by Rick R. Reed
He was like a god—someone lifted from the pages of GQ or a fitness magazine. And Mac simply thought Hamburger was reacting in much the same way Mac had to the sight of him. After all, the dog could very well have learned how to ogle a good-looking man from his master, who was, he thought, the absolute champion of ogling. Mac could ogle a hottie like nobody’s business. He could have taught a master class.
It should have been a moment of lusty happiness. But it wasn’t. Because now, as Mac looked back on the encounter in retrospect, he did so with deep shame. He felt like punching himself in the face—repeatedly—as he watched Hamburger lap up his water.
A voice startled him out of his reverie. His deep well of guilt must have been obvious.
“What’s the matter, Mac? You look like you just lost your best friend.”
Mac looked up to see the wizened and withered face of his landlady, Dee—short-for-Delores—Weeda, staring at him with concern in her brown eyes. Mac had occupied her attic bedroom and en suite bath for more than two years now.
Mac swallowed. “I almost did. At the park.”
Dee moved toward the sink, grabbing the electric kettle on her way. She stared out the window at the backyard as she filled it with cold water. “Why don’t you take a seat at the table, and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. Darjeeling?” She glanced over her shoulder.
Mac knew his shoulders were slumped. Could just imagine his face as a mask of despair. “I’ve done a bad, bad thing, Dee. Somethin’ awful.”
Dee turned the kettle on and took down two mugs from the cupboard. “You? Get out of here. You don’t have a bad bone in your body, young man. I don’t know what this is all about, but you just sit yourself down there and we’ll talk it out. Okay?” Dee busied herself setting out spoons and the diner-style glass sugar dispenser she kept on the counter. She poured some half-and-half into a little creamer and set that on the table too.
Mac slumped down and buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cry or do grave bodily harm to his own person. Maybe a little of each. How could he be such a shit?
How could he not be? He’d fallen so in love with Hamburger, the thought of losing him, even if it was the right thing to do, was unbearable.
Hamburger had come into his life eight months ago in the middle of a downpour, in the very park where Mac had just now met the guy he was sure was Hamburger’s original owner. Hamburger had been emaciated, with his ribs and backbone sticking out through his drenched fur. He had a cut, scabby, above one eye. No collar. He was whimpering and looked as though he was on his last legs. Mac shook his head, forcing the image out of his mind. It was just too painful to remember Hamburger like that. He had originally intended to simply drop him off at the Green Lake Animal Hospital, close to the park, over on Woodlawn Avenue. But the dog wouldn’t, or couldn’t, move. He’d plopped down at Mac’s feet that gray, wintry day and refused to get up. Mac perceived it as the dog seeing something within him that he needed or wanted.
Or maybe it was the half-eaten hamburger from Red Mill in Mac’s hand. He’d held out a morsel of meat for the dog, and he gobbled it up, then went right back to sitting where he was at Mac’s feet, staring at him with those big brown eyes that just about broke Mac’s heart. Mac gave him the rest of the burger, minus the pickles and the bun, and even in his sorry state, the dog begged for more.
It was then a name was born.
Right away he’d decided to take Hamburger home. It was rash, impulsive, and totally in character for Mac. He’d been taking in strays since he was a little boy, when he would tell his exasperated mother that some flea-bitten dog or cat had simply “followed” him home, as though he hadn’t coaxed and begged for the critter to come along the whole way. Later he took in stray men, but that was another story.
That winter day in Green Lake Park, with the rain coming down, Mac had gone to eat his hamburger and drink his chocolate shake, not caring how wet he got. His latest stray, a guy named David who lived in Ballard, had just dumped him after only two dates. This was after telling Mac he was over his messy divorce. But once he’d gotten free of the woman, he suddenly decided he wanted to “explore his options more” and didn’t want to be “tied down” with Mac so soon after getting out of a marriage.
And that hadn’t been Mac’s only rejection during that depressing time!
