Be Brave With Me

by J. B. Havens

  “Sure, sure.” Putting the dog aside, Drew pulled Nolan into a hug, a rare showing of affection. “Thanks, old man, for everything.”

  Nolan avoided his gaze, patting his back and stepping away. “Don’t mention it, bro. Now go on, I don’t need your help in here today anyway.”

  Tucking the puppy under one arm, Drew grabbed his keys and coffee and did as ordered, driving directly to the pet store.

  Once he bought what felt like half the store, he went home and dumped his bags onto the couch. He put the puppy down, letting her sniff her way around the apartment. He walked down to the office to check his mail, surprised to find a white FedEx box waiting for him. Strange.

  Opening it on his way back to his room, he pulled out a blue hat with the Route 66 logo on it, three pictures from Chicago, and a drawing. No note. Just the items.

  Grinning like a fool, he tossed the box aside and switched his old, beat up ball cap for the new hat. Bending the bill to the right shape, he adjusted the fit.

  “Hello, darlin’.” He said softly to himself. An idea struck him and, hurrying back to the office, he grabbed the supplies he needed, ignoring Nana’s questions.

  Back in his room, he unfolded a map, tacking it to his wall in the kitchen. Tracking the roads, he followed along until he found Chicago. Sticking a pin into the city, he stepped back, surveying his new decoration. He hoped more points would be added. He couldn’t be with her in person, but he could do this, follow her on a map and trace her journey. Holding out hope she’d come back to him. He then tacked the sketch up beside the map.

  Turning his attention to the puppy, who was squatting in the corner, he scooped her up, laughing as he raced her outside. Newspapers were in order.

  Chapter 41

  Meg

  After a relaxing time in St. Louis, checking out the art fair, I head southwest to Springfield, Missouri. Fall seems to be in full effect here; there are displays of pumpkins and cornstalks everywhere. I pull off the state highway into a rural motel that reminds me of Nana’s place. As I approach the counter to inquire about a room, a poster taped to the desk catches my eye. It reads:

  Springfield Pets and Pumpkins Festival

  Springfield Fairgrounds

  October 13-14

  Sounds like something fun and it’s this coming weekend, so maybe I’ll stay here for a few days.

  I check in, drop off my bags in the unimpressive room, and head back out in search of food. It’s Saturday and the local diner is packed. After a quick meal, I fill a to-go cup with coffee, fire up the Cherokee, and head for the fairgrounds.

  A field has been designated for parking and I follow the signs to the entrance. As I step out of the Jeep and walk through the gates, the smell of hay, dust, and hot oil hit me all at once. There really is nothing like a fair. I can’t help but wonder if Drew likes fairs as much as I do.

  There’s a donation box beside the gate, so I dig in my pocket, pull out a ten dollar bill, and place it in the slot. Even though I just ate, the carnival smells of fried foods have my stomach rumbling. I’ll need a funnel cake and maybe a deep-fried Twinkie or Oreo. I’m going to have a hell of a time choosing which artery-hardening sweet to eat first.

  I pull my phone from my back pocket and snap a selfie with the fairground gates rising behind me. My finger hovers over the share button, wanting to post it and tag Drew, but I resist the urge. I’d tracked him down on every social media platform I could find him on. Good thing his profiles are public, because I’m not sure I want him to know I’m following him. He doesn’t seem to post much, but the photos of him I could find slice through me. There’s one in particular I keep coming back to: him standing with the football team at homecoming, decked out in all his highlander mascot glory. I’d saved it to my phone so I could look at it even when I don’t have service to see his profile. His grin is wide, his straight, white teeth flashing above his beard. He’s standing with his arms around some of the players, the head coach next to them holding a trophy I don’t remember anything about. Our last night together. I hope he’s happy. I hope he’s living and not just existing. Is he seeing anyone? The idea of another woman in his arms, in his bed, sours my stomach and causes me to clench my fists. I have no right to even a scrap of jealousy. I’d left him behind.

