Strays (18 page)

“Did anyone else have access to the account?” asked Jake, still refusing to believe that I had nothing to do with this.

“It's my account. I mean, the only other person on the account is…”

The wheels in my head were spinning faster than I could catch up with them. My cosigner. The only other person who had access to this account until I turned eighteen was my dad.

The pieces of the puzzle came together, first in fragments and then in large chunks. It was Dad—the same guy who was always lecturing me about doing the right thing and making the right choice.

My own father had taken money from me.

My college endowment was gone.

Dad had stolen my future.

I left Talbot with the teller at the counter and ran out of the bank. Talbot was chasing after me.

“Hey! Slow down!” she yelled.

But I continued running.

“Iris! Stop!”

I listened.

“What happened in there?” asked Talbot when I sat down on the grimy curb in front of Streetlight, a used record store. “What's going on?”

“My dad. He's the one who took the money.”

She seemed as shocked as I was that my dad had been capable of this. Both of us were stunned into silence.

“Maybe your mom could talk to him. She wouldn't let your dad do something like this.”

The last thing I wanted to talk about was my mom.

“You don't know anything about my mom,” I said rudely.

“No, I don't—because you never tell me anything. I haven't even met your parents. I never come over to your place. I'm kind of getting a complex, Iris. Am I that much of an embarrassment to you?”

I knew I'd been vague with her about my family situation, but she acted so nonchalant about it I didn't realize she had been taking it personally.

It was time to tell her the truth.

“You don't get it,” I said. “There
is
no Mom,” I finally confessed. I didn't care about hiding my secret any longer. I was too upset.

Talbot looked confused.

“She's dead,” I clarified.

Talbot put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. Iris, I'm so sorry.”

“Just don't,” I said.

“I'm not trying to offend you.”

“Well, you are,” I said.

Talbot's expression turned from empathetic to suspicious. “I don't understand. Why would you lie about your mom being alive?”

Instead of dealing with her question head-on, I turned it around and made it about her.

“I don't know, Talbot. Why would you lie to me about Mr. Ettinger? He's not in jail. He's still at Clark, teaching summer school.” I knew I should be focusing on the situation with my dad, but it seemed easier to shift the blame to Talbot since she was the one sitting next to me. I had become an attack dog, jumping at any chance to tear my friend apart.

“Who told you?” she asked quietly.

“It doesn't matter,” I said. Then I asked, “Do you still love him?”

Talbot shook her head. “It was never really love, just infatuation. I thought if I talked about it enough I'd be able to control the situation. I tend to get fixated on guys. I never meant for my feelings toward Mr. E. to become so out of control. I'm just so embarrassed.”

“We all make mistakes, Talbot,” I said.

“I wanted it to be true so badly,” she said. “I thought if I could write my own story, then maybe it would play out just the way I wanted it to, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I guess it's the same reason I made up a story about my mom being alive. But just because you say it out loud doesn't mean it's true.”

“You're so right,” said Talbot.

We sat quietly for a while, both of us contemplating how messed up we'd become.

Talbot finally broke the silence. “What happened? If you want to tell me.”

“Drunk driver.” I didn't need to say any more. I could see on Talbot's face that she was thinking about how she could have ended someone's life when she drove drunk.

“I guess your dad really needed that money,” said Talbot.

“It's no excuse,” I said.

“I know. Are you gonna call him?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess I'll have to,” I said.

Talbot stayed with me as I called Dad on his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail, which informed me that his mailbox was full. I called his work number and dialed his extension. Another automated voice announced that I had pressed an invalid entry and I was being transferred to the operator. I told her I was looking for my dad.

“Mr. Moody doesn't work here anymore,” she said.

I was shocked. “Since when?”

“I'd say it's been about three weeks,” said the woman on the other end of the phone.

The lying had to stop. I would go home and wait for Dad to return.

“Just remember what you told me,” Talbot shouted as I hopped on my bike.

“What's that?” I said.

“We all make mistakes,” she said.

*

I didn't know exactly what I would say to Dad when I got home. But I could measure my anger by how fast I was pedaling up the San Lorenzo Boulevard hill—the same hill I usually had to get off my bike and walk up.

