by Suzie Carr
“Thank you.”
I lingered, allowing the moment to breathe, allowing my senses a chance to catch up with me. I focused back on the problem. “I flooded the fuel injectors and I’ll just have to wait until they’ve dried out.”
“If you’ve got a lighter and something I can take the sparkplug out with, I can show you a neat trick.”
“Something you picked up from my dad?”
We laughed over this.
Sure enough, within ten minutes, burning up the soaked spark plugs with the hungry flame from a simple lighter, Big Red turned over her engine and cooperated. Chloe tapped her hood and dashed off to her Land Rover offering up a wave and a promise to be in touch. As I followed a few car paces behind, I tried feverishly to erase the view of her leaning over the hood of my truck with those long legs and her toned ass, flinging tools around like a girl who knew how to handle a shot of whiskey, a big cigar, and a ratchet wrench, and all while wearing a skirt and heels.
Chapter Nine
Chloe
My secret had marinated for so long that it turned sour. It had grown into a life form all its own, cutting off circulation to neighboring principles, logic, and dignity. At first, the idea of hiding Ayla’s father’s identity from Olivia protected me from having to face the consequences. Slide the secret under the rug, out of sight, out of mind and deal with it later. Of course, when later arrived, this secret had grown too large to bring into the light of day and to smooth over its nutty appearance enough that she wouldn’t be totally shocked. So why not place ourselves somewhere else, in another town altogether?
Coming clean about him could actually affect more than just Olivia now. I could hide for a bit longer or just come out with it and deal with the consequences.
Consequences scared me the way a black hole scared explorers. It was much simpler to evade it, circle around for light years if that’s what it took, and arrive safely, intact on the opposite side of it. Unfortunately, what I needed existed only in that black hole. I’d either have to jump in or evade it altogether. I’d have to surrender to move forward.
Giving up had never been an easy thing for me to do. I didn’t surrender. I pushed on. I dug deep. I survived. I didn’t quit. I hated to lose. When I set my eyes and heart on something, I needed to call it into being. If I wanted a car, I earned a car. If I wanted a summer cottage, I earned a summer cottage. If I wanted my daughter to grow up around horses, I earned her a horse farm. Well, how could I earn her a daddy when he asked me not to uncover our secret? If I couldn’t disclose the truth, how could I help Olivia? If I couldn’t help Olivia, how would I ever earn back her friendship and respect? I needed that from her. Sitting across from her at the diner, I realized more than ever that her trust was the missing piece that blocked me from living my life out loud.
I wanted Olivia. I couldn’t summon her love and respect, demanding her from the universe as I would a car, a summer cottage, or a horse farm. For as long as I harbored this dark secret from her, I’d be circling her for eons, instead of jumping into that mysterious black hole and gambling that she’d be there to catch me with willing arms.
Ayla and Aunt Marie were riding the afternoon I got back from handing over the check to Olivia. The sun glimmered through the windows on the enclosed sundeck, so I decided to call Ayla’s father from the lounger near my favorite hydrangea plant in the corner of the room next to the pool table.
He needed to be on board and willing to take this plunge, too.
As I waited for him to pick up my call, the years unraveled before me. All the years we’d protected our secret in hopes of sparing pain from the last person on this earth either one of us wanted to hurt. A freak night, a tangle of emotions, and over a decade of secrecy needed to break out of hiding so it could be swallowed, digested and hopefully forgiven.
Olivia needed to learn the truth. She needed to know that my daughter was someone intimately connected to her.
He answered after four rings. “It’s Chloe.”
“I expected you to call at some point.”
“So you talked to Olivia?”
“She nearly passed out when she read the total on your check. Thirty thousand? Really?”
“The shelter needs it.”
“It does. I’m just shocked at the amount of it. When you stopped cashing my checks, I figured you either moved or you struck it rich. I guess I know which one.”
“Well, the climb has been slow and steady. I’m just glad I could help.”
“So you just want to help her?”
