Chapter 12
They say yoga first thing in the morning gets boatloads of oxygen to your brain. Watching your half-naked lover do morning yoga invigorates some other body parts. I slurp my coffee, never taking my eyes off Jack, who, in nothing but his sweatpants, is saluting the sun in front of the cabin. Strike that: Brittney has persuaded me to join her sun salutations a few times, so I know what that is supposed to look like. This is nothing like that. Jack’s movements are slow and steady, never a hitch, never a break. He goes seamlessly from something like downward dog to a headstand with twisted legs, just to drop down onto his hands and keep his legs sideways.
It’s a good thing I’m holding a coffee cup, because I fear I might start drooling anytime now. All that saliva would need a place to go.
Another graceful movement takes Rory to standing on one straight leg with the other leg and the body parallel to the ground, one hand almost touching the grass, the other reaching for the sky. He faces me and a grin lightens his face. “Hey, there!” He swivels up to stand like gravity finally got the better of him and, with his foot, he reaches for a towel. “You fell asleep again after Lilly quietened down and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Mmm-hm.” I will need a minute to shake off the trance that his morning routine has put me in. I want to test all that sexy limberness as soon as possible. Maybe I should get a copy of the Kamasutra . They don’t sell that in Elken Grove, do they?
Jack comes closer, toweling off his sweat. Passing by, he gives me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll just hop under the shower.”
No way he is taking that shower by himself! I put the mug on the kitchen counter and follow him into the bath.
His phone rings. I would have let it ring until the sun comes down, but no, he takes the call. It’s the vet, and instead of doing sexy contortions in the shower, we end up discussing the ailments of an aging dog.
I have my suspicions confirmed that Lilly has a medical reason for her changed behavior. Not only is she hard of hearing, but she also has a condition often called senile barking. In humans, something similar is Alzheimers. The aging brain causes difficulty in processing and coping with her environment. The world has changed for her, as she cannot hear it like she used to and due to cognitive dysfunction the world feels different to her. She just cannot make any sense of it anymore. And a dog who feels unsettled often resorts to vocalization: whining, howling, or in Lilly’s case: barking. The pacing is another means to work off stress, but it means she is up on her legs for most of the day, which in turn causes arthritis and joint-pain.
Jack is devastated. He truly had not seen this coming and feels guilty because of all the long walks he takes her on to wear her out and have her need rest. He has put so much extra strain on her in the last few weeks.
“I can help you come up with a plan and adapt things to Lilly’s needs.” We sit on the couch, and I take his hands in mine.
“Haven’t you listened?” Jack flares up. “‘No change in surroundings.’ How am I supposed to do that once I leave for gigs?”
I’m having a hard time suppressing my giggle. Panic reactions take the weirdest of turns. “Leave for gigs? What’s that—are the trees leaving?” I wink at Jack, trying to lighten the mood.
He jumps up and paces the room, literally wringing his hands. A couple of times, I try to say something, but he shakes his head. Whatever this is, he obviously needs time to process it. I get up and tell him, “I’m going over to my cabin. This does not mean I am abandoning you. I just want to give you space. We’ll talk later.”
Jack doesn’t stop pacing.
His behavior is upsetting me, and I need to make sure he understands. “Will we talk?” I’m holding my breath for his answer.
Jack wraps me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I let go of that breath. Okay, whatever this is, we can get over it.