The Next Person You Meet in Heaven(16)

“Did you know,” the old woman said now, standing beside the grown-up Annie, “that a dog will go to a crying human before a smiling one? Dogs get sad when people around them get sad. They’re created that way. It’s called empathy.

“Humans have it, too. But it gets blocked by other things—ego, self-pity, thinking your own pain must be tended to first. Dogs don’t have those issues.”

Annie watched her younger self rub her cheek against Cleo’s snout.

“I was so lonely,” Annie whispered.

“I could tell.”

“I lost everything I knew.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you ever feel that way?”

The woman nodded. “Once.”

“When?” Annie asked.

The woman pointed to the trailer window.



Annie stepped up. She did not see the outside. Instead, through the glass, she viewed a darkened room in an abandoned house. There was no furniture. A window was smashed. Graffiti was sprayed on the rear wall. In the corner, Annie saw a pair of eyes, barely catching the light. Annie realized it was a large mother dog, lying on the dirty floor, surrounded by puppies nuzzling her belly.

“She gave birth a week earlier,” the old woman said.

“Why is she in this house?”

Before the old woman could answer, the door burst open, and two men in T-shirts, jeans, and boots, one wearing a ski hat, stumbled inside, holding cans of beer. They recoiled when they heard the growl of the mother dog.

The man in the ski hat went wobbly for a moment. Then he pulled a gun from the rear of his pants.

“No …” Annie whispered.

The man fired three times, each bullet creating a small burst of orange light. The men laughed. They swigged from their cans, then fired again. After five more shots, they staggered out the door.

“What happened?” Annie said. “What just happened?”

The old woman looked away. Annie heard muffled laughter coming from outside, and whining, high-pitched squeals from the corner. She saw the puppies pawing at their now lifeless mother. Tears rolled down Annie’s face.

“They killed her?”

“And some of her babies,” the old woman said. “Three survived.”

“The poor mother.”

“Yes. That was the last time I saw her.”

Annie blinked. “What did you say?”

The woman pulled back the collar of her coat and leaned forward to reveal an old gunshot wound on her shoulder. She touched Annie’s teary cheeks.

“I cried for you. You cry for me.”





Annie Makes a Mistake


She pulls a T-shirt over her head and clips a leash on Cleo.

“Let’s go, girl.”

It is eight months since the accident. Annie’s bandages are gone. So is Cleo’s plastic collar. New fur has grown around Cleo’s wound. But Annie’s hand is rippled with red scars and discolored by uneven circulation. The fingers often curl involuntarily, making it look like a claw. Annie wishes she could grow fur on top of her scars like Cleo had.

“Now stay with me,” Annie says, mounting her bicycle. “Don’t go running ahead.”

She is not supposed to ride without her mother. She is not supposed to take Cleo beyond the trailer park. But being alone has made her resourceful. And there is something she wants to see.

“Come on, girl. Here we go …”

As she pedals, the dog romps alongside, and she steers mostly one-handed, a skill she has developed. They cut through a small wooded area, down a street, and beyond some hedges. Annie stops and sets her bike on its kickstand. She walks down a hill, Cleo beside her. They reach a fence and Annie hooks her fingers into the links.

In front of her is a school. Recess is about to start. Annie knows this. She has been here before.

A bell rings and children spill out the doors. They scatter around swing sets. Some kick a ball. Their voices are loud and happy-sounding. Annie crouches lower. She spots two girls who look her age wandering off to the side of the building. One has straight blond hair and is wearing black jeans and pink sneakers. Annie wishes she had pink sneakers.

“Stay here,” Annie whispers. She wraps Cleo’s leash around the fence. Cleo whines, but Annie says, “Shhh!” and tiptoes off.

She passes along the perimeter of the fence. She goes around a bend where the ground is new mulch, wet from a sprinkler. She sees the two girls now, leaning against the school wall. One takes something from her pocket and applies it to the other’s mouth. Lipstick? Curious, Annie climbs atop a tree stump for a better view. The girls are gazing into something and making faces—a mirror, maybe?—and Annie wonders what color lipstick it is.

Suddenly, the girls turn her way and Annie loses her balance. She falls and lands on her bad hand, a jolt of pain shooting through her. She bites her lower lip. Wet mulch sticks to her arms. She doesn’t move, fearful the girls might approach.

Finally, the bell rings and the voices disappear. Annie rises slowly, her wrist throbbing, and trudges back to where she left Cleo.

When she gets there, the dog is gone.

Her heart begins to race. “Cleo?” she yells. “Cleo?”

She runs the length of the fence. Nothing. She runs back. Nothing. She runs up the hill to her bicycle. Nothing. She spends the next hour circling the same streets, tears burning her eyes, yelling Cleo’s name and praying she’ll hear barking in return.