When I’m done with all the housekeeping, I pull one more treat from my pocket. “Want to make it three for three today?”
He comes forward, only hopping back once.
“Sit,” I say and hold the treat up high. This time when his head rises, his hindquarters go all the way to the ground. “Good boy!”
He takes the treat from my hand a third time, and as much as I want to reach out and touch his silky fur, I know it’s too soon for contact. Today was a huge step forward. And considering how my luck has been going lately, I better stop while I’m ahead. “See you later, buddy. I need to get inside and take care of the other two. Penny’s probably bashing against her cage by now.”
I lock Louie’s gate and head toward Charlie’s back door. I’m two hours later than usual, which make me feel a double measure of guilt. I know Charlie handles the inside dogs when they need to go out, but I’d established a morning routine with them over the past couple of weeks that shouldn’t have been broken. Not when Penny’s my next training case and she’s so far from ready.
I knock on the door, poke my head in, and right when I’m about to call out my usual I’m-walking-into-your-house greeting, I see Charlie standing in front of the stove, cooking eggs and bacon.
Awkwardness and shock cement me in place. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Charlie turns enough to glance at me and then back to his sizzling meat. “Don’t be. Come inside.”
I step through the doorway and gently close it behind me. “I’ll grab Penny and get out of your way.”
“No need. I just took her out a little while ago.” He pulls the pan from the burner and turns the knob. “Have you eaten yet?”
My stomach growls at the invitation, and I wonder if the food will make me feel better or worse. Going off the cheeseburger last night, I’m hoping for better. “No, I haven’t. I’m running a little behind this morning, on everything . . . it seems.”
Charlie turns around and leans against the counter. “Bryson told me you may not make it by today. Something about a rough night?” His voice is teasing, but I’m mortified.
“I, um . . .” I have no response.
Charlie may have chuckled, but I can’t tell since his beard is so shaggy it covers his lips. “Don’t look so stricken. You’re not the first person to overindulge in this room.”
“I just can’t believe he called you.” I guess it’s true that one bad night can erase a lifetime of responsibility.
“I wouldn’t recommend feeding him to the wolves just yet. He didn’t say why it was rough, but I’ve experienced enough hangovers to spot the signs. You look like you’ve been run over by a semi.”
“I feel like I’ve been run over by one.” There’s really no point in downplaying the situation when he already knows what happened.
“Well, I have the cure. Grab a couple plates out of the cabinet and we’ll get some food in that stomach.”
I wash my hands and do as he asks, holding out the plates to Charlie so he can fill them up with eggs, bacon, and two slices of toast. He gestures to the small kitchen table in the corner, and I set both heaping plates down carefully. In minutes we have forks, orange juice, and uncomfortable silence as Charlie says a quick prayer for our food.
The silence continues as I take my first bite of scrambled eggs. “This is really good, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I figured I owed you an apology for my continual grumpiness. Nothing says sorry like a plateful of food.”
I smile around my bacon. “There’s no need to apologize.”
“You’re a sweet kid for saying so, but I’m long past due telling you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for the dogs . . . and for me.” His voice goes soft, the grief still audible in every syllable. “Sue Ann would have really liked you.”
“I would have liked her, too.” Charlie goes back to his silent eating, but I sense there’s more he wants to say. I swallow a crispy piece of bacon and hope I’m not crossing an invisible line. “How did you two meet?”
He glances at me, surprised by the question, but then I see it. The relief that follows. He just got permission to talk freely about the person he loves most in this world. “She was a cashier at Tractor Supply, and I went in every week. At that time, I was at the bottom of the barrel you could say. Partying, drinking, hating life and myself. But when I’d see her and her gorgeous, optimistic smile, it would get me through days of self-loathing. Eventually I learned her schedule, and then after two months I got up the nerve to ask her out.” He stares off as if reliving the memory. “She said she’d go if I could last one whole month without a drink.”
“I take it you succeeded.”
He nods. “That day was the last time alcohol touched my lips. She pulled me out of all of it. Helped me find the Lord and all the pieces of myself I’d lost.” He stares at the plate in front of him. “It’s always tempting to find answers in a bottle, but they don’t exist there.”
My heart squeezes as shame presses in from his words. I fell into the same trap, only worse because my motivation wasn’t grief or addiction. Mine was so much more selfish. I set aside my personal convictions just to prove a point that didn’t need to be proven. And look what I have to show for it now—regret and embarrassment. “Is the drinking still a struggle for you?” I ask, mostly because I want to make sure my behavior and the aftermath of it didn’t cause Charlie any harm.
He looks at me, his eyes full of sadness. “No. I wouldn’t dishonor Sue Ann that way.” Relief from his words eases away a little of the guilt. “But I haven’t exactly been coping well.” He shakes his head. “Turns out answers don’t exist in front of a TV screen either, though I’ve certainly tried to find them the last few months.”
“When my mission trip got canceled, I watched TV for eighteen hours straight. In Spanish.”
That gets a chuckle out of him, and I’m surprised by how much it warms my chest to see him smile. “Bryson says I need to start returning to my old activities. I know she’d tell me the same thing.”
