by Joan Bauer
“I handle it. I’m walking in the mall. You know how much I love shopping.”
She laughed. “I didn’t think anything could get you in the mall.”
“Only raw courage, rehab, and rain, Jan.”
She laughed. “Leo, I haven’t been by to see you because . . . well—”
He held up his hand. “It’s been a tough time. I’m just glad to see you now.”
She took his hand.
The doorbell rang.
“I think that’s my friend.”
Tree went to the door, opened it to Sophie, who stood there, drenched, holding something big and square covered in a plastic bag.
A car horn. Shouting voice: “Two hours, Sophia. That’s it.”
“Okay, Ma.”
Tree waved at the car. Rain poured down.
“I brought Lassie. I wanted her to see this.”
“Boy, that’s real nice you guys can have dinner together without killing each other.”
Sophie stood by the table, holding Lassie’s cage. “We’ve had a lot of divorces at my house. My aunt Peach got a restraining order against her second husband. If he comes closer than thirty feet from her, she’ll have him arrested. She carries one of those snap-up rulers to keep things legal. We don’t mess around in my family.”
Mom stared at the cage, not a lizard lover.
“This is Lassie, my iguana. I named her that ’Cause I’m working up to a dog. I wanted Aunt Peach to get used to the idea. She’s pretty upset these days.”
“Your aunt Peach is upset?” Mom asked.
“Lassie’s upset.” Sophie shoved the cage in Mom’s face. “See how she’s not moving much? She used to have a good personality. Her head would go up and down when I talked to her. I think the weather’s got her depressed.”
Booming thunder in the distance.
“The weather’s doing that to all of us.” Mom pushed her chair back, wondering where this young woman came from.
“Your show’s probably on,” Dad said weakly.
Sophie checked her watch, sat at the table, put Lassie in front of her. “We’ve got a couple minutes. I just wanted to say that you guys do this divorce thing right. When my parents split up my mother said, ‘Your father’s a moron. I’m kicking him out.’”
Tree stood fast, grabbed Lassie’s cage, and headed for the television.
The doorbell rang.
Tree got the door, holding the cage.
It was Mrs. Clitter holding a basket.
“Now, how is that man—”
She stopped dead, stared at Lassie.
“It’s an iguana,” Tree said.
“But she’s under a lot of stress,” Sophie explained from behind. “She’s missing other lizards, so I brought her over here.”
Mrs. Clitter looked confused. “There are other lizards over here?”
“There’s a nature show on lizards starting. I’m going to let her watch it. The vet says iguanas are exotic animals and won’t examine her for less than seventy-five dollars. My aunt Peach says hell’s gotta freeze solid before she gives a vet that much money to take an iguana’s pulse.”
“I baked bread,” Mrs. Clitter half shouted. “Have I come at a bad time?”
Grandpa kept his mouth shut on that one.
Mrs. Clitter sat at the table and joined the party.
The lizard on the screen was creeping up a tree limb, bobbing its head.
“See, Lassie, that could be your sister,” Sophie said.
Lassie was sitting on her rock, watching Bradley instead of the TV lizard.
The doorbell rang.
Mom got up, opened the front door.
The Trash King stood there holding a salami. He grinned.
“Are you kids back together?”
“We’re just having dinner.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Well, you never know what these things can lead to, Jan. Just be open to the world of second chances.” He winked. “That’s what keeps me in business.”
He walked into the dining room. “Leo, I brought a salami.”
“And I brought bread,” said Mrs. Clitter.
“Okay,” Sophie shouted from the next room. “Lassie’s doing the dance.”
Lassie was bobbing her head like the TV lizard.
“She just needed a role model. She needed to know she wasn’t the only lizard in the world.”
Sophie’s bobbing now, too.
The Trash King got out his Swiss army knife, cut hunks of salami, handed them around.
From the dining room he could see Sophie bobbing. “Do the dance, Lassie. Do it.”
“Who’s that kid?”
“That’s what we’re all wondering,” said Dad.
Grandpa reached down, took off his prosthetic leg. It was hurting him. He put it on the table. “I like her. She’s got her own style.”
The Trash King looked at the leg. “Leo, if you ever decide you don’t want that leg, I could sell it to a person who has vision.”
“You could turn it into a lamp,” Mom suggested.
“Or hang it over the fireplace,” Dad offered.
Bradley trotted in, took one look at the leg on the table, lowered his tail, and backed out of the room.
Mom and Dad smiled at each other and laughed.
It was a sound Tree hadn’t heard from them in the longest time.
He sat on the couch, listening to his parents’ laughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Seven A.M. Tuesday morning.
Dad’s house. Tree’s alarm went off.
This always caused Bradley to at least rise to be let out.
But this morning, Bradley just lay there and looked pleadingly at Tree.
“What’s the matter, boy?”
Tree jumped out of bed. “Come on, get up.”
Bradley didn’t move.
Tree tried to lift him to his feet, but Bradley fell back down.
“Dad!”
Tree knelt by Bradley’s side. Bradley’s head was down, his breathing forced.