Mac shrugged, thinking back. Yeah, he’d been vulnerable that day Hamburger appeared to him. Before he could travel any farther down memory lane, Dee reeled him back into the present. Mac had almost forgotten the tiny birdlike woman’s presence at the kitchen table with him, sipping tea.
“Are you going to tell me what’s got you in such a state?”
Mac looked across the kitchen’s rough-plank hardwood floor at Hamburger, who had sprawled out, taking up much more room than Mac would have imagined a twenty-five-pound dog could manage. But he looked so comfortable, so at home there sprawled out on the floor, as though he’d never known anyplace else as home. Sunlight slanted in through the windows above the kitchen sink, and Mac knew Hamburger was, as was his custom, catching a few rays. If there was even the tiniest sliver of sunlight anywhere, that dog could find it and lie down in it.
“He’s a good boy, isn’t he?” Mac nodded toward Hamburger. He made eye contact with Dee. “Thanks for allowing me to have him here.”
Dee waved the thanks away. “Ah! He’s brought a lot of life into this house… and yes, he’s a very good boy. And so are you, Mac.”
Mac shook his head. “Ah, Dee, if you knew what I did today, you wouldn’t say that.”
Dee took a sip of tea, set down her cup, and then cocked her head. “What are you talking about? Is there a confession of murder on its way? Did you rob some poor old lady at the park? Indecently expose yourself?” Dee snickered, snorting in the comical way she had when she laughed. “Is there an election going on somewhere and you voted Republican? Because that, my boy, would be the worst of all. I’d have to evict you.” She chuckled.
“Dee, I’m serious.”
She quickly wiped the smile off her face and then reached out to cover Mac’s hand on the table with her own. Her eyebrows came together with concern. “What is it? You can tell me. I may be an old lady, but I’m not judgmental.”
Mac let out a big sigh. The moment of truth. It was hard enough to admit to himself that he’d been such a shit, a heel, whatever else you wanted to call it. But to admit it to Dee? This nice old woman who’d lived in Seattle all her life, who through the grace of God and a lucky ad on Craigslist two years ago, he’d ended up sharing a house with? Jokes aside, Mac wouldn’t blame her if she did kick him out once he told her the truth.
Now you’re being a little extreme, Mac told himself. Just come out with it. See what she says. Not all old people are wise, as some think, but Dee is. Mac already knew what she would say, and he didn’t want to hear it. Bad as his deception was this morning, Mac still wanted to cling to it. He had only to look over at Hamburger, snoring on the floor, to confirm it.
“Come on, young man. Spill it.”
Mac sighed once more. “I met Hamburger’s owner this morning at the park. Quite by accident.”
“Owner? You’re Hamburger’s owner. And when you go to work, I’m his owner.” She laughed. “Or at least that’s the pretending he and I do when you’re not around.”
Mac turned his hand upward beneath Dee’s so their palms were touching. He gently squeezed. “You’re sweet. But you remember how I found Hamburger last year, just after Christmas?”
Dee nodded. “Oh my, yes! He looked like he was at death’s door. And my lands, the smell of him.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t about to let you bring him in this house until I saw that look of absolute despair on your face. There was no way I could do anything other than become an accessory after the fact.”
Mac smiled. “Remember that bath we gave him?”
“Ha! He was slippery as an eel!”
“He sure was. But we got him cleane
d up, and I took him to the vet’s to make sure he didn’t have fleas or any other problems. I even had them check for a microchip, but he didn’t have one of those. No collar, no tags….” Mac knew he was rationalizing, gearing up for letting Dee in on the whole story. He shrugged. “So I thought he was mine, free and clear. Obviously he’d been homeless for a long time. What kind of owner would let his dog get in such a state?”
“You said you met his owner.”
Dee was always good for keeping him on track, on this earthly plane. It wasn’t always easy for her, Mac knew.
“Yeah. He came right up to us at Green Lake. He was out for a run. If I’d been a few minutes earlier or he’d been a little slower, we may never have crossed paths.” Mac closed his eyes for a moment, wishing, as everyone has, that he could just go back and change one little thing that had already happened. Then the world could be okay again. He could go on as before.
