2. Greer
2
Greer
T he furniture store looms ahead of me as I turn into the nearly empty parking lot. Dread fills my stomach as I catch sight of the extensive list sitting on the passenger seat. After dinner last night, Mom helped me determine what pieces of furniture I needed to “make this new house a home.” Her words, not mine.
I’d made a plan to get here early because if I’m forced to furnish a new home, I at least want to do so in a crowd-less store. Armed with a fresh coffee and list, I ditch my truck and set off toward the entrance. I’m halfway across the parking lot when I notice a sandy-colored dog, all alone, furry body tucked back into the corner of a playpen outside the neighboring pet store, hoping no one notices him. But I do.
Looking both ways, I limp across the crosswalk, my leg a bit stiffer this morning. His deep brown eyes meet mine. And I’m done. Finished.
He stands, his tentative gaze never leaving mine. As I get closer, his tail wags side to side. When I stop near his playpen, he wiggles erratically.
“You’re a good boy, aren’t ya?” My cheeks, a bit out of practice, ache from the giant smile I know I’m sporting.
“Oh, that’s Duke.” Startled by the sudden voice, I wheel about as a young man comes to stand beside me. “He’s one of our old-timers.” A vibrant smile extends across the man’s entire face. For a moment, that’s all I can focus on. For me, seeing a genuine smile is a rare sight. Even after eight months, most smiles I’m gifted are still born out of pity for the widow.
“What do you mean?” I glance around the makeshift pet adoption area, noting a few other dogs roughhousing.
I place my hand a foot or so in front of Duke. He takes a few cautious steps forward, nose bobbing up and down as he smells me. He nuzzles his cold nose into my outstretched hand, pushing into it like he wants more attention than what I’m doling out. Soft tan fur slips between my fingers as I smooth my hand over the top of his head and scratch behind his ears.
His eyes close, surrendering to my affection. When I stop scratching, he pushes my hand again. I can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since he’s felt the loving touch of someone. For me, I can calculate it down to the second.
“Oh, Duke, here has been with us a long time.” The man slides his hands in his pockets. “Most of our elderly dogs never get adopted out. Kind of sad actually.”
Stepping into the playpen, I squat down, and Duke pushes his way between my legs. With both hands, I hold the sides of his face, my thumbs caressing his soft fur. Our eyes never lose contact. When he lays his head to the side and puts its weight fully into my left palm, my heart flutters. Instinctually, I sweep my hands down his face before patting his sides.
“Well, I’ll be. I’ve never seen him do that before.” Confusion drips from the man’s voice.
“Yeah?”
“Normally, he’s not one to approach people, let alone share affection. Tends to keep to himself. We bring him to every adoption event, and it’s like he doesn’t even try.”
Tends to keep to himself. The words reverberate within my mind, slicing at my fragile heart. It’s something I’m quite familiar with. I’ve been doing the same thing for the last eight months. The man’s words and close proximity create a nervous energy that swirls through my body. I’ve never been one to talk to someone I don’t know, let alone a man I don’t know.
“I’m Matt by the way.” Holding out his hand, he waits for me to shake it. I go for the awkward small wave instead. Unfazed by my lack of social graces, he asks, “And what’s your name?”
“Greer!”
Duke jerks his head out of my hand at my loud tone. His eyes seem to say, “What was that?”
“God, I’m sorry. I’m Greer. What kind of dog is he?”
“A golden-lab mix as far as we can tell. Owners surrendered him one day. No explanation. He’s been with us ever since. I think he likes you.” Matt smiles again, and his eyes twinkle. I recognize that twinkle—he thinks I’m available. If only he knew what he’d be signing up for.
I can already hear my sister telling me to “get back out there” and “Brian wouldn’t want you to live your life alone and unhappy.” Gemma will never understand what it’s been like for me. Not only did I lose my husband, I lost my best friend. I lost everything I knew, including the Greer I used to be. Even though I’m done with physical therapy and only see my therapist occasionally now, it’s a daily battle to keep my thoughts from clawing at me and dragging me back to that night.
