Heartbreaker(6)
“And would you move the feed, when you get a chance?” Edith makes a face. “We had a delivery, but the boy just left it on the porch, and you know my back’s not what it used to be.”
“No problem.” I straighten up. “I’ll go see to it now.”
I head back inside and start my usual routine. Some people think it’s boring, dirty work to refill feed bowls and clean out the kennels, but I like it. I’ve always loved animals, especially dogs. I love how simple and loyal they are, how they don’t judge or criticize, but accept you. When I was a kid, I had a terrible stammer. The experts all said it was nervous anxiety and nothing to worry about. I started speech therapy, learning how to slowly take control of every word, but it was a long, hard process. Worst of all for any ten-year old kid, it made me different. The kids at school would tease me until I was so self-conscious that I barely spoke at all. I retreated into my own little world, losing myself in plays and poetry, whispering a single word in response to questions, or just ignoring them all. Other people’s words were safe – I could memorize whole monologues from school plays – but when it came to speaking my own mind, I couldn’t string the sentences together. Mom didn’t know what to do, until someone suggested a pet might help. She brought me out here one day, and that’s all it took. A motley litter of strays came bounding out to meet me, and I fell head over heels in love. You see, I didn’t need to speak to the dogs to make them like me. They seemed to know exactly what I was feeling without a single word. They didn’t tease me, or judge; they just loved me for me. Unconditionally. Even later, after the speech therapy worked and nobody could tell I’d ever had a problem, that acceptance and peace never went away. The animals helped me when I needed them most. When I was at rock bottom again, after Finn left and I had nothing but questions and scars that nobody else could see, I found myself back here, trying to forget the world all over again.
Finn…
I take a break from hoisting feed-bags. His face fills my mind, that knowing smile and vivid stare that could melt from blue to green and back again, like the waves shifting in a storm. How many nights have I lain awake, wishing that he’d come back again? They were the futile prayers of a heartbroken girl. Now that the universe has conspired to deliver him to my doorstep again, all those questions flare to life.
We were friends, first. I was just a junior, and he already had a reputation, strolling around school in those black jeans like he didn’t give a damn. He was cool, reckless, a heartbreaker through and through – and so far out of my orbit, it was like we were living on different planets. My friends would whisper the latest gossip about him in hushed, scandalized whispers: all the girls he hooked up with, and the latest trouble he was in. I never even spoke to him, until one October afternoon. I was out with the dogs in the woods back behind town, and found him by the creek, playing his guitar.
I remember it now, how surprised I was to hear such sweet, soulful melodies drifting out from the strings. He had such a rebellious image, like he didn’t give a damn about anything, but the expression on his face that day was so intent and careful as he plucked the melody, stopping and starting over each time he got a chord wrong.
When the dogs rushed back, barking, I jumped out of my skin. He looked up and saw me. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, backing away. “I didn’t mean to watch.”
“That’s OK.” He laughed as the dogs swarmed him curiously, licking at his face and nudging his hands. “Who are these guys?”
I told him about volunteering at the shelter, and we wound up talking until the sun started sinking in the pale autumn sky. We talked about my acting, and his music, about everything and nothing at all. The next day in school, I figured he’d act like nothing had happened, but instead he stopped me in the hallway to talk some more. My friends’ jaws all dropping when he called to me by name. We were unlikely friends, nobody could ever figure us out: the rebellious heartbreaker, and the shy, quiet girl who always had her head in a play. But Finn never seemed to care. All through the winter, I saw him around school. He would even give me a ride sometimes, when he found me waiting at the bus stop in the pouring rain, or lugging a backpack overstuffed with books. We would have stayed that way too, just friendly, if fate hadn’t brought us together again, away from everything. That dark, cold New Year’s Eve when the air hummed with electricity, and everything changed for good.
A distant door slamming brings me back to reality, and I realize I’m standing in the middle of the storage shed with dry feed scattering at my feet. I push aside the past and go check in on the dogs, making sure that the old terrier has a blanket and the nervous poodles can hide in a fort of boxes, out of sight. Edith moved Chester into the main house when he first got sick, and when I finally find him in the office, hiding under the desk, he’s heavy and unmoving.
“Poor boy,” I murmur, crawling under to softly stroke his coat. Chester lifts his head and stares at me with miserable eyes. “What’s got you feeling so poorly, hmmm?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
I startle at the noise, and bang my head on the underside of the desk. “Owww!”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” A male voice comes from behind me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Edith said to come right back.”
I carefully crawl out and straighten up, rubbing my head. “It’s OK. I think.” I turn to the newcomer, trying not to wince. “How can I help you?”