Emily and Einstein

by Linda Francis Lee

  I stepped out of the shadows, making my sister-in-law jump.

  “Whoa, who are you?”

  I growled, mostly because I could. As a man I’d had to pretend to be nice to her, even if we both knew the truth. Not that the growl intimidated her. Jordan laughed. Yes, laughed.

  “Damn, you are one ugly mutt.”

  A lesser being would have been devastated. I turned my backside to her and headed for the library and my favorite leather chair.

  “Pissy, are we?” She chuckled and tossed her duffel bag on the floor.

  She passed me in the gallery doorway. Because I didn’t have anything better to do, I forgot the chair and followed her into the kitchen. She went straight to the refrigerator.

  “What’s up with this? All Emily has in here is cake and pie. There’s no real food. Emily always has real food.”

  In the pantry all she found was some old cereal along with cupcakes, croissants, and an assortment of oatmeal, chocolate chip, and sugar cookies.

  She looked at me. “Really, what is up with Emily?”

  Like she expected me to answer.

  Grabbing a handful of cookies, Jordan started walking around the apartment. She made a few calls, none of them to my wife, read a bit, slept a lot, then woke up and read some more. She had fallen asleep yet again, this time on the sofa, a book open against her chest, when I heard the front door open and close.

  I galloped to the gallery. Emily appeared surprised when she saw the canvas duffel on the floor, then tears started pooling in her eyes. For weeks after my accident she hadn’t cried at all. Since the journals, she cried at the drop of a hat.

  One more thing I refused to feel guilty about.

  “Jordan?”

  I heard the book flop to the floor, then the mind-numbing racket of the girl’s rubber thongs slapping toward us.

  “Emily!” she squealed.

  At the sound of Jordan’s voice, the darkness in Emily’s eyes faded and for the first time in weeks I could see a spark of light.

  “Jordie,” Emily said, hugging her little sister. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have been here when you arrived.”

  “I didn’t know when I’d get here. I hooked up with a flight attendant who got me on the plane with him. I pretended to be his girlfriend and rode for practically nothing.”

  Emily held her at arm’s length and gave her a look.

  “Hey, those corporate airline thieves steal from the public every day. The least they can do is help a girl who’s trying to do a little good in the world get home from South America. Believe me, I don’t feel guilty because I pretended to be in love with a gay guy.”

  Emily shook her head and smiled. “I didn’t say a word.”

  “I saw that look.”

  “Jordan, I gave you no look—” Emily cut herself off. “This is no way to start. Come on, I want to hear all about Homes for Women Heroes.”

  I am almost certain my sister-in-law blanched. But she shook it away before my wife ever noticed.

  “I’m taking a break from Heroes right now,” Jordan said.

  “A break? But you just started with them.”

  “It’s no big deal. People do it all the time. I’m … going to talk to WomenFirst. Figured I’d give Mom’s old organization a try.”

  “Jordan?”

  I barked. “Hello. I need to take care of business.” That was our schedule. Emily came home and took me out. Already Jordan was disrupting things.

  “Oh, sorry, E.”

  “E?”

  “Short for Einstein. I need to take him out.”

  Jordan looked at me. “I can do it. You just got home.”

  I couldn’t have been more surprised when Emily actually let her. I growled my concern.

  “Don’t worry, Einstein,” my sister-in-law said. “I promise to bring you back.”

  Though I swear she snickered.

  Emily glanced from me to Jordan. “Don’t tell me you and Einstein aren’t getting along.”

  “Yeah, can you believe it? It’s just like me and that dick face, Sandy.”

  Emily froze. Quite frankly, I froze. I knew Jordan didn’t like me, but to say it out loud to her sister no more than a couple of months after I supposedly died?

  “Geez, Em, I’m sorry. Who cares that I thought he was an ass? You loved him.” Jordan rubbed her sister’s arm. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  As promised, Jordan didn’t take me to the depths of the park, let me off the leash, and hope I ran away. I took care of business, and when we returned to the apartment Emily had called our favorite delivery place for dinner.