Gemma makes it sound so simple, so easy to meet someone new. And, okay, objectively Matt is handsome in a country-surfer boy kind of way. Losing my husband didn’t rob me of my ability to appreciate a handsome man. Sure, we could date, fall in love, do all the things happy couples do—and then he could die. I don’t know if I can risk the potential of losing someone so important to me again.
It’s not that I haven’t thought about opening my heart again. I’m young and, according to Gemma, the probability of me finding someone is relatively high. She means well with her nudging, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m ready for that next chapter.
Shaking myself out of my swirling thoughts, I turn my focus back to Duke. He saunters around me sniffing at my legs and low back. Standing back up, I notice he doesn’t put much weight on his back leg and has a bit of a limp, just like me. With a final lap around my legs, he sits at my feet and leans his whole body into me.
“Whoa there, big guy,” I say. “You’re a lot too big to be using me for a leaning post.” With a gentle pat to his head, I step back. He doesn’t like the space and scoots close to me once again. I’m better prepared this time and brace my previously injured leg as he leans all of his weight into me. My hand smooths over his ears, noting the sprinkles of gray hair.
“Well, I think that’s that then.” Matt tuns to gather some papers from his table.
“That’s what then?”
“He’s adopted you.” He holds outs a small stack of papers for me to take.
“What? No, he has not. Dogs can’t adopt people.” A nervous laugh erupts out of me. I cannot be adopted by a dog right now. It’s only been a week since I moved into my new house. Just one week of living on my own, trying to function on my own, and being alone.
Duke looks longingly at me. Nudging my hand in search of more affection, he stirs something inside me. A swirl of warmth and fear. I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to care for him, but I’m also uncertain if my heart can handle the attachment I already feel forming with him. Glancing at Matt, I offer him another awkward smile.
He nudges my arm, offering me the paperwork. “It’s not every day a dog finds their human.”
My gaze moves from the paperwork down to Duke’s piercing brown eyes. My heart wars with my mind, the fear of losing something, again, firing off warning bells.
Duke sighs deeply, pawing at my foot. When I glance down, the tether between us pulls taut. In this moment, we share a longing for a connection neither of us realized we needed. A twinge stirs beneath my ribs, making me wonder if I’m betraying Brian’s memory by bonding with someone new—even if it’s only a dog.
As if sensing my internal battle, Duke jumps up and places his paws on my stomach. Grasping his face, I lean in close and nuzzle him. He gives me a big ole lick, and while I expect the slobber to gross me out, it doesn’t.
“Yeah, okay, buddy, you can have me.”
Mom is already here when Duke and I pull into the driveway. She had texted me earlier saying she’d done some light shopping for dishes. There is nothing light when it comes to her, and my guess is I’ll have dishes coming out of my ears.
This house is an open concept with the kitchen, dining, and living rooms blending into one cozy room. Crisp white walls are met with neutral wood flooring. White cabinets are accompanied by a wood island and pantry door, quartz countertops, and even a barnwood-covered fireplace. The real reason I bought this house though is that it overlooks a wooded preserve.
“Greer, honey, what in the world took you so long?” Mom shouts from the kitchen as I slam the garage door shut.
“What’re you doing, Mama?” Sure enough, boxes full of white ceramic plates, bowls, and coffee cups cover the island.
“Oh, just unpacking. No more paper plates for you.” Her back is turned to me as she places more salad plates onto the second shelf in the cabinet.
“Did you buy everything they had? You know it’s just me living here, right? Not like I’m going to need a place setting for twelve anytime soon.”
I struggle with the many bags of dog supplies I purchased and set them on the kitchen island. Cool air from the ceiling fan brushes over my heated skin. Then I tug Duke’s leash.
