Chapter Thirty-One
Thirty-One
“I’ll call you the minute I’m done with my interviews,” says Miriam, giving Miguel a hug. “If all goes well, Michigan’s Puerto Rican population will rise to eleven,” she adds, pulling back to wink at him. “So, wish me luck.”
“Don’t worry, cupcake. You’ve got this,” says Dane, who stopped by with a paper bag full of baked goods this morning to see her off. “And we all know that your brother’s geeked for you to move here.”
“Dane,” warns Miguel.
“Come on,” he says, waving his muffin at Miguel as I hover, waiting to catch any chunks or crumbs that fall my way. “You know it feels amazeballs to live near your favorite people.”
“Not all my favorite people,” Miguel says gruffly.
Dane tugs at his hair with his free hand. “Oof. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted, Ding-Dong, but only because you’re not going with my sister.” Miguel squints at Miriam, whose nose is wrinkled like a bunny’s. Her bottom lip’s trembling, too. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, Miri,” he quickly adds.
“Does that mean you hope I get the job?” she teases, but a tear’s already trailing down her cheek. She wipes it away and adds, “Sorry, Miguelito. I’ve just missed you, and it’s been so nice to be together.”
“How can you miss me when I’m right here?” he says, enveloping her in his arms again. “And I hope whatever you want to happen is exactly what happens.”
“Me, too.” Then she murmurs something that I can’t quite make out. When she lets him go, his eyes are welled with tears. Is he finally realizing how much better it is when he’s surrounded by people he loves?
I hope so. And I know, deep within me, that I have Fiona to thank for that.
Miguel waves from the stairs while Dane walks Miriam to her rental car, then rides off on his bike.
Once they’re both gone, I expect Miguel to head to the kitchen table; while I nip at my belly and backside to calm myself, work is his preferred method of self-soothing.
But he goes upstairs instead, and after a moment, I hear his bedroom door close.
I should probably follow him just in case he’s gotten in the shower to finish the cry he started. I definitely should. That’s my job, after all, and while he talks a good game, he’s obviously sad to see his sister leave; she’ll be back, of course, but once she returns, then she’ll leave again.
Except…I’m terribly tired today. And not only do my paws and hips hurt, my torso’s strangely sore, too, which is probably from attempting to evade Walter; after I demonstrated how to hop on the sofa when the humans aren’t paying attention, he tried to keep the good times rolling by sinking his miniature fangs into my fur.
I’ll just rest a minute in the kitchen. Though, come to think of it, the small rug near the front door isn’t that scratchy. Yes, that’ll work just fine…
I don’t know how much time has passed when Amelia Mae’s voice startles me back to consciousness. “There you are! I thought you’d nap all day, Harry.”
I look at her with wide eyes to make it clear that I’m awake. Wide-awake now, and ready to make the most of our time together before they go back to Chicago.
“I wanted to check in on the dog, but I also thought I’d tell you how moved I was,” Fiona’s saying to Miguel.
“That’s an understatement,” Amelia Mae whispers to me. To Miguel, she adds more loudly, “She just read You Were Here. She cried her face off.”
He’s visibly confused. “Wait—”
“John Williams is next on my list, but You Were Here was the only one of Amelia’s novels I hadn’t read, and it felt like the right time,” says Fiona, glancing away.
She seems to be considering something as she slowly turns her face back to him.
“I picked it up from Lakeside yesterday afternoon. Natalie was very helpful. She found it for me right away.”
“You read my Amelia’s novels?” he blurts, still wearing that what just happened expression.
“Of course. Just like thousands of other people,” says Fiona, but if anyone’s asking me—which, sadly, they aren’t—she sounds awfully careful in her response.
“I saw one at the library back in the late nineties and did a double take because of her name. Naturally, I borrowed it immediately and loved it. I ended up reading through her entire backlist over the next few years. She was a true talent.”
“You—your shelves—” Miguel’s mouth and brain still aren’t working in tandem. “I thought you liked David Foster Wallace and…”
Fiona looks baffled, but now she’s amused, too. “Remember the other day at the bookstore when I said I like love stories? I meant that; it’s just that we’ve only discussed the type of books you and I both enjoy. Your Amelia’s novels—well, they’re wonderful. Low Tide is my personal favorite.”
“So, I’ve been reading your brother’s books, and you’ve been reading my partner’s books…” Miguel looks like he’s on the verge of overheating. “Sorry, I know it’s a good problem to have. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“No problems detected,” says Amelia Mae, glancing back and forth between them. “Right, Harry?”
I wish I could agree, but I cannot. Not when Miguel has lowered his gaze and is staring at the door with the sort of concentration he normally reserves for his spreadsheets.
“You read her books, too…didn’t you?” Fiona asks cautiously.
He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
She tilts her head. “Can I ask why not? I’m sure loads of people told you how fantastic they are.”
