Chapter 27
Isaw—and ignored—Elena’s first three texts when I woke up the next morning. Turning off my phone the night before hadn’t solved anything. It simply let me put off dealing with feelings I didn’t want to have. A plan I intended to take with me into the rest of the day.
ELENA
I met Mark and his wife. I’m sorry you weren’t feeling well.
ELENA
Let me know if you need anything. It would give me a chance to take care of you this time.
ELENA
I know what it might have looked like but John’s just a client. He left early. I’m sorry I missed you.
I didn’t need her to explain anything to me.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Seeing her with Essex just made things clear to me.
Essex was the kind of man she belonged with and she wasn’t going to get him wasting her time with me.
Disappearing would be doing her a favor. I just wished it didn’t feel so shitty.
My stomach growled with a vengeance. I hadn’t bothered to eat the night before.
I’d been too angry to think of it. Not at Elena.
At myself for dropping my boundaries, the ones I set to keep my life from going off the rails.
For letting myself think it might be okay to try anything more than carefully negotiated rules.
I walked past my wadded-up tuxedo on the floor at the foot of the bed on my way to the bathroom.
Nothing good ever happened when I wore the offending clothing.
I’d bought it to accept an award, which should have felt great.
I’d been at the top of my game professionally—I was higher now—but after my acceptance speech, I’d overheard one of the visiting professors, a woman I’d been interested in, telling her friend she couldn’t imagine having to listen to me drone on every day.
She’d used words like insufferable and exhausting.
Things just worked better if I stayed in my lane.
I snagged a sports drink left over from the stash I’d bought for Elena and grabbed a breakfast burrito out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave.
Anna made them for me and stockpiled them along with the dinners.
Usually, I loved them. She filled them with eggs, andouille, and cheese with a little white gravy.
She’d been making them for me for years and knew exactly how I liked them.
Today the Ziploc bag of burritos felt like foil-wrapped admonishments of one more way I couldn’t handle my shit.
I felt the old familiar grooves of depression and destructive thoughts. I’d worked too hard to change the way I talked to myself and much too hard putting systems in place that helped me be successful. I wasn’t about to let myself backslide into old habits.
While the burrito heated, I slipped on my shorts and sneakers. Exercise endorphins first, then I’d follow my normal routine and catch up with my sister. Maybe by the time I finished that, I’d know how to answer Elena’s texts.
I grabbed the piping-hot burrito, wrapped it in a paper towel and headed out the door to run until I made friends with my head again.
After close to two miles, I’d hit my stride physically, but I wasn’t any closer to mental equilibrium.
Being alone in my head wasn’t doing me any favors.
I changed course and headed to Crescent City Canines.
Maybe Jasper would be up for a run. I stopped a block before the shelter, breathing through my nose as I walked the quiet street.
By the time I opened the door, my heart rate had dropped back to normal.
The door chime rang behind me, and I felt a bit of peace creep into my head at the familiar surroundings. Even the disinfectant odor was a comfort.
“Jake!” Maria came through the door from the kennel area, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I was just thinking of you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Always.” Maria reached out to touch my arm, and for a moment I thought she might hug me. “Jasper got adopted this week, and it’s because of you.”
“What did I do?” I felt a mixture of joy tinged with sadness.
It was always good when a dog found their forever home, and Jasper certainly deserved his.
It’s not like we’d been long-term running buddies or anything.
It just hit differently today because I was already closer to my feelings than I wanted to be.
“A mother and her daughter came in this week and adopted him. They said you introduced him to them while you were out on your run, and they couldn’t stop thinking of him.
” She dug in her back pocket for her cell phone.
“He’s got a new home with a big yard and a family who knows exactly the kind of attention he needs to succeed. ”
She thumbed open the phone and scrolled to her gallery, turning the screen so I could see the pictures of Jasper frolicking in the yard and sacked out with his head on his new best friend’s lap.
“I’m so glad,” I said, any remnants of sadness receding. “He’s a great dog. He just needed someone to help direct his energy. Or wear him out.”
“I’m just glad it worked. Are you here for another running buddy?”