“Dad! . . . It’s okay, boy.” Tree tried to sound soothing, but the lump of fear in his throat was so big, he could hardly speak. Dad was in the doorway with shaving cream on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
But as soon as he said it, he knew.
Dad bent down by Bradley’s old, tired body and put his hand over Bradley’s stomach, which was heaving hard with every breath. He did what Tree had done, tried to get the dog up.
“Aw, Bradley.” Dad wiped the shaving cream from his face onto the T-shirt he was wearing. “We’ve got to call the vet. I think he had some kind of a stroke.”
Tree couldn’t move.
“I’ll call, Tree. You stay with him.”
Tree was trying not to cry. He reached in his drawer, got out a dog treat. He stuck it under Bradley’s nose. “You want a biscuit?”
Bradley didn’t want one.
Dad was back. Hand on Tree’s shoulder. “The vet said we need to bring him in. Tree, you understand how old Bradley is.”
Tree croaked out, “Can I call Mom?”
“Of course.”
“Can she be there? ’Cause she loved him—”
“And he loved her.”
Tree carried Bradley to the car, wrapped in a Baltimore Orioles beach towel. Grandpa followed, moving better on his new leg. They drove to Mom’s house. She got in the backseat and started to cry.
This helped all the men to be stronger.
They rode to the vet’s with Tree saying “Good dog” and Grandpa saying “It’s going to be okay, buddy,” just like he’d said to so many buddies in the war. Dad forgot the way to the vet’s because Mom usually took Bradley, and she had to give him directions, which seemed like old times with a sad new twist.
Dr. Billings brought them right into the examining room. Tree put Bradley gently on the table. Bradley shivered; Tree covered him with the Orioles towel, even though Bradley was more of a Red Sox fan. Dr. Billi
ngs looked in Bradley’s cloudy eyes, felt around his stomach, listened to his heart. Did what Tree and his father had tried to do, get him to stand.
“He can’t,” Tree said.
The doctor sighed. “His heart doesn’t sound too bad, but I think the rest of him just gave up. He’s old. You need to decide what you want to do. I know how hard this is.”
Mom put her hand on Bradley’s head and wept.
Tree just let loose all the sobs he’d been holding in. Grandpa bent over sadly; Dad lost it, too.
They tried to discuss what to do.
Would they stay when the doctor gave Bradley the shot?
Yes.
Did they want to bury him or have him cremated?
“It doesn’t matter,” said Dad.
“Buried,” said Mom.
Did they understand that the shot would be given and after a few minutes it would go into Bradley’s heart and cause it to stop?
Yes, they understood that.
Did they want a few minutes alone first to say good-bye?
Yes. They really did.
Tree didn’t know how to say good-bye to a dog he’d known all his life. The sadness of it just washed over him, and because he was big, he had more sadness—at least that’s how it seemed. So he stood there with Mom, Dad, and Grandpa and just patted Bradley and said he was a good dog, which is what everyone else was saying. That’s when the doctor’s cat came into the office. Bradley looked at Tree; their eyes met. And Tree knew Bradley had chased his last cat.
Not even McAllister could save him now.
The doctor came in with his needle, started filling it as the cat walked back and forth, loving the power. Tree wanted to kick the cat out. It wasn’t fair to have a cat at Bradley’s end. The vet walked over, rubbed Bradley’s neck.
Tree stamped his foot at the cat. “Just go!” The cat jumped out of the room. Tree looked at Bradley, half dead on the table.
He didn’t know he had this many tears inside.
“Well,” said the vet, moving closer.
Tree bent over the back half of Bradley, held him tight.
Didn’t want him to go through this alone.
“Okay now, Bradley,” said the vet. “Okay.”
Bradley opened one eye.
Gave half a bark.
Barked for real now.
Shook his head.
Stretched his front paws.
Struggled up like a great old wolf.
Faced the cat, who’d slinked back in.
Tree’s mother froze right there.
There are plenty of stories about old dogs who die in their owner’s arms, but this isn’t one of them.
“Hold on,” the vet said, shocked. “Can you put him on the floor, Tree?”
Tree cradled Bradley, lowered him gently down.
“Come on, boy,” Grandpa whispered. “Come on.”
Bradley walked shakily forward.
The cat scurried into the other room.
Bradley turned slowly, came back.
“I’ve never seen this happen,” the vet said, stunned. “It’s your decision, folks. I can’t promise how long, but I think this old dog’s got some life in him yet.”
Tree laughed from sheer relief.
“All right now!” Grandpa shouted.
Dad shook his head, amazed.
Mom couldn’t speak.
Bradley looked at Tree, who said, “You want to go home, boy?”
Bradley lay down.
“Home is this way.” Tree headed for the door. Bradley got up, walked slowly after him.
The whole town was buzzing with Bradley’s near-death experience.
“He probably saw a light going through a tunnel before he turned around,” said Mrs. Clitter, who brought over some homemade dog biscuits to celebrate.
She said she’d let McAllister slink by more often to keep Bradley on his toes.
That cat was so irritating, he could keep anything alive.
In the days following Bradley’s resurrection, the animals of the neighborhood seemed to come by more to celebrate their friend’s return. Tree made sure he always had biscuits in his pocket for any dog who wanted one.
