I chuckle as I imagine poor Cheryl having to deal with the likes of this piece of work. “Are we talking about the same Cousin Rudy who got eighty-sixed from Extra Innings? I mean, really! If you get kicked out of there, it doesn’t say much for your ability to hold your liquor.”
“Okay, but those bar fights involved grown men with big mouths. Rudy would never raise his voice to a kid.”
I nod. “Good point. So, what are you gonna tell that customer when you call her back.”
“It’s a dilemma alright.” I look down at the name and number that I had just scribbled on the notepad. “I need time to think about it. I wouldn’t feel right recommending someone like him to a new customer. Maybe I’ll ask around town and see if there’s someone else in Minnesota who breeds Chihuahuas and has developed a positive reputation for dogs with good temperaments.”
Pam laughs. “I can totally relate. I wouldn’t want to be in the same room as a man like that. Why is it that his identical twins are constantly hitting on me? I can’t even have lunch at The Artisan anymore. I miss my quiche.”
“No doubt. But at least you attract men. Think if you were me. My dry spell now rivals the dust bowl famine of the depression era. But before we figure anything out, we need to tend to our pal, Beau.”
The dog looks up at me and immediately starts in on his high-pitched yelping. Pam frowns as she covers her ears. “Whoa! That’s intense!”
My head throbs again. “Tell me about it.”
Beau stares at the bag of gourmet dog treats, the yowling growing even louder.
“No more treats until you stop with the shrieking.”
Miraculously, Beau quiets down as if he understands and accepts the threat to his tummy. Pam and I spend the next thirty minutes using positive reinforcement clicker training. He doesn’t make much progress, but he does stop that non-stop yelping.
Pam and I celebrate that small victory and give him half of a gourmet dog bone. He gobbles it up quickly. I look and her and sigh. “It’s gonna be a long six weeks with this one. But Mrs. Peterson, Beau’s owner, paid up front so she could get the discount. Now, there’s no way I can tell her I think he might be a lost cause.”
“No way is right,” she says. “My friend Brooke doesn’t believe in lost causes. That’s some negative imposter. You’ve never met a dog you couldn’t train. How about we take this outdoors? A change of scenery will do all three of us some good.”
“Now I remember why I love you.” I lead Beau through the backdoor into our huge backyard. The sun is bright, and like magic, most of the snow has melted. It’s April, but here in Minnesota, spring takes its precious time to arrive. I’m going to have to wash off his paws before we go back inside, but it’s a small price to pay for the rare shot of Vitamin D.
Beau barks at the sight of the doggie obstacle courses and lots of bright colored toys. He takes off running in circles. It’s obvious that he’s overwhelmed by the stimulation. Agility is one of the best ways to focus a nervous dog.
“Maybe this was a bad idea.” Pam frowns as she watches Beau run straight through a tunnel and hop over a low jump.
I jog over to him. “Beau! Come!”
Finally, he focuses his attention on me, trots toward me and sits at my feet in a perfect recall position.
Praise be to God.
Pam walks over to me, holding a baggie with tiny freeze-dried liver pieces, perfect for training. Beau’s eyes light up as he barks.
“No! Quiet!” I point at him. “If you want this…” I shake the baggie until drops of drool hit the grass at my feet, “you have to listen. Is that a deal? I’m not above bribery.”
He barks louder, and I imagine my nosy neighbor Mrs. Thomas stomping over to let her displeasure be known. When I got the special permit from the city, I promised them that barking would be kept to a minimum. This house is zoned residential.
“Come on!” I shake my head before turning to Pam. “This is impossible. Anything with a penis is impossible.”
“Let me try something…”
I make an uh-oh face. “That look in your eye is usually the beginning of a crazy idea.”
Pam motions me to stand perfectly still as if we’re playing the mannequin challenge. Beau sits and stares at us, his mouth sealed shut. If I’d have known that all it would take is a little silence to create this calm dog, I’d have done it the moment I got here. Leave it to Pam to be the one who breaks straight through. She has a knack for all things male.