I paused, wondering how to broach the question. “I want to be honest with her about everything.”
“You can’t,” he said firmly. “I’ve got a family. I thought we were clear on this?” Fear burned on the edge of his words.
“Aren’t you curious to meet Ayla?”
He cleared his throat. “I can’t meet her. Not now.” I could picture him rubbing the top of his head, pacing the floor.
“Have you told your wife about Ayla?”
He exhaled. “Why do you have to keep mentioning her name?”
“Would you rather me refer to her as ‘it’?”
“Fuck, Chloe,” he said. “I’m not an asshole. I’m just a fucked up guy who wants to keep my life simple.”
I paused. Keeping his life simple meant continuing to complicate mine, further weaving my lies until it created a web so thick I’d never reach her. “I need to come clean.”
He took a deep breath.
“Olivia will hate me for not telling her sooner. I’d have to be transparent about it all. About wanting my own daughter aborted. About refusing to see her. About sending her money all of these years. About it all. How will Olivia ever trust me again after I kept all of that from her? I know you don’t care about me in this dilemma, but think about Olivia and what it would do to her. She doesn’t trust people now, imagine if she learned all of this?”
He panicked at that prospect of revealing Ayla after all of this time. He was right. This news would destroy her.
“Fine, I won’t say anything.” I hung up and pressed the cell to my chin, contemplating this secret and how I could possibly get around it and still live the life I wanted, a life where Olivia respected me, a life where I could prove my valor to her. I simply wouldn’t talk about Ayla’s father. If she asked, I’d shrug off the question and toss her a white lie about it not really mattering.
I would never, ever reveal that the father of my baby was her own twin brother.
~ ~
I stoked the fire, and didn’t care about the consequences. I showed up to the shelter one bright sunny day. A lanky guy named Trevor led me out back to Olivia. We passed rows of kennels where adorable dogs stared up at me with longing, probably hoping I’d come to take them home. The kennel room smelled just like Floppy used to smell after she’d get loose and run into the river behind Olivia’s house. Barks echoed off the cinder block walls, breaking my heart. We headed for a windowed door where I could see Olivia, her blonde ponytail flipping side to side as she tossed a ball and waved her arms above her head. As we got closer, I noticed the hole in her jeans right below her back pocket and teetering quite close to the curve in her butt.
Aunt Marie’s concern barreled around my head. Don’t do it. Just walk away from this like you did before. The more you go, the harder it is.
I didn’t care. I wanted to be a part of this.
“She’s right through here,” Trevor said opening the door with a push from his skinny butt. The warm breeze welcomed us in to this dog’s paradise, a parcel of green grass and yards of running space. Tennis balls dotted the field, as did a handful of large dogs all wagging their tails and skipping along as if life had just handed them the golden ticket to happiness.
Trevor whistled and Olivia turned to us. Her eyes flew open and a smile burst on her face. “Hey you.” She strode up to us, her arms swinging high with her steps. She approached, breathless and smelling every bit as fresh as the green grass. “What
are you doing here?” She brushed away some flyaways from her cheek. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and swing her.
“I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by and see how everything is going.”
“I’ll leave you two ladies to chat. I’ve got to feed the cats.” Trevor waved off and left us to fend for ourselves.
A retriever ran up to us and barked. Olivia bent down, picked up a tennis ball and flung it far out into the field. The retriever ran after it as if his life depended on capturing it. “That’s Tucker. He’s my boy.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out at him. A motherly love danced on her face.
“I remember coming to this place as a kid,” I said. “My mother wanted a cat. She picked out an orange one. She let me name him, so I called him Orange.”
“Got to give you props for originality.”
Her eyes traced my profile. “The place is much nicer than I remember it.”
“I hope so. We’ve worked hard on it, and thanks to your donation, we were able to repair a couple of faulty lights, get the roof and wall repaired and we even had some left over to get new beds for all the dogs and cats.”
I reached out for her hand. “I want a tour.”
