28. Marley
TWENTY-EIGHT
MARLEY
The long walk back from the Hores is mostly quiet. I’m replaying what Nancy said, and I’m sure Bennett is as irritated with me as I feel. At some point he steps in front of me and squats down, not bothering to ask if I’m tired. As much as I have enjoyed all the piggyback rides, I find myself resenting this one. I’m used to walking for hours while carrying heavy cameras, without needing a ride or to rest. I hate that I even need or accept help when so many others would and do power through their perceived limitations. And I hate that Bennett can so easily see when I’ve reached my limit. I hate that he has seen everything I don’t say so easily since day one. I have spent years buttoning up my life, only letting people see what I want them to, and this guy drops into my life and has me figured out in no time. But perhaps what I hate most is that I don’t fucking hate it at all.
When we get back to the house, Bennett says he’s going to head out to his office to get some work done. In this whole time, I’ve never thought about what he did beyond the physical action of rescuing dogs. Of course, he has an office and charity things to do. I don’t even know what this operation is called. I shake my head at myself and grab my phone off the charger in the kitchen before I head to the living room. I practically fall into the armchair, exhausted. I’m sore from the crutches and from, well, other things, and I’m annoyed at myself for being such a child.
Izzy has texted me to let me know that she, Nellie, and Tom will be coming so that Tom can drive my car back and I can fill them in on everything. Because that’s exactly what I’m going to want to do the minute I leave here, relive it all. I do, however, want to take some pictures of the dogs before I leave, if only to offer to Bennett for adoption purposes. Assuming he doesn’t already have great pictures of them, which he probably does. I just don’t know how else to say thank you. So I slip my phone into my hoodie pocket, grab my camera, and make my way back outside.
Most of the dogs are running around the field, and when they see me they fly to the gate. I think what I love most about dogs is that no matter how often they see you, they react like you are the sun after days of rain. Every. Single. Time. I manage to squeeze my way into the space and make my way over to the little bench Bennett put out here for potential adopters to sit on while they get to know a dog. My instincts make me want to get right on the ground with them, really put myself in the midst of the action, but I also know that I’d probably regret that immediately.
A lot of the first images I get are of the chaos around me, blurs of dog fur and tongues hanging out of the sides of mouths. They won’t bring anyone up here to adopt, but they do represent a certain kind of whimsy of being surrounded by dogs. Eventually they calm down, and I’m able to get some great shots of different dogs in various states of being. Playing, sleeping, sitting and just staring at me, rolling around, and carrying around sticks and balls just because they can. At some point, I make the decision to sit on the ground, and before long I’ve flopped onto my back. This seems to act like an invitation, and soon I’m at the bottom of a massive dog pile, which is why I hadn’t sat on the ground in the first place. Soon enough, though, everyone seems to be on the same page, and various body parts are turned into dog pillows. Yogurt has his head cradled between my neck and shoulder, Daisy and Milo have each taken a thigh, Marley has somehow wedged his entire body between Milo and Yogurt to claim my left boob. Someone’s tail is softly batting my upper arm, and I cannot remember the last time I felt this calm. I pull my phone out of my hoodie and hold it above my head for a selfie, something I never do, but I feel almost panicked about not capturing this for myself. One day when I go back to my normal world, this will all seem like a dream, and I don’t want to be Dorothy trying to convince others that what I experienced was real.
At some point I must fall asleep because when I open my eyes Bennett is crouched over me, smiling. My stomach does its little flip thing, and I realize I was terrified of not seeing that smile again before I left.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks.
I smile up at him and nod. “What’s the rescue called?”
He sits next to me, Yogurt immediately leaving me to go jump at his face, tail going like a propellor. “It’s kind of boring.”
“Too cool for a punny name?” I squint up at him as the sun slips back out from behind a cloud.
“Would you believe those were all taken?”
“Come on, what is it?”
“Morgan Estate Rescue.” He winces as though he’s embarrassed.
“As in your last name and this property?” I gesture with both hands in a circle .
“Sort of. Remember how I said my grandfather hated dogs and that he desperately wanted me to make it in football so we’d have our family name on something else?”
“Unfortunately yes,” I scoff, grateful I never had the displeasure of meeting the man.
“Well, I figured with the property and then all his money technically being his estate, I’d call the rescue Morgan Estate. Then his name was on something, and his death represented something else.”
“That’s diabolical.” I sit up. “So, is this it, or do you have plans to expand?”
“Expand how?”
“I don’t know.” I look around at the property. “More dogs, more animals in general?”
“I don’t really plan on running an animal sanctuary, but I don’t think I have it in me to turn away an animal if it’s in need.” We’re both looking at my ankle. “I can see this place being the in-between for most animals rather than a permanent home.” He's still staring at my ankle, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s how he sees this little blip in time for me.
“If you take on more, you’ll definitely need help.” I say, looking around.
“Yes,” he agrees, finally looking up at me. “Maybe even someone who can do stuff for social media. Someone told me people like videos of dogs.” His smile is teasing now, and I want to kiss it off his face, but I hold myself back.
“Can I see your office?”
“It’s nothing special.”
“But it’s yours,” I say, almost embarrassed.
“Really, Marley, it’s nothing. It’s a desk and a computer with a filing cabinet and some baskets of dog supplies.” He sounds frustrated and a bit like he had at the Hores’ table so I don’t push him on it. Knowing Bennett, he has his reasons, and I respect them without needing to know what they are.
We sit there together, the tension I felt earlier returning. Then Bennett flops back and closes his eyes. So I do the same. After a bit, my fingers find their way to his, those little sparks returning.
I’m about to ask what he has planned for the rest of the day, but the sound of a truck has us both sitting up and looking out at the driveway. A man with a hard hat and safety vest steps out, and Bennett is up and striding to the gate as it dawns on me that the man being here means one thing. The road is passable, and I will officially be home this time tomorrow. I flop back down, trying to keep the real world at bay for just a little longer.