As I stare in awe at the silent Beau, I think of another person who could use a little shutting up. Mrs. Barrett’s relative. Who screams at Girl Scouts? I’m not sure what his deal is, but I want nothing to do with him. Still, I’m torn about giving a recommendation to my new customer. On the one hand, he’s in town, and Mrs. Barret’s breeding program has been successful for generations. On the other hand, I can’t in good conscience send a customer to the home of a wingnut.
Taking a risk wins out because I have to put the welfare of the dogs before my own eagerness to punish this faceless man. Chihuahuas need a loving home. Surely that angry grouch terrorizing little girls is incapable of providing that. Perhaps I could be doing one of my four-legged friends a big favor by getting it out of his evil clutches.
“What are you thinking about?” Pam spears me with a questioning gaze.
I hesitate since I’m about to sound loony myself. “Oh, I just–”
“Are you daydreaming about some random hottie? Who is he? Spill!”
I shake my head, wishing I had something romantic to report. “You know it’s been ages since I’ve been on a date. Don’t tease me about it.”
“And whose fault is that? Every single guy from Shakopee to Lakeville makes eyes at you, and you’ve rejected them all, one-by-one. They fall to their knees with their shattered hearts in their hands.”
I snort. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”
“Really?”
I start toward the house, Beau trailing behind me. Miraculously, he hasn’t let out a yelp since we shocked him into silence. “I just don’t want to settle. I’d rather have something amazing and genuine than to just settle.”
She grins, and I know something is coming that I don’t want to hear. “There’s something to be said for settling…in the short-term.”
I ignore her endorsement of random hookups. “Besides, I wasn’t even thinking about guys. I was actually trying to decide what I’m going to tell the customer who wants a Chihuahua.”
“And?”
I exhale a long breath. “I might be about to do something I’ll regret.”
Chapter 2
Landon
If I don’t get some peace and quiet, my head might explode. A gang of rogue Chihuahuas bark outside of the bathroom door. They’re not exactly members of an organized gang, but they are terrors that could incite fear in the heart of the most hardened biker.
Who needs to go to the bathroom alone? Surely, not I.
I talk to myself in my best Shakespeare voice as they yip like they’re auditioning for a performance of the barkellulah chorus. The little bastards were the pride and joy of my late wife Carla’s grandmother, Nancy Barrett. Carla’s been gone for two years, eight months, and sixteen days.
Twelve hours.
Thirty-seven seconds.
When you lose the love of your life, nothing helps except marking the calendar and trying like hell not to break down into an emotional puddle of guilt and loss at the slightest memory of her. And the yapping doesn’t help. It reverberates through my ears like someone is clanging those giant high school band cymbals on either side of my head. I just want it to stop.
Please, God. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just make it stop.
Prayers to the heavens notwithstanding, I sink down on the toilet and let my mind wander. It’s a place I know I shouldn’t go. Most days, I don’t indulge. But the damn dogs make me want to utilize every single coping mechanism at my disposal. It took a year of talk therapy to get t
o the point where I could wake up in the morning without falling down to my knees the moment my feet hit the floor. Now, I’m regressing because hints of Carla haunt me everywhere I look. It’s like breadcrumbs laced with grief. But I can’t think of any other way to come back to myself.
I never wanted to live in this huge house on Prior Lake. Sunsets on the water remind me of the day I finally built up the courage to sink to one knee and beg Carla to make me the happiest man on earth. My hands trembled as I clung to that velvet ring box, but she’d put me out of my misery sooner than I deserved by agreeing and throwing her perfect arms around my neck and molding her curvy body to mine. The smell of lavender takes me back to when she used to spray intoxicating organic perfume on her wrists and collarbone. And rainy days envelop me in a cloak of emotional smoke and ash because I can’t help but relive the day I lost her.
It didn’t have to happen, and it’s all my fault that it did. There are some mornings when I clamp my eyes shut against the pain, praying to God to take me so I can be with her. My will to live died the day I laid her in the ground. Nothing has been the same since.