“I am. A pup with some endurance, if possible.” My head already felt clearer, but I was pretty sure it would take miles before I felt up to dealing with my feelings about Elena.
She thought for a moment before responding. “Are you up for a challenge?”
“I guess. What kind of challenge?” I asked, suddenly wary.
“Brick is a boxer mix. Not terribly large but he’s all muscle and he’s got a tendency to pull. It’s made it hard to find him a home, despite his sweet nature.” She went behind the counter, reached in the drawer and handed me a well-worn file folder.
I flipped it open and saw a photo of a brindle dog with a big square head and a stocky body. I could see how he might intimidate some people. I scanned the intake form, my gaze stopping on the date.
“Three hundred and eighty days? He’s been at the shelter in a kennel for more than a year?” I couldn’t imagine what that must be like for a dog. I knew Maria loved the animals under her care, but it wasn’t the same as having a home. Having a family who understood you and loved you.
“Lots of people don’t see past the first impression. And pushing people to engage with a dog they’re not equipped to handle is worse than having the dog stay here. Regardless of how long that ends up being.” She shook her head. “I just wish Brick stood a better chance of being seen for who he is.”
“Let’s see if he likes to run.”
I glanced through the rest of the folder while Maria went back to the kennel area to fetch the dog.
Brick, wearing an optimistic Adopt Me bandana around his thick neck, came out first, pulling a straining Maria behind him. The name suited the block of a dog. I set the folder on the counter and hurried to take the leash before he pulled her arm out of the socket.
“Easy!” She scolded the dog, who seemed oblivious to anything but potential freedom. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
The dog didn’t seem to notice the leash transfer and kept a steady pull toward the front door. I braced against his determined bid for freedom.
“Not at all, but let’s give it a try anyway.” I shortened the leash and tightened my grip, pulling the dog closer to me.
He finally seemed to realize Maria wasn’t holding his leash any longer, and he gave me a cautious look. I knew from his folder he hadn’t had a great experiences with men. I planned to do everything in my power to change that. All while trying not to get road burn from being dragged behind him.
“Easy, Brick,” I said as Maria opened the front door for us.
I kept him tight to my side as we walked through. Some of the rush seemed to have gone out of him now that the promise of outside became real. He still pulled but faced with the tree-lined street with its traffic and noises, he seemed to decide I wasn’t a bad bet and stayed close.
We walked for a couple blocks with him sniffing everything in his path, including a line of wrought-iron fencing.
When it seemed like the dog and I had settled into an uneasy alliance, I started to run.
At first, things were going great. I set an easy pace and Brick fell into step beside me.
Then the wind shifted or the planets misaligned or the dog saw a squirrel I missed.
Whatever the impetus, the dog suddenly had to be on the other side of the sidewalk.
He cut in front of me, heading for one of the magnolias.
I stumbled but managed to stay upright. I started to tug on the leash to get us back on track, but the dog seemed so absorbed in whatever he was smelling, I didn’t have the heart to pull him away.
We could work on behavior and manners later.
He’d been cooped up for so long. It couldn’t hurt to let him have some of what he wanted on his day out.
“What did you find?” I couldn’t see anything at the base, but Brick seemed intent on sniffing every inch.
I stood, watching him snuffle and snort, focused on making sure he didn’t get into trouble.
We might not be running as fast or as much as I wanted, but he’d certainly done a good job of getting me out of my head and into the present moment.
Anything less than a hundred percent attention, and I was pretty sure I’d end up in Urgent Care.
“Are you ready?” I asked when the sniff fest seemed to be slowing down.
He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the dog he could have been—the dog he should have been—if life hadn’t roughed him up and someone had seen him for the good dog he wanted to be.
“Come on, buddy.” I gave the leash a tug and he fell into place at my side.
We repeated the sniff breaks without the near-pavement encounters, and by the time we hit our second mile, we’d fallen into a rhythm. I avoided the walkway by the river not wanting to push our luck with people, and stuck to the mostly empty streets of the nearby neighborhood.
