8. Noah - February
EIGHT
Noah - February
SOMEONE TO STAY - VANCOUVER SLEEP CLINIC
This year, Valentine’s Day landed on a Friday, allowing me to send the kids home to their parents to handle the aftermath of their sugar highs over the weekend. My day was filled with the joyful chaos of card exchanges and laughter. Excitement buzzed through the classroom, leaving colorful paper hearts and glitter scattered across every surface.
For a few fleeting hours, my students warmed my heart, softening the sharp edges of loneliness.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t just an overhyped excuse to celebrate love—it was a glaring reminder of what I didn’t have and what I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly had. It was just me, alone.
But even alone didn’t feel like the right word.
Single.
Was I single?
Being single implied a breakup, some kind of conversation—an argument, or at least closure.
I had nothing.
The FBI questioning me months ago left me anxious and angry, but Dorian’s revelation of John’s true identity felt like my world had been obliterated.
Since then, the news broke. Everyone knew John was a murderer. More victims were linked to him—each death disturbingly similar.
They were all warped versions of Sleeping Beauty—painfully pretty and perfectly posed.
And that’s what gnawed at me whenever I was alone with my thoughts.
Was I an exception? A placeholder? Or just the biggest fool in his elaborate, deadly lie?
The FBI offered no answers, only curt acknowledgments and a vague promise that they were working on it. But I wasn’t sure what was worse—knowing the truth or being left to fill in the gaps with my imagination. And on days like today, when love seemed to exist in every corner of space, those gaps seemed especially wide.
A lump formed in my throat, and tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously.
I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in the only space that brought me joy.
Instead, I let out a breath, straightened a stack of glitter-covered papers, and told myself that Monday would come soon enough.
I shook my head and stepped out of the classroom, my footsteps echoing faintly in the empty hallway. Pushing open the front doors, I was met by the cool drizzle of a typical Seattle afternoon.
Memories of John played on a relentless loop in my mind. Despite months of therapy, a part of me still felt irreparably broken.
My mother loved him as her own; my dad became the only father figure he’d known, guiding him in his career and helping John get a job at his company.
The rain fell in heavy drops as I walked through the overcast streets, the fading light of the February afternoon guiding me toward my apartment.
My apartment—not mine and Dotty’s anymore.
She moved out, and I couldn’t blame her—she’d found her happily ever after, but I now had to face this new reality on my own. She’d invited me more than once to join her in Woodstone Falls. But I couldn’t.
I needed to prove, even if it was only to myself, that I wasn’t running away.
As I walked, a faint whimper caught my attention from an alley to my right. I hesitated, but curiosity and concern nudged me closer. The small cries grew louder, fragile and desperate against the sound of the rain. I moved carefully toward the sound.
Then I saw it—a dog, crumpled on the cold, wet ground. Its wide, frightened eyes locked onto mine, pleading silently for help. Something in that gaze twisted deep in my chest, a reflection of the loneliness I’d been carrying.
Abandoned. Vulnerable. Lost in a world that clearly turned its back on him. The same ache in my heart, the weight of betrayal and solitude—it was all there, reflected in his limp body.
But here, at least, I could do something. I couldn’t fix my broken pieces, but I could help him.
He was a small Shiba, his wet fur matted with mud. A patchwork of browns and black marked his coat while his eyes were a deep brown. He tried to stand but refused to put weight on one of his legs, clearly injured.
“Hey there, buddy,” I murmured, reaching out a tentative hand. He flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you.” I knelt beside him.
I pulled out my phone, the chill biting at my stiff fingers.
Should I look up an emergency vet? Call animal control?
The rain poured harder, each drop striking the screen that blurred the display. My fingers fumbled uselessly, the moisture making every swipe a struggle.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
My breath hitched as I stared at the glowing mess, the answer nowhere in sight.
I stopped, forcing myself to take a deep breath. Panicking wouldn’t help me or this dog.
Then suddenly, I remembered—Dorian was a vet.
Of course he was.
I’d even blurted out some awkward comment about him liking puppies…
Now is not the time to revisit that particular train wreck of a memory.
Dorian could help, at least tell me what to do. I felt an immediate rush of relief and dread all at once.
I tapped his name, holding the phone to my ear, hoping he’d answer quickly. I continued to pet the dog’s side, my breaths more even now.
He answered on the second ring, his voice a low timbre. “Hello?”
“Dorian, I need your help,” I said, keeping one hand on the dog’s side, feeling the faint rise and fall of his breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“I found a dog in an alley near my apartment. He’s hurt and… I’m… I’m not sure what to do.”
“Is he bleeding?” he asked, his tone immediately shifting to one of focused concern.
“I don’t think so,” I replied, peering through the gloom to better assess the dog’s condition. “But his paw looks broken, and he’s really dirty and scared.”
“Are you close to your apartment?”
“Yeah, just a few blocks away,” I replied.
“Okay,” he replied. “I know a vet nearby. Send me your location.”