“They did, and to be honest, I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “Maybe I was afraid I wouldn’t like them. Or maybe I’m just a snob. Either way, I regret it every day. And now it’s too late.”
She places her hand on his forearm. “There’s still time to read them.”
He shakes his head sadly, and though I wish I didn’t, I understand. The bookshelves in our living room hold a copy of every single one of Amelia’s novels. But there’s simply no point in him trying to right this wrong when she’ll never know that he did.
“I guess,” he says vaguely. “Maybe one day. But it wouldn’t change anything.”
Fiona’s voice still sounds like flowing water, but there’s something different about her now, even if I can’t quite put my nose on it. “Well, when you do, I’d love to hear what you think. Speaking of books, there’s something I wanted to tell you…”
“I’m listening,” says Miguel.
Fiona’s gaze has just landed on Amelia Mae, who’s squatting beside me.
And perhaps my senses have gone dull, but her face seems to change; the natural smile she had a second ago looks pasted on now, and behind her glasses, her eyes aren’t crinkled at the corners.
She reaches into her canvas bag, which is slung across her shoulder.
“It’s just that I brought you something. ”
Beside me, a dark cloud has passed over Amelia Mae’s smile, too, but Fiona doesn’t notice. She passes Miguel a stack of papers held together with a thick clip. “These are hot off the press from Jonathan—sent at my request. I’ll tell you more once you’ve had a chance to read them.”
“Really?” asks Miguel with an excitement I haven’t heard since Jonathan’s assistant, whom we now know to be Fiona, called to see if he could do an event at Lakeside. Okay, that’s not true—since he shook Fiona’s hand for the first time.
“Really,” she says. “I told you I’d get him to come around, and he did. He’s been working on this short story for eons, and although it took some doing, I’ve convinced him to sell it online, and maybe even in print if we can figure out distribution, and donate the profits to Lakeside Books.”
Miguel is staring at the pages. “What a privilege. Are you positive?”
“It’s not just my decision, but yes,” she assures him. “I can’t wait to hear what you think.”
“How soon are you heading back to Chicago?” he asks.
Amelia Mae rolls her eyes. “We can stay until you’re done reading. I’m not going to make it to drama camp today either way.”
Miguel looks at Fiona, who nods. “Like Amelia Mae said, we’re not in a rush. Why don’t we take Walter on a walk to get him out of your hair, and you can give me a call when you’re done?”
—
“Brilliant,” murmurs Miguel. “Absolutely incredible.” He peers at me over his reading glasses—the pair he spent nearly half an hour searching for and finally located under the sofa, because where else would they be?
“It’s almost impossible to believe that I’m the second person to read Jonathan’s first work of fiction in several years.
Oh, I can’t wait to talk to Fiona about this. ”
He began reading the pages while they were still there, but she stopped him and said she didn’t want to bias him. So, she and Amelia Mae left with the puppy so he could “digest in peace,” as she described it.
I don’t know about peace, but over the past hour, he’s laughed. He’s gasped. He’s snorted. As he tore through the twenty-some pages that Fiona printed out at the local library, he has looked…
Like a man who’s finally remembered who he is under all that pain.
My breathing slows as I watch him reading a second time, or maybe it’s a third.
I’m nearly as relaxed as I was with Amelia Mae on the beach, but this feels less temporary.
No, he and Fiona haven’t declared their love for each other yet.
Still, I’ve waited six and a half seasons for him to be healed enough to enjoy himself without reservation, and I know that has everything to do with her.
He’s so happy that I almost wish he’d read the story one more time.
But after another glance at the ending, he abandons the pages on the coffee table and heads upstairs to take a shower.
I follow him, but instead of sitting outside the bathroom door, I take the opportunity to rest. I’m not worried that he’ll cry now.
Also, I don’t feel so hot. I’d like to fix that before we see Fiona and Amelia Mae again.
I’ve started to drift off beside Miguel’s bed when he comes bounding out of the shower, as bare as the day he was born. He’s dripping water all over the floor and flapping his arms around like he’s trying to take flight.
“Harold!” he cries, and I leap to my feet. “It’s like I’ve known the whole time, but it’s been lurking beneath the surface. Something really hasn’t been sitting right with me since page three, and I finally figured it out.”
I watch him, trying to make sense of what he’s saying, as he wraps a towel around himself. He’s still blathering on when we head to the kitchen, where he grabs the phone off the wall and dials the number on the small card on the fridge.
“It’s Miguel. Yes, it’s stellar, just truly fantastic—that’s what I’m calling about.
I was wondering, can you come over? Maybe you could drop your daughter and the dog at the store so Riley can keep an eye on them, and we can pick them up afterward so she can say goodbye to Harold before you leave.
No, no—nothing’s wrong. It’s just that there’s something I want to speak with you about privately. ”