Chapter 19
chapter nineteen
Charlotte
There’s a giant dog in my backseat.
Correction: there’s a giant, soaking wet dog in my backseat.
This would be a great time to have leather seats that wipe clean. Alas, my SUV has soft cloth seats, the cheapest option, and the only one I could afford. In the dim dome light of my car, I can already tell his muddy paw prints have made artwork all over the cloth.
And the smell.
“You smell terrible,” I say, still standing beside the driver’s seat. Rex is in my car, panting, tongue flopping out, tail slighting tapping against the seat. “Then again, I probably smell bad, too.”
I am soaked. I don’t even think my body gets this wet in the freaking shower. I take a deep breath, tasting rainwater which I try to wipe off with the sleeve of my shirt, but that too, tastes like rainwater. Okay. You can do this.
My teeth dig into my bottom lip, and I slowly slide into the driver’s seat. Rex doesn’t do anything. I grab the door handle and slowly close it. Now I’m inside my car with a scary dog. A scary dog known to have aggression issues. What am I thinking?
I couldn’t just leave him on the side of the road. He could have been hit by a car. He could get lost and never find his way back to Caleb’s.
Caleb! I open the glove box and find a couple old fast food napkins, which I use to dry off my hands and arms and face.
Then I try my phone again. One tiny little bar of signal appears every so often, and it’s chosen this moment to stay hidden.
I heave a sigh and try calling him anyway. Nope. Doesn’t work.
Rex’s breathing is loud against the sound of the storm outside. He’s panting heavily, looking kind of like a deranged hyena with his big eyes and matted down, drenched fur. Usually he’s fluffier and slightly more cuddly looking.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. He doesn’t appear to be bleeding or injured.
That’s good. He leans forward and I jump.
He keeps going, head coming closer and closer and oh my God, he’s going to eat me—wait…
no…he sniffs my face. It’s probably only a few seconds but feels like forever.
I close my eyes, holding very still, hands on the steering wheel, trying not to move like I’m in the Jurassic Park movie and there’s a giant velociraptor tracking me down.
He smells all over my face and then lays down.
I exhale. “Good boy,” I whisper. “Let’s get you back home.”
With trembling hands, I drive toward the Alden’s. Just be cool, I tell myself. No sudden movements. In the backseat, the smelly dog relaxes. He’s still panting pretty heavily, but he looks like he can finally rest.
“How long have you been out here?” I say softly. His head turns toward me and I shut up. Just be cool, Charlotte. If I call too much attention to myself, he might decide to bite me. What am I even supposed to do if he does start growling? Jump out of the car and run?
Oh gosh. I am so in over my head. I slow down, carefully turning onto the county road that leads to Alden Brothers K9.
My headlines shine on something massive in the roadway.
In the space my wipers clear off every two seconds, a giant pine tree is revealed.
I squint through the rain. The wind has knocked over the tree, which is blocking the entire road.
I slow to a stop. There aren’t any other cars out here and I haven’t seen anyone else stupid enough to be driving since I dropped mom off at her house.
I don’t need to get out to know I’m not strong enough to move the thing.
It’s freaking huge, with giant branches sprawling out all over the road.
The branches are longer than my car. The ditches on either side of the road are filled with water, so there’s no driving around it, not that my SUV could do any off-roading.
I check my phone again. I call Caleb even though there’s no signal and of course it doesn’t go through. Okay. Deep breath. I’ll take the long way around.
Rex watches me just as intently as I watch him in my rearview mirror.
I slowly back up, turn around, and try to turn down another road that will loop back to the other side of this road, only it’s blocked with even more downed trees.
The main road that led me here is much wider, so no trees have blocked the path, but all these little county roads are rendered completely undriveable.
I try calling Caleb every thirty seconds. I send off a dozen texts but all of them are met with the red warning that they didn’t go through. In the backseat, Rex stays comfy, and his breathing slows. He might even be asleep by now.
I can’t believe I’m doing this but… I drive home.
It’s three in the morning when I make it to my apartment, and the rain has finally slowed down a bit. The wind isn’t as terrible, and my wipers don’t have to fling themselves at superhero speed to combat the water. I park and Rex immediately jumps up, tail thumping against the window.
“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do,” I tell him. “I will open your door and you’ll walk with me to my apartment door. You’re not going to run away, okay? You gotta stay right by me.”