But the past was past. You could lament it all you wanted, but you could never change it.
Mac scratched his neck. “Hamburger seemed to recognize the guy right away. And when the man called him by the name Barley, I swear to you, Dee, that dog knew his name.” Mac shook his head. “And it wasn’t Hamburger.”
Hamburger lifted his head and looked at Mac before lowering it again and going back to sleep.
“The guy told me that Hamburger was his.” Mac gnawed on his lower lip, unsure if he could go on. But he wasn’t about to add deceiving Dee to the list of his sins for the day.
“And you believe him?”
Mac nodded, feeling sad, guilty, ashamed, and horrified all at once. Was this the beginning of the end? Was he going to lose Hamburger? His heart clenched at the thought. “Yeah,” Mac whined. “Yeah. I could tell they knew each other. He said he’d lost Hamburger, or Barley, last fall at Discovery Park.”
Dee nodded. “That’s a huge park.”
“I know, right? You could lose a dog there, no problem. But I do blame him a little bit because obviously Hamburger wasn’t on a leash.”
Dee tapped his hand. “Lots of people like to let their dogs run when they’re out in nature. Now I’m hearing you trying to blame him.” She shook her head. “Mac”—she said his name in a scolding tone—“don’t justify.”
“I know, I know.” He sighed. “Here’s the worst part. I told him that no way could Hamburger be his, even though I knew it was a lie. I told him my name was Mike, even though I knew that was a lie, but I didn’t want him to be able to find me. And like the big coward I am, as soon as I got rid of the guy, who—I gotta tell you, Dee—looked like I’d just broken his heart, I ran out of that park so fast….”
Mac stared at Dee, trying to read what she was thinking. But her face, with its dark eyes and wrinkles, was impassive.
She didn’t speak for several moments. Mac prepared himself for a scolding. He couldn’t blame Dee—he deserved it and almost welcomed it. Then she said, “I still don’t think you’re bad, Mac. Even though you did a bad thing.” She sipped her tea. “Yes, you lied. You knew you could have made that man’s day, but you were selfish.”
Mac stared down at the floor. He looked up when he felt Dee grip his arm.
“But you lied and were selfish out of love. I’m not excusing what you did. But I watched you resurrect that poor creature. I watched as the two of you began becoming family to each other. And I know how much you love Hamburger—and I know how much he loves you.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “But did you think that maybe the man you encountered in the park today loves the dog just as much? Can you put yourself in his shoes?”
Dee had the wisdom to stop there. Mac realized he was fretting over the unbearable pain of losing the dog, yet he wasn’t allowing himself to feel any empathy for Flynn. Flynn, who was most likely going through the same pain Mac anticipated. The same pain that caused Mac to be the less-than-honorable fellow he found himself being right now.
“Oh, Dee, what should I do?”
Dee stood up and began to clear the table. “I don’t think you need me to answer that question, Mac. Your heart and your head are already steering you in the right direction.” She began rinsing dishes.
Mac came up behind her. “I’ll clean up.”
She stepped away. “I won’t say no to that!” She sat back down at the table. “In my experience, most guys could never see fit to rinse off so much as a plate. They liked to claim it was woman’s work!” Dee snorted. “Glad you don’t feel that way, Mac.”
Mac stared out the window and into the backyard. It was a perfect summer day—puffy clouds in a blue sky—and Dee’s rose garden was a riot of color, red, yellow, pink, and white, a bright contrast to the green grass Mac had mowed only yesterday. He said to the scene, “I’ll do the right thing, Dee.” And then he had a moment of clarity, a cause for devious hope. “If I can find him. I only know his first name and that he’s a runner.” He turned to look at Dee, unable to keep the smile off his face. “A young male runner in Seattle? How many men could that apply to, Dee? I wonder? A thousand? Ten thousand?”
Mac went back to the cups and spoons in the sink. He knew he shouldn’t feel hopeful, but he did.
It wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t find the guy again.
