Unbreak My Heart(2)

I open the door for her, and her eyes are narrowed, her jaw set hard. I guess my grace period has run out with her. Oops.

“I know you hit that car on purpose,” she yells.

Who says the cell phone is changing how we communicate? We don’t need phones or social media. We have a town crier right here in Santa Monica, and her name is Mrs. Callahan—she must have told Kate.

I shrug. “So?”

“Why did you hit a car on purpose, Andrew?” She parks her hands on her hips, which is amusing, considering Kate’s maybe five feet tall, and I’m over six feet. But the muscles in her arms are sick, thanks to a vigorous workout regime at Animal House, a broken-down, un-air-conditioned gym serving a clientele of mostly Arnold Wannabes, guys just out of jail, and badass women you don’t want to cross in a dark alley.

I drag a hand through my hair. “It was there, okay?” I walk to the sliding glass door and open it.

Kate follows me, shouting the refrain, “It was there?”

Sandy follows too, then noses a purple “Fight Cancer” Frisbee on the grass. I throw it far into the yard, around the edge of the pool. Sandy is like a rocket—she chases it, catches up to it, leaps, and grabs.

This might be the perfect dog.

“So you did hit it on purpose?” she asks, trying again.

“Define on purpose.”

“Premeditated,” she says crisply.

“Yes, then. I did.”

“Why? Why would you hit it because it was there?”

“Because . . .” In the silence, every reason I have for hitting the car rings loud and clear. I hit it because I can’t hit the universe. I can’t hit cancer. I can’t hit God or fate or Karma or whoever dealt me this shitty hand.

“Andrew, you’re an intelligent man. You’re dealing with a lot right now, more than anyone should have to, but let’s not go down this road of reckless behavior. Talk to me, talk to my husband, talk to a therapist about how you’re feeling. I’m not going to spout off clichés, but talking can be a good thing.”

I scoff. “What good is talking going to do?”

“I know it won’t bring him back. But it might help you through. Don’t take it out on cars.”

I snap around. “The car will survive, okay? It’s just a car.”

She stares at me, firmness in her eyes. “Come down to the gym. Hit a bag. You’re always welcome at Animal House. You don’t have to work out in the garage.”

“I like the garage,” I say, and she should know why.

I relent. I really shouldn’t be a total asshole. Partial is enough for Kate, given all she’s done. “Thanks for the invite, Kate. I’ll think about it.”

I turn to the dog my brother found at a rescue online. He showed me her picture one day after treatment and said, “Wouldn’t she be a great companion?”

I throw the purple disk to her again. Sandy leaps, easily clearing three feet on the vertical. “Sweet! Did you see that, Kate? That is one fine dog.”

Kate holds out her hands. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

I don’t answer. There is no answer. I’m not her responsibility. I’m no one’s.

Her voice softens. “Just give me your insurance info. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of with the car.”

Kate is kind of like a wizard. Give her a shirt with a grease stain from last year, and she’ll get it out. Give her a pair of broken eyeglasses, and she’ll come back with a new pair, free of charge because she’s convinced the store it was owed to her. If I give her my insurance info, I know in a day or two this will all be taken care of. She’s the fixer, and she likes it like that. I’m her newest project—her toughest one ever, I’m sure. Especially since she’s hurting too. But she never mentions that it’s hard for her as well. That she’s lost a cousin she loves.

I throw the Frisbee again to Sandy, and then again, and then one more time, and at some point, Kate leaves. She may even hug me, she may even tell me she loves me, she may even say she’s sorry that life sucks, but I’m lost in the throwing.

And then I realize I’ve been out here for hours. Because suddenly Sandy is exhausted. She jumps in the pool and lies down on the first step in the shallow end. I look up at the sun. When did it get so low in the sky? How did it become six in the evening when it was three a few minutes ago? How could my brother be taken away from me?

I walk straight into the pool, cargo shorts, gray T-shirt, flip-flops, and all.

Water sloshes around me. I dunk my head, sinking under, then I come up and tell Sandy all the things I wish were different right now. She knows why I hit the car. She knows why I’m going to call in a favor later. She knows everything.

She listens to every last word.

After all, she’s the perfect dog.



*

When I go inside, I find a new message on my phone from Holland. Her name makes my skin heat up. She’s been out of town for a few days, interviewing for jobs in Seattle and San Francisco. Jobs I selfishly hope she doesn’t get, so she won’t have to leave yet again.



Holland: How are you? I’m flying back to LA tomorrow night! Are you ready for the reception later this week? Do you want me to bring you a slice of pie? If you need a haircut, I’m good with scissors. ?