And I’m afraid nothing will ever be.
A very stormy day ruined my life of abject perfection. The rain had been coming down in sheets from the moment daylight hit our bedroom windows. The pounding drops hitting the house sounded like machine gun fire. I hadn’t wanted to go out, but Carla loved to tempt the weather and talked me into lunch with Nancy at Charlie’s.
As we were heading home, Carla drove, singing at the top of her lungs to Eighties on Eight. When “Come On Eileen” came on, I laughed and joined in, my off-key rendition completely ruining the moment. She’d laughed at my inept singing and swatted me on the upper arm as she gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel tightly in the other. Carla claimed she was a safer driver than yours truly, and she was right. She’d never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. On the other hand, I was on a first name basis with the Minneapolis police.
Carla affectionately called me “Landon Lead Foot” and I couldn’t deny the nickname wasn’t well-earned. I’ve never been concerned with speed limits, going full steam ahead in every aspect of my life. In college, I studied abroad in Europe for a semester. I witnessed people driving ninety mph on the windy roads of the Swiss Alps, and nothing short of a need for speed seemed to satisfy me after that experience.
“It’s coming down like cats and dogs,” Carla had said, turning the windshield wipers on high. I clung to my seat belt, rejoicing that we were only a few miles from home. Ever since I’d been a kid, I’d hated storms. Since I like to think of myself as a tough guy, I don’t like to admit that I’m afraid of thunder. It echoes through your physical body like it’s alive.
That day, fate intervened, infiltrating its icy cold hand into my idyllic life. In the distance, we spotted a stranded car, the hazard lights blinking red beacons of distress. As Carla drove closer, I noticed a woman with a baby standing on the side of the road. Their car had a flat tire.
“Dear God, we need to help them,” Carla had exclaimed. That tone. I knew that tone. No matter what I said or did, there’d be no stopping her. No putting herself first. It was one of the things I loved most about her. When they say opposites attract, a picture of me and Carla needed to be right next to that description.
“Honey, I’m sure they have AAA.” I wondered why the mother and baby weren’t safely inside the dry car. Something was wrong with this picture.
I recalled how people used babies to ambush other drivers, and I wondered if this might be the case. Looking around, I didn’t see anyone lurking about, ready to attack us, but the poor visibility prevented it.
What I did know was that a pit of dread had formed in my stomach, and I had no idea why. Maybe it was an omen, but a sense of foreboding had grabbed me by the throat, and I struggled to release it.
She’d thrown a dose of guilt on top of the shame by saying, “Come on, Landon, we can’t just leave them here. We’re not those people.”
She had slowly pulled over next to them. The kindness train had left the station, and the only thing left to do was get on board. Conductor Carla already held my ticket along with my heart in the palm of her hand.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this, honey. I’ll just tell them to sit in their car until help arrives,” I say, giving my sense of reason one last try to win the day. I knew it would be useless. Carla had always been both strong-willed and kind-hearted. The truth was that I didn’t even deserve her.
I still didn’t.
I remember pulling out my cell phone. “I’ll call 911 just to make sure they’re on the way.”
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thanks.” But she was still frowning. “I can’t imagine why the baby’s out in this weather.” Then, before I even realized her intentions, she was opening the door and yelling, “Be right back.”
A white-hot lance of panic and fear had speared me in the center of my chest as I grabbed for her. “No! Wait! I’ll—” But the door had already closed. “Shit.”
Peering through the window, my wife disappeared into the downpour as I quickly called the emergency number as I’d promised. Damn.
After getting through to dispatch and asking them to send an officer and a tow truck, I burst out into the elements, running toward where they still stood. I wanted to grab my wife and force her back into our car, but I knew asking her to walk away now was useless. A baby was involved. She would insist on waiting there until the tow truck arrived, no matter how long it took.