  I force myself to put my phone away and keep moving, shaking thoughts of Drew loose. I’m here for Brandon. For the closure I desperately need. A small piece of my heart remains in reserve, hoping that when I’m done with this trip, I might be strong enough to think beyond the next city. Maybe I’ll be brave enough to head back east.

  Signs all around indicate the real purpose of the festival—pet adoption. I walk around browsing the booths for various pet services including groomers, veterinarians, specialty pet food, and even pet jewelry and clothing. The sound of multiple barking dogs draws me to the booths for the local humane society. Cats are on one side of the walkway and dogs are on the other. I wander through the cat aisles first. Older cats are in individual kennels and right up front is a huge cage full of kittens. Talk about cuteness overload! They’re so entertaining, playing with toys and each other. A towel is strung between opposite bars of the cage like a hammock and two kittens are napping together in the sling. A Siamese with beautiful, blue eyes sits stately in the middle of the cage, as if posing like a statue in front of a royal palace. He’s so beautiful and regal, I almost ask to hold him. I resist the urge, telling myself I don’t know where I’ll be from one day to the next, so I can’t possibly consider giving a cat a home.

  I wander over to the dog crates and the cacophony of sounds of different barks, from mini yip-yips, to deeper, commanding ruffs. A teenage volunteer greets me with an enthusiastic hello.

  “All of our puppies and dogs here today are available for adoption.”

  “I’m just wandering around. I’m not in the market for a pet.”

  “I’ve got a tip for you. You don’t pick them, they pick you.”

  I laugh with her. “We’ll see about that.” Tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I wander further down the line of kennels. At the very end, I find a puppy sitting calmly at the front of its cage. I read the tag attached to the top. It’s a German shepherd puppy, male, sixteen weeks old.

  I crouch down, meeting his chocolate eyes. His ears perk up and he tilts his head to the side, staring at me.

  “Hello there, cute boy.”

  He yips softly but doesn’t bark. His butt is wiggling on the bottom of the cage, excitement and love pouring out of him in the way all puppies have. The shell around my heart cracks a little more. “Well, hell,” I mutter under my breath before waving the adoption volunteer over.

  Chapter 42

  Drew

  It had been a week since he got the first box from Meg. A week of puppy pads, training, and wanting to pull his hair out when the dog chewed the left shoe on his prosthesis. He then put all his shoes in the closet with the door closed. So the pup switched to chewing on the metal leg of his prosthesis instead. He bought every chew toy known to man, played tug-of-war with her for hours, but she still wanted to chew his damn shoes.

  “Stay!” He pointed to the floor, but she just looked up at him, her tongue lolling out. “I mean it. Stay.” He pushed her butt down onto the floor and backed up a step. He was amazed when she remained where he’d placed her. Maybe they were finally making progress.

  “I just have to get the mail.” He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him and making sure it was latched. She was proving to be quite the escape artist.

  Walking into the office, he said hello to Nana and grabbed the pile of mail on the side of the counter, same place she always left it for him. He spied another white FedEx box. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth went dry. The postmark was from St. Louis, Missouri. His hands shook with the effort of not ripping the box to pieces right there, but he didn’t want Nana to see. He wasn’t ashamed or anything, but this was his private piece of Meg, just for him. He didn�
��t want to share it with anyone.

  “See ya later, Nana. Love you,” he called over his shoulder, ignoring her half-formed questions. Later he would have to apologize for being so abrupt, but there was no way in hell he was waiting another damn second to open the box.

  As soon as the door to his apartment closed behind him, he tore the flap open and shook the contents out onto the table. This time, there was a package wrapped in bubble wrap. Slicing the tape with his pocketknife, he carefully peeled the wrapping off. It was a framed photo of the historic Gateway Arch with the St. Louis downtown skyline in the background.

  Walking to the map on his wall, Drew stuck a pin into St. Louis before connecting a string from it to the one in Chicago.

