Charlotte Rogan - Now and Again

“We regret it, but that’s only because we’re back here. If we were over there, we’d do it all again.”

“Could be,” said Penn. “Could be you’re right.”

The two men stood for a while contemplating the night sky before resuming their patrol. Kelly said, “The other thing I think about is if Pig Eye killed himself on purpose. The blast was going to get him whether or not Danny stopped the truck. So my question is, did he sacrifice his life for ours?”

“Knowing him, he probably thought he’d come through it just fine. He liked to imagine escape scenarios.”

Kelly laughed. “Yeah. He prided himself on that.”

They had circled around past the car parts shop. Penn went back inside, after which Kelly spent a little longer mourning Pig Eye and the other men and what he had always thought of as stars but now imagined were swords from a murderous extraterrestrial race. And then for some reason he was thinking there must be pretty girls in New Jersey, girls who wouldn’t fall apart too easily when things got rough. He didn’t know where to find them, but somewhere out there, the love of his life was standing in the moonlight wondering what was taking him so long to find her.

9.1 Maggie

Maggie pulled a map of Phoenix out of its cellophane pouch, and after consulting it, she headed north. The bus station was located next to a busy airport. Planes were skirling overhead, and cars rocketed in all directions on roads that hadn’t been built with pedestrians in mind. When she finally succeeded in detaching herself from the airport’s grip, it was the pedestrians who surged around her with nearly lethal force, who knocked into her as they chased after unruly children or shouted into their cell phones or waved placards in her face and hissed, “Why are we rescuing animals when so many babies are being killed?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, thought Maggie. Why can’t people get along!

A red-faced woman thrust a pamphlet into her hand. A bearded man stood on the corner shouting, “Half the people entering an abortion clinic don’t come out alive!” Someone else said, “Let the baby choose!” while across the street, an equally enthusiastic band of counterprotesters carried competing signs and shouted slogans of their own.

A smile is like a rainbow, Maggie told herself. So she smiled at the bearded man. She smiled at the red-faced woman. She smiled at a girl who rushed after her spouting a complicated story and causing a narrow miss with a panel van. “I’m sorry!” Maggie called out to the driver, who waved a fist at her. It didn’t help that she hadn’t slept in over a day. It didn’t help to be sweaty and hungry and short of breath or that the heavy backpack was cutting into her shoulders and neck.

When a man in a Hawaiian shirt called out, “This way, this way,” she allowed herself to be swept up in a swarm of cheerful vacationers and into a large arena that smelled of freshly dug garden soil and sour beer and doughy concoctions frying in deep cauldrons of hydrogenated fat. Instead of asking to see her ticket, the ticket-taker opened the gate for her when her duffel caught on the turnstile. “Come on, come on,” he scolded. “You’re holding up the line!”

Inside the building, people were crowded around a railing stuffing food into their mouths and cheering on a pack of frantic-looking dogs that were racing around a wide dirt track. Maggie bought a cheese sandwich and ate it as people holding winning tickets elbowed past her to a row of cashier windows. Then she wandered around in search of a restroom and found herself in front of a long, skirted table covered with glossy brochures.

“Do you want to adopt one of the dogs?” asked a large woman who straddled a stool that was pushed back from the table to accommodate her paunch. “This is our annual adopt-a-thon.”

“No, no, I can’t,” said Maggie. “But why are they for sale?”

“They’re not for sale,” said the woman. “They’re free to a good home if you pay the veterinary charges and adoption fee and make a donation to the rescue center.”

Maggie picked up one of the brochures. Inside it were pictures of big-eyed dogs with bony faces and names like Little Bo’s Majestic Queen. Apparently the dogs, which had been bred for speed, were not young enough or hungry enough for victory, and their owners didn’t want them anymore. “I couldn’t give it a good home,” she said, putting the brochure back on the table.

The woman handed her a thick stack of photographs. “The dogs are in cages now. I’m pretty sure you could give it a better home than that.”

“At least they’re safe,” said Maggie.

“Actually, they’re not. The ones that aren’t adopted will be euthanized.”

Maggie riffled through the stack of photos she was holding. A dog’s name was written in black marker across the bottom of each one. “Dancing Dinero,” Maggie read from the top card. “That’s kind of a fancy name. What would you call him for short?”

“What about Dino? Dino is cute. But feel free to look through the entire stack. You might find a dog you like better.”

“I don’t really like dogs,” said Maggie.

“That’s like saying you don’t like babies,” said the woman, but all Maggie could think of was Tomás. She pictured him trotting along the sidewalk behind her or scratching at the screen door, hoping to be let inside the house.

“We take credit cards,” said the woman. “And debit cards and, of course, cash.”

Maggie had a pocket full of rainy-day money, but taking the animal was out of the question. “I don’t live in Phoenix,” she said. “I don’t even have a place to stay.”

“Then you can really empathize with these dogs,” said the woman. “Imagine that you not only didn’t have a place to stay, but that someone was waiting to haul you off and jab you with a lethal dose of pentobarbital if you couldn’t find someone to take you in.”

Maggie was silent. The woman beamed out her disapproval from across the table, while Dino stared mournfully up at her from the photograph.

“I’ll tell you what. If you adopt one of the dogs, I’ll tell you where you can stay for free. You’ll make back the adoption fee in just a night or two.”