Chapter Thirty-Five
Thirty-Five
“There you are. Oh, thank goodness, Harold. Is he okay?” Miguel asks, talking to someone else now.
“He’s stable. It’s a start.”
Who is that? With much effort, I manage to pry my lids open.
The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead make it blindingly bright, and the room reeks of bleach and fear.
After a moment, I make out a man in pale blue pajamas standing beside me.
I’ve never seen him before. Oh, wait—we’re at the hospital, and they gave me some sort of shot, and… that’s all I remember about that.
“But he’s all right now?” Miguel sounds frantic.
“I’d like to get his blood panel back, but based on the ultrasound, it appears that Harold’s heart is failing. I’m very sorry that I don’t have better news.”
I’m still woozy, but I can see that Miguel’s on the verge of either cursing or crying. Maybe both.
Amelia’s murmur turned out to be a lot more than that. Funny that the person who knew the human heart so well had one that went and quit on her. Now mine is, too. Maybe it’s the drugs they’ve given me, but there’s a strange sort of comfort in this.
“Is there something he can take?” asks Miguel. “Medication? A special diet?”
“I’ll definitely be sending you home with meds and a long list of diet and exercise modifications.
Even so, he’s fourteen. That’s past the average lifespan for a Brittany-setter mix.
It’s honestly a wonder he’s made it this far without an incident.
Judging from the echocardiogram, this is a chronic issue that’s gotten worse over time. ”
Miguel’s face is twisted up, and he sniffles. “He’s been sort of off for at least a month. I’ve even caught him wandering around at night.”
Wandering? How am I just now hearing about this? I remember that one time, but I had no idea this had become a habit. I’m mortified.
“I didn’t bring him in—” A sob catches in his throat. “Because I was preoccupied. I’m so stupid. I should’ve made an appointment.”
“It’s okay,” the man assures him, and I take back every sassy thing I’ve ever thought about vets.
What a kind person he is, handing Miguel a tissue and directing him to the plastic chair against the wall of this tiny, terrible-smelling room.
“A month probably wouldn’t have made a difference.
I don’t know if several would’ve, either.
Besides, if he wasn’t having symptoms, we wouldn’t have tested for it.
He’s old, and sadly, this is often what happens when dogs get old.
What’s important is that you know now, and there’s a lot you can do to make him comfortable. ”
I try to twist to look at him, assure him I’m okay, but my body feels so, so heavy, and I can barely lift my head.
“Easy, Harold.” Miguel’s at my side again and using the voice he used with Amelia when she was sick. “The drugs in your system are confusing you. Just lie down. I’m supposed to take care of you, remember?”
No, Miguel. You’re confused. That was not the deal I made with Amelia.
“Keep talking to him,” says the vet. “They understand more than we can possibly imagine.”
You don’t say.
“It’s going to be okay. You took a tumble down the stairs and got banged up pretty badly. We think you passed out.” Miguel sniffles again. “I know you don’t like this place, but it’s a good thing we got here as fast as we did.”
I whimper because my throat and mouth refuse to work the way I want them to.
His voice catches. “When I saw you at the bottom of the stairs, I thought I’d lost you. I’m so sorry, buddy. I promised Amelia I’d take care of you, and I haven’t done the best job of that.”
Yes, he has! But why, when that’s what I promised her?
“I know you’re old, and that you can’t live forever. But dog, I need you a little bit longer,” he whispers. “I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet. Okay?”
My lids are growing heavy again, and I’m so very tired, but I force myself to stare into his eyes.
I’m still here, Miguel, I tell him. And that’s where I’ll be until I figure out how to get you to the other side of this.
—
When we get home, Miguel tells me I can have whatever I want, so long as it’s not chocolate or poop. This is a lovely offer that I would be pleased to take him up on, were it any other time.
Right now, however, I have few desires. Of course, I’d like to return to Lakeside as soon as I’m able.
I want to roam among the shelves and sniff all the wonderful not-brand-new books and, in a perfect world, happen upon Amelia Mae reading stabby stories in the yellow chair.
And naturally, I long to curl up on the braided rug that I still remember my Amelia hauling in and placing in four different areas before realizing it was always supposed to be beneath the window, where the sun can warm it—and me.
I will never not relish those pleasures.
But all that’s dimmed by my overwhelming need to sleep.
Miguel sets my bed up in the living room near the bookshelves and brings me some mashed chicken soaked in broth.
I can’t manage more than a few bites, but it’s delicious and almost makes me forget how terrible I feel.
The vet gave him a gate that he’s placed at the bottom of the stairs, like I’m some sort of toddler.
Then again, I mistook the second floor for a buffalo jump, so maybe it’s for the best.
I’m groggy. Whatever pain medication they have me on makes me feel like I’m crawling my way through the hours—not that I’m moving all that much.