“It’s okay. She won’t bite.” It’s hard not to feel bad for the ole guy. I’m sure people will someday have to tug me by the leash too to get me to willingly meet someone.
“Who won’t bite, dear?” Mom pushes an unruly swath of hair out of her face. She freezes when her eyes catch sight of me and Duke. “Um, Greer, I thought you were going to look at furniture?”
“I did.” Patting Duke’s head again, I unhook his leash and set it on the counter.
“That, dear daughter, is not furniture.”
“Nope.” I smile. “It’s a dog.”
“I can see it’s a dog. I’m more curious whose dog it is?”
“Mine.” Gesturing to Duke, I say, “Duke, meet Mama. Mama, meet Duke.” I skirt around her to search for a pair of scissors in the junk drawer I’ve already created while they continue to study one another. After locating a pair, I cut the tags off the supplies I bought: silver dog bowls, a cozy tan dog bed, dog shampoo, bags of treats, and a few dozen toys. The giant squeaky hot dog was an absolute necessity.
Duke pads softly into the room, seemingly hesitant to freely move around. I don’t blame him; I’d be just as nervous going from isolation in a dog shelter to a strange new home with a strange new woman.
New home.
Every time I say those words, it feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
Duke stares out the large black framed windows (the best part of the house) to the backyard. I set the scissors down, then step around the island and open the back door. He trots confidently over the threshold onto the back porch.
“Greer?” Mom leans over my shoulder, watching the dog. “How did you end up with a dog instead of furniture? You’ve never owned a pet in your whole life. Remember that time you wanted a betta fish?”
Who doesn’t remember my betta fish? I can still see lonely, fifth-grade me, desperate for a friend, thinking a blue-and- yellow-colored fish was the right choice. By the time I realized my mistake, I was on Dory number four.
Shaking away the memory, I state, “He adopted me.” Warm afternoon heat greets us as I guide Duke to the lawn, preparing to set some ground rules. “This is where you’ll go potty, okay? Not in the house. Out here, okay?” He tilts his head back and forth in understanding.
“Adopted you? How does a dog adopt you?”
“I don’t know. That’s just what Matt said. I was in the parking lot and saw him across the way at the pet adoption event outside the pet store, and he took one look at me and decided I was the one, I guess.” Not wanting to drag out this conversation, I turn quickly and head into the house, leaving my very confused mother in my wake.
“Matt? Who’s Matt?” She sputters, sliding the door shut behind her.
I don’t respond.
Mom breaks down empty boxes. Duke bumps into her legs sniffing his way around the house.
Desperate to drop this part of the conversation, I all but whisper, “Matt? Oh, he’s just the dog adoption guy.”
“Oh really?” She drags out the oh , and my eyes roll.
“Don’t ‘oh really’ me. It wasn’t like that.”
“If you wanted it to be, it could be.” She grabs her handbag and keys.
“Mama,” I groan, her words feeling like they’re pressing into my spine, nudging me forward. “It won’t be, okay. It’s just . . . too soon.”
She smiles, reading my unspoken thoughts. “It’s not too soon, my love. I didn’t mean anything by my comments. There isn’t a timeline attached to starting your life anew after tragedy. And if there were, the only one who could decide that timeline would be you.” She swings open the front door, and before I can stop him, Duke darts into the front yard.
“Duke!” I yell. Practically running over my mom, I dash into the yard, trying to catch up to him. “Elderly dog, my ass.” Duke runs down the side yard between my house and the neighbor’s. “Duke, come back here!”
That’s when I see him. All six feet, scruffy face, suspender-wearing, lumberjack of him. The man holds an axe held high above his head preparing to take a swing.
Duke bounds toward the looming figure, and my heart lurches into my throat, panic surging through my veins. “Oh my god—stop! Please stop!”
The man freezes, lowering his weapon. It rests in the crook of his shoulder, further solidifying him as the perfect candidate for a calendar model—rugged lumberjack edition.
“Jesus!” He fully turns toward me, brow creased. “What is wrong with you?”
