoga practices—sun salutations, inversions, reflective breath practices, and meditations—with a huge grin on my face and schoolgirl giggle in my voice. Instead of floating around the studio with the ease and grace of an evolved being, I skipped around the floor like a six-year-old with a bag of bright pink cotton candy.

  I was in such a good mood that instead of hiding out at the front desk like usual, I joined in with the afternoon Yoga for Kids class. Six grade-schoolers, their yoga teacher, and I faced each other, mats in a circle, as we embarked on our journey—an African safari acted out in yoga poses.

  We started standing in Mountain Pose, imagining ourselves at the base of Kilimanjaro. We barked like wild dogs, hissed like cobras, and roared like lions as we traveled through the Sahara desert and deep into the Congo rainforest. We pretended to soar through the Nigerian sky in Flying Warrior—a pose known in adult yoga circles as Warrior III.

  I laughed so hard that I fell out of Boat Pose three times. At one point a young boy yelled, “Your boat is sinking!” I almost corrected him. I was clearly capsized, not sunk. But the word “capsized” was probably beyond his vocabulary. So I grabbed a stuffed giraffe and playfully threw it at him instead.

  The teacher must have thought I was crazy, high, or both, but she had the good sense not to say anything.

  My feet barely touched the floor from noon until five. I was obviously on a lucky streak. I’d found an exciting new love, but that was only part of it; I’d also located a new home for Bella. Today was her evaluation at Fido’s Last Chance. I closed up early, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and started the long drive to the rescue’s headquarters in Maple Valley.

  I pulled in at six thirty, but hesitated before turning off the ignition. “Bella, are we at the right place?” I pulled out my glasses and double-checked the building number. Still the same. I could only hope that I needed new glasses.

  To me, the word “headquarters” connoted a tall, light-filled skyscraper in the heart of a buzzing metropolis—or at the very least a small, run-down office in the middle of a deserted strip mall. The entire industrial complex of Fido’s Last Chance, however, appeared to be a dilapidated house with a converted garage. A garage filled with dogs. Lots of dogs. Lots of loud, barking dogs. I walked to the door and tentatively rang the bell, hoping I was at the wrong address.

  A matronly, smiling, and completely fur-encrusted woman answered the door.

  “Hi. You must be Kate. I’m Betty.” She peered around me, looking confused. “Where’s Bella?”

  “I heard all the barking and thought I’d better leave her in the car.”

  Betty laughed. “Good thinking, but I’ve locked everyone up for your visit. Now bring Bella on up here so I can take a look.”

  I returned a moment later with a panting, nervous, but at least reasonably self-controlled Bella.

  “My, she is a big one, isn’t she?”

  “Bella, say hello,” I said.

  Bella, always the crowd pleaser, went into a perfect sit and offered Betty her paw. Betty smiled, grabbed it, and gave it a definitive shake. The uproar of the garage-incarcerated dogs grew louder, as if they could sense that their mistress was cheating.

  “How many dogs do you have here?” I shouted above the din.

  Betty counted on her fingers. “Well, I’ve got three of my own, and I’m currently fostering seven more, so I guess that makes ten.” She stood taller, as if to deepen her resolve
. “But I’m no hoarder, ten is my limit.”

  Ten? My God, ten? This woman must have been sent from the sixth level of heaven. Either that, or she’d recently escaped from a mental institution. I surreptitiously glanced around, looking for a discarded straightjacket.

  “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t even have time for one, let alone one for each finger.”

  “Rescue is definitely a work of love,” she replied, grinning. She opened the door wider. “Let’s go to my office where it’s quieter.”

  Betty led me to a dark, windowless room the size of a closet, covered in paw prints, dust, and fur. Loose papers covered every available surface. There was barely enough room for a small desk and two chairs, let alone two women and a jumbo-sized dog. Betty lifted a stack of papers off a visitor’s chair and motioned for me to sit. Bella squeezed in beside me.

  I wrinkled my nose. The distinctive, ammonia-like odor of cat box wafted from somewhere in the near vicinity. Bella’s super-sharp senses picked up the scent as well. Her ears perked up; her eyes sparkled with interest; she pranced on the tips of her toes. She was entranced by something very exciting on top of the desk. Something she wanted to get to know more intimately. Something she needed to taste with her very own tongue. Betty looked at Bella and grinned.

  “So you like Diablo there, do you?” She lifted a huge yellow tabby off the keyboard and placed him out of Bella’s reach on top of the filing cabinet. “Diablo here is my resident dog trainer. He’s not scared of dogs, though they probably should be afraid of him. He doesn’t mind using his claws, and several of my foster dogs have the scars to prove it.” She scratched behind the ears of the oversized jungle cat. “By the time my foster dogs leave here, they have certainly learned their manners.”

  She closely watched Bella dance and sniff the air around the filing cabinet. “Looks like your dog is basically good with cats. That’s a positive thing.”