Must Love Dogs: New Leash on Life (15 page)

Chapter

Eighteen

John picked up Horatio so that I could walk into the condo first. I tried not to notice that he held him like a baby. I distracted myself by rummaging in the depths of my shoulder bag for the Dog Biscuit in a Bag.

Once I
'd walked myself over the threshold, John carried Horatio over and put him down on the floor. He held on to Horatio's leash. I realized it was probably impractical for him to do this whenever I was in the condo, but perhaps we could discuss the possibility of installing brushed chrome hitches in every room so we could tie him up. That way Horatio could still hang out with us, but I'd be more likely to stay alive.

"
Okay," John said. "First, I want you to claim Horatio's favorite toys."

"
Excuse me?" I said.

"
When you claim his toys you'll essentially be claiming a higher rung on our pack ladder."

I
'd broken up enough knockdown drag-out preschooler fights over favorite toys to know that this was madness, pure and simple. I was glad I'd thought to shut my equipment bag in John's walk-in closet, because no matter what John said, reciprocity was off the table here. I had absolutely no intention of sharing my own favorite toys.

"
How about we make that our back-up plan?" I took a step toward the kitchen. It was time for me to channel my inner Suzy Homemaker and bake up some canine confections.

John reached out and put a hand on my forearm.
"Trust me."

I sighed. I squatted down and reached a tentative hand toward the toy basket.

Horatio snarled at me and leaped, heading straight for my carotid artery.

John yanked the leash.
"Horatio, sit," he said calmly.

Horatio plopped his butt down on the hardwood floor and glared at me like I should offer to go get him a cushion.

"Okay," I said in the perkiest voice I could muster, "I think he's got the message now. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Ha, bet you never thought you'd hear those words come out of
my
mouth—"

"
Horatio, down," John said.

Horatio slid his front paws forward until he was stretched out on the floor. He didn
't fool me one bit. I could tell he was ready to pounce at any moment.

John turned his attention to me.
"Now pick up one of his toys and rub it all over yourself."

"
Eww." I said. "Like I want dog cooties."

He didn
't even smile.

I reached into the basket and pulled out a Frisbee. It was glow-in-the-dark green and had actually been personalized with Hor
atio's name in big white block letters. And John wondered why he had territorial issues?

Horatio made the rock-gargling sound again. I put the Frisbee on my head and twirled around, then pumped it up and down like a top hat. The growl got deeper. I rubbed the Frisbee up one arm, across my shoulders, then down the other arm. Horatio
's whole body vibrated. I put the Frisbee on the ground and sat on it. Horatio let out a painful whine.

"
Good dog," I said with a smirk.

"
Now lean over him to show your dominance."

I stood up and leaned over him. I might have enjoyed it more than I should have.

Horatio went limp, like a furry rag doll.

"
There it is," John whispered. "He's submitting to you."

"
Great," I said. I lowered my voice to a whisper and leaned a little closer. "I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, pup."

Horatio lunged for me. His teeth grazed my throat.

I screamed.

"
Horatio, sit," John said calmly as he gave the leash a little love pull.

"
That's it?" I said. "What happened to
Are you still alive, Sarah?
"

"
Okay, now I want you to walk calmly into the kitchen, open the dishwasher, and take out his dish. We'll be right behind you."

This was getting really old, but I did it anyway, just to get it over with. No matter what John said, once I finished feeding Hor
atio, I was drawing the line. And Horatio could forget about any barefoot baking of Dog Biscuits in a Bag tonight, too. I was going to settle in on the couch with a glass of wine. John could order takeout for dinner. The one big perk about being in the city was that restaurants actually delivered.

I opened the dishwasher and took out Horatio
's monogrammed stainless steel dog dish. It was freshly washed and sparkled not just with cleanliness, but with excess and indulgence. I had to admit it put my own dishes to shame.

Horatio gargled some more rocks.