Breaths escape me in short, rapid bursts now that Duke is no longer in danger. “Duke, come here, boy.”
“Lady, my name isn’t Duke, and if you want me to come over there, you’ll have to buy me coffee first.” He sports a stupid smirk, and I roll my eyes, glad to have been spared ridiculous pickup lines when Brian and I met in college.
“C’mon, boy. Let’s go inside.” Gesturing toward Duke, I ignore lumberjack man’s attempt at flirting. All I care about is getting my dog safely inside and away from him and away from the tumult of emotions surging through my body. I’ve only had Duke for a few hours, and I’ve already almost lost him.
Lumberjack man lowers his axe and sets it against a hunk of tree. In slow motion, he slides his thumbs beneath black suspenders and pulls them away from his body. Embarrassment leeches from my pores because it’s at this exact moment my brain notices the way his gray shirt, dampened with sweat at the neckline, is completely plastered to his chest, leaving very little to the imagination.
As if they have a mind of their own, my feet fumble closer to Duke, who’s equally hypnotized, and sitting patiently in front of him.
“Like I said before,” lumberjack man says, “my name isn’t Duke. Although, you are pretty close.” His intense gaze never wavers from mine. A new emotion trickles through my body, one I feel down to the very tips of my toes. Get it together, Greer.
Sighing out my embarrassment, I inhale annoyance. “My dog’s name is Duke. I really am sorry he bothered you, but you didn’t have to be so aggressive with him.”
Looking from me to my dog and back to his axe, he bursts into a loud, boisterous laugh. “Oh man, did you think I was trying to kill your dog? Lady, I was chopping wood.” With weathered hands, he points behind him, where I spy a large log and a pile of cut firewood. “I didn’t even see your dog. All I heard was you screaming.”
Gnawing on my lower lip, I dig the toes of my shoe into the grass. “Okay, well, I’m sorry for assuming you were an axe-wielding dog murderer. I suppose that was a randomly bizarre assumption to make.”
“Thank you for the apology. It’s not every day you get accosted for chopping wood.” Squatting down, he places his hand out for Duke to smell. Within seconds, Duke sits between his large muscular thighs, a feature I’m trying my best to ignore, and stares into his face. Lumberjack man rubs Duke’s ears and runs his hands down Duke’s body.
“Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, don’t ya think?” I say. “I did not accost you. He just adopted me, and I’ve never had a dog before, and when he ran away, all I could think was that he would get lost or hurt, and I’d really not like to lose anything else I love because I’ve had quite enough of that this year, so when I saw you about to swing that axe, I might have jumped to the worst-case scenario.” Every word rushes out in a single breath. Gathering what little morsels of confidence I can muster, I bring my gaze back to his face.
His smile blinds me. “He adopted you?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt. “I mean, that’s what Matt told me, but I also think maybe Matt was just looking for an ‘in’ to ask me out. So, yeah, that’s my dog, Duke.”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest.” He’s petting Duke but studying me. “He’s an old-timer. Not too many people adopt old-timers.” Standing again, he holds his hand out toward me. “Name’s Luke.”
Without hesitation, I place my hand in his. “Greer.”
“Nice to meet you, Greer.” He gently squeezes my hand, then lowers our hands between us. “You just moved in, right?”
“Last weekend.”
“I saw your car a few times coming home from shift. Sorry I haven’t made the time to come say hi and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“From shift?” He doesn’t release my hand, nor do I try to pull away. It’s slightly sticky with sweat, but I don’t mind, even though it feels strange holding his hand. Not bad strange, just strange strange. Brian was the last man I held hands with.
Duke sidles up next to me, once again pressing his body into mine. With my free hand, I sink my fingers into his fur.
“Yeah, I work with the fire department.” Only now does he release my hand, and my audible inhale causes the corner of his mouth to turn up.
“I thought firemen weren’t allowed to have facial hair?” My eyes widen at my outburst.