Because of my adrenaline-fueled bike ride, I got home much faster than usual. I didn't bother locking Dad's bike to the fence before running full speed past the neighbor's barking dog, straight to my closet. I tried turning the lights on, but the electricity was out. I flashed back to the shutoff notice we had recently received from the electric company. I guess he managed to pay all the other bills except this one. Another one of Dad's mess-ups. I began hammering everything in sight. I didn't even bother pushing my clothing out of the way, hammering through denim, cotton, and wool. I was like a shark in a feeding frenzy, unable to stop my own body. Completely out of control.

“Iris!” my dad yelled. I didn't know how long he'd been standing there, but I continued to pummel the walls.

“Iris!” he screamed again, this time grabbing my shoulders with both hands and physically pulling me out of the closet.

“Put the hammer down,” he said.

I looked up and saw that it was raised above my head. Maybe he thought I was going to go after him with it. The truth was, in that moment, it had become like an extension of my body.

“You stole my money.” I jumped right in.

“Wait a second,” he said.

“No, Dad. Don't speak. You're always talking. Always lecturing me about doing the right thing and about how I've disappointed you. You're the one who said I've got to work through my anger management issues, and you know something—I have. I mean, I am working on them. But you! I think you're angrier than anyone in my program. Angrier than anyone I know! I mean, pretending to have a job? They say you're not even working there anymore. What happened to the promotion?”

“When I didn't get it, I quit. I was embarrassed to tell you.”

I cut him off. “To steal money from your own daughter. Why do you hate me so much?” This was the question that had been brewing inside me for so long. It felt so good to let it out.

“I don't hate you, Iris.” He looked defeated. “I hate that you think that.”

I had said everything I wanted to say. And I said it without yelling. Or crying. Or feeling out of control.

“I didn't want to hurt you,” he said.

“How did you think that taking my college money wouldn't hurt me?”

“It was just a loan.”

“A loan is when someone ‘loans' you something.”

“I needed it for the house payment. Iris. We were going to lose the house.”

“Maybe that's not the most important thing at stake here,” I said.

We looked away from each other for what felt like an infinite amount of time. I thought about all the things he had done over the past couple of years to piss me off. The list was endless. I wondered how long his list was about me.

The sun was setting, and with no electricity, my bedroom was getting dark quickly. I opened my bedside drawer and pulled out some matches. I lit the few candles I had in my room. I almost laughed at the absurdity of having to have this difficult conversation by candlelight.

“Why did you get rid of all of her stuff?” I had wanted to ask him this forever.

Dad looked at me like I was broaching dangerous territory.

It didn't stop me. “I'm gonna talk about her, Dad. Just because she's dead doesn't mean we don't get to talk about her.”

“I know that,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“So, tell me, why did you get rid of her stuff?” I asked.

“What stuff?”

“Everything. Her clothes. Her paintings.” I scanned my memory to think of other things that hadn't made it to our move up north. “The card catalogue from the library.”

“I didn't give it away,” said Dad.

I was confused. “Well, where is it?”

“In a storage space, in Southern California. It's all there. Iris, it's hard to explain. I thought that I—that we—would heal faster if we didn't have so many reminders, you know? I thought if we could make a new life together, we'd be okay.”

“She doesn't disappear just because she's dead.”

“You're so right. How did you get to be so smart?”

“Definitely Mom's genes,” I said.

He smiled. I hadn't seen him smile in ages. “I'm so sorry, Iris. I needed the money for the back payments on the house. My plan was to borrow the money, get a job, and put it all back there before you even noticed it was gone. It was wrong.
So
wrong. But I didn't want to disappoint you.”

“How'd that work out for you?” I asked.

He stayed silent for a moment.

“I didn't want you to see your dad as a failure,” he said.

These words sat in the pit of my stomach. My whole life I had worried about disappointing others, not living up to their expectations. These worries plagued me at night and propelled all of my decision making during the day. And here was a grown man, my dad, who acted like he had everything figured out, going through the exact same concerns.

Maybe I was more like him than my mom. I took a seat next to him on my bed. “So what have you been doing with all your free time? Besides stealing my money?” I had a right to know.

“Well, truthfully, the first few days were pretty bad. I spent them at a bar on Front Street. When I realized that wasn't helping anything, I decided to take that new suit I bought and put it to good use. I've been on the interview circuit for a while now. Something good will come along. I know it will.”