"Okay," John said. "Now put the dish on the counter and open the refrigerator and take out a piece of that dark chocolate on the top shelf—"

"
Isn't chocolate supposed to make dogs really sick?" As soon as I said it, I wondered if I should have kept my mouth shut. Not that I wished food poisoning even on Horatio, but a small stomachache might be character building. And give him some time to think about the kind of dog he wanted to be.

"
There's a wedge of Stilton in the cheese drawer, too, if you'd rather."

I opened John
's fridge. "Not to tell you how to run your dog, but have you ever heard of dog food?"

"
It's chicken by-product-free, so it probably wouldn't hurt you, but I don't think we need to go
that
far."

I shut the refrigerator door. Then I closed my eyes.

One of my high school teachers used to say
dawn breaks over marble head
when the class finally got something. Because we were in Massachusetts, it was hard to tell whether he was saying marble head or referring to the town of
Marblehead
on the North Shore, so we were never completely sure whether or not we were being insulted.

This time I knew.
"You want me to eat from his freakin'
dog dish
?"

"
Just a few bites," John said.

"
Just a few bites?" I screamed. I took a step back. "What kind of sicko are you?"

"
It's clean," he said. "I ran it through the dishwasher. Twice."

"
You planned this?"

"
Of course I planned it. It's based on solid research. Eating from Horatio's food dish is the ultimate assertion of your superiority over him, the definitive claim on his turf."

I looked at John Anderson, the man I
'd just slept with, the man I thought I might even love.

"
Asking
me to eat from his food dish," I said slowly and carefully, taking the time to enunciate each word, "is the definitive end to this relationship."

I held my head high as I marched out of the kitchen to pick up my toys and go home. When I passed through the living room on the way to the hallway, I noticed the Peace, Love and Pinball pos
ter had been replaced with a framed sheet of paper covered in brightly colored smudges and paw prints. Horatio's puppy masterpiece—ha. My preschoolers could have done a better job with one hand tied behind their backs.

I locked myself in the master bedroom while I packed up my stuff.

John knocked on the door.

"
Oh, go eat with your dog," I said.

"
Sarah," he said.

"
Leave me alone."

"
Sarah," he said again. This time it sounded sad and wistful. Like punctuation at the end of a relationship.

People think it
's the big things that cause break-ups. Cheating or sexual identity issues. Instability. Incompatibility. Politics or religion.  But it can be smaller things, too. Things that you'd think would be totally resolvable, manageable, conquerable. Stupid little things.

Like Horatio.

I leaned my head against the door.

"
This is ridiculous," John said.

"
I agree," I said. "It's ridiculous and humiliating. And I can't handle it anymore."

I felt John lean his head against the other side of the door. We were, what, an inch or two apart? And light years away from each other.

"I think we need to walk through these next few moments very carefully," he said softly.

"
And I think you need to take your dog for a walk so I can get out of here in one piece."

He didn
't say anything.

"
Just give me ten minutes," I said. This didn't have to be high drama. We weren't living together. I didn't even have a change of clothes in his closet. As soon as John left I'd call a cab to get me to the nearest train station, so I didn't have to take a rubber chicken on the subway. Then I'd call Michael and get him to pick me up at the Marshbury train station. Tomorrow I'd call John's boss, tell him something came up, suggest that Keli take over with the Gamiacs.

Happy ending all around.
But my eyes teared up anyway.

It was John
's turn to talk, but he still hadn't said anything. Even Horatio was quiet. Of course he was. He'd won.

We stood like this for a while, separated by a slab of white-painted hardwood, frozen like a bad game of statues. I was thin
king about Kevin and the night he walked out for the last time. I wondered if John was thinking about his ex-wife. Maybe once you'd been through a divorce, it became the touchstone you always went back to when you were trying to gauge how bad something was.

John cleared his throat.
"You know why you're doing this, don't you?"

Now it was my turn not to say anything. There was nothing to say.

"Your brother needs you, the distance we live from each other, all of it. Think about it. Horatio is just one more excuse to push me away."

