9 #2
“We have twenty-one dogs here right now because the Rescue Wagon just came in last night from Kentucky, and one of those dogs
is going to give birth at any minute so we’ll need to get the whelping area set up for her. Today, though, they all get a
toy and a treat and fosters will come in and take some of them to their houses, and we have two potential adoptive families
coming in later. We just try to give them the best day we can.”
Benny put Stevie on the job of opening donations and removing toys from their packages and backings, piling up stuffed animals
and balls, separating them from catnip mice, which were put in a cubby. When all the toys were spread on the floor, Benny
smiled and indicated that Stevie should follow her downstairs.
The lower level was a warm space filled with animal crates and noise. It smelled of wet fur and cleaning solution. Faces pressed
up against crate bars to look at them—soulful eyes, worried eyes. Whimpers. Wagging tails.
“We’ll be taking them up one by one,” Benny said, touching a wet nose through the bars.
Some sniffed in confusion and had to be coaxed.
Others bombed the pile, sending gifts scattering.
One by one, they all walked back to their kennel with a soft toy in their mouth.
Stevie completely forgot about all the horrors of the last few weeks.
The dogs brought their earnest energy, their excitement, their shyness, their playfulness.
Stevie didn’t even know she was a dog person until this moment, but she knew she would be for the rest of her life.
They had just finished up giving out the toys when Stevie’s phone buzzed. Nate had sent her a message.
OH MY GOD PLEASE COME BACK FROM WHEREVER YOU ARE AND HELP ME WITH THIS BIRD IT WON’T STOP
“I have to go,” Stevie said reluctantly.
“You’re going just as we were about to clean the kennels,” Benny said with a smile. “I see what you’re up to. Come to my apartment
anytime you want. I have a snake. She’s a rosy boa. Her name is Cleopatra. You should meet her.”
Stevie returned to find Nate sliding back and forth across the living room in his socked feet, headphones on, swinging his
arms in an imaginary swordfight. He stopped when he saw Stevie, slapping the headphones down and looking at her with something
like religious ecstasy.
“It’s working,” he said. “There was this part I’ve been stuck on since before we went to London and I figured it out today. I recorded
all these thoughts and auto transcribed them and now I have words. Words that might even be a chapter. The chapter. Stevie, I think it fucking worked.”
At first, she was too taken aback by Nate’s enthusiasm to speak. This was not something she was familiar with. Stevie edged along the kitchen bar to give him space. On the other side of the wall, Murph had fallen silent.
“You wanted help with the bird,” she said.
“It shut up. Maybe it died from screaming. Where did you go?”
“Animal shelter,” she said. “And I got invited to meet a snake. Her name is Cleopatra.”
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“I don’t think so?”
“I have to work out this one fight scene,” he said. “I’m so close.”
Stevie indicated that he should continue his swordfight. She was still carrying the dog energy from the shelter, and now she
and Nate were talking and Nate was smiling and fighting with an invisible sword. Nate’s weird writing trip had worked out.
This whole thing was going to work out. She had pictures as proof. There she was giving a stuffed lamb to a gray pit bull
puppy. There she was with Benny, laughing as one of the dogs crashed headfirst into the pile. She flipped back to her pictures
from the day before—posing with her hot chocolate and by the tree.
The Stevie in these pictures was having a great time.
She was vibrant. She wasn’t broken up with and empty.
Looking at the pictures, she almost believed it.
She was . . . if not happy, then not as unhappy as she had been.
There was a little warm spot inside her that glowed bravely.
She picked out the best shots, putting them together into a perfect display.
As for the caption, if David could be mysterious, so could she:
All I want for Christmas is . . .
Think of something clever that rhymes with you.
Stew?
Glue?
Poo?
She was missing the obvious.
All I want for Christmas is . . . New . . . York.
Smug. Vague. Perfect. Posted.
Janelle hearted it within five minutes. Then Vi. She kept putting the phone aside and picking it back up to see if he had
replied to it.
“I think I need food,” Nate said. “Pizza. New York pizza. We should order some.”
“I’ll go out and get it,” Stevie said. “I saw some open places. I’ll run out for it.”
“That sounds amazing,” Nate said. “Okay, you get pizza. I’m going to look at the transcription and maybe even finish this
chapter. Stevie . . .”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake.
“. . . what if I can do this? What if this works? I’m freaking out.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Things will definitely go wrong.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
One of the magical things she had noticed about New York—there was a pizza place on every other block, and every single one of them had an inviting feel.
It was Christmas, so some were closed, but after walking a few blocks she found one that welcomed her in with a warm glow and a hypnotically delicious smell wafting out the door.
She ordered a large pizza with half pepperoni, which the man behind the counter slid expertly into the massive oven.
She had a little time to kill under the fluorescent lights. She leaned on the metal counter that ran against the window, facing
the street. This felt very New York, and the warm neon glow of the pizza sign would probably provide good lighting for another
picture, one that would show how absolutely fine she was. Thriving.
Before opening the camera, she checked the post.
There was one new comment, and it was from David.
Nice coat.