Chapter 8
___
Bev
I toss my house keys on the kitchen counter. “Dad, I’m home! Hi, Viktoria!” I call.
“In here,” he calls from the living room.
The day nurse, Viktoria, smiles at me and says, “He’s all yours,” as she heads out into the kitchen.
I know this is my signal to follow her, so we can have a talk. “How was he today?” I ask in a low voice.
“He’s pretty good. Been loving the travel shows on Discovery.”
“His bucket list,” we say at the same time.
My dad has a list of places he wants to visit before he passes. Will we be able to afford even one of them? Probably not. Especially since his number one pick is Melbourne. Just the flight alone is painfully expensive. Still, we like to dream about it. Talk about it. We keep adding to our “itinerary”—both knowing we’ll probably never go .
I breathe a sigh of relief. “How’s his memory?” As part of his Parkinson’s, he has dementia “clusters” as the doctors call it.
“He keeps wanting to make dinner reservations, but otherwise all good.”
I feel like she’s keeping something from me, but I’m not sure what. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmm,” she says, smiling. She snags her small purse from the counter and heads to the door. “See you Wednesday.”
“Great, see you then.”
After she leaves, I make a glass of lemonade for my dad—with thickener for his aspiration, which helps him swallow—and then plop in a straw.
“Hi dad,” I say, sitting next to him in the living room.
The setting sun filters through the windows, giving the room a peaceful feeling.
“Everything okay?” he asks. “You look pale.”
“Got my cramps today.”
He nods, knowing what this means. “But you’re feeling better?”
“Yeah.” I get this sudden urge to tell him about Nate. “Nate actually helped.”
He’s so surprised he drops the lemonade. “Shit, shit, shit,” he curses.
I hop up, grab some rags from the kitchen, and mop up what liquid I can from the floor. “Don’t worry, Dad,” I say. “I got it.”
“I am worried,” he says loudly.
“I’m cleaning it up.”
“Not that, sweetheart.” His words are sharp and the “t’s” in sweetheart sounds anything but sweet. “I’m worried about that bastard.” He always emphasizes words when he’s angry, and they’re never the ones you think they’ll be.
“Dad,” I say, surprised at his language.
“You heard me!”
“He’s fine,” I say, trying to calm him. “He’s my intern, and overall, he’s been fine. And today, I’d say he was nice even.”
“You know who was nice?” he asks, and the way he says it, I know he’s winding me up.
I don’t want to know . I shake my head.
“Your mother, the day she left me.”
I stop mopping at that. I suddenly become aware of how sticky the lemonade feels against my fingers, and it makes me want to cry. But I know that I won’t. I don’t cry. I take a deep breath and try to access that place I go when we talk about my mother. Or when people ask about her:
“Why’d your mom leave?” someone might ask.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“But aren’t fathers usually the parent who leaves?”
“Not mine.”
“But why’d she leave?”
They ask as if I’m intentionally keeping it from them, as if I don’t wonder this everyday myself.
“Dad.” Maybe it sounds like a whimper, I’m not even sure anymore.
“People like that, they know what they’re doing. Mark my words.” He jabs at the air with his gnarled, Parkinson’s-mangled finger. “They know what they’re doing.”
“Okay.” I sit back on my ankles, staring at the abandoned wet rag on the floor.
It’s probable Nate was playing me. He has before. Something twists in my stomach. I want to think his kindness was genuine .
But no matter what, the most important thing: I don’t want to see my dad like this.
“Promise me, Beverly.” It’s a desperate, near death-bed kind of whisper. The kind you definitely can’t say no to. “Promise me, you won’t fall for his shit.”
I whisper back, “I promise.” And I mean it.
___
I get my dad settled for the night, and then I head out to meet Aimi for our celebratory drinks—the ones celebrating my breakup with Jay.
“What does a frat boy summer even mean?” Aimi asks.