Chapter

Nineteen

Michael opened the back of his 4Runner and helped me stow all my stuff inside. When I
'd called his cell from the taxi, he'd still been at work, killing time before he drove to Logan to meet Annie and Lainie's flight from Savannah.

"
There's
my rubber chicken," he said with a grin. "I've been looking everywhere for that."

"
Ha." I hauled my weary body over to the passenger door and climbed in.

"
Thanks for giving me a ride," I said as we buckled our seatbelts. Michael had been waiting for me in front of his office building with his motor running when the cab driver dropped me off. Life didn't have to be complicated.

He put on his blinker to take a right on Congress Street.
"Not a problem. As long as you don't mind hitting the airport before we head back to your place."

"
Whatever," I said.

"Hey, you know that ice cream cake I put in your freezer? How long will it take to thaw?"

"
You're asking
me
?"

"
Never mind, I'll figure it out. Anyway, I stocked up on all of Annie and Lainie's favorite junk food, too. I figured I'd let them stay up late enough for a quick party. I even got balloons and party hats on my lunch break today. They'll probably think they're goofy as hell but I wanted to do it anyway. And I hope you don't mind, but I stole one of your poster boards last night after you were asleep to make a welcome home sign. I forgot to mention it this morning."

"You forgot to mention anything this morning. You were a total grouch, by the way."

"
Sorry about that."

I sighed.
"Yeah, well, I think I caught it from you, so don't expect too much from me tonight." I closed my eyes and tried to breathe my post-break-up headache away. The Dog Biscuit in a Bag I'd left on John's kitchen counter flashed before me.

"
I'm working remote most of the week so I can be with the girls, and Dad says they can hang out with him if anything comes up."

"
I'm pretty much open, too," I said.

Michael turned to look at me.
"Are you okay?"

I shrugged. The night went from getting dark to dark as we drove into the Sumner Tunnel. As much as I tried to tune it out, John
's voice was playing over and over in my head, like a bad talk radio show.
Think about it. Horatio is just another excuse to push me away.

Right. You ask me to eat out of your dog
's dish, and I'm pushing
you
away?

I
'd just finished peeling off my Ace bandage when we pulled into the central parking garage. I rolled up the bandage and tucked it into the glove compartment. It's not like I'd been faking it. Well, maybe a little. But now that Horatio was out of the picture, I didn't need it for even psychological reinforcement anymore.

"
Which airline?" I asked as we pulled into a spot in the short-term section.

"
US Airways." We pushed our doors open and climbed out of the 4Runner. Michael clicked the door locked and put the keys in his pocket. He'd shaved this morning and his haircut had softened enough that it no longer screamed New Haircut. He was wearing a nice pair of dress pants and a long-sleeved pale blue shirt with the cuffs rolled. Even if we weren't related, I'd think he was good looking. Once he got over Phoebe, someone would scoop him up in a heartbeat.

I winced as it hit me that Michael might find someone new b
efore I did. Our relationship would flip-flop once again, and he'd be the one taking care of me.

The elevator was stark and cavernous, a big step down from the one at
Necromaniac. We got out on Level 4 and rode the moving walkway across the pedestrian bridge to Terminal B. Mayor Menino's recorded mumble welcomed us to Boston, even though we'd been here all along.

We stopped in front of the first Arrivals screen we came to and looked up.

"On time?" I asked.

"
Seems like," Michael said.

I scanned until I found
Savannah
. "Flight 2345. 8:21 PM. Wow, it's already landed. We'd better get to baggage claim."

We rode yet another elevator down a level and found the ba
ggage carousel. Suitcases were already rolling out of the chute. Passengers surged as it circled past.

I tried to pick out the girls in the swirl of people.
"So how is this going to work?" I whispered to Michael. "Are we dropping Phoebe off or is she getting picked up by . . .." An image of Uncle Pete popped into my head and stopped me from finishing.

Instead of answering, Michael took out his cell phone.