A high-pitched wail pierced through the sound of the driving rain. The baby screamed, and Carla told the mother that help was on the way so she should get back inside. I heard my wife’s kind and gentle voice.
“You just get in the car. I have toys I can bring to you. My nephew and I ride to Chuck E. Cheese monthly, and I always have something to distract him.” She jogged toward our SUV and opened the rear driver’s side door while I ushered mom and baby to their car.
I saw the blinding lights before I saw the semi. Reality slowed down into slow motion, each frame of horror imprinted upon my mind. The slick roads sent the truck into a skid, and the driver lost control. He overcorrected, jackknifing the large truck. I screamed my wife’s name as I ran toward her, my voice dissipating into the electric night air. She never heard it. She never heard me.
The truck slammed into her.
And in that one instant, I lost everything.
I remember running toward her, nausea bubbling up my throat. I couldn’t even feel the pouring rain on my skin. Miraculously, the mother and baby, and the bastard who killed my wife were spared.
Since that day, guilt has suffocated me, stealing the air from my lungs and even the tiniest shred of happiness from my life. A darkness has settled in to stay. I don’t like myself or the man that I’ve become. Most of all, I don’t like the fact that God took her and left me behind. It should have been the other way around, and if I could go back in time, I would have changed it. I would have tied her to the front seat if that’s what it took to keep her safe.
I’m a sad, broken man who has nothing to give. Even to these little ankle biters. I’m dead inside.
Though I’d love nothing more than to find good homes for them and adopt them out, I can’t. My guilt won’t release me from its iron grip even long enough to consider it. They stay. Like little fur encased self-inflicted forms of self-punishment. The more pain I feel, the more I deserve. And I’ll bear it all because I’m forced to be alive to feel it.
Now, I have to live with my regrets, my remorse, and the wicked Chihuahuas as a form of canine penance. Since Carla was raised by Grandma Nancy, I feel I owe her. And as a result, I owe them. The old woman died nearly two weeks ago, and for some odd reason, she decided to leave her estate and the annoying little dogs to me.
And I have no idea why.
So here I am, trying to figure everything out in the house that brought back such tremendous memories. It makes me sad. Filled with
guilt. And so incredibly angry that I want to tear down this house brick by brick.
Before Grandma Nancy died, I’d started to really heal from Carla’s loss. I even felt a sliver of hope that I might be able to move on. I hadn’t been on dates yet, but I’d been open to the idea of dating if I found the right woman.
Then…bam. Nancy died, and the lawyer called. And here I am, immersed back into the sadness.
With a quartet of Chihuahuas scratching at the door with their little claws.
Which creates more guilt because I know I’m not the human they need or deserve.
These dogs are so spoiled with human affection that they can’t even stay calm for a few minutes. Nancy’s entire world revolved around them. In her later years, I don’t even think she left the house much, preferring to spend her time on her back porch watching the lake. I step into the tub and turn on the shower.
The cascade of hot water pelts my skin. I sometimes think about how Carla and I used to shower together after making love. I’d put body wash on every single inch of her silky skin. It’s so lonely without her.
After I shampoo my hair, I feel a little better. My grief comes in waves, overtaking me at the worst times. Sometimes it lasts for seconds, sometimes it lasts for days. Then there are moments when depression becomes my best friend, and I can’t even concentrate on my work.
I step out of the shower and dry off with a towel before wrapping it around my waist. As soon as I open the door, the feistiest Chihuahua of the gang, Taco, stands just over the threshold, wagging his tail. His silky black and white fur cascades over his tiny body. He’d be cute if he weren’t such a clingy little bastard.
“Taco, get the hell out of my way!” I grumble as I try to get out of the bathroom, but every time I take a step, he’s underfoot, like he’s purposefully trying to trip me. “Oh, come on! Seriously?”
I frown as the little beast backs up a few feet and growls. He leans over his front paws, takes a running start, and attempts to scramble up my six-two length as if I were the oak tree in the front yard. He makes it up to my thighs before his lack of thumbs prove too much, and he begins a scary descent.
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