“Seamus!” I hollered.
I tried to run after him, but a big group of people passed in front of me. I skirted sideways and finally got around them, heading for the spot where I’d seen him last, but he wasn’t there.
“Seamus?” I mumbled, my heart battering against my ribs. I looked left and right and then turned in a slow circle. I couldn’t see him anywhere.
Seamus was gone.
Everyone was talking at once—everyone except me.
“Oh my God, Katie. I’m so sorry. The stupid guys set off those firecrackers and he just . . . freaked!”
“Which way did he go?”
“You morons! What the hell were you doing setting those off?”
“It’s a bleeding festival! A celebration! You were supposed to be watching the little bugger!”
“I didn’t even see what happened. Did you?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Katie, are you okay?” Matt was peering at me closely, but his voice sounded far away. All I could think was He’s gone. Seamus had disappeared. Somehow, it didn’t feel real.
But it was. And there we were, standing around our blanket while Seamus was out in the crowd, lost and freaked. We had to do something, and fast.
“Guys, this isn’t helping,” I said.
Only Matt heard me. The others were still shouting and pointing in several different directions.
“Listen,” I tried again.
Still no response.
“Stop!” I yelled.
Everyone finally stopped talking and looked at me.
“Sit!”
Lyle plunked down on the blanket. The rest of them looked confused.
“This place is huge and crowded, and it’s starting to get dark. We’ve got to split up and look for Seamus now!”
Everyone agreed. Robot and Christine took off to search the field where the portable toilets were lined up. Lyle and Kinky left to search the area between the stage and concession stands. And Matt and I headed right down the middle, trying to follow the path I’d seen Seamus take into the crowd.
“It’s going to be okay,” Matt said. “He’s wearing his leash, so he can’t go very fast.”
Ha! I thought, remembering those early days in the park. Seamus could be anywhere at this point.
We moved through the crowd, scanning the ground in front of us for anything dark and furry. “Seamus!” I kept calling. “Seaaaaaamus!”
People were looking at us strangely, and I found myself getting frustrated and angry with the whole crowd. There were just so many of them. And they were all sauntering lazily past us, chatting and smiling as if everything was so great. I wanted to take a giant broom and sweep them all into a big gummy pile of flesh and sunblock. Then I could search the grounds for my dog without anyone in my way.
I was on the verge of losing it. As I stooped and scanned and called Seamus’s name, I felt as if I were skating the frozen surface of a raging river. Each moment that passed with no Seamus created a new crack in the protective ice layer.
We reached the edge of the grassy field and stopped. Directly in front of us was a wide gravel trail, and the parking lot lay just beyond that. To the right was the back of the concession stands, and to the left lay thick oak woodlands and a carpet of high wild grass.
“What do you think?” Matt asked, looking back the way we had come. “Should we head back to the blanket in case he returned? Maybe check with the others?”
“I don’t know,” I said croakily. Panic was rising inside me now. I could feel myself slipping into the icy rapids. “What if we don’t find him? What if he headed into the woods? We’d never find him in there. Or what if someone took him?”
“Hey.” Matt wrapped an arm around me. “It’s all right. We’ll find him. Hell, Seamus is so smart, he might find us.”
“I hope so.”
Just then we heard shouting out by the parking lot. A car horn sounded and someone yelled, “Stupid dog!”
Matt and I exchanged urgent looks and took off running toward the area. The parking lot was covered with limestone gravel that sent up flumes of chalky white dust any time a car drove over it. We followed the trail of powdery vapor down an aisle to the far edge of the lot. And there, pacing up and down the grassy edge of the lot, was Seamus, looking lost and confused and very, very small.
“Seamus!” I cried out, relief spilling through me.
He saw me and smiled a doggie smile, his pink tongue poking out between his open jaws.
“No, wait!” Matt shouted.
