10. Emily
CHAPTER 10
EMILY
L etting out an exasperated sigh, I undo another stitch on the scarf I’ve been working on. I’m not much of a knitter — most of what I make ends up still vaguely resembling the skein — but I do find the process soothing.
And right now there’s a lot on my mind that needs soothing. Isaac. Baxter. The shelter dogs.
Isaac.
Seeing him really making an effort today had my heart tap-dancing, and the whole training session keeps replaying in my mind; his smile was like a break in the clouds on a dreary day. It’s silly, maybe, to think of him now, but something about the way he looked at me, eager yet vulnerable, lingers in the corners of my thoughts.
It’s quiet in the apartment, with Jenn on a date and nothing on my schedule tonight. I can’t even go into the shelter to volunteer some hours because it’s already shut down for the day. So here I am. Alone.
Thinking.
Perhaps way too much.
My phone interrupts the silence with a loud ring, and even though I jump, I’m happy for the distraction. Isaac’s name flashes across the screen, unexpected and jarring. I hesitate for only a fraction of a second before answering.
“Hey.” I sit forward on the edge of the couch, my breath lingering in my throat. Why is he calling me? Is something wrong with Baxter?
A second later, I realize it’s a stupid thought to have. I’m hardly the first person Isaac would call if he were having an emergency.
“Emily,” he breathes out, voice tinged with desperation, “Baxter… he’s just not listening. I don’t know what to do anymore. The second you left, he just went crazy, and he’s been this way for hours.”
“Do you want me to come over?” I offer, setting aside the scarf and already trying to remember where I last placed my keys.
There’s a pause, filled with the sound of wind rushing through the line. “No, it’s fine. We’re driving around right now. Baxter seems to enjoy having his head out the window. It gives him something to do, at least.”
“Driving around? Where are you?”
It’s a good short-term fix, but it probably won’t tire Baxter out. As soon as he gets out of the car, he’ll reload his energy and be right back at it.
“Actually… I’m probably not too far from your place,” he admits, and I have a flashback of him asking where I lived and me telling him the exact block.
And he remembered.
Am I reading too much into that?
“Come over, then,” I find myself saying, more quickly than I should. The invitation hangs between us, fragile and awkward.
I want to scoop the words back up, swallow them down before he can process them. Is it weird for me to invite them over? Does Isaac think I’m inviting him over on a, ah, personal level?
“We can do some training here,” I quickly add. “It will help get his energy out, too.”
“Are you sure?” He sounds relieved, like this is what he’d been hoping for and he’s glad that I’m the one who brought it up.
“Positive.” The word is a leap of faith. “I’ll text you the address. See you soon.”
I hang up and pace the small living room, my hands fluttering from one surface to another, picking things up and putting them away. The apartment isn’t really messy, but knowing someone is coming over makes me suddenly notice every little thing out of place.
Isaac’s never seen my home before. The realization sends a tingle of anxiety through me, making me wonder if he’ll find the scatter of knitting projects, books, and puzzles charming or chaotic. Glancing at the clock, seeing it’s been five minutes since we ended the call, I quickly wipe down the kitchen counter.
Suddenly, the doorbell chimes, the sound making me drop the dish towel. For a moment, I stand frozen, caught between eagerness and apprehension. Then I’m moving, steps light across the hardwood floor, breath catching as I open the door.
“Hey,” I greet, the word almost just a breath.
Isaac towers in the doorway, his silhouette nearly filling it up. Baxter is at his side, all energy and unruliness, pulling at the leash, eager to get into my apartment and explore it.
“Hi,” Isaac replies, his voice tight. He looks uncomfortable, as if he’s wandered into a world where he doesn’t belong.
Does he regret calling me?
“I’m glad you came,” I say.
“Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to bother you.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t really doing anything. Now is perfect, actually. Want to let him off the leash?”
“Uh… okay.” He complies, and Baxter shoots into the apartment.