I tapped at my phone, quickly sending off my cross streets. “Okay, just sent it.”
“Got it. Let me get ahold of her.”
“Yeah, of course. Thanks,” I said, and then the line went dead.
A few minutes later, he called me back to let me know someone was on the way. He then guided me through each step, carefully explaining how to keep the dog comfortable and what to do until she arrived.
I followed his instructions. His patience was a tangible force, grounding me in the moment.
For a few seconds, the noise in my head quieted as I focused. A silence stretched between us, and I found myself absently rubbing the dog’s side.
Finally, Dorian’s voice broke through the silence. “Noah?”
“Yeah?”
He paused, and I could hear the slight shift, like he was carefully choosing his next words. “Are you sure he’s a boy?” He chuckled, giving me something to focus on.
I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. I looked down at the dog, his head resting on my knee, and gently examined him. “I guess I just assumed,” I said, the tension slowly unwinding as I focused on the task at hand. “But definitely a boy. Poor guy’s had a rough day.”
“You’re doing great. Sarah should be there soon.”
“Thanks,” I replied, a sigh of relief slipping out. “Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“You can always call me,” he said. A beat of silence passed before he added, “How have you been?”
“I’m fine,” I said, giving him the default answer everyone had received from me lately.
“I’ve been think—” There was a sudden silence on the other end. Then he said, “Worried about you.”
“I’m good, really,” I said, the lie slipping off my tongue a little too quickly. “Thanks for checking in, though. It means a lot.”
There was another pause, but this one felt different. “Well… I’m glad you’re doing okay,” Dorian said, his tone quieter, like he was giving me space but still reaching out.
My heart gave an unexpected flutter, something about his voice doing things I wasn’t ready for.
Nope, not again.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice a little softer than usual. “Me too.”
I focused on keeping the dog calm, continuing to murmur softly to it. The rain fell steadily around us. I was soaked, but I hardly noticed as I kept my attention on the dog, my heart aching for the pain he was in.
The patter of rain was broken by the sudden flash of headlights cutting through the mist. They shimmered on the wet pavement as the car slowed to a stop nearby, the tires swishing through the water.
“Looks like she’s here now. I’ll let you go. Thank you,” I said.
“I’ll check in later. Let me know how it goes,” he replied.
Sarah, the vet, stepped out with an umbrella and a smile, her presence comforting. Together, we gently lifted the dog into her car, careful not to jostle his injured paw.
“Let’s get you both out of this weather,” Sarah said kindly, nodding for me to join her.
We drove to her clinic, where she quickly took the dog inside for a thorough examination, and I felt a sense of relief knowing the dog was in capable hands.
After a few hours, a vet bill I hadn’t anticipated, and a stop at the pet store for supplies, I found myself back at my apartment with an unexpected new companion. He wasn’t registered to anyone. I posted to a few local lost and found pet pages, but Sarah said it was rare that a dog in this condition was lost, most likely abandoned.
But at least now, he was cleaned up and bandaged, curled up next to me on the couch. Luckily, nothing too serious seemed to be wrong—just a sprained ankle and some scrapes.
I quickly typed out a message to Dorian to update him. His reply came almost instantly, making me smile, despite the exhaustion tugging at me.
Me
He is doing well now, and I apparently have a new pet, assuming no one claims him.
Dorian
Glad to hear it went well. Think of a name yet?
Me
No, any suggestions?
I paused, taking a quick picture, his floppy ear all askew, and hit send.
Dorian
He looks like a Stewart to me.
Me
Stewart is an awful name.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion. It felt good to smile again outside my classroom.
Dorian
Fair enough. What about Walker? It’s a strong name.
Me
You really think he looks like a Walker?
Dorian
Absolutely. Got that kind of serious vibe, you know?
He stretched out on his side, chewing at the edge of the blanket.
Me
Hmm, I don’t know. I think he’s got a bit more mischief in him than serious.
Dorian
Mischief, huh? Could be a sign you two are a perfect match.
I smiled at that. Maybe he was right. The dog might be exactly what I needed in my life right now.
Me
Ha, funny. *eye roll*
Dorian
I’ll let you decide, but my vote’s on Walker.
He now nestled against my leg, his head resting lightly on my knee. He looked so peaceful, and it seemed like we were starting to build some rapport. I reached down and gently scratched behind his ear, earning a soft, contented sigh from him.
“What do you think, buddy? How does Walker sound?”
He lifted his head slightly at the sound of my voice, his ears perking up as if he understood. He gave a content whine, then nuzzled closer to my side, his tail giving a small thump against the couch. It wasn’t exactly a verbal answer, but it was close enough.
ME
Yeah, I think Walker it is.
The thought of Walker, all alone just a few hours ago, now curling up beside me, brought a strange feeling of peace.
It was a connection, simple and uncomplicated. Something that didn’t carry the weight of my past or the noise in my head. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it—how much I needed him—until I wasn’t alone anymore.