But it was too late. One second I could see Seamus scampering our way; the next second, a blue Volkswagen backed out of its space, blocking my view. I heard a horrible thunk, followed by a plaintive yelp and the squeak of brakes. Then everything went quiet. There was just a faint whooshing sound as the cloud of dust settled back down to earth.
I screamed and ran down the row of cars, Matt following close behind me. As soon as I reached the back end of the Volkswagen, I skidded to a stop and dropped to my knees.
Seamus—my buddy, my dog, my best friend ever— was lying motionless on the ground.
It’s a little hard to remember what happened right after Seamus was hit. The memories have all the vague, soft-focus qualities of a bad dream. I can only conjure up a jumble of sensations—my wails, the stares of curious onlookers, the frantic apologies from the guy driving the Volkswagen. The one thing I can picture clearly is Seamus lying limp and twisted on his side, his fur ashen gray from the layer of dust.
After that, I faintly recall Matt helping me pick up Seamus and leading us to his car. On the way he spied Kinky’s frizzy head over the crowd and shouted something to him. I was crying so hard that I didn’t hear. Soon after, we were on the road. It seemed to last forever. I held Seamus gently the whole way, making sure he was still breathing. He was still alive when we arrived at the twenty-four-hour animal hospital. Once there, a tall, pretty vet whose name tag read Dr. Skyler rushed over and carefully took Seamus out of my arms.
When I tried to follow them in to the examining room, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “You need to wait out here. I’ll come speak to you as soon as we know anything.” Then she disappeared behind the doors with Seamus and her assistant.
“How long have they been in there?” I asked Matt.
“Just over an hour,” he said, glancing at his watch.
It seemed as though time had stopped. As I paced up and down the empty lobby, the only sounds were my shoes squeaking against the vinyl floor and the faint buzzing of the overhead lights. Outside there was an eerie twilight. Night had fallen, but the glow of the city brightened the darkness to a somber gray. It felt as if we were the only two inhabitants of a strange nightmare void.
“You should sit down,” Matt said.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s in there.”
There was a pause. I could tell Matt was patiently trying to decipher my reply. He was going to make a damn good psychologist.
“But . . . he’s going to be in there no matter what you do,” he said slowly and carefully. “You might as well relax.”
“No! I can’t!” I shouted. For some reason I was really irritated with him, even though he’d done nothing but help me.
My anger didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Why not?”
“Because! Because I don’t deserve to!” My voice seemed to catch on something. Before I realized it, a new round of tears began streaming down my cheeks. I stood there wavering while my sight went blurry and my legs grew weak.
Matt came up, put his arm around me and led me to the chairs.
“I don’t deserve to sit down!” I cried, even as I sank into the seat. “It’s my fault he got hurt!”
There. I’d said it. I’d voiced the horrible thought that had been lurking inside me. Now that it was out and I was forced to face it, an agonizing pain was shooting through my body at soul-level. My breath came in short ragged gasps, and tears drip
ped all over my dusty clothes.
“It’s not your fault,” Matt said, still holding me steady. “It was an accident.”
“But if I hadn’t called to him, he wouldn’t have gotten hit!” I choked out. It actually hurt me physically to admit it aloud. My shoulders shuddered and something sharp was hacking at my heart. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest and doubled over, sobbing.
For who knows how long, I sat there, folded over like a pill bug and crying. Images of Seamus whirled past my closed eyes. Seamus in his cage at the pound; Seamus wet and muddy at the park; Seamus gazing at me fondly with his round, root beer–colored eyes. It just wasn’t fair. Seamus and I had come so far. He was truly the best thing that ever happened to me; and now he was being taken away.
“It’s not your fault,” Matt kept murmuring as he bent down next to me.
I didn’t believe him, but his soft tone and supportive hold did manage to calm me down—or maybe I just ran out of power. Eventually my sobs dwindled into sniffles and I sat there like a deflated ball.
After a while I heard Matt say, “Here comes the vet.”