There’s very little he can destroy here, though, and he’s mostly just bouncing off cushions and the wall. I grab some treats from the cabinet and hold them out so that he can see.
“Sit,” I command, but Baxter’s brown eyes are wild, ignoring me completely.
“Come on, Baxter.” Isaac sounds like he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Listen to her.”
But the dog is heedless, and I sense Isaac’s impatience growing with each failed attempt. It’s like watching hope fray, thread by thread.
“Isaac, you need to be present for him,” I urge gently, trying to bridge the distance between man and dog. “You were so good with him this morning. He can feel what you’re feeling. If you’re angry or anxious, that’ll put him on edge.”
He looks at me then, and there’s a storm in his eyes — a cloudburst of emotions I can’t quite read. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
I press my lips together hard and try not to take his snapping personally. “Being physically here isn’t enough. He needs to feel your connection, just like earlier today.”
“Maybe this was a mistake,” he mutters.
I twist my lips. Does he mean training? Hiring me? Adopting Baxter?
Or all of the above?
Baxter finds one of my shoes and settles down to chew on it. Taking it from him, I give him a dog chew instead. Even though I don’t have a dog of my own, I make sure to buy training supplies in bulk so that I never run out.
The silence grows heavy, and Isaac’s shoulders tense. I search for something to say, something to ease the tension in the room, but I’ve already said everything I can, already done what I can. The next move is Isaac’s, and I can’t force him to take it.
“He was so good for my dad,” he finally sighs.
“Your dad really loved him, huh?”
Isaac smirks. “More than anything.”
Including his own son?
The look on Isaac’s face says he believes exactly that. It’s an arrow through my heart, and an urge to pull Isaac into a hug sweeps through me, but I hold on to decorum and stay where I am.
Hearing him talk more about his dad gives me some insight, though. I can work with this.
“Here’s the thing,” I say softly. “Baxter just lost the person who loved him the most — your dad. That’s got to be hard on him. He doesn’t know who to turn to, who to trust. His whole world has been turned upside down.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken emotion. Isaac’s jaw clenches, a subtle but telltale sign that I’ve struck a nerve. The dog, sensing the shift, whines softly at his feet, the sound a plaintive echo of the heartache filling the room.
“Lost?” Isaac’s voice is low, laced with an edge that cuts through the stillness. “Is that what you think happened?”
I falter, taken aback by the raw pain in his tone. A pang of regret stabs at me; it’s clear I’ve ventured into territory marked with hidden landmines. There’s so much I don’t know about him, about the intricacies of his past.
“Isaac, I didn’t mean—” I begin, but my words crumble as he fixes me with a look that’s both wounded and accusatory.
“Never mind,” he says, his voice brittle. His hands are fists at his sides now.
“I know you lost your dad too?—”
“It’s okay. Just forget it.”
But how can I forget? How can I ignore the glimpse of sorrow that flitted across his face, or the way his voice broke on the last word?
“Isaac,” I try again, but he’s already moving, sweeping up Baxter’s leash with a swift motion that leaves no room for protest.
“Thanks for your help, Emily. But we’ll manage on our own.” Each word is another step back, another wall he’s building between us.
“Isaac, please—” My plea is cut off as he opens the door, letting in a gust of cool evening air. It swirls around us, a tangible reminder of the distance that has suddenly appeared.
He doesn’t look back as he steps outside, Baxter trailing behind him. The door closes with a soft click, sealing off the warmth of my home, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of his cologne and the ghostly impression of his presence.
I sink onto the couch, sitting on my knitting and not caring. I don’t think I crossed a line — I was only pointing out that Baxter is grieving too and we need to take that into account — but Isaac acted like I’d slapped him.
Now he and Baxter are gone, and I probably won’t see them again. My heart throbs at the thought — for myself, for Isaac, for Baxter. We were a good team, really building something there.
And now we’re just lonely ships in the night once more.