I yawned. It had been a long day, and I couldn't wait to get home. With luck Annie and Lainie would sleep in and I could wallow for a while tomorrow before I had to fake the cheerful aunt. I'd been seesawing between anger and sadness since I'd left John's condo, and now I was just teetering in the middle, numb. What a stupid, stupid end to a relationship. I hoped Horatio was happy now.

Michael was intent on his phone, so I wandered off to make a quick visit to the restroom. I carefully avoided looking at myself in the mirror while I washed my hands, as if not seeing how bad I looked might keep me from feeling even worse than I already felt.

The luggage carousel was still moving when I came back out, but only one suitcase was riding around. It was a leopard print thing made out of some kind of hard material that made me think of a fiberglass boat.

I found Michael.
"Do you think they missed their flight?"

He shrugged.
"Must have. The last one from Savannah gets in at 10:18. We might as well go grab something to eat to kill some time."

"
Don't you think you should text Phoebe first to be sure?"

"
I already did." He flipped his phone from one hand to the other and then back again.

"
And?"

He shrugged again.
"They're probably up in the air."

"
Good clam chowder," Michael said.

I nibbled a corner of my quesadilla and took a long buttery sip of chardonnay. Michael was drinking water, but he was driving. And he hadn
't had my day.

We were seated at Legal C Bar, which we
'd been lucky enough to find on the pre-security side. It was dark and cozy, with red shades on the wall sconces and tables lit by candles tucked into amber glass holders. If you had to kill a couple of hours at the airport, and you had nothing better to do for the rest of your life anyway, you couldn't pick a better place.

Legal
C Bar was owned by Legal Sea Foods, and it was supposed to only feature "C" foods, things like chowder, crab, calamari, classic Caesar and clams. It was a nice idea, though it didn't quite translate to the menu, which also included lobster, mussels, and my grilled shrimp quesadilla. These are the kinds of inconsistencies that drive preschool teachers crazy, though I had to admit the food made up for it.

Michael checked his phone again. I
'd left mine buried at the bottom of my shoulder bag. If there were messages for me, I didn't want to know about them.

I sighed.

Michael sighed.

I took another bite of my quesadilla that didn
't start with the letter C.

"
God damn it, Phoebe," Michael yelled. "Pick up the phone."

His voice echoed in the almost empty baggage area. A un
iformed woman pushing a trash barrel on wheels looked over at him. It was almost 11:30 PM and the baggage carousel for Flight 2661 was circling around, empty and purposeless.

I could relate.

I watched Michael hit Redial again. I realized I should tell him to knock it off, but the only thing I had the energy to do was yawn.

"
Are you
sure
they were supposed to come home tonight?" I asked when I finished.

Michael just shrugged.

A thought worked its way through the fog surrounding my brain. I reached over and yanked his phone away.

"
Michael, when was the last time you talked to Phoebe?"

He shook his head. He ran his hand through what was left of his hair.
"When they landed."

"
Wait. You talked to her when they landed? Where was I?"

Michael folded his hands together, almost like he was going to confession.

He sighed.

He rubbed his eyes with his fists.

"When they landed in Savannah," he said softly.

"
What
," I screamed. "We've been sitting here all freakin' night and you didn't even know whether they were actually getting in tonight or not?"

"
That was the plan. Phoebe was going to text me the flight info."

"
That was the plan
a week ago
. And you haven't heard from any of them since?"

He shrugged.

I woke up Michael's phone with my thumb and pressed Redial. It rang and went to voicemail.

From the depths of my shoulder bag, my own cell rang. I gave Michael
's phone back to him and dug up mine.

I checked my Caller ID.

"What is your problem?" I yelled. "Why are you torturing my brother?"

"
I can't take it anymore," Phoebe said quietly. "Tell him to leave me alone. He can have the house. He can have everything. The girls and I are moving in with my parents."

"
What?
" I said. "You can't do—"

"
They can spend all their vacations with him. He can have them for every holiday." She let out a little sob. "Please, Sarah. He'll listen to you."