When it’s time to use the bathroom, Miguel has to hold me up with this shameful sling contraption.
“It’s that or doggy diapers,” he tells me as he props me over the grass and waits for me to pee.
“I think we both know this is the more dignified choice. You’ll be able to hobble around soon, but not yet, dog. Not yet.”
And indeed, when I arise the next morning, I’m already doing better. My head’s not so fuzzy, and I’m even able to get up on my paws. I’m excited to show Miguel how much I’ve improved, and that he really doesn’t need to worry about caring for me. I’m good.
There he is now! He stoops to examine me. “I’m relieved to see you’re on the mend, Harold,” he says, ruffling the fur on top of my head oh so gently. “You were my wake-up call, so I owe you.”
Is that so? This wouldn’t be the silver lining I would have selected, but I’m in no position to be picky.
A shadow crosses his face as he stands. “It’s time to accept reality,” he says.
Maybe, but the only thing the man’s facing right now is our bookshelves. He scans them momentarily, then plucks out three hardcovers. Jonathan’s super serious author photo is staring at me from the back of the bottom copy.
I do not like this one bit.
“There was a reason Miriam was worried.” He laughs bitterly. “Here I was, so caught up in a mirage disguised as love that I forgot all about making money and keeping the store alive.”
Did he just say “love”?
But he keeps jabbering as he walks into the kitchen. I limp behind him, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.
He opens the trash. “If I hadn’t gone to Chicago in the first place—if I’d said no to going back to her house—” One by one, the books thud as he drops them into the bin.
“If I’d just stayed home, I might be in the same position, but I wouldn’t be this miserable.
Ignorance may be for willful idiots, but it sure beats the truth. And the worst part?”
I thought he’d already unpeeled that, but it appears there are multiple layers to this odorous onion.
He turns and startles slightly as he sees me. “Harold, if I hadn’t dragged you to Chicago, you probably wouldn’t have passed out, and you certainly wouldn’t be as sick as you are right now. I had no business letting you run around with a tweenager. I failed you.”
He’s as wrong as he’s ever been. I’m clear that my happiness isn’t the objective here, but Amelia Mae is the best thing that’s happened to me since my Amelia passed.
And as much as I fault myself for overfocusing on her, that made it easier for Miguel to spend time with Fiona.
No, he didn’t fail me; I failed him. I should have figured out how to explain to him that love isn’t just the answer.
It’s the whole point.
He slides down the back of the cupboard so he’s sitting next to me. His entire body radiates pain, and not the kind I’m in. “I wasted all that time,” he says.
He puts his fists to his eyes and clenches his jaw, and instead of letting the tears out, he’s fighting to keep them in.
“I blew it. Year after year, I blew it. Amelia told me to branch out, to read other things. I acted like she was telling me to go binge pulp, but she was talking about her own books. I knew she was, even if she didn’t come out and say it.
But I was too afraid that I wouldn’t like them, that they would somehow impact the way I felt about her, so I just avoided them altogether. I’m as awful as her parents.”
You’re not. You’re nothing like those horrible people. You made a mistake; their harm was on purpose.
I rub my head against his leg, and he places his hand on my back. And at last, a sob escapes his mouth.
Then he says the thing that finally—finally—makes me understand why he’s so distraught.
“All that time, I could have been reading Amelia’s novels instead of JMB’s or Fiona’s or whatever they are.
It didn’t matter if they were good or not, or if it turned out I hated romance.
Those books, they were hers; they were part of her heart.
I’m a fool, Harold, the very worst kind.
I prioritized a stranger’s words over the woman right in front of me, who I loved more than everything in the whole world times a million.
Now I can’t do a thing about it because it’s too late.
And I will have to live with that for the rest of my lonely life. ”
He watches me for a moment, then pushes himself onto his feet.
“Come on, dog. It’s time to get some sleep,” he says, lifting me from the kitchen floor.
He walks me to the living room and gently places me back in my bed.
“Rest up. I’m going to clean myself up, then start making calls to get the bookstore ready to close.
I’ll call Dane to give him a heads-up, and he can tell Riley, since I highly doubt that she wants to hear from me.
Then I’ll let the others know, and give Kathy notice in the next day or two. ”
Not that I can protest, but I don’t want to sleep.
I need to help him see that he’s got this all wrong; the rest of his life doesn’t have to be lonely, and in fact, it’s not supposed to be.
I’m here, at least for now. So is Fiona, if only he’d call her and apologize.
He has Riley and Dane and Miriam and their family in Puerto Rico.
Yes, Amelia was his reason, but she would have wanted him to find a new one.
To do all the living and loving he can while he has a chance.
But he’s already stepping over the stupid baby gate and heading upstairs without me.
What will I do? What can I do when I’m in such sorry shape? Just as Miguel claims to be, I’m truly out of ideas.
So, I close my eyes and ask for help, in any form it decides to arrive.