“This is from Bradley,” he’d say.
Tree knew it wouldn’t last forever, but he decided to focus in full on whatever time was left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The basketball season was winding down and Coach Glummer had developed irritable bowel syndrome, which seemed to reach heightened intensity whenever the Pit Bulls were losing by more than twenty points, which was close to always. They were moving down the court in a more unified manner since ballroom dancing; Tree had made some okay handoffs, but it wasn’t enough.
Coach Glummer was holding his stomach, shouting that no one was paying attention out there. No one on this team cared.
Tree stepped forward. “I don’t think that’s right, Coach. I care. I was paying attention. I know that Petey was trying, and Ryan, and all the guys.”
The Pit Bulls, emboldened by this declaration of courage, said yeah, that was right.
Coach Glummer stammered, said they could do better.
“Maybe,” said Tree. “But the Huskies were state champs three years in a row. And the last two years they beat us by much bigger point spreads.”
The Pit Bulls growled in agreement.
“And we all went to ballroom dancing like you said, and we’ve been trying to get better.”
Tree knew from his grandpa that hard things take time. He decided to not mention this.
Coach Glummer stormed off.
There are two kinds of coaches in the world—those that listen and those that don’t. Jeremy Liggins stood back as the Pit Bulls circled Tree, slapped him on the back, and told him, “Way to go, man.”
Way to go.
No team had ever told Tree that before.
Helping Grandpa take a shower wasn’t easy.
Grandpa was embarrassed he needed help getting in and out of a wet tub, but it was so easy to slip, he needed a spotter, at least for now.
Tree was standing by the tub. Grandpa sat on the plastic stool, using the shower hose to spray the soap off.
That’s when they heard the siren.
At first the sound didn’t register.
Then a voice on a loudspeaker blared the news:
“This is an evacuation. Move immediately to the Eleanor Roosevelt Middle School. The Burnstown levee broke. Floodwaters are heading toward us.”
Tree couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t there supposed to be more warning than this?
The siren grew louder.
“Okay,” said Grandpa. “We move quick and smart.”
Tree let Grandpa lean heavily on him to get out of the tub. “Throw me that towel. Get me my leg.”
Tree’s whole body was shaking. He knew how long it took to get his grandpa dressed.
Dad was working at the store.
It was just them at home. He didn’t know how they’d get to the school.
“Get my pants. Get my shirt.” Grandpa said it strong, but urgent. “No panic.”
Pants on, socks; stump liner; leg clicked into place.
It was going to take forever to walk him down the stairs.
“Call your dad.”
Tree raced to the phone. It was dead. Picked up the cell phone. Dialed. No answer.
Dialed again with shaking hands.
Nothing.
“Mom’s out of town, Grandpa.”
“Call the neighbors. We’ll find somebody.”
Tree’s mind went blank. “I can’t remember—”
“Johnsons on the left, Nagels on the right.”
Another siren.
“I’m going to call the police, Grandpa. Tell them we need a ride.”
He punched 911.
Circuits busy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The front door opened.
“I’m here!” Tree’s father shouted.
“We’re upstairs, Dad
!”
Dad took the stairs three at a time. “We’ve got to get out fast. Pop, can you move?”
“Slowly. Sorry to be a bother.”
“You’re no bother. Tree, hold him under the arm.” Tree did. Two men trying to carry a third. Too much confusion.
“I’ve got him, Dad. Grandpa, just hold on.”
Tree bent down, slung Grandpa over his shoulder. Felt his muscles sag under the weight.
“I feel like I’m in Vietnam again.”
Sirens louder. Dad grabbing food, boots, coats.
“In the car. Come on. We’ve got to beat it.”
Rain lashing outside. Wind railing.
Tree, scared frozen. How could a flood be coming when they hadn’t seen it yet?
There wasn’t time to go back, to get more clothes, anything important. Tree thought of his tools and his books and his computer.
In the car Tree remembered Bradley.
“I’ve got to get Bradley!”
Tree ran back into the house as the sirens grew louder. He found Bradley scared half to death in his room; carried him to the car. Dad trying to drive up the hill. Not easy with the sloshing. Tree looking forward, looking back at the house and wondering what, if anything, would be left. Bradley lay as still as Tree had ever seen him.
The car didn’t seem like it could make the hill, started sliding.
Grandpa: “Okay, steady her to the left and crawl it up, that’s right, just loose the clutch a bit, ram her forward now.”
Inch by inch they slid, slipped, up the muddy hill.
Buses, cars making the trek, packed with scared people. For some reason Tree thought of the photo of his parents laughing. He wished he’d grabbed it. He buried his face in Bradley’s fur.
“Good dog,” Tree said. “That’s a good dog.”
It’s hard to understand the power of nature when it’s unleashed on you like that. Man can walk on the moon, orbit Mars, and cure so many diseases, but no one can stop a raging river once it decides to flood its banks.
At the middle school. A policeman at the door told Tree the impossible.
“No animals in the school, son. I’m sorry. They’re being kept at the football field.”