He grins, rubbing his hand along the brown stubble. “Yeah, we aren’t, but I’ve had the last few days off.”
“That’s cool.” That’s cool? Good lord, Greer.
His gaze flicks down to my left hand. “I like to camp and hunt when the weather is nice. Do some scouting and whatnot. Your husband like the outdoors?” Luke clears his throat, motioning toward my house.
“Oh, no. He’s dead.” Okay, well, that’s one way to explain it.
His smile falls. “I’m sorry. I just—I saw your wedding ring and assumed.”
I rub my thumb over the bottom of the band, grounding me into the present and hoping my senses return. “Yeah, sorry, I just blurted that out. I promise, I know how to be around people. Or, at least, I did before everything happened. But it’s clear I’ve forgotten how to people because you’re the second person today who’s gotten to witness my awkward attempts at socialization. And my parents wonder why I never go out. This is why I never . . .” I trail off, hoping he’ll save me from my misery.
“Just breathe. It’s okay.” His voice is soothing, sincere.
Inhale. Exhale.
It’s been so long since I’ve been around other people aside from my parents, doctors, or coworkers that I’m out of sorts, like I don’t quite know where I fit in anymore. It’s not as if I set out to isolate myself away from the world.
It still stings remembering how Brian’s and my friends couldn’t handle the depths of my grief and how easily they disappeared after the funeral. When they stopped coming around, I told myself they were more of his friends anyway. But I know I used it as an excuse to slide further away from social gatherings or any sort of relationship. I knew my social skills were lacking, but I didn’t realize I was that far removed from the semi-social Greer I used to be.
After a few calming breaths, my embarrassment and nerves exit my body. “You must be really good at your job, huh?” I say. “Dealing with people who word vomit all over you?” Duke’s velvety ear slides from my fingers.
Another laugh bubbles from Luke as he drags a hand through his long brown hair, wavy from sweat. “Word vomit? I’ve never heard that term before, but it works. And yes, I’m pretty good with people’s word vomit. Part of the job.”
“Greer, honey?” My mom calls from the driveway. “Is everything okay? I really need to be getting going.”
I glance over my shoulder. She’s looking down the side yard right at us. “Yeah, Mama. I’m good. Be right there.” I turn my attention back to Luke. He’s peering over my shoulder at my mom. Even from here, I see the sparkle in her eyes.
“I better get going,” I say. “Sorry again for the whole murdering my dog thing and the word vomit thing. Just, well,”— breathe— “okay, I’m going to go now.” Shuffling backward, Duke follows at my side. “I’ll see you around, Luke-not-Duke.”
Before I round the front of my house, I can’t seem to help it as I glance back where my new neighbor is still standing, looking my way. With a smile and another awkward wave, I duck out of sight and walk down my driveway.
“You good?” Mom’s eyebrows rise as she unlocks her car.
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes, frustrated by my lack of social skills. “Just embarrassing myself in front of my new neighbor.”
“Oh, I’m sure . . .” Her voice fades as she slips into her car. I kneel down to hear her better. “. . . it’s not that bad. He looked very nice.”
Leaning in, I place a kiss on her cheek. “Yep, real nice.”
“Okay, well, let me know what day the furniture will get delivered, and I’ll come over to help you arrange it.”
I shake my head at her overzealous joy of decorating. “Of course, I’ll let you know, but I am capable of doing things on my own, you know?”
“Of course you are. You can do anything on your own, but you’re in luck because you don’t have to.” She winks, closes the door, and puts the car in reverse. As her car fades into the distance, I wonder if maybe she’s right.
From the corner of my eye, I spy Luke with an armful of wood. His back muscles stretch and strain under the fabric of his shirt as he adds each log to the growing pile. I’m still staring when he pivots, catches my gaze, and gives me that dazzling smile that tries to reawaken some dormant part of me. Maybe Mom is right. Maybe it’s time I let some people back in?