Rex tilts his head. I am not speaking his language. I really wish I had a dog leash in here, or even something to use as a leash, but my shoes don’t even have laces. If he runs, I’m screwed. If he gets angry, I’m screwed.
I call Caleb again but it doesn’t go through.
What was the word he used to make Rex heel?
Sit sounds just like Sit but with a z on the end. He says “platz” a lot, but that’s the lay down command. I know I’ve seen him say something that makes Rex immediately stick to his side in a heel command.
My teeth dig into my lip until it bleeds.
Foos!
It’s now or never. I get out of the car and Rex’s tail wags harder, making my whole car shake. I crack open the back door and say, “Foos!”
He leaps out onto the concrete. “Foos,” I say again. “Rex, foos!”
He does just what he’s told. Tail wagging, he stands by my leg and looks up at me. “Let’s go.”
I make it to my door, hands trembling so hard it takes longer than usual to unlock it.
Rex stays beside me the whole time, watching my every move.
When the door opens, a little part of me wants to shove him inside, close the door behind him and sit out here, safely away from him until Caleb can come take him home.
But I’m way too cold and wet and miserable.
“Be a good boy,” I tell him as we walk inside. It’s more of a plea, than a command. “Please be a good boy.”
Rex immediately checks out my apartment, leaving wet dog paw prints all over the tile floor.
He starts in the kitchen, sniffing everything high and low, then slowly sniffs his way through my small living room.
He sniffs the bathroom and my bedroom, spending a lot of time on my nightstand.
I am frozen near the door, still wondering if I should lock him in here and run away.
But after a ten minute sniff-a-thon, he comes back to the living room and lays down on the floor.
I exhale.
“You want some water?” I ask. I would probably be just as lost if I suddenly found myself taking care of an actual human baby.
I don’t know how to do any of this, but dogs like water, and Caleb is always giving him something to drink, so I pour a bowl of water and he slurps it all quickly, big golden eyes watching me as if saying thank you.
Then he lays back down and starts licking his paws.
I have to get out of my soaking wet clothes, but I’m scared to leave Rex’s sight in case he decides to destroy the place the way he destroyed the fence in his kennel the other day.
With the bathroom door wide open, I take a quick hot shower, peeking out at him every few seconds.
He’s just chilling there, so my anxiety eases a little bit.
I dry off, put on some clean leggings and a sweatshirt and feel like a whole new person after spending an hour in the pouring rain.
When the hair dryer clicks on, Rex gets up and curiously walks over to the bathroom.
I’ve always been afraid of dogs, but Rex is the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.
He’s like a wolf. Terrifyingly huge with teeth so long they’d definitely go straight to the bone in one bite.
He sniffs the hair dryer in my hand, but doesn’t seem mad about it.
“You smell terrible,” I tell him. Wet dog smell is always bad, but this is a huge wet dog. My whole apartment smells like wet dog.
“You want some of this?” I say, pointing the hair dryer at him.
His tail wags. He doesn’t shy away from the blast of heat.
Maybe it even feels good for him, because he turns his side to me, as if asking me to dry him off.
That’s when I remember the grooming section of Alden Brothers K9.
They have these big blow dryer machines.
Max once told me the dogs love getting blown off because it blows out all the loose hair and feels good on their skin.
I spend the next half hour alternating between drying my own hair and giving Rex a blast of hot air on his fur.
If I take too long on my own hair, he paws at my leg.
I laugh, sitting on the edge of the tub so my hair is level with his head.
I turn the dryer toward both of us, trying to dry us both at the same time, but it doesn’t work well.
Dog hair flies all over my bathroom, making a total mess, but Rex loves every second of it.
My hair gets tangled since I can’t brush it at the same time, but at least we’re getting warm and dry.
That deep, unshakable fear in my chest started the day I got attacked by a dog as a child.
It’s been there every day since, rearing up uncontrollable panic anytime a dog is around me.
Once Rex and I are dry and back in the living room, he lays down on the floor right in front of me on the couch.
I yawn, tapping out more unsendable texts to Caleb, and my whole body is ready for sleep.
I peer down at Rex and wonder what’s different. After a long moment, I realize what’s changed.
The fear is still there, but it’s not the same feeling. I’m not worried about my own safety right now. I’m worried for Rex.