Elizabeth Wrenn - Second Chance

‘Just talk to me. Try to forget they’re back there.’

Easier said than done with Heloise playing every part of The Backseat Opera . Plus, I didn’t know how to talk to men. I didn’t even talk to my husband anymore.

‘So, too bad about the Nuggets, eh?’ Oh, that was bright, Deena! I hated sports. I had just stated my sum total knowledge about Denver’s basketball team. Last night while chopping green pepper for the salad, I had overheard the television Matt was watching in the living room. The Nuggets had lost every road game and all but one at home this season. Even I knew that was bad.

‘Uh, I don’t really follow sports too much, Deena.’

I smiled with relief. ‘Me either, actually.’ I bit my lip, thinking, as Bill merged onto the interstate. Kids! ‘Tell me about your kids, Bill.’ Parenting was a subject I could converse in. Or at least commiserate in. On the drive down, he’d obliquely mentioned having kids, so I knew we had that in common. Heloise had switched to barking now. I couldn’t help but smile, thinking that this little puppy was using ambulance logic, switching from siren wails to horn blasts to get people’s attention.

‘Oldest is twenty-eight and working for a high-tech firm in Denver.’ He spoke calmly, but just over Heloise’s volume. ‘Next is twenty-six and in grad school. Next is twenty-four and in seminary. Youngest is fourteen and getting an advanced degree in hormones.’ Bill chuckled, darting driver’s glances at me. He must have read my face, revealing active calculation occurring in my brain. Numbers are not my strong suit, so it pretty much always looks like I’m chewing on a lemon rind when I do mental math.

‘Yeah, there’s a big jump there,’ he said, nodding and smiling. ‘My wife, now ex, went through a kind of withdrawal and, to be honest, it was kind of a last-ditch attempt to save our marriage. Glad we had Macie though. She’s a pistol, but a lot of fun. She has strong opinions on everything and lets you know ’em. But she’s been the most hands-on with the pups.’

I stared at this charming, handsome man next to me. This charming, handsome divorced man. Clearly after many years of marriage. I suddenly jerked upright, realizing I was twisting my wedding ring again, a nervous habit I’d had for the over two decades I’d worn it. But now a rush of guilt made me clasp my hands tightly in my lap for the remainder of the drive home.

SEVEN

Holding the surprisingly heavy and wobbling crate, I smiled weakly as Bill backed out of my driveway.

‘Okay, Heloise, we’re on our own,’ I told her. Matt and Lainey had already dashed inside, the door slamming behind them.

I hauled the crate into the kitchen, trying hard not to bump against the doorframe or swing her around too much. But she was standing, or trying to, inside the crate, which made her boat rock even more. Finally, I set the crate down on the tile floor.

‘Let’s let her out!’ said Matt, his workout bag over his shoulder.

‘Are you going to the rec center?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Are you going to let her out?’

Lainey arrived, saw Matt’s bag, and said, ‘Wait for me, Matt. I want to go too.’ She ran upstairs.

‘Mom?’ said Matt. I looked at him. ‘The dog?’

‘Uhh, I think I’ll wait,’ I said, as Lainey came thunking down the stairs and into the kitchen. ‘Let her get used to the place a bit first from in there.’ I glanced around for Hairy.

Lainey pulled on her brother’s sleeve, her gym bag in her other hand. ‘Let’s go, Matt. We wasted the whole day getting the stupid dog and now she’s just going to sit in the stupid box.’ They left together, leaving the wooden door open, the storm door closing behind them.

‘Be home for dinner,’ I shouted behind them, closing the door and returning to the kitchen. I squatted in front of the crate. ‘Hello, little girl. Welcome home.’ Inside, Heloise cocked her head. We both were motionless for a minute, the silence washing over us like a tonic. Heloise wasn’t barking or yipping or even whining.

I sat at the desk and looked at her packet of information. Forms for vet visits, and monthly reports, heartworm tablets, and a dozen or more information sheets that I shuffled through without really reading. Finally I found something interesting, Personal Information Sheet for ____. Heloise was handwritten in the blank.

Her parents’ names were Kaylor and Raspberry, also handwritten in blanks. I scanned down the page till I found what I was interested in. Heloise’s birthday was January 19, a little over a month after mine. I looked at the calendar on the wall and counted. She was ten weeks old.

Heloise whimpered. Still seeing nothing of Hairy, I figured he was snoozing in the sun somewhere. Heloise barked. ‘Hush now, girl.’ I squatted in front of the crate again and this time her whole body started wagging. ‘Way-aait. Way-aait.’ As I pinched open the metal grid door, Heloise shot out like a pea from a shooter, straight for me. I realized, too late, that if I’d been kneeling she wouldn’t have knocked me over so easily. I looked like a ready-to-be-roped calf, my legs in the air, Heloise standing on my chest, licking me under the chin. I giggled like a schoolgirl as she covered my face with her sweet puppy breath and wet kisses.

‘Okay, girl, that’s enough,’ I gasped. I remembered Bill mentioning at one of the meetings that these dogs were bred to be very bold and confident and we weren’t supposed to let them jump up on us or be out of control. So much for that one. But she was so cute!

‘C’mon, girl.’ I sat up and lifted her above me, kissing her round belly. I guessed she weighed about the same as two small bags of flour, roughly ten pounds. I set her on the floor and heaved myself onto my feet. This would have been easier twenty years and thirty pounds ago. Heloise abruptly sat and chewed an itch on her haunches. Then she was still, legs splayed in a decidedly unladylike posture. She looked up at me, her liquid-chocolate eyes shouting, ‘That was fun! What’s next?’

‘Here, girl.’ I walked across the kitchen, calling. ‘Here, Heloise! Come!’ She sat for a moment, looking like she was expecting another roll on the floor and would wait, thank you, for that.

‘Here, girl, c’mon!’ I cajoled, slapping my jeans.

She cocked her head briefly, then bounded over to me, her tail a waving flag of anticipation and delight.

‘Good girl!’ I said, patting her side.

‘Hey, girl, look here.’ I showed her the water bowl. I’d set it on a flowered plastic tray to try to contain some of the splatter I knew was inevitable. She lapped some water with gusto, her whole body participating in looping her tongue under the water then flipping it up into her mouth. Finally she stepped back, dripping like a moose, dribbling water in a neat line outside the tray. I grabbed a paper towel and started to wipe it up, but Heloise immediately began biting at the paper. Still squatting, I scooped her up under my arm and wiped the water with the other hand as she squirmed. Suddenly a very bizarre sound filled the kitchen. Heloise and I both froze, my hand still on the paper towel, motionless on the floor. A low, guttural yowl, like a tremulous violin note in a suspense thriller, emanated from behind us. From her trapped position under my arm, Heloise twisted her head around my elbow to look behind us. Still squatting, I turned and looked, too. Hairy stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his excessive fur looking more excessive than ever.

His eyes were locked on the now-writhing yellow mass under my arm. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the hair around the cat’s neck swelled, making him look even more of a puffball than ever. Another low, meowing growl issued from deep within him. I understood him perfectly: What – the – hell – is – that?