“That's great.” I thought back to all the fun times Mom and Dad and I had together. “We used to have fun, remember? We used to do things. I don't think you're a failure if you lost your job and can't afford our house anymore. I think it's more of a failure to ignore your child when she's already been left by her mother!”

Creases formed on Dad's forehead. “Mom didn't leave you.”

“I was speaking metaphorically,” I said.

“Iris. I'm not perfect.”

No kidding.

“I don't know how I can say I'm sorry in enough ways to let you know I mean it,” Dad said.

“It's not something I'm just gonna ‘get over,'” I said.

“I know that. I don't expect you to. But can you try to forgive me?”

I nodded. What else was I supposed to do? I was tired of storming out of rooms and shutting people out.

I stared at the dusty pile of plaster, gathered like rubble after an earthquake, evidence of the anger that had passed through me—anger that I wanted so badly to disappear.

S
ummer was almost over. In two short weeks, I'd be back at high school to begin my senior year. Instead of concentrating intensively on one class as I had this summer, I'd be bogged down with five classes, including organic chemistry (another AP science course) and calculus. Not to mention history, English 4, and Spanish 4.

I handed in my final paper with pride. I'd concluded it by asking readers to reimagine Little Red Riding Hood through the lens of Wolf-Alice. What would have happened if Red had taken the time to get to know the wolf? What had made him so vicious? Why was he a loner? How could understanding someone's history make one a more compassionate person?

I understood that we were all victims of circumstance, but, like Wolf-Alice, I didn't want to sit by and watch things happen to me. I wanted to be in charge of my own life.

With summer school completed, I tried my best to enjoy the only two weeks of freedom I'd have this summer. The lights were back on; I stayed in my pajamas until dog training on most days, sipped green tea from the teabags Oak had given me, and made a follow-up phone call to a woman who was interested in having me train her dog. She called back to say she was now away on vacation but would call me when she got back to set up a regular schedule.

On Saturday morning, the day of our Ruff Rehabilitation graduation ceremony, I slept through my alarm clock and received a jolt of adrenaline when I awoke and realized I had fifteen minutes to get down to Cliff Street. I threw on a black tank top and flowing skirt, knowing I'd have to hike it up above my knees when pedaling.

All the hard work over the last eight weeks culminated in today's graduation ceremony. I was so excited to see Roman, who had been “recovering” at Kevin's place from the trauma of being at the pound. He wasn't sure if Roman would be up for the graduation ceremony.

I pulled in to the Natural Bridges parking lot. Kevin was standing on the grass with everyone in our group in a circle. The dogs all sat in the center. We had spent the day before giving them baths and making them look perfect for the day they'd get to meet their new owners. Each day at dog rehab, I had done my best, but the whole time I wished the dalmatian were Roman. The night before, Kevin had let me know that freshly bathed Sid wouldn't even be at graduation, as his new owner had already adopted him and he was starting his new life in San Francisco. I was here to show my support for the other dogs.

After locking my bike, I made my way to the circle of dogs and their trainers. Oak moved aside, opening up the circle to reveal Roman in the center. Without hesitation, I bounded toward him, shouting his name. “Roman!”

He reacted to my voice right away and came sprinting toward me, his gait uninhibited by his missing appendage.

I slowly lowered my body down to his, not wanting to spook him, and let him lick the sweat off my face as I affixed the collar I had purchased around his neck. There was a certain look he was giving me, mouth agape, eyes glistening. If I believed animals could emote like humans, I could have sworn Roman was actually smiling at me.

Kevin gathered us together with our dogs and made the greatest announcement of all time.

“Every dog has been adopted out!”

“Even Roman?” I asked, concerned that he didn't count.

“Especially Roman,” clarified Kevin.

We erupted in cheers and high fives as all the dogs' tails began wagging, our excitement contagious.

“We have about ten minutes until the ceremony starts, so just take some time to hang out with each other and your dogs for the last time. I'm gonna go make sure everything is okay with the graduation setup,” said Kevin.

Oak came up to me and kissed me on my shoulder.

“Not here?” I asked, pointing to my face.

“I think your shoulder is the only spot Roman didn't lick,” he said.