I sat up quickly, my head pounding from the sudden change in elevation. Through the glass partition, I could see Dr. Skyler walking down the corridor toward the lobby. I tried to read her expression, but she just looked really tired.
We stood up to meet her as she pushed through the glass door.
“Well, he’s out of surgery,” she said, looking right at me.
“Is he awake?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“Will he—” I stopped myself. I just couldn’t say it. Will he ever wake up?
Dr. Skyler tilted her head sympathetically. “We don’t know what will happen. We managed to stop the internal bleeding, but he’s pretty banged up. At this point we just have to wait and see.”
“Can I see him?”
She sighed heavily. I could tell she was about to say no.
“Please,” I added quickly. “He’s my dog. I just want to see him, that’s all.”
“Okay,” she replied, giving me a sad smile. “But prepare yourself. He’s still under the anesthesia, and he looks pretty bad.”
She led us back down the corridor and into a white room with a big stainless steel table in the center. Seamus lay in the middle of it, crumpled and lifeless. His legs flopped aimlessly at his sides, his fur was matted and his eyes were shut and puffy. Heavy gauze bandages covered his stomach, and a clear plastic tube ran from an IV pole into his left foreleg. I couldn’t fully believe it was Seamus. Instead, the little figure seemed more like a Seamus-looking stuffed animal someone had pulled out of a Dumpster.
A strange choking sound gurgled up out of me and I instinctively reached toward him.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t touch him,” Dr. Skyler said.
I nodded weakly, my throat too constricted for speech.
“It’s almost two. Why don’t you two go home and rest?” she said, motioning toward the door behind us. “We probably have a long wait ahead of us.”
“No,” I croaked, shaking my head. “I want to stay.”
Matt grasped my shoulders and gently turned me to face him. “Katie, you’re exhausted. You can’t help him by wearing yourself out like this.”
“But what if he needs me? What if he wakes up and gets scared? Or what if he . . . what if . . .”
“I promise I’ll call you if there’s any change,” Dr. Skyler cut in, her voice low and compassionate.
I broke my stare off Seamus and looked at her. “Promise you’ll call no matter what? Even if it’s ten minutes after we leave?”
She gave me a small smile. “I promise.”
“Thanks, Dr. Skyler,” Matt said, shaking her hand. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned to me. “Please come back after you’ve gotten some rest. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
As we headed out the door, I looked back over my shoulder at Seamus. It felt wrong to leave him there. It was like taking him back to the shelter. His life was on the line, but this time there was nothing I could do to help him.
Don’t leave me, buddy, I urged silently. Hang in there. Please!
14
I barely remember Matt walking me up the staircase to our landing. Only it didn’t feel like our landing. The eggshell-colored paneling and Berber carpeting looked only vaguely familiar. It was as if, instead of coming home, I’d entered a strange building and was experiencing a really strong sense of déjà vu.
“You all right?” Matt asked, still gripping me tightly as if he were afraid I might float up to the fluorescents if he let go.
“Yeah,” I replied croakily. And I was. I was just fine. It was my poor dog who was a mess. While I stood in front of my door pondering a scuff mark on the tips of my sandals, Seamus was lying unconscious and bandaged, with tubes threaded into his veins. I didn’t deserve any concern at all compared to him.
“Get some sleep, okay?” Matt said as he let go of me. I hadn’t thought I was leaning on him all that much, but as soon as his hands left, I felt weak and floppy. I quickly grabbed the doorknob and unlocked it.
Matt was peering into my eyes as if he could somehow see past them. It occurred to me that he wasn’t saying “Don’t worry” or “It will be all right” anymore, and for that, I was grateful. He’d been so amazing to me and Seamus, but right now I just needed to be alone. To slip off into my limbo and ignore everything in the world for a while.
“Good night,” I mumbled.
“Good night.”
His image slowly disappeared as I shut the door and locked it.