  “How long do you plan to stay?” Emily asked.

  “I’m not sure. Depends on what happens with WomenFirst. Though I better find something fast. I could use the money.”

  Emily stopped toying with her soup. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Jordan gave her a tight smile. “No, Emily. I am not here for money.” Then she relaxed. “Though I was thinking, maybe I could walk Einstein for you while you’re at work.”

  “No!” I barked.

  They ignored me.

  “I assume someone takes him out during the day.”

  Emily eyed her sister, though she didn’t answer. They ate and talked about nothing of consequence—which was insane since Jordan had been out of the country for the last year and Emily had lost her husband. Seemed to me they had some things to talk about.

  It was while they were cleaning up the kitchen that Emily agreed to call the dog walker and cancel.

  Great. Just great.

  For three days I dealt with the situation, though barely. One, Jordan was a slob of an unimaginable magnitude. After her own quick trip to the grocery store, she left glass rings on the tables, cracker crumbs on the sofa, mustard stains on my fine linen napkins. Then two, Emily alternated between a deep depression and a manic energy when she did her sneak-a-glance-out-the-door routine, then bolt to take me out in the mornings before work. And three, despite the fact that I had helped Emily, yes helped, by getting her back to work, there had been no further contact from the old man.

  The panic returned, growing each day that passed with no discernable progress made toward getting me the hell out of this wiry little body. I panted, drool dripping out of my mouth unabated, making me panic even more.

  With Jordan there, Emily didn’t come into the kitchen at night and curl up beside me. Had my pride not still been intact, I would have crept into her bedroom and curled up next to her. Without me realizing it, she had kept my panic from getting the better of me.

  On the fourth day after Jordan arrived, the panic had shifted into a sense of impending doom. Something was going to happen. I could feel it.

  “Jordan,” Emily called through the guest room door on her way to work. “Will you take Einstein for an extra long walk today? He seems kind of agitated. I think he needs more exercise.”

  “Sure, whatever,” Jordan mumbled.

  As soon as the front door shut behind my wife, I heard the rustle of sheets as Jordan rolled over and went back to sleep. I tried to do the same. I concentrated on breathing in and out. Everything was going to be all right, I told myself. The old man would be back. He would see that Emily was going to work regularly. Then he would fix this. He would.

  I stretched out in my favorite slant of sun that came in through the east windows, but it felt too warm on my fur. Next I tried the kitchen floor, followed by the bathroom, lying on the cool tiles, smelling Emily’s cheap shampoo. As a man I had detested it, but as a dog I thought it smelled like heaven.

  But that morning nothing helped me go back to sleep.

  By noon I needed to go out. Einstein was old, after all, and holding his bladder wasn’t my strong suit. Jordan was still asleep, no sound whatsoever coming from inside her room. So I barked, then barked again.

  Eventually she groaned. “Go away.”

  Even more barking. I added some growling and a howl for good measure. The howl was s
o exquisitely done that my instincts took over and made me leap when Jordan suddenly yanked open the door.

  “Shut up, you freak!”

  At least she was awake.

  My head came back at the smell of her. With a mere twitch of my nose I determined she had been out with friends the night before … males … drinking, smoking pot, then … I cocked my head in analysis … eating cheap Mexican food in the early morning hours.

  Before she could slam the door in my face, I picked up the leash in my mouth and wagged it at her.

  She didn’t look happy. “Jerk.”

  “Slut.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Harpy.”

  She glared at me and did a little growling of her own, but she did it while throwing on a gauzy skirt and a T-shirt.

  As soon as we were out the door and down the elevator, the fresh air hitting my nose, I felt relief. I was sure I’d feel even better in the park. Jordan tended to let me off the leash. But no sooner did I take care of business then she started dragging me back inside.