  “Keep ’em comin’, Meg. I see you.” He tapped the pin with the tip of his finger, then cleaned up the packaging before the puppy got into it.

  Chapter 43

  Meg

  I’m happy now that I have a travel companion and someone to talk to on the long drive west. The adoption fee included all puppy shots and neutering, so I’m remaining in Springfield long enough for the pup to visit the vet and recover from the surgery. Fortunately, he’s been fostered and seems fairly well trained in some basic commands and about where to go to the bathroom. I hope he’s not the type to get car sick.

  The humane society representative had informed me that the foster family named the puppy Boomer. I don’t want to confuse him by changing it, so Boomer he is. Boomer seems to be doing well, so we’re going to leave for Kansas in the morning. I pull out my phone to map the route and am surprised to learn that Route 66 covers only thirteen miles in the state of Kansas, just crossing the southeast corner, and it will only take us an hour and a half to get to our destination of Baxter Springs. That’s probably far enough for Boomer’s first road trip.

  The next day, we arrive in Baxter Springs just in time for lunch. As I drive down Main Street, I spot a café with some tables and chairs along the sidewalk. Looks like the perfect place for Boomer and me to relax and have a meal. I find a parking space a few doors down with plenty of room to parallel park the Jeep. I already adore the small town America vibe of this place.

  My phone buzzes to alert me to a text message. I pull out my phone, surprised at the sound, since very few people know I even have a cell. I’m delighted to see that it’s from Sally. I gave her my number in case of an emergency before I left Green Springs. I’m astonished it’s taken so long for her to check up on me. I decide to wait until I get some food and settle Boomer before answering her.

  I sit down and tie Boomer’s leash to my chair leg while I wait for my burger and fries. Impatience and curiosity get the better of me, so I tap my phone to call Sally back.

  “Meg! I’m so happy to hear from you. You doing okay, sweetie?”

  Sally’s voice is sweet and thick, the familiarity squeezing my heart with longing. I miss her. Them. Green Springs.

  “I’m doing just fine. I’m in Kansas at the moment.”

  “Watch out for tornados and falling houses.”

  “You’re a funny one,” I say, laughing. “I’ll keep an eye out though, you know I’m a total . . . witch.”

  “So tell me, how are you, really?”

  I sigh heavily but perk up when the waitress comes carrying my plate of food. I murmur a thank you to her and turn my attention back to Sally while it cools. “I have a burger and fries sitting in front of me, so I’m okay.”

  “Meg.” Sally has that tone.

  “Seriously, I’m doing all right. I’m sad of course, but I made a new friend so that helps.”

  “A new friend? Is this friend of the male variety?” Sally’s voice is hard to read, but I’m sure she’s thinking of Drew all alone back in Green Springs.

  “Yes, he is. Gorgeous too. Follows me everywhere, loyal, kind, housebroken, and lets me pick the music in the Jeep.” Boomer chooses that moment to bark at a couple walking their own dog, some type of lab.

  “I heard a dog bark. You’re not fooling anyone, missy. You got a dog, didn’t you?” She’s laughing now, the relief evident in her voice. She made no secret about her desire for me to stay with Drew.

  “Yeah, I got a dog. He’s got these big, pretty eyes and I just couldn’t say no.” I laugh and feed him a small bite of my burger. “He’s a German shepherd.”

  “You know who else got a dog?” Sally asked.

  “Obviously, no, I don’t. Not you, that’s for sure. Your shoe collection is too precious.”

  “Drew.”

  “What? He did?” I swallow a lump in my throat that appears at the sound of his name. His face manifests in my mind. I can see him with a dog riding along with him in the truck, its happy face hanging out the window.

  “Funny enough, he got a German shepherd too. Nolan gave him the dog, from what I hear.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Interesting? That’s all you’re going to say? You’re not going to ask?”

  “Tell me, Sally.” The words feel like barbed wire in my mouth. I so desperately want to know how he is. I miss his hands the most, I think. Sliding along my skin, grasping my palms, gripping my thigh as he drives. Competent hands, loving hands.

