6. Brinn
Chapter 6
Brinn
Isaac is avoiding me.
Which is okay because I am avoiding him. With any luck, I will be able to avoid him for the rest of my life.
I haven’t seen him walk Pork Belly past my house all week. I don’t know if the curtains on his windows facing my house are all drawn because all of my curtains have been drawn since I got home from our doomed date.
I don’t know why I thought I could do something normal. Why I thought I could be a normal woman who dates kind, handsome men with adorable, perfect dogs. I am a ghost, cursed to haunt this house until I die in it.
I hadn’t realized Stake House was on the boardwalk, or I would have suggested something else. But I had been doing so well. I had walked across town with Isaac before I got nervous. I had even walked to the meadow by myself. I thought I could do it. Isaac would be there at the end. I could ask for a seat not facing the ocean. We would have fun; we would laugh. It would feel good. It would feel normal.
I had walked through the meadow, down through Meadow Park, and had made it to Town Square before I froze.
I went through the five stages of grief in the forty-five minutes I stood there, half-hidden at the edge of the square. It’s a set of emotions I have become intimately acquainted with over the past couple of years.
I tried to convince myself to walk the rest of the way to the restaurant. I tried to ignore the problem, just telling myself I was tired from walking and nervous. If I could just keep going....
When that didn’t work, I got mad. Mad at Isaac for picking a restaurant close to the ocean, mad at Josh for dying and leaving me in Calysto’s Cove. Mad at myself for not being stronger, for not telling Isaac I couldn’t go near the ocean, and for staying in Calysto’s fucking Cove.
Then I tried to bribe myself. Telling myself that I could buy Isaac and myself some delicious dessert or a bottle of wine. I tried to bribe myself by telling myself I didn’t have to leave the house for a week—if I could just keep going, if I could just make it to the damned restaurant.
I wept at the edge of Town Square. I wept for Isaac, praying to a god I never quite believed in but desperately wanted to, that he wouldn’t take it too hard. Mostly, I wept for myself. For everything I’ve lost, for everything I could no longer handle, for the things I could never have again.
With my makeup ruined and my feet still unwilling to move from their spot, I accepted my fate. I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Isaac as I began the trek back home. I prayed once again to that dubious deity that we wouldn’t run into each other.
That prayer has been answered.
I haven’t left my house in the five days since.
My garden looks parched by the summer sun. A package sits unreachable on the porch. It’s trash day, and the bins seem too far away.
I’m debating texting the neighbor kid who mows my lawn about watering my garden for me when there is a knock on my door.
All the lights are off, but I know from where I’m standing in the kitchen that if I move at all, I’ll be seen. I should have shut the curtains in front, too, dammit.
There’s another knock. I hear a muffled but familiar voice. Isaac.
“Brinn?” He calls, loud enough that I can hear him through the door. The phone in my hand rings a few seconds later.
“Hey, Isaac,” I say. I hope he can’t hear my heart over the phone because I can’t hear anything over the rapid drumming.
“I can see you,” he says flatly.
I admit defeat and shuffle to the door.
I looked in the mirror this morning, and I know exactly how I look right now. It’s not good. Not that I have any reason to impress Isaac anymore. He probably hates me and is right to do so. Still, when I open the door, and he stares at me for a moment before speaking, I consider shutting it forever.
“I have a family emergency, and I need someone to watch Pork Belly,” he says without preamble. “I hate to ask, but the shelter’s doggy daycare is booked solid, and everyone I know enough to leave her with is allergic to dogs. I have a flight I need to catch in”—he checks his watch—"an hour and a half."
Considering the airport is an hour away, he really is out of options. Pork Belly wags her tail and smiles her jowly grin at me.
“Of course. I owe you, I—”
“You don’t owe me,” he cuts me off. It’s not unkind, though it is not particularly kind either. The stress is evident across his tight shoulders. “But thank you,” he adds. “I’ll only be gone a couple of days. I’ll text you all of her details, but I can drop off her stuff on my way out of town—”
“I can grab anything she needs if you’re comfortable leaving me a key.” I’m not totally convinced I can, but I can try. And give up and have some stuff delivered overnight. But I can try for Pork Belly. For Isaac.
He gives me a curt nod before pulling his keys out of his pocket, separating the ring holding his house key, and dropping it gently into my open palm. “Thank you.” He hands me her leash. “Be good for Brinn,” he tells her and gives her a pat on the head before turning to leave.
“Isaac,” I say, and he stops. “I hope everything is okay.”
“Thanks,” he says without turning.
Pork Belly wags her tail at me, and I lead her into the house. While I wait for Isaac to finish packing, I grab her water and pull some blankets out of the hallway closet to make her a dog bed on the floor next to the couch, similar to the one I’d seen at Isaac’s house.
My camera stares at me with surprise from the closet, even in its protective bag. I hesitate for a moment but grab it, too.
Its weight in my hand is familiar and comforting but unexpectedly heavy. I can’t tell if I’m not used to it anymore or if it’s the dead weight of each picture on the memory card still inside.
Pork Belly curls up on the blanket bed I made after doing dramatic circles to get it exactly the way she wants it, then falls asleep immediately. Her soft snores soothe my nerves about watching her. She’s already comfortable with me, even though this is her first time inside my house. I sit still on the couch, unsure of what to do next.