Before I could focus on Oak, I had to connect with Talbot. “Just a sec, okay?” I told him.

Oak held on to my hand. I could tell he didn't want to let me go. But if this was going to work, then he'd have to be the kind of guy who understood that having a best friend was equally as important as having a boyfriend.

“He hates me,” Talbot said, after I let go of Oak's hand and went over to her.

“Not possible,” I said. “Give it time. Guys can be like dogs sometimes—you just need to earn his trust.”

“Well, I won't give up on being his friend then,” Talbot said. It made me happy. I waved Oak over.

“You excited about today?” Talbot asked Oak.

I was relieved they were talking to each other.

“It's a great day. With some really good company,” he said.

Oak leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. The butterflies in my stomach grew, but they were the good kind—the kind that helped me get out of bed every morning and face each day, instead of staying home and punishing myself, because I now believed that something good could happen.

Kevin came back to us. “It's a full house out there!” he said.

I wondered if my dad was in the audience—if he even bothered to come at all. I tried to tell myself that I didn't care whether or not he made it here on time, but the truth was, I wanted him to be there so badly. I wanted to show him what I had been doing all summer. I wanted to believe that he really cared about me as much as he'd said when we had our talk. And, mostly, I wanted to make him proud.

Kevin addressed the group. “Before we all get up onstage, I just want to tell you how blown away I am by the five of you for sticking this out, for being so successful in training your dogs. You inspired me, time and time again, over the summer.”

I looked over, and Talbot was crying, which made me tear up. Even Randy was bowing his head so the bill of his baseball cap was covering his eyes; God forbid anyone see he had a soft spot.

Kevin continued, “Thank you for all of your hard work and dedication. I know these dogs can't talk, but if they could, I'm sure they'd say…”

“‘I can't believe they let Talbot paint my toenails,'” interrupted Randy, pretending to speak as Garrett, who looked absolutely ridiculous sporting the pink glittery nail polish that Talbot had purchased. She had somehow convinced Kevin that the non-toxic nail polish would be the perfect and only way to send Garrett off to his new life.

When it was time, we made our official move to the makeshift stage (a large piece of plywood under a madrone tree). The audience was much fuller than I'd expected for a dog graduation, and I could see Talbot's parents in the front row.

It was noon and the hottest time of day. The sun's glare made it difficult to make out faces in the crowd. I sat with a program across my forehead, like a visor. As I scanned the audience for my father, who was not in attendance, I thought I saw Ashley sitting toward the back.

Had Dad even remembered that today was graduation day? I had been so hopeful after our big conversation together, probably too hopeful. I thought that he finally “got it” for once, but here he was letting me down once again. Maybe some people just weren't capable of changing.

Kevin welcomed the audience and began speaking about how we'd had a symbiotic relationship with the dogs; they helped us, and we helped them right back. Next, we did a short demonstration of everything we had taught the dogs over the summer, which included sitting, staying, rolling over, waiting to eat the food out of a bowl until we gave the command, not jumping up on people, barking on command (only about half the dogs could do that, and Roman certainly wasn't one of them), and fetching and retrieving. As I ran through these exercises, I thought back to the first time I tried simply to walk Roman on a leash. He'd pulled so hard, and I'd been timid; I truly had thought he was going to kill me. But as I looked down at him on our last day together, it hit me again how similar we both were.

We'd both been through so much in our short lives. Both of us were quick to anger, although Roman lashed out, and I kept mine inside. In truth, I needed to be a bit more like him, acknowledging and releasing my feelings as I felt them, and he needed to learn to be a bit more like me, not attacking everyone he perceived as a threat.

And this summer, we had both met our goals.

As Roman and I approached Kevin at the podium to receive my certificate of completion, my eyes locked on my father's face; he was sitting in the back. He hadn't forgotten about today. And what was more, his face was filled with pride, an expression that I hadn't seen on him in ages.

I took my certificate of completion and had a seat with the others.

Kevin was back at the podium. “And now, a bittersweet time for both myself and my fearless participants in Ruff Rehabilitation. We say good-bye to the dogs we've come to know and love as they say hello to a whole new future.”

It was time to let go of our dogs.

Oak reached over and held my free hand. I was so happy to have him by my side.