Chapter 3
“I FOUND Barley today.” Flynn spoke into his phone, pacing the length of his studio apartment in Wallingford. He had called his best friend, Clara, as soon as he got home from the park. Flynn jokingly referred to Clara as his “Grace,” referring, of course, to the old TV show Will and Grace, but also for the fact that the woman had about her a kind of grace—in the way she moved, the way she spoke, and most especially, her kindness. He’d been drawn to her since his first day at work at Curtain Up, a publicity firm downtown catering to entertainment entities but specializing in the local theater scene. Flynn was a publicist and Clara was an administrative assistant, but everyone knew she pretty much ran the place.
“That’s great!” Clara cried into the phone. “Tell me! Tell me all about it.”
Flynn was tempted to make up a story about a joyous reunion so as not to burst his friend’s bubble. She was so excited for him—her happiness radiated right through the phone.
“Wait. Wait. It’s not good.”
“What?” Clara asked, and then, as if something had dawned on her, she said very sadly, “Oh.”
“He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s alive and well and doing the Green Lake loop, or at least he was this morning when I went there for my run.”
“I don’t understand. You said you found him and that he’s okay. What’s the problem?”
Flynn blew out a big sigh. “The problem is, after I lost him last fall, someone else found him. And that someone else apparently believes in the concept of finders keepers. You know—‘finders keepers, losers weepers.’ And I’ve been weeping off and on all day. So Barley was with this guy, his keeper, I guess you could say.”
“Wait. Are you absolutely sure it was Barley? I don’t mean to rain on your parade, sweetie, but this could be a bit of wishful thinking, wanting something so bad you rearrange facts to suit the story you want to believe.”
“All of that occurred to me, Clara. But he recognized me, swear to God. Not only that, you know that cute black thumbprint he had on the top of his head? He had that. I know it’s not a fingerprint or a paw print, but that combined with the recognition and his distinctive, raspy bark and I couldn’t doubt it. This was my Barley.”
“So I’m assuming the guy didn’t just hand him over and he’s sitting at your feet right now, looking up at you and begging for his supper.”
Flynn didn’t know how to tell her. The simple image Clara mentioned made Flynn gasp and wince. He felt a kind of guilt, and maybe it was unjustified, but it was there nonetheless. Ever since he left the park, he’d been kicking himself for not being more confrontational. No matter what that ginger-headed liar said, he knew that dog was his. Why hadn’t he insisted on it? This was Barley he was ta
lking about here, the love of Flynn’s life. At least Barley was more faithful and loyal than any boyfriend he’d ever had—better at cuddling in bed too.
“Flynn? You’re not telling me something.”
“I tried, Clara, I really did.”
“And?”
“He insisted the dog, whom he called Hamburger, if you can believe that, was his. Said he had him since he was a puppy, but he mixed up the town where he got him when he mentioned it a second time, which does not bode well for the truth. I could tell he was lying through his teeth too. He didn’t exactly have the best poker face, if you know what I mean.”
“And you allowed him to go on his way.” Clara sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to blame you, not at all. I’d be a really shitty friend if I did that. Did you at least get his name?”
“He said it was Mike. I didn’t get a last name.” Flynn practically whispered the last part, he was so embarrassed and felt so, well, dumb.
“Well, how many Mikes can there be in Seattle? Wait! Don’t answer that.”
“If it was even his real name, which I doubt. He looked cagey when he told me that too. But you have to understand, there really was nothing I could do. I mean, whether he was lying or not, he did claim Hamburger was his. What was I supposed to do? Knock him down and abduct the dog?” Flynn laughed bitterly. “I thought about it! And I would even be justified because, damn it, I am Barley’s rightful owner. But I’d have looked like a lunatic. And for the less than one percent chance I’m wrong, I suppose I could be arrested.” Flynn thought for a moment and then asked, “Is dognapping a crime?”
Clara laughed. “I don’t know. But it’s probably not a good idea. Listen, sweetheart, I don’t know how, but you have to find this Mike person. You need to talk to him, reasonably and without being confrontational. Tell him how much you love that dog and that his place is with you. Appeal to his good side—and I like to believe that everyone has a good side.”