“What were they?”
“Sue Ann and I were pretty active in the community center in town. She liked to dance, and they’d have instructors come once a month.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, it was.” He looks at his plate, sorrow crashing down again. “We’d also do archery together and take Macey for long walks each day. Archery stopped when the treatments started, but Sue Ann never missed her daily walks. Even on the worst days, when my poor wife could barely get around, there was something therapeutic about the click of the leash. Sometimes we’d only get as far as the driveway, but it helped her all the same.”
I look toward the living room and catch a glimpse of Macey curled in her usual spot. She’s getting thinner and thinner.
Charlie must notice where my attention has gone. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”
“I think it’s odd that she didn’t come over when bacon is on the menu.”
“Yeah. I can’t seem to get her to do much but lie there these days.” He sets his fork down and sighs. “It’s probably my fault. Macey was Sue Ann’s baby. That dog went with her everywhere. To the store, the post office. She even tried to come with us to the hospital when Sue Ann had her treatments.”
“Macey lost a lot when Sue Ann died. Sounds like she’s grieving, too.”
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
I finish off the food, amazed by how much better it makes me feel. “You could maybe take her when you resume some of your activities. Was there something she especially loved to do?”
Charlie leans back in his chair and contemplates my question. “Our neighbor has a dog about her size. They’d play together a lot. But, um, I wasn’t the nicest to her when she tried to bring me food after the funeral.” He scratches his long, shaggy hair. “But I suppose we could start there.”
“I think Macey would really like that. And if you’re looking to impress, you could always shave a little b
efore going. Might help the apology if you didn’t look like the Unabomber.”
Charlie’s eyes narrow, but there’s a hint of amusement in them. I can almost picture the person he might have been before this tragedy. The guy who mentored an angry young boy. A guy who undoubtedly was instrumental in helping Bryson turn into the man he’s become.
I stand and pick up both our plates, unsure if I should suggest the other thing that would help Macey’s depression. I decide it’s worth it. If Macey continues this way, I shudder to think of the consequences. “There’s something else that might help her, but it may be difficult for you.” I rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Charlie hasn’t moved or said another word, so I have no idea if I should continue. I don’t want to push too hard, not when he’s finally getting up and getting dressed.
He stands and brings our empty glasses over. “Can’t imagine anything more difficult than what I’ve already experienced.”
I press my lips together to suppress the sudden desire to cry for his broken heart. “Well, if you’re willing, I think Macey would greatly benefit from a piece of Sue Ann’s clothing. An old shirt of hers, maybe? Something you could part with?”
Charlie grips the edge of the counter as if I’ve asked for the world. Maybe I have.
“It’s just an idea. You don’t have to.”
“No. It’s okay.” He leaves the kitchen, and while he’s gone, I busy myself in cleaning up the remnants of breakfast. When he still hasn’t returned, I check on Penny’s food and find my way into the living room, where Macey is curled tight into a ball.
I pet her soft fur. “I know you’re sad, sweet girl, but I need you to try to eat, okay?”
“She likes popcorn.”
I startle at Charlie’s abrupt entrance but work to keep things light. “Butter or kettle corn?”
“Butter. Just like Sue Ann.” He comes closer and hands me a dirt-stained white T-shirt. “I haven’t been inside her closet since she died. I thought it might kill me to do so, but it was nice. The room still smells like her.”
I take the material gently, knowing exactly what a sacrifice it is for him to offer it. “Thank you.” Carefully, I press the cotton to Macey’s nose. Immediately she jolts to a seated position, her head rearing up. She whines and nudges the shirt with her snout. I lay it at her feet and stand.
She presses her face against the soft cotton, then barks and rolls on top of it like an old companion. I look over at Charlie. His eyes glisten and it shreds a piece of my heart. I open my mouth to offer some kind of comfort or maybe just to thank him again for being so continuously unselfish. But I don’t get the chance. Charlie’s door is already closing, hiding him once again from the pressing grief that will never fully go away.
twenty-one
I once read that reliving positive memories from childhood can bring a small measure of peace to those struggling with anxiety, even years later. Tonight, I’m really hoping that theory is true.
I’m in the playground at Grace Community. The old one behind the gym. The one they long ago quit using when the new children’s building was built.
What used to be a 1960s hallway with low ceilings and a constant mildew smell is now a 20,000-square-foot, two-story children’s wonderland. One that’s filled every Sunday. But I miss the days when I knew all the faces that passed me in the halls. I miss my dad making my brother and me sit with them instead of our friends. But most of all, I miss feeling safe like I always did when I came to this building. Cameron says I’m the worst when it comes to change. That people like me keep the world from progressing. Maybe he’s right. Change has never been a friend of mine.
Even when I’m the one forcing it.
My phone reads 5:45 p.m., and Sunday night dinner starts at 6:00. This will be the first one I’ve ever intentionally missed, except for a handful while I was away at college. But even then I’d make it as often as I could. Never have I been in town and not gone. Never.
Each minute drags on like an hour: 5:47 . . . 5:48. If it could just get past the six o’clock mark, then maybe this wrenching in my gut would finally go away.