  “Hey!” I planted my paws on the sidewalk and tugged back toward the park.

  “No way,” Jordan snapped. “I am totally late.”

  I stared at her in incredulity. “You are late? What about me? What about my extra long walk?” I barked.

  “Yeah, yeah, take a downer. I have better things to do than hang out in the park with you today.”

  I found myself back upstairs and alone, Jordan having inhaled a bowl of cereal and raced out the door with a bagel in her hand.

  I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. It felt like I was suffocating. The panic surged, ticking through me like a bomb. I tried counting. I took another run at sleeping. In the gallery, I gave in to an urge I had fought since I woke up as Einstein: I chased my tail. I ran in tight, mad circles until I was so dizzy I tipped over on my side. I went to the window hoping the people below would provide a distraction. But I only saw men who were men, enjoying their day while I was stuck as a dog.

  At this point I flipped.

  It was strange how this dog’s body could take over despite the best efforts of my superior mind. If I wasn’t on constant guard the primal portion of me leapt out and took over. When one of my overactive senses was engaged, whether it was taste, smell, or the sight of anything that moved mysteriously, this old body had to leap up, investigate, bite, chew. If my mind didn’t have my body under complete and firm control, I had no ability to stop myself from taking action, no ability to sit back calmly and assess.

  That day the primal part took over when my wretchedly overactive nose caught a whiff of something. I scrambled into the kitchen to investigate and found a box of Lucky Charms along with a half-eaten bowl of cereal Jordan had left on the table.

  Just so we are clear, as a man I detested store-bought cereal. As a dog, however, just like cheap drugstore shampoo, the sugar-filled cereal smelled like heaven. I found myself climbing up onto the kitchen chair, then struggling to get myself onto the table. Nothing was going to keep me from my prize.

  Once there, I sidestepped the opened box, crouched over Jordan’s forgotten bowl, and proceeded to lick it clean, lapping up the remnants of milk and the soggy rainbow of marshmallows.

  Unfortunately there wasn’t much left, just enough to get my senses kicked into overdrive. Much like Pavlov’s dog, I started salivating, the need for more of those horrid Lucky Charms suffusing my body. So I did the only thing I could. I upended the box, cereal spilling across my fine wood table. I could hardly contain myself as I scarfed up every last puffy marshmallow and crunchy nugget.

  I forgot about being a dog. I gave no thought to the elusive old man. No consideration for what the future held. I ate and ate, and when the tabletop was clear, I nosed my head into the box, inch by inch, finishing off the last few morsels.

  After I licked the bottom of the box clean, I lifted my head and was startled by the unexpected darkness. I jerked my head to the right, then to the left, but still everything was dark. I yelped, my intellect shoved aside by the sheer staggering force of Einstein’s baser instincts.

  I scrambled to my feet on the kitchen tabletop, lost to the unwieldy darkness. I swung my head, unable to see a thing as I tried to remove what I only half understood was the box. I barked and whimpered, dancing over the table, mindless of my hard, curving nails clawing into the wood, certain the damned cartoon leprechaun was attacking me.

  The bowl and spoon crashed to the floor, followed by the sugar bowl. The salt and pepper shakers went next as I growled and bucked until finally the box fell free. For reasons I can’t now explain, I felt the need for retribution. I pounced on the box, chewing and ripping the cardboard and thin plastic liner like a diabolical fiend ravenously trying to satiate some hunger. My raw pulse of terror had morphed into something more insidious. I was mindless and craven, but I felt heady with power. Eventually I won, the box decimated, as much of it swallowed as shredded.

  I leaped down from the table to the chair, then the floor, skidding in the spilled sugar and broken china. But I didn’t miss a beat. I found my way into the open pantry and consumed whatever I could get my muzzle and paws on. Cupcakes covered in plastic wrap. Homemade cookies in pastry boxes. I fought and chewed and ripped inside the cool darkness.

  It was sometime later when I heard the front door open.