The condo was dim and silent. I still felt eerily detached from myself—a walking ghost. There was a note from Christine and Robot on the console table. I didn’t read it, but I did notice the word sorry had been written in all caps and underlined four or five times. Seamus’s training collar lay beside it.
I picked it up and twisted it around in my hands, studying it as if it were some valuable ancient relic. So many memories associated with that thing, both good and bad. A squeezing pain shot through me, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t anymore. Except for the dense pressure in my chest, I was completely numb.
Setting the collar carefully on the table, I tiptoed to my room. The first thing I saw when I switched on the light was Seamus’s cartoon face staring down at me from the drawing on the wall. I felt another wrenching sensation in my gut and immediately turned out the light and crawled into bed, fully dressed. Only I couldn’t sleep. I was so thoroughly depleted, my body felt as if it had been trampled, but every time I shut my eyes I would hear the sound of screeching brakes and see Seamus sprawled against the crushed gravel. I missed him, too. It seemed too quiet without his snoring or the familiar tinkle of his tags as he shifted in his sleep.
I took a deep breath and rolled onto my side. In the faint light of the streetlamp outside my window, I could make out a face in front of me—one with big brown eyes and a black button nose.
Seamus?
No. It was my Scooby-Doo alarm clock. Its frozen, goofball expression seemed to be taunting me. Suddenly it was like coming out of heavy anesthesia. It began with a prickle of irritation, and then a surge of anger broke through my deadened emotional state, charging me up again. I jumped out of bed, lifted my window, and pushed open the screen. Grabbing the Scooby clock in my right hand, I reached back and hurled it as far as I could. I didn’t see where he landed, but I heard a muffled crash and a few pinging sounds.
For a moment, I just stood there, listening to the crickets and the hum of faraway traffic. Then I lay back down and closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew, the apricot light of morning was streaming through the window. I struggled to my elbows and my head immediately began to throb. My insides felt shriveled, and there was a crick in the left side of my neck. Instinctively, I glanced over at the Scooby clock . . . but it wasn’t there.
“Oh, no,” I mumbled. Although
it was wonderful not having to wake up to the blaring alarm, I had no idea how late I slept. What if I’d missed a call from Dr. Skyler?
Ignoring the pulsating pain in my temples, I leaped out of bed and rushed into the living room.
“Oh my God! Katie! I didn’t even know you were here!”
Christine was standing in the living room talking to Mrs. Krantz. She stared me up and down, her features creased in an expression of half horror and half pity. I imagined I did look like a disaster survivor. My clothes from the day before were hanging off me all lopsided and rumpled, and I could tell by my constricted vision that my face was bloated up like a jellyfish.
“Where’s Seamus?” she asked tentatively.
“He’s in the animal hospital, recovering from surgery,” I heard myself say in a dull, flat voice.
“Is he . . . going to be okay?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Katie, dear! You poor, poor thing!” Mrs. Krantz trotted over and pulled me into a frantic embrace. The pungent smell of hairspray and floral perfume threatened to make my already aching head shut down completely. “Oh, poor Mrs. B will be so upset!”
She pulled back but kept a firm grip on my arms, her many rings pressing into my flesh. I was touched to see a tear roll down her heavily powdered face. “Please let me know if I can do anything to help you,” she went on. “You do know how much Seamus means to me and Mrs. B, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. Actually I hadn’t known. She was sweet to be so concerned, but she was freaking me out a little bit too. I expected her to let go, but for some reason she just kept holding on to my arms and gazing at me sympathetically. Her fingers were digging into my skin like jeweled barnacles, and her magnified eyes were like giant watery bull’s-eyes. In my post-traumatic, newly awakened veg state, I was finding it hard to deal.
Thank God for Christine. Somehow sensing my trouble, she stepped forward and draped an arm around Mrs. Krantz, giving her consoling little pats while simultaneously steering her toward the door. “Thanks for stopping by, Mrs. Krantz,” she said, opening the door. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have any answers.”
Alpha Dog Page 21