I set my phone facedown in my lap and continue my rhythmic swinging, racking my brain for any kind of distraction. Cam is working until eight tonight, and I’ve already exhausted all my other time wasters. The only things left are the two things I’m avoiding: apologizing to Bryson and answering my mom’s umpteenth text today.
I kick at the dirt, my stomach taking a somersaulted leap at the thought of dialing Bryson’s number. Then again, time is only going to make the humiliation worse, so I may as well do it now and put the final nail in the coffin marked “rebellion.”
My thumb slides across the glass, and I take one stabilizing breath before pressing his number.
“Hey.” The answer is short and more direct than I expect.
“Hey, I um . . .” I scramble to find any common ground that doesn’t include the night before. “I wanted to talk to you about Charlie.”
“Really?” His voice dips like he knows I’m stalling.
“Yeah. He made some progress today. I just thought you should know so you could go by there tomorrow. Make sure he actually gets out of the house like he said he might.”
“I will, thanks.” He’s quiet for a second. “Is that all?”
“Yes . . . I mean, no.” I squeeze my eyes shut, the embarrassment of the night before coming back in full color. “I’m sorry . . . about last night.”
He sighs into the phone. “It’s really okay.” His voice is different now. As if he needed to know that I knew I’d treated him poorly. It’s ironic. A few weeks ago, I accused Bryson of using people and yet I’m the one who did that very thing to him. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. And you should know that my little drinking experiment is over. I will be shelving the lemon drops for an indefinite period of time.”
He chuckles. “Good.”
I press my toes into the ground and push the swing backward.
“Darcy, you okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking, I guess.”
“About?”
“Life, family, Sunday night dinners, or in my case, skipping Sunday night dinners since my last one did not go so well.”
He’s quiet, and I wonder again why all my secrets seem to spill out to him. “Could that be part of the reason you went a little heavy-handed last night?”
I shouldn’t be surprised anymore by this new profound version of him, but I still am. “Probably.”
The line goes silent, but it doesn’t feel awkward or tense. It feels like he’s giving me time to reason through my feelings. And maybe that’s why I want to share them. Why even though I made the excuse that Cam was working, the truth is that he has never once not taken my call when I needed him, so it was never about availability. I didn’t want Cam tonight. I wanted Bryson.
“Do you want to hear something ridiculous?” I ask, twisting the swing until the chains cross, then uncross.
“Sure.”
“I’ve been sitting in front of Grace Community for an hour now. Just sitting here in that old playground where we’d tag each other and run around until our parents made us pack it up and go home.” I bite my lip and feel a sting in my throat. “My life is so screwed up right now that I’ve come to a point where the only thing I recognize anymore is an old swing set and our youth building.” I shake away the looming sadness and think back to all the days and nights I’d spent here. “Do you ever miss high school?”
That gets a snort. “No.”
“Really? I do sometimes.”
I hear a dinging sound and then a car door slamming. “What is there to miss? On top of not having any control over our lives, we had to deal with acne and insecurity and schoolwork.”
“True, but we also had youth group every Wednesday night to connect with friends and feel empowered about our future.”
“I think you have a selective memory. If I recall, you hated high school even more than I did
.”
“I guess. Maybe I just miss feeling a part of something.” I look at the structure in front of me. Inside is a full-sized basketball court, several Bible study classrooms, and an entire section of the building set aside for junior high and high schoolers. And thankfully, other than a new paint job to match the worship center, the building has stayed relatively untouched. “After all this time, this place still makes me feel safe. I’d love to go hang out in the Shop just one more time.” The Shop was our nickname for the youth room back when I was in school.
“They have foosball and a pool table in there now. A stage, too, with a seventy-inch screen and about a thousand digital movies and games.”
“What? We so got the shaft when we were kids.” The best thing we had back then was a slanted Ping-Pong table and an old Xbox. A rumbling engine echoes through the air. “Oh, hold on. I think someone’s coming.” I stand from the swing and watch as Bryson’s unmistakable black beast turns the corner.
He parks the truck and emerges, still holding the cellphone up to his ear. “I thought you might want some company on your trip down memory lane.”
I end the call and take a shaky step toward the fence that separates us. Images of last night fill my mind. His strong arms holding me steady up the stairs, my fingers sliding over his skin, the way his body heat rose with every inch I explored. “You got here fast,” I squeak out, mortified by my own thoughts.
“I was in the neighborhood. Wanna go inside?” His lips tilt up into an endearing smile. It’s sexy and daring and adorable all at the same time.
“I don’t think breaking and entering a church is the best way to prove I’m back on the straight and narrow.”
“It’s not breaking and entering when you have a key.”
I look at him through suspicious eyes, knowing there has to be some kind of catch. “How do you have a key?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m beloved around here.”
I snort out a laugh. Our youth pastor couldn’t stand Bryson or the obnoxious chip on his shoulder. The feeling was mutual, and Bryson quit coming here the minute we graduated. I assumed he quit church altogether until I saw him watching the service online with Charlie. “Seriously, where did you get the key?”
Love and the Silver Lining Page 17