My phone dings with a text from Isaac sometime later, letting me know he dropped Pork Belly’s items on my porch anyway and that she’s already gotten her morning walk and would probably want a walk or to play ball later today. He’d be back in three days, on Sunday.
I stare at the dog snoozing on the floor and think about how many times I’ll have to leave the house in the next three days.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I’ll have to go on walks. I’ll have to go outside. A lot.
Well, a lot for me.
There was a time when all I wanted was a dog to go on hikes with in Portland. Both for protection and companionship. But it was never the right time. I was busy with work. Then, I didn’t want to get one without Josh. Then, I was busy moving to Calysto’s Cove and all that involved. Then, I was busy unpacking and wedding planning.
Josh had come to Calysto’s Cove a year before me for his job at Cove College. We had agreed that I shouldn’t uproot my whole life in case things at the college didn’t work out. But he loved his job immediately. On a visit back to Portland, he proposed and showed me the house he wanted us to buy. I loved him more than anything, even if I didn’t love the idea of Calysto’s Cove being so far away from everything I knew—I said yes to both. I knew I could grow to love it as much as he did. At least, I hoped I could.
He’d always been a man dedicated to his work, and he’d gotten a grant to work on his dream project shortly before I moved. While he was thrilled, and I was thrilled for him, our collective joy, love, and new life together couldn’t help me shake the loneliness that settled into me as I unpacked. The town was void of anything and anyone familiar to me, and I’ve never been very good at making friends. Josh threw himself into his new job, and I threw myself into my new job and wedding planning to fill the void. Despite that nagging sense of loneliness that comes with the unfamiliar, we were happy to be together. I was happy.
I had thought about bringing up the subject of a dog again just days before the accident. We were busy, but we could make it work. I wanted someone to keep me company at home while he worked. It would be nice to have a reason to get out and about. Then, I couldn’t leave the house anyway, and it had become a moot point.
Pork Belly’s pink nose twitches in dream as I stare at her. The action snaps me out of my spiral. I pull out my phone to take a picture to send to Isaac.
Brinn: I hope your flight goes smoothly. PB seems to be settling in well :)
Isaac’s reply comes a few minutes later.
Isaac: About to take off. Glad to hear it. Thank you for the picture.
I review the schedule Isaac sent me of the dog’s daily routine and realize it’s almost time for her lunch, and she’ll probably wake up anytime.
As if she could hear my thoughts, her eyes blink open sleepily. Her muzzle splits in a wide yawn, and she lets out a grumble.
“Hungry, Miss Belly?”
Her tail wags, thumping against the wood floor.
After lunch, Pork Belly and I go into the backyard. She sniffs around, checking everything out, seeing what has changed since the last time she was here. She accompanies me while I water the garden, gleefully chomping at the stream of cool water when I turn the hose her way.
She sticks by my side as I bring the trash cans out to the curb and sits with me calmly on the porch, enjoying the afternoon as I set alarms for her walks and mealtimes and wait for my grocery delivery.
The day has been a lot already, and my new companion seems fine playing fetch in the cool dusk after dinner rather than going for her customary walk. I can’t make myself go further than Isaac’s yard, and Pork Belly seems to understand, leading me to the backyard, picking up a ratty tennis ball, and dropping it at my feet. Animals are much more intuitive than people give them credit for.
From my bed, I hear her soft snores on her new dog bed in the corner, lulling me to sleep.
“PB, over here,” I say in a cheerful tone, snapping my fingers.
She stops on the log she is walking across, looking alert but excited. I take a picture on my phone.
I dismiss her with a “good girl” and let her continue to explore around the fallen tree.
We made it across the footbridge to the meadow before I got nervous. Miss Belly seems to have a great time romping around in the grass. I am having a good time watching her, even if it means checking us both for ticks when we get home.
It had been nerve-wracking leaving the house, then the block, then the sidewalk on our way here. But Pork Belly was eager for her walk, and Isaac’s words had rattled around in my brain.
“I’m never scared with PB there.”
I borrowed that bit of courage until we got to the meadow. It ran out when we got here, but having the silly ham of a pit bull with me is enough to make me rest instead of immediately running for home. She needs this, and I can do it for her.
I send the picture to Isaac, and I hope it will lend him some strength with whatever he’s dealing with. I haven’t heard from him since I sent him the picture of Pork Belly yesterday, and I am worried. He looked so stressed as he stood on my porch.
My phone is quiet all the way home and all throughout the evening.
As I bid Miss Belly goodnight, my phone buzzes.
Isaac: Thank you. I think I’ll frame that
Brinn: She’s having fun at sleep-away camp
Isaac: Thank you for playing camp counselor
Brinn: Anytime. It’s nice having her here, I should be thanking you for letting me borrow her :)
Brinn: I hope you are doing okay
Isaac: Hanging in there. Thanks again.
Brinn: Let me know if you need anything
I want to go back in time and erase that disastrous failed date so badly. I want to ask him what’s wrong and try to make it better. I want my phone to buzz again and for him to say he forgives me and it’s all fine, but my phone stays silent, and I can’t blame him.