28. Isaac
CHAPTER 28
ISAAC
S ighing, I gaze out my office window, not remembering the last time I stayed in the office this late. I’m hunched at my desk, the soft glow of the computer screen casting shadows across the piles of paperwork. Baxter lies at my feet, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Stretching my back, I get back to work, tapping away at the keyboard, but my heart isn’t in it. Work used to be my refuge, my escape. Now it’s just another place to hide from thoughts of Emily.
“Break time, huh?” I mutter as Baxter stirs, a low whine slipping from his throat.
He’s reminding me without words that it’s time to step away. I push back from the desk and stand, feeling the ache in my bones. This dog, with his knowing eyes and relentless need for fresh air, keeps me human.
“Come on.” I grab his leash and we walk through empty hallways, me keeping his close.
After losing him, I’m making sure that nothing like that ever happens again. Since Emily and I have been taking our space, I haven’t had much of anyone in this life other than my dog. Sad, but true. I talk, he listens. It’s our routine.
The building is silent when we return. Everyone else has long since gone home to families, to lives outside these walls. Not me. Tonight, I stay late on purpose. Home is where her laughter still lingers, where the ghost of her smile haunts every corner. I can’t face it, not yet.
I pour kibble into Baxter’s bowl, the metallic clink echoing too loudly. He eats with gusto, and I envy his simple pleasures. Watching him, I lean against the desk, lost in memories of a night so perfect it hurts.
“Good boy,” I say.
Baxter finishes eating and pads over, nuzzling my hand with his wet nose. Gratitude wells up inside me. At least one creature doesn’t want anything complicated from me — just companionship, just walks, just talks.
I try to go back to the work I was slogging my way through, but it’s impossible to focus. I need something new to distract me. Something like…
My father’s office.
It’s been sitting mostly untouched since his death, all of the documents pertinent to the company’s success long since retrieved, the plants taken out and put into other rooms. It’s mostly been collecting dust, a task that no one wants to deal with.
Tonight, though, clearing it out sounds perfect to me.
I call for Baxter and he hustles to my side, keeping close as we head to my dad’s office. The dog’s ears perk up as we get closer, and I feel sorry for him. Does he understand the permanence of death, or does he keep expecting his first owner to pop up all of a sudden?
The office is shuttered and dank. Switching on the lights, I take in the cluttered mess. For such a successful man, he was insanely disorganized.
I shuffle through the remnants of my father’s world, each paper a memory from the past. His desk is an untouched shrine, dust motes dancing in the slanting light. The room smells like leather and old books, familiar and comforting. The dog paces the room, unsettled.
“Sit, Baxter,” I murmur, and he obeys, collapsing with a soft thud onto the carpet.
I feel bad for both of us — he doesn’t know what to do with himself, being in here where his old human should be but isn’t, and I can relate. Going through my father’s things feels so wrong, even though someone has to eventually do it.
Papers rustle under my fingers. Scribbles, numbers, ideas jotted down in haste. My father’s handwriting, always more scribble than script. A reminder here to call a partner, there to invest in something new. And then, one note catches my eye, the writing shakier, the ink bled through with urgency.
Love this dog, it reads. Baxter opens up my heart.
I pause, my breath catching. More words follow, a confession in loops and lines. Makes me realize I’ve failed Isaac. How change that? Want to teach him that life is about more than work. Love is important. Being the bigger man important. Saying sorry.
A chill runs down my spine. My throat tightens. I never knew. Dad, you felt that? All this time?
“Did you know?” I ask Baxter, but he only wags his tail, oblivious to the gravity of the discovery.
I sit back in the worn leather chair, the magnitude of my father’s regrets pressing on me. We were alike — driven, determined, distant. But he found solace in Baxter. Did he find forgiveness too?
The part about being the bigger man really sticks to me. Is that where I’ve gone wrong with Emily? If I had put my ego to the side during or right after our argument, could it have repaired things between us?
Baxter whines, sensing my distress. He nudges my knee with his nose, reminding me of simpler affections. Of love without strings. Something shifts inside me, a lock turning.
I can’t end up like Dad. No. I refuse to let regrets be my legacy.
“Emily,” I say aloud, tasting the hope and fear mingled with her name. And suddenly, I see it — the path back to her.
“Come on, boy,” I tell Baxter, standing up with newfound resolve. “We’ve got work to do.”
He leaps to his feet, eager, ready for whatever comes next. A plan forms in my mind, clear and bright as a beacon.
“Let’s win her back,” I say to both of us.
With Baxter by my side, maybe, just maybe, I can mend the missing pieces. Fill the spaces where joy used to be.
It’s time to chase after something more precious than any deal or dollar. It’s time to chase after love.