On an island where rich folks summer, there’s exactly one local dive bar: Teri’s. And that’s where we are. Teri’s is in the basement of a church of all places. It began as a meeting place for the Rotary Club, but they started opening as a bar on select nights to lower membership dues. Teri’s has loads of games: a pool table, two-lane bowling alley, and foosball. Not to mention, there’s kitschy, faux wood-paneled walls, a few photographs of older men with wispy hair, and a giant jar of house-made pickles on the bar.
Back to Aimi’s question. Frat boy summer. I have a sense of what I think it means. “I think it means he wants to fuck around.” Sadness swims in my belly.
Aimi must sense this because she changes the subject. “How’s working with Nate?” My expression must reveal something because she changes the subject again, “How’s your dad?” And yet again. “The dogs, the bunnies, anything else?” Aimi asks rapid fire, with a look of desperation.
I can’t help but laugh, and she joins me.
“I’m sorry talking about my life is like walking through a minefield,” I say, wiping back a tear from laughing.
“Why hello,” a smooth male voice—that isn’t Nate’s—says to us.
That isn’t Nate’s?
Since when do I judge everything by Nate like he’s some perfect Adonis?
Ugh. Okay.
For a while. High school even. But we won’t get into that now. That will come later. No need for sour grape memories at the moment.
I turn and see Tommy, sitting next to me. He’s freshly shaven, but basically looks the same as he did earlier in the day.
“Come here often?” he says with a wink.
Aimi laughs louder than necessary while I manage a small, “Ha”—which I only do for shelter fundraising purposes.
We have a fundraiser coming up, and Tommy seems like he could help, which I very much need if I want that promotion. As of now, I’m feeling okay about the fundraiser because we have the location locked in—a place it’s been held the last few years—and it’s not too expensive. Plus, Mama Sofia’s, where we plan to have it, said they’ll even throw in some free food, which will help keep our costs down. All in all, I’m feeling pretty good about it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t aim for more. Not to mention, it’s for my favorite cause.
Tommy asks about the rest of my day, and I tell him, all the while mildly hoping he’ll leave, so Aimi and I can catch up. I look over at her, to see how she’s taking his intrusion, and if I should just politely ask him if we can have some girl time, but she gives me a thumbs up under the bar, so now I feel like we’re stuck.
It’s then I see Nate standing in the bar’s entrance. Arjun, who I remember from high school, is beside him. Nate stares at me—or is he staring at Tommy?—while Arjun leans towards him, seemingly asking something. Nate doesn’t reply. Even from where I am, I can see Nate’s shoulders tighten. The way they broaden against the cotton of his shirt…well, it’s strangely sexy, which annoys me.
Nate seems to snap out of it and responds to whatever Arjun said. Then, they both leave.
I stare at the doorway, wondering if they’ll return.
“That’s so cool. Right, Bev? That’s so cool?” Aimi asks, nudging me.
“Very.” I glance back at the doorway.
“Great, can I get your number then?” Tommy asks.
He has my full attention now. I want to ask what I’ve inadvertently agreed to, but my brain feels all fuzzy after seeing Nate. Besides, having Tommy’s number can only help on the fundraising front—another way I can possibly get a promotion and help save more animals. Plus, if I get any kind of pay bump, then maybe I could save up for a trip to Melbourne after all; another reason to want a successful fundraiser.
We exchange numbers, and then he has to leave to go to Salt & Elysium, one of the island’s fancier restaurants with twenty-dollar cocktails and well-tipped valet.
After he leaves, Aimi turns to me. She wiggles her eyebrows. “What’s going on with you and Tommy?”
“Nate says he’s a tech bro. ”
Aimi shoots me a look like, “Weren’t you listening?” She says, “He is a tech bro. He was just telling us about his IPO.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
“I think he likes you.”
“Who me?” I ask, although who else could she mean.
“Yeah,” she answers with a laugh.
“Do you know anything about Nate Hart assaulting an exec named Scooter Albrecht?” I ask out-of-the-blue. “Do you happen to know why?”