She blushed and squeezed my hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”
~ ~
I called my lawyer the second I plopped into my car after leaving Tucker, Max, and the rest of the furry gang. I loved the shelter. I loved the animals. I loved brushing up against Olivia to sneak peeks into the cat room, into kennels, into the tarantula aquarium. I needed to belong to this project.
I instructed my lawyer to draw up the charitable trust paperwork and told him I’d be at his office that very next day to sign them. I didn’t stop to analyze the books, the industry, the building, or the workers. I charged forward eager to push the momentum of this project full steam ahead.
I surprised Olivia with the paperwork the very next day. I invited her to celebrate at a pub, and she asked if we could also invite the rest of the gang, Trevor, Natalie, and Melanie. The five of us ate lunch at McBride’s Irish Pub. Lively music blared over the speakers begging our legs to bounce to the beat. I loved the gang before I finished drinking my first beer.
Natalie, sugary and adorable, smiled and sucked on her sweet tea, and Trevor lost himself in his flaky shepherd’s pie masterpiece. I sat across from Melanie, introduced to me by Natalie as “Olivia’s very best friend.” She stoked the friendly conversation with interesting facts about everything from the history of the pub to the reason vinegar, with all its magnificent qualities, served as nature’s miracle for both body and house. We shared a guacamole dip and she offered the celery stalks to me. I hated celery but sank my teeth into them with fervor anyway. Olivia sat next to me and listened. At one point, I shifted and my leg brushed up against hers. I didn’t move it away, and she didn’t either.
The music grew louder as the afternoon coursed on and created a backdrop for us to sink into a relaxed moment, discouraging any and all conversation. Instead, we chewed our food, smiling, enjoying this get-to-know-you-better lunch meeting. I didn’t want them viewing me as an outsider who threatened their utopia of loving animals and surviving on a smile and IOUs. I didn’t want my money to frighten them. I didn’t want them to fear that I would swoop in and turn their little empire into some money-making, for-profit pet sale venue where people could pre-order their puppies from a predetermined puppy mill.
When we said goodbye, I hugged them all, landing in Olivia’s arms last. “I’m really happy to be on board,” I whispered into her ear. She squeezed me a little tighter and then unleashed me into the misty fog for the thirty-minute drive back home.
~ ~
Typically, when I invested in a project, I stepped back with hands off. I allowed the management team to deal with everything from finding the contractors, to cementing the plans, to planning the strategies, to opening the doors. With Olivia, I not only wanted to be involved because she had no desire to hire the contractors, to execute the plan, to write the business model, to manage the process, but also because I wanted her to see my passion for her cause, and that I could be a good person, despite my character weaknesses along the years. I needed redemption, and money so far had been my only ticket down that road.
In the weeks that followed, I wanted everyone to see how much I really cared by volunteering. They trained me to work the front desk. They had a few volunteers who would stagger their hours, but at times the volunteers had to tend to other commitments. So where they lacked, I jumped in to help. Olivia would pass me like a whisper, sweeping in and out of clinic visits and meetings with adopters. She remained elusive and guarded mostly, but every once in a while, she’d sneak me one of her pouty smiles and I’d respond with a tug on her white lab coat and a wink. She’d blush and travel onward past the desk and onto her work.
Natalie worked with me at the front desk quite a bit. When she discovered I had a twelve-year-old daughter she lit up and begged me to bring her in sometime so she could show her around. Trevor later disclosed that Natalie ran the youth education program and dedicated her free time to teaching the young about the responsibilities of pet ownership.
I promised to consider it.
As the weeks passed, and I tucked into a comfort zone, I started to plan ways to pump some fun into the place. I showed up every week wearing jeans and a white t-shirt as instructed. How boring. I noted to hire a designer and get some fun t-shirts designed to elicit some extra zing. If people came here to embrace the spirit and joy of adopting, then we needed to liven the place up to those happy standards. I would also hire someone to wire for stereo speakers so light, relaxing music could play day and night for the animals. I had so many ideas.