Kevin called each dog and trainer pair up to meet their new owners, who emerged from the audience with great exuberance. First went Talbot, then Shelley. I watched as they each passed their dog along to their new owner.

Garrett went to a family of four.

Bruce went to an older gentleman who walked with a cane.

We were all shocked to see Sebastian, the Kite Boy, and his dad come up to collect Persia from Oak.

“What?” Oak said as he handed the leash to the little boy.

Sebastian's father stepped forward. “Ever since he met you guys, he's been bugging me about getting a dog. He wanted me to prove I like animals. This will be good for us. Thank you,” he said, giving Oak a hug.

Tinkerbelle was next. Randy walked her to the front of the stage, and I watched the crowd to see who would emerge to claim her.

“Perry?” I shrieked when I saw my teacher take the stage. She didn't take the leash from Randy, who was holding it out to her, but instead picked up the dog and cradled her in her arms.

“We are going to have so much fun!” she said. She looked over at me and gave me a huge thumbs-up.

“You know her?” asked Talbot.

“Yeah, she's amazing!”

I was so happy for Tinkerbelle but secretly wished Perry had taken Roman home instead. Kevin had assured us that every dog had a new home, but what if the new owners backed out? Never showed up? Or worse—what if they were sitting there and were totally unimpressed with the way I had trained Roman? What if they felt the same trepidation that I'd felt on that first day of working with him?

My stomach tossed and turned with the returning fear that Roman would be put to death and it would be all my fault.

“And last but not least,” Kevin began, “a dog with a long and complicated history, Roman.”

Oak gave my hand one last squeeze before I stood up, with Roman heeling by my side, and headed toward the front of the stage. I looked out into the crowd. No one was walking toward the stage to gather Roman. The new owner wasn't coming. Roman would die.

I looked at Kevin, who read the panic on my face and pointed out into the crowd, where a man in his thirties was assisting a very pregnant woman up out of her seat. They walked slowly to the stage, and he held her hand, helping her up the stairs.

“This is Rashida and Jacob. This is Iris,” said Kevin, introducing us. I went to shake their hands, but they brought me into a three-way embrace.

“I hope he likes babies,” said Rashida, rubbing her bulging belly.

“He'll be great with kids,” I said.

I leaned down to Roman. He looked at me with his big brown eyes. His eyebrows turned up and his head cocked to the side as if to question what was going on.

I petted him on the head and leaned down close to his ear.

“I love you,” I said. “I always will. Be a good boy. These people are going to love you, too.”

When I leaned in to give him one last hug, I felt him rest his head on my shoulder. I could tell he knew what was happening in that moment. He was telling me that he loved me, too. And the whole time I was thinking what a luxury it was to get the chance to say good-bye to somebody you love.

*

After the ceremony, Perry found me in the crowd.

“These are for you,” she said, handing me a bouquet of wildflowers.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the flowers.

“That was a pretty special ceremony,” said Perry.

“I'm so glad you're taking Tinkerbelle home.”

“You know, I'm not supposed to be sharing this information with you until we officially file grades next week, but you wrote a knockout final paper. You got an A-minus in the class, Iris!”

“Are you serious?” I asked, completely relieved.

Perry nodded, her new dog at her feet begging to be picked up. Perry obliged.

“It's good to have a dog again,” she said, kissing Tinkerbelle on the nose. “I have to run. We're headed straight for the pet store for another doggie bed—I want one in every room! Congratulations again, Iris. You've worked so hard.”

“Thanks, Perry.”

She turned to leave with her new dog. In the distance I could see Roman jumping into the backseat of the Volvo with his new owners. His tail wagging, he was excited for the adventure ahead.

“Hey, Perry!” I shouted out to her. “Are you teaching at SC High next year?” It would be amazing to have her as my English teacher senior year.

“No can do, I'm afraid. I'm strictly a summer hire. It's back to substitute teaching for me during the year. But hey, if your English teacher ever gets sick, I'm the girl to call.”

Well, at least I knew there was no way they were ever going to give me Mrs. Schneider again.

Ashley ran up to me and gave me a huge bear hug.

“I'm so glad I came!” she said.

“Me, too.” It was so good to see her.

“I can't believe I wasted my whole summer inside a coffee shop and you got to do this incredible thing!”