“Maybe we’ve had too much to drink?”
“I’m not even like a quarter of the way into my drink!”
“Then, why do you keep bringing up Nate?”
“Because I want to find out what happened. Maybe if I find out, then I can write the judge a letter and get him transferred or something.”
She plays with her straw, stabbing into the pink liquid of her drink. “You don’t really think that will work, do you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Desperate people do desperate things.”
“Bev, you’re not desperate.”
I wish this were true. But I’m not sure it is. Recently, I’ve been feeling like I’m drowning, and Nate has only added to the issue. He’s like some kind of mirage when I’ve been sitting on a raft with third-degree sunburns and high-level dehydration. In other words, he’s been fucking with my mind. And non-desperate minds don’t really get fucked with.
She sighs. She seemingly decides to drop it because she looks up at me. “Okay, Jay is having a frat boy summer. What about you?”
“A get promoted summer. ”
“Bev! It’s got to be fun.”
“Getting promoted is the ultimate fun.”
She shoots me another look. “What if you had a ‘fuck me summer?’”
I hold up my hands with a weird little laugh. “Ha, whoa, a little too intense for me.”
“Think about it,” she says confidently.
I pretend to think about it. “Yeah, still a bad idea.”
“What about a ‘get back out there summer?’”
I’m about to ask her, “get back out where,” but I drop the bullshit. I know plenty well what she means. And maybe there’s something to it. I think of Tommy and his technical sandals and smile lines. My dad might even approve of him, and I wouldn’t worry about driving him into an early death. “Deal,” I agree.
___
It’s been a slow morning at work. Probably because it’s gorgeous out, and no one wants to be inside when it’s one of those first-of-the-year gorgeous days after a rainy spring. Most volunteers have called in “sick,” and we’ve had no adoptee walk-ins at the shelter.
After we finish our morning routine with the cats, dogs, and bunnies, Nate, Janice, and I take a coffee break on the picnic table outside. Nate sits on the table itself, instead of the benches, and Janice follows suit.
I realize I can’t sit on the bench at their feet because that’s too weird, as would sitting on the opposite bench, facing their backs, so with a heavy sigh, I join them on the table.
They continue a conversation they’d been having inside.
“What kind of instrument would you be, Bev?” Janice asks. “If you could be an instrument?”
“A banjo?” I’ve never been good at games like this.
I’m embarrassed and expect Nate to ridicule me. Instead, he surprises me. Very seriously, his gray eyes appraise me. “No, you’d be a theremin,” he says.
“What the fuck is a theremin?” I ask, trying not to sound too insulted.
“That UFO music they play in the movies,” Janice explains.
While it shouldn’t bother me, a low boil starts to burn my blood. “I remind you of UFO music?” I ask Nate.
Before he can answer, Chandra peeks her head out the front door. “Bev, can I speak with you?”
I hop off the bench and follow Chandra inside.
The fact that she leads me into her office tips me off that this isn’t good. After working with Chandra this past year, I know that she thinks I’ll ask a lot of questions that she doesn’t want the others to hear.
“Please have a seat, Bev,” she says, gesturing at the seats.
I choose the one I always do and try to ignore the sound of my heart hammering in my ears.
As I sit, I notice the stack of romance books she’s shoved in the corner of her desk. Maybe I should ask for a recommendation. Maybe if I show interest, she’ll have mercy on me. Tamper down whatever bad news she might deliver .
Her voice startles me from my thoughts. “There’s a dog we want to intake,” she says. “From the south. Fucking horrific living conditions. Tied on a small chain. Found with his mom next to him. Except she was dead. He must have been living next to her as she decomposed for a number of days.”
“People,” I mutter. “How could someone do this?”
She nods in agreement.
“How old is he?” I ask, hoping he’s a puppy because they’re easier to adopt.
“Between one and two years old. They’re not sure exactly.”
Ugh, not great. That age will make it harder for him to find a home. He’ll have puppy energy, no training, but without the puppy-ness.