One Saturday, I focused in on fixing a broken hinge on a kennel gate. Tiger, a somewhat feisty little dog with thick straw-like fur poking out of him, kept a firm eye on me as I knelt down beside his kennel gate and went to work. He stared at me from his pillow bed. Every time I swung the door to see if I fixed the problem, he sprung to life from the back of the run, bolting towards me, pouncing his front paws against the gate. He slapped it over and over again with his right paw, cocking his head, urging me on.
“Aw, he wants to play.” Melanie came up from behind me. She handed Tiger a bone.
“Or kill me,” I said, half joking, half not. At eight-years-old, a neighborhood dog attacked me on my walk home from school. I strolled past his yard and out he ran, this little guy no bigger than a medium-sized cat. He chased me around in circles, and his master screamed out from the third story deck of an apartment. He wanted a bite off my ankles. He had pulled his lips back so his teeth appeared large for his little mouth. The lady screamed at me to stop running in circles. So, I did and just balled up to the ground crying. Before long, the scary little dog turned into a pile of giddiness as he pounced around me, wagging his tail, barking for me to pay attention to him. That’s exactly what I hoped Tiger wanted—a simple, good old-fashioned dose of love.
Tiger chewed on the bone, shaking his head side-to-side and grunting. Then, he ran up to the gate and pawed at me again.
“Looks like you’ve got a determined little guy there. He’s not going to give up until he’s gotten what he wants.”
I put down my screwdriver and grabbed his front paw on his latest snap. “Ah ha, now what are you going to do?” I asked him. He pounced back, rubber bone still sandwiched in between his canines. He lifted his butt in the air and lowered his front to me. Then, in a mighty return, he pounced with both paws once again. I grabbed his right paw again and he once again recanted. We continued this until his tail stopped wagging and his eyes latched onto a new adventure happening at the rear end of his kennel run. The Schnauzer-mix next door began chasing a tennis ball around, and apparently this piqued Tiger’s interest more than a human being trying really hard to prove her caring intent true and worthy. So, off he trotted.
I stood up and s
tretched out a kink in my neck.
Melanie, wearing a flowery skirt that stretched past her knees, cascaded over to me in a breeze and studied my neck. “I can fix that for you.”
“It’s killing me. I can barely move my head to the right.”
“If you’re interested, I can schedule a reiki session for you later this afternoon after we’ve finished here. I only live a few miles away.”
“Perfect,” I said, stretching it again. I had never heard of reiki. Olivia had mentioned her friend performed it on some of the animals, but at the time I didn’t care to talk about anyone else but her. I wondered if Melanie was the donor friend who was losing her house. “Your house survived the storm?”
She smiled and her spirit echoed a delighted ripple. Even her salt-and-peppered flyaway hair bloomed in the swell of her reassurance. “It sure did. It’s set up on a hill just like this shelter. You’ll see for yourself. I’ll leave the address for you.” She patted my back, and flowed off to the reception door. “I’m going to see where Trevor is. He’s supposed to show you more of the ropes this morning.”
“Okay,” I called after her. “I’ll just wait here, then.”
Within two minutes, Trevor pushed through the door and the dogs went wild, barking, howling, whining, and all vying for his attention. He smiled like a celebrity, opening his arms up widely. “Doesn’t get any better than this.”
He carried that large smile throughout the entire day as he trained me on how to properly open a kennel gate and loop a leash around a dog’s neck, how to walk with the eager ones, how to clean up their messes, how to read their charts so I could properly educate potential adopters on each dog’s habits, likes, dislikes, and history. Trevor got choked up when he told me the story behind a handsome, white boxer named General who was about twenty pounds overweight, deaf, and a gentle giant. We entered General’s kennel and sat with him on his bed pillow. He placed a paw on my leg and licked my face with gentle, loving, gritty licks. He latched onto me like I was the most important person in the world. “The sheriffs picked him up after the storm. Apparently, the owners evacuated and left him tied to a bedpost on the top floor of their house. Who does that?”