By the time we passed the Armstrong Arch, I’d started to feel more at peace in my head, and Brick seemed to have run down some of his exuberance.
Not wanting to tempt the fates with an outdoor café, I stopped when we saw a food truck and ordered sausage sandwiches with a couple bottles of water and an empty Styrofoam soup bowl.
I gave the dog enough leash to sniff to his heart’s content while we waited for the food.
“He looks like a good boy. Can he have a treat?” the older woman manning the cart asked as she handed me the bag of food.
“He’s not, but I think he wants to be.” I glanced down at the dog, who’d finally sat by my feet. “I’m sure he’d love a treat.”
She handed over a sizable dog biscuit and leaned out the food truck window to watch me give it to the dog. Instead of inhaling the treat along with some of my fingers, Brick held back, uncertain. I remembered what his file had said about his fear of men.
“It’s okay, buddy.” I set the biscuit on the ground in front of him and moved back half a step to give him some space. “It’s all yours.”
He glanced from me to the woman still leaning out the window and back again before gingerly taking the biscuit in his mouth. When nothing bad happened, he chomped happily, reducing the treat to nothing but crumbs in a flash.
“Poor guy. He looks like he could use more treats. Take another one for later.” She handed me another dog biscuit, and I dropped it in the bag with the rest of our haul.
“Such a good puppy,” she cooed, and Brick sat up straighter, his tongue lolling to the side while his tail swept the ground behind him.
“Thanks,” I said, gripping the bag with one hand and the leash with the other.
Deciding it might be okay to take a chance with people, we walked across the street to the park. I found a bench tucked away from most of the traffic and sat, placing the bag on the seat beside me. Brick’s gaze moved from the bag to the group of kids kicking a ball in the distance.
“It’s okay, buddy.” I ran my hand over his head, and he sat down beside me, leaning slightly against my leg. For a dog many might find intimidating, he radiated insecurity. I hated that he was so nervous, but I was grateful that he seemed to be getting comfortable with me.
I poured one of the bottles of water into the bowl and set it on the ground between us.
Brick made short work emptying the bowl and splashing water on himself and my leg.
I chugged some of my water before topping off Brick’s bowl again.
We sat side by side, watching the kids and eating our lunch.
By the time he’d finished his second sausage, Brick felt comfortable enough to take the biscuit from my hand.
I finished my sandwich while he reduced the biscuit to crumbs.
I shoved the trash in the bag, flinching when my phone vibrated with an incoming text.
Elena’s name flashed across the screen and the dog scooted closer, pressing his body against my leg.
He must have picked up on my nerves and did what he could to comfort both of us.
“You really are a good dog.” I stroked his head, paying extra attention to the space behind his ears, and his eyes closed to slits as he panted.
ELENA
Breaking the not double texting rule by quadruple texting but just because I want to make sure you are okay. Are you okay? Need Gatorade? An explanation?
I’d planned to wait until I got back home before I responded, but sitting on the bench with the dog plastered against my leg, I felt clearer than I had in hours. And I didn’t want her to think I was ignoring her. That wouldn’t be fair.
ME
I’m fine. No hydration or explanation needed.
She didn’t need to explain anything to me, and I wasn’t confused.
I didn’t want to look too closely at what I was feeling, but it wasn’t anger—at least not at Elena.
If I let myself, I could still picture the way Essex’s hand rested on the small of her back as if she belonged to him.
I could see the way they looked standing side by side on the red carpet. Like they were meant to be together.
ME
I’ve got to run.
I sent the text, anxious to be done with the interaction and then felt bad for seeming abrupt.
ME
I’m not alone.
I snapped a picture of the dog, who posed, head tipped to the side and ears flopped over, and sent the image to her.
ELENA
Who’s the cutie?!?
ME
His name is Brick. He likes long walks in the park and sausages. He’s my running buddy for the day. I’ve got to get him back before the shelter closes.
As I sent the text, my stomach tightened. I was going to add Brick in a kennel to the list of things I wasn’t going to think about.
ELENA
Give him a kiss on the head from me.
It was turning into a long damn list.