“The owner had been calling him Cody, which was short for ‘ C’mon and die already .’”
I start to feel sick. I don’t know if I want to know anymore.
“He’s probably going to be a handful,” she says. “No socialization with people. At least the good kind. And limited with other dogs. Not to mention, his sense of the world is going to be very small since he’s only been on that small chain.”
“When does he arrive?” I ask, eager to start training, nurturing, and showing him that there’s good in this cruel world too.
“Well, that’s the thing.”
Oh no, here we go.
“Our contacts there,” she says, “think he’s too sick to fly. And they don’t have the capacity to drive him. Which means we need to pick him up.”
I’m nearly out of my chair. “I’ll take the van! ”
“Hold up, hold up.” She makes a calming gesture, and I retreat back into my chair.
She pauses and then says, “You’ll take Nate with you.”
“What?” I say, sounding more outraged than expected. The man just said I reminded him of UFO music. And now I have to spend however many hours in the car with him?
“Plus, by law, you can’t drive more than eight hours. Remember how you can’t work longer than eight-hour shifts?”
“Yeah.” Dread prickles the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Well, of course, there’s construction on the way down. But not on the way back. So this means on the way down, you’ll have to stay overnight because you’ll exceed the eight hours. But don’t worry! I’ve already made arrangements, and I’ve reserved two separate motel rooms.”
I’m not quite sure how much time has passed after she said, “Two separate motel rooms.” My jaw feels as if my mouth is cranked open, but surely, I’m not that much of a cliché?
If she takes note of my jaw, I can’t tell, because she continues, “You’re to leave tomorrow morning. Tell Nate. I’ll email you both the arrangements, including the motel accommodations.”
I want that promotion. I really want that promotion, I remind myself.
“Great,” I squeak. I stand from the chair and sneak out of the room as if she can’t notice me, then she can’t make any more horrifying requests.
Outside, Nate still sits on the picnic table. “Actually, the history of guitars is far more complicated…” he trails off when he sees me .
Janice turns to look, and she must see something in my expression because she pushes herself up from the table with some effort. I know she has a bad knee. “Break time is over!” she announces happily. And makes a dramatic exit back into the building.
“What?” Nate asks.
I explain to him that we have to go pick up a dog, over ten hours away.
“Well, what’s the problem?” he asks when I finish, his steely gray eyes looking me over.
I collected gemstones as a kid. Mostly mica, and a few other rocks. There was one called “specular hematite,” and I remember its little bio read, “The rock that glitters the most under the sun.” Well, his eyes are that color.
I don’t bother answering because it seems so obvious to me. But then I pause on it. What is the problem?
So what is the problem? We’re both adults. We’ll have separate rooms. Sure, we’ll be forced to spend unwanted time together. But worse things happen in the world. So what is my problem?
Is it the way his shirts aggressively hug his muscles? The look of concentration on his face when he gets that level of focus? Or how he arrives at work early each day, which is completely unexpected, and quite frankly, baffling?
I can make arrangements for my dad too. Viktoria is set to work that day, and another nurse has stayed overnight with him before, which is possibly even overkill, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
“The problem is…” It’s my turn to trail off. “The MBAS van isn’t in the best shape.”
“We’ll take my jeep. ”
I want to protest, but his jeep is nice. Really nice. But still, something nags at me. It feels like there’s a big problem here, a danger in spending this time together, but I don’t quite know how to verbalize it. All I know is that I want him to feel it too. “Don’t you feel it?” I blurt, meaning the problem, the very huge problem, we’re facing.
His cool, gray eyes land on my mouth, and a strange thrill zips through me. “Yes,” he says simply.
I’m not quite sure what we’re talking about anymore. “Goodbye,” I say suddenly. It is time to leave anyway.
“Bye,” he calls after me. “I’ll pick you up at 7.”
My stomach weirdly somersaults, and I wonder if I’ll have a hard time falling asleep tonight.