  “Einstein?” Emily called out. “Jordan?”

  By then the battle was over and I was laid out on the kitchen floor, my stomach distended in misery. I could hardly hear much less move, certain I was dying all over again. What had I done?

  My half-working senses made out the sound of Emily finding my leash in the gallery.

  “Einstein? Where are you?”

  Then the sound of her hurrying down the hallway.

  I didn’t see her enter the kitchen, but I was vaguely aware of her shoes skidding to a halt when she hit the smears of buttercream icing, melted chocolate chips, and by that point who knew what on the floor. She gasped.

  Some measure of relief hit me, the idea that Emily was home, that I wasn’t alone; she would take care of me. But the relief was short lived when I moved an inch and had the sudden sensation that I was going to explode.

  I won’t go into detail, but rest assured, everything that went in came out again from both ends of my wiry body.

  “Einstein!” Emily squeaked.

  I was a mess for hours. Thankfully Emily couldn’t have been more efficient, a regular Florence Nightingale. If I hadn’t been so miserable, I might have felt badly about the whole thing. As it was, me being a dog and all, by midnight when I finally started to recover I barely remembered the incident. Water under the bridge and all that. Emily and Jordan didn’t get over it as easily.

  “I told you not to leave the cereal out!”

  “I didn’t come here to play servant!”

  “I never expected you to be a servant! I asked you to make sure you didn’t leave food out. You asked to walk Einstein. And I’m paying you to do that! You never even bothered to ask if you could stay here. You just showed up, unannounced!”

  “Oh, I see. Now I need an invitation to stay with my sister when I come to town. I knew I should have stayed with my dad.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” Emily snapped.

  Hmmm, my always-tactful wife had had it.

  “What?” she continued. “Did you forget to arrive with inappropriate gifts? Is that why you stayed away from your dad’s? No anatomically correct male dolls for your eight-year-old sister? Or old editions of National Geographic with naked tribeswomen for your thirteen-year-old brother?”

  Now this was interesting.

  Jordan stiffened. “I’m not fifteen anymore, Emily.”

  “No, you’re twenty-two and last I heard you had moved on to telling them to rebel against their parents.”

  “I’m just trying to get them to think!”

  “Sure, that’s your motive. Whatever the case, even I know parents generally don’t appreciate o
ther people telling their kids how to think.”

  “Unless they’re you, in which case it’s fine to tell people how to think, right Em?”

  My wife blinked then searched for calm. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  I could practically hear my wife’s teeth grind. If she was smart she would mention the pretty huge fact that since Jordan’s arrival the girl hadn’t cleaned up after herself, had left food out, had ruined my coffee table. And excuse me, if Jordan hadn’t left the cereal and milk out I never would have gone crazy. There was only room for one person/being/dog to be waited on around here. And that would be me.

  “Why didn’t you stay with your dad?” Emily asked, this time with a soft sigh. “Why are you really here?”

  In the past if my wife had asked Jordan this, the girl would have gotten huffy and gone on about Emily always thinking the worst of her. Of course, minutes later she generally followed up her complaints with a request for money. I expected this day to be no different. Hadn’t she already said as much? But Jordan was nothing if not full of surprises.

  “Well,” she said, her embarrassment gone, an excited smile crossing her face, “if you really want to know, I’m writing a book!”

  Emily’s expression went blank. Even I knew Emily hated the myriad friends and strangers who hit her up to publish what invariably turned out to be less than literate accounts of odd personal contretemps disguised as fiction.

  Jordan saw it too. “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be happy for me!”

  “Jordan, of course I’m happy for you, it’s just…”

  “It’s just what?”

  “Have you written the book yet?”

  Scoff. “Not all of it. Do you think I’m that naïve? First, I’m going to get money for it, then write it. I’ll get an advance based on my proposal.”

  I noticed Emily’s temple started to throb.

  “Good for you, Jordan. Good luck.”