Chapter 15
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Nate
We arrive at the shelter a little after 7pm. The parking lot is empty, which should be no surprise, but it still makes the building seem lonely. I’m actually beginning to feel sorry for the animals inside. Not because they’re mistreated at MBAS or anything, but even though everyone tries to provide the best they can, it still doesn’t compete with a home. Or maybe I’m just projecting my own loneliness: My road trip with Bev has come to an end, but I’m not ready to part ways with her yet. I want to stay together longer—even if it’s only a few hours.
Not to mention—if I’m not still projecting—I must steel myself against any sympathy for anything, especially the MBAS animals. It only makes life more complicated and that’s the last thing I need.
We shuffle out of the car, stiff from sitting so long, and let Moose out for a quick potty break, which he doesn’t exactly take. In the meantime, Bev explains how we have to quarantine Moose from the other dogs in case he’s carrying kennel cough or whatever it is. There’s a special quarantine room for this.
I try to focus on her words and not her body, not her eyes. I try to make the words sound as clinical as possible in my mind, “ quarantine ” and “ kennel cough ,” because I want them stripped of vibrancy, stripped of anything like chemistry, or aliveness. Basically, anything Bev. I don’t want to be turned on any more than I already am. After all, she came last night, but I didn’t. And that’s fine. I’m not owed anything. Not entitled. I’m just horny out of my damn mind.
I expect the quarantine room to have a big window like the other rooms, but instead, as soon as we enter, I realize it’s depressing as hell. There are no windows, only tattered toys, and flickering florescent lighting. A kennel is in the corner.
I set Moose on the ground, but he absolutely refuses to go into the kennel. He’s not food motivated, so no amount of treats will work.
“Should I just put him inside?” I ask.
Bev plays with her wiener necklace as she thinks about what to do. She nods.
I pick him up and gently place him inside the kennel.
As I close the door to the kennel, Moose stares at me like, “How could you?”
I try to ignore the look of betrayal in his big, brown eyes. But I also can’t seem to make my hand close the door.
“I’ll text Chandra,” Bev says. “We already tried to find him a place for the night, but the island isn’t that big, so there’s not a lot of options. The people who summer here are less likely to help out, and many aren’t even here yet. But maybe someone came up. ”
She texts Chandra, and I still grip the door in my hand. Leaving him feels so wrong.
Ding! Bev’s phone. She checks and then reads the message out loud, “Sorry but no one came through this time. I’d take him, but my niece is staying with me. She’s just a toddler. It’d be too risky. He’ll be okay for one night. He’s already made it through so much. And he’s been cleared by a vet. Thanks for picking him up.”
Bev texts back, and then we both sit for a moment in silence.
Moose whimpers from within the crate.
My heart sinks, and I’m unable to peel my eyes away from him. “We can’t just leave him.”
“I already have a cat at home,” she says. “My baby, Feline Dion.”
“Feline Dion?” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
“Like the singer? Celine Dion?”
“Yeah, like Celine Dion.”
I’m about to ask if she named the cat or the shelter named the cat, but I already know the answer to that question.
“Anyway,” she continues. “We have to quarantine Moose. This is the only place to do it. Unless…”
“No.” I hold up my hands. “Absolutely not.”
And so here we are—yet again—in my car driving to my house with Moose in my lap. I don’t know why this keeps happening. Why my “no’s” turn into “yes’s” when it involves Moose and Bev.
Am I beginning to crumble under the weight of sympathy?
Moreover, though, I feel pretty nervous about this. What if I’m not paying attention for a minute, and he drowns in my pool? Or gets killed by Louise who has managed to escape to MBAS? “I’ve never done this before,” I say.
“You’ll be fine.”
“My mom would kill me if she found out. He’s really dirty.”
“They get dirty during transport because they often don’t know not to use the bathroom…” she trails off.
“You’re telling me he’s covered in poo?”
“Relax. They gave him a bath already. It’ll probably take more than one bath to get him clean though.”
I try not to think of what all could be on him. “Will you help me?”
She sighs. “I’ll check with my dad and his nurse. If it works for them, then I’ll help.”
What I don’t tell her: a part of me is sad to say goodbye. I know I’ll see her in the morning, but we’ve shared nearly two days together, side-by-side. And then she’s going to be…gone. It fills me with dread.
I realize, like a punch in the gut, I haven’t felt this kind of dread about anyone since Bev.
This is where it gets complicated though. I have one thing I’m good at: music. It’s not like I can just apply for a banking position and get it. I have this narrow skill set. And I want to be a musician. I like being on tour. I enjoy playing sold out shows at MSG or any of the other big arenas, which have capitalist names like, Wells Fargo or Lincoln Financial. Even with my stage fright, I know this is my calling. I can’t just give up on it. Not to mention, we never properly finished our last tour. When my court appointed community service is over in about five months, I’ll have to leave Melody Bay .
I try to remind myself, People say goodbye all the time . Half of families are spread across the country, including mine. Goodbyes have become a way of life. But that doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make the expiration date stamped all over this any more palatable.
Which leaves me in a quandary—one of my favorite words to use in lyrics.
If I start something with her and leave, I know she’d never forgive me. And I don’t want to hurt her.
So what does that mean? Do I just drop it? Try not to feel what I feel? Do I see if she’d be open to exploring stuff for a limited amount of time, all the while, knowing I’d leave at some point? My guess is that she wouldn’t exactly be up for that either.
She makes a right hand turn down my long driveway with immaculate landscaping on each side. Some yellow flowers—I don’t know their names—pop with blooms.
Moose whines, startling me from my thoughts, and I wonder if he can feel my body tense when I think about my future with Bev.
She parks the car and hops out, stretching her legs.
Ding! My phone.
Arjun : Dude, how was it?
Me : Best road trip of my life
Arjun : Did you finally talk about that kiss? Remember? The infamous kiss from high school?
Me : Oh I remember
She knocks on the window. “Hey,” she says.
I look up. “Just responding to a text.”
“Let’s see if he’ll potty before going inside,” she says.
He’s fast asleep in my lap, wrapped in his blanket, so I have to wake him. I’m a bit surprised he didn’t jump awake like he did earlier anytime I moved .
“Hey buddy.” I rub his bony back.
His brown eyes flicker open, and I swear when he sees me, he lights up with a little dog smile. Even my cold heart can’t help but warm at that.
As I turn off my phone’s screen, I notice texts below Arjun’s that I haven’t seen. I scroll through them. They’re all about that bunny video—when I sang to get Sir Carrots back. In one, my sister asks if Sir Carrots is okay, and a slew of other people ask if they can adopt him. I’ll answer them after Bev leaves. But it occurs to me: How many people have seen that video?
I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly uneasy. Could this somehow be a harbinger of bad things to come?
But I’m so happy next to Bev. She hasn’t left for the night yet, so it’s hard to worry, even if I should.