  “He’s doing as well as expected. He seems happier in the last week or so. Nana said something about him getting some packages lately. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  A smile breaks free—he’d received the boxes. “I might.” I hedge, those gifts are between Drew and myself, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, even Sally. It’s private, sacred almost. “Thanks for telling me. Just, please, don’t tell him we talked.”

  “I won’t, unless he asks me directly. I love you girl, but I won’t lie for anyone. Not ever. I don’t see him much though, so you shouldn’t have to worry.”

  “Thanks, Sally. You’re a good friend. Better than I deserve.” Sally’s past in Chicago wasn’t something we’d talked about beyond the most basic of conversations. I know something happened, something terrible. She’ll tell me when she’s ready; I wasn’t going to push her.

  We end the call and I dig into my burger. It’s delicious, I’m sure, but I hardly notice. My mind is filled with memories of strong hands and sea-like eyes.

  The server comes out to clear my table after I finish eating and strikes up a conversation.

  “You guys staying in town for long?”

  “I really haven’t decided yet. We just got here.”

  “You’re in luck. The Route 66 Art Show is going on down the street at the heritage museum.”

  “Oh, nice, we’ll have to check that out.”

  “When you do, stop in and have a brew at the coffee house next door. Their Route 66 Trucker’s Blend is the best!”

  Before I leave the café, I google pet-friendly lodging in Baxter Springs to find a place to stay for the night. We’ll hit the art show tomorrow.

  The next morning, Boomer and I set out bright and early for the museum. As suggested, I stop in at the coffee house for a cup and a cinnamon roll. I brought a bowl of puppy chow for Boomer’s breakfast. Like yesterday, we opt for a sidewalk table and people watch as we consume our meal. The café owner wasn’t kidding when she said this coffee is the best. I’m going to buy a bag for myself and one to send Drew. When I go in to get the coffee, I spot a shelf with different types of mugs for sale. I laugh out loud when I see one with a smiley face and F*ck Your Sensitivity emblazoned on it. I grab it to put in Drew’s next care package.

  After Boomer does his business, I lead him back to the Jeep. I fixed up a bed area for him in the back so he’d be comfortable whenever I go somewhere I can’t take a dog.

  I spend several hours wandering through the displays and artifacts in the museum documenting the history and heritage of Route 66. Among the items for sale are a number of rusted and weathered highway markers. I decide I need one to commemorate my cross-country journey on the historic route.

  Today we’re heading to Oklahoma. I plan to
drive about one-hundred miles to the Tulsa area. There are two attractions I want to visit, the Pecan and Fun Festival in Claremore and the Tulsa Greek Festival. I’ll spend a few days there and then move on two hours west to Oklahoma City for a ghost tour.

  From there, the journey continues. I plan to attend a rodeo in Amarillo, then go to Albuquerque for a balloon fiesta and a Celtic Festival, in order to tick the boxes on the states of Texas and New Mexico. After that, I’ll take a train ride through the Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona, before crossing into California and heading south through Los Angeles. At every stop, I’ll be picking up trinkets to send to Drew.

  Chapter 44

  Meg

  Now, here I stand on the Santa Monica Pier, the end of Route 66. Coincidentally, its November 11, the anniversary of the opening of Route 66. I’ve met some amazing people, collected remarkable memories, and adopted a dog, but I still feel empty.

  Brandon is gone. I know it, have known it for quite some time, but now I really feel it—deep in my heart and in the pit of my soul. He’ll always be with me, but my grief has mellowed a little more with each mile I’ve travelled. I’m glad I did this trip; I’ve gained more closure now than when I watched him being lowered into the ground.

  Where do I go from here? What happens next?

  My story feels unfinished, the blank pages of my life stretching out in front of me in a wash of white uncertainty. I have one more package to mail, one last box for Drew. Just thinking his name makes my heart constrict with want. Is he the answer? For now, I’m going to head for the short term beach rental I’ve secured and figure out the rest later.