Carry Her Heart (10 page)

The next morning, after the promised breakfast of pancakes, Ned and I went to the Everything But a Dog adoption event. It was held at the amphitheater down on the bay front.

I loved it on the bay. The area used to be an industrial hub for Erie, but over the last decade or so, industries had left and hotels, the main library, and tourist attractions had moved in.

From the rise, I could see down the grassy knoll to the amphitheater itself, and beyond that, the bay and Presque Isle peninsula on the far side.

Sailboats, motorboats, and kayaks dotted the bay water. Most days, looking at it would be enough of a reason to visit Liberty Park, but today we were here on a mission.

“Are you ready?” I asked Ned.

He nodded.

We began to walk through the park. There were dogs of every size and breed, in kennels and makeshift pens.

“How did you find out about this?” I asked as we walked aimlessly through rows of dogs.

I’ll confess that part of me wanted to take each and every one of the dogs home with me. Some looked excited to be out of the shelter; some looked depressed. All of them looked like they needed a home.

“Josiah knows the Salo family who runs this,” Ned said. “Well, he said it’s actually the matriarch of the family who runs the organization and she enlists the rest of the family. According to Josiah, they don’t really have a choice.”

Mrs. Salo sounded bossy. And that thought, coupled with the mention of Josiah, reminded me about Anthony’s making plans for us.

“Where do the dogs come from?” I asked, rather than dwell on Anthony’s faux pas.

“All the shelters in town send the dogs over. The lady, Mrs. Salo, claims to have a special power to match dogs to the right owner.”

I laughed at the thought of a matchmaker who specialized in dogs.

Ned smiled. “Yeah, I have my doubts about her, but not about you. I trust you to help me find the right dog.”

“I’ve never had a dog, so I have no idea what to suggest when you’re looking for one.”

“You have insight, Pip. You have an ability to see inside people.” Ned knelt down by a houndish-looking dog. It sniffed his hand, then left him to go visit with a couple kids who’d come over.

“Not that one,” I said with a laugh.

He nodded and moved to the next pen. “I think your insight into people is why you’re so good at what you do. I’m good at digging up facts and measurable information about people, but you get to the heart of them.”

It was a lovely compliment. I sometimes wanted to argue when people said nice things about me or my work, but my agent had taught me that there were only two words necessary after any compliment. “Thank you,” I said, following her advice. Then I asked, “So why a dog now?”

Ned shrugged and I thought that was all the answer I was going to get, but finally he said, “Mela never liked dogs. She didn’t want the hair all over and she said they smelled. I don’t have to worry about that anymore, so I’m getting a dog.”

I didn’t want to talk about Mela. I was afraid that the fact we never liked each other would show through, so instead I asked, “Do you have a breed in mind?”

He shook his head. “Just a dog. I had a mutt when I was growing up. Major. He was supposed to be my father’s dog, but it was apparent from the get-go he was mine. Or maybe it would be more correct to say I was his. I think in most cases, the dog owns the human . . . it doesn’t matter if the human in question realizes it.”

A tiny little woman who had reached a point in her life where it was hard to assign a number to her age, said, “Oh, isn’t that the truth? My dogs, now they own me and I know it, but some people never do. My husband, he didn’t want dogs, but now they own him, too. He doesn’t know it, but me and the dogs do.” She eyed us up for a long moment, not saying anything, but studying us.

As she studied us, I studied her. She would make a wonderful grandmother in a book. She was so tiny that most of my preteen characters would be able to lift her, but she had that sort of indomitable aura that would mean none of my characters would ever dare.

She gave a little nod, more to herself than to us and said, “I have your dogs right over here.” She didn’t wait for a response but started walking down a row of makeshift dog pens, trusting we’d follow.

“Dog,” I corrected as we followed her because . . . well, it seemed like the thing to do. “Ned’s here for the dog. I’m just advising. So dog . . . singular.”

For a tiny woman she had a very large laugh. Without turning around she said, “No, you’re here for a dog. You just don’t know it yet.”

Before I could argue, she stopped in front of a kennel with two dogs. “This is Princess and Bruce.”

Princess was a tall dog with a poodle-ish look, but had wild, whitish hair that zigzagged in weird ringlets all over her body. Bruce was some kind of hound dog that didn’t bother to look up when we approached.

“I’ll let you all get to know each other,” the woman said and moved toward another couple farther down the row.

“Well, that was different,” I said.

Ned didn’t respond. He was watching the dogs with an intensity that didn’t leave room for anything else.

Princess was doing a pretty little dance of happiness as Ned reached over the barricade to pet her. She wiggled as if her glee was so vast she had to do something to let some of it out.

After lapping up Ned’s attention, Princess went back over to Bruce and nudged him to his feet. She walked back to us, trusting that he would follow, rather like the old lady who’d led us to this pen. Princess ignored me and went back to Ned, her preference clear. Bruce slowly ambled over to me and simply looked at me.

He had such sad eyes.

Big, droopy eyes that said,
I expect nothing from life so I’m rarely disappointed
.

I held out my hand and he licked it. I patted his head and he gave a halfhearted tail wag, as if he wanted to let me know he liked me, but he still had no expectations about our relationship.

The woman who had to be the matriarch running the event, Mrs. Salo, was suddenly back at our sides. “See, I told you,” she said. “Princess was waiting for him, and Bruce here was just waiting for you.”

Having decided she’d settled things for the two of us and the dogs, she walked in the opposite direction, this time to a family near the entrance.

“Well . . .” I said. Bruce didn’t wiggle or do a gleeful happy dance like Princess, but I could see that he enjoyed my attention.

“
Well
is right. She was an original,” Ned agreed. “But I think she might be right even though Princess isn’t the type of dog I imagined myself with.”

As if she realized that he was talking about her, Princess jumped up, reached over the fence, and put her paws on his shoulders. Her head was just beneath his chin and she gazed at him adoringly.

“You might not have imagined yourself with Princess, but she obviously has made her choice of princes known.” I didn’t need to be an expert about dogs, or be someone with empathetic insights into people, to see that Ned and Princess were meant for each other.

“And you?” he asked. “You didn’t come here to get a dog, but if you decide to take him home, you know I’ll help out.”

Bruce looked at me as if to say,
It’s all right. I know you don’t want a dog.

The thing is, I discovered I did very much want a dog. Not just any dog,
this
dog.

I nodded at Ned. “Yes, he’s mine. And thanks. You know I’ll help with Princess, too.”

We filled out the paperwork and an hour later, we were walking our dogs down along the bay front.

“Look.” Among the other boats the Brig
Niagara
floated by. Once it had been the flagship of the Battle of Lake Erie; now it was the emissary of Erie. The rebuilt replica traveled ports all along the Great Lakes and was one of Erie’s crowning jewels. I could see the people sprinkled along the deck. “It’s probably one of its day sails. They take people out in the bay and onto the lake itself. Have you ever gone on one?”

Ned shook his head.

“I did once,” I told him.

The dogs seemed thoroughly unimpressed with the ship.

Princess was still prancing around. It was as if she found the entire world was full of wonder and she couldn’t contain herself. Bruce seemed as taciturn as he had at the event. Though I thought he did seem to have a bit more optimism in his step.

“What do you think Anthony’s going to say when he finds out you have a dog?”

“Congratulations? I mean, what else could he say?”

“He’s over an awful lot. He might not be any more enamored of dogs than Mela was.”

“While I like and enjoy Anthony’s company, I would never make a decision about my life around him and his desires.”

As I said the words, it struck me that if Anthony and I were truly a couple, I
would
make decisions based on him. I pushed the thought away.

We all took a trip to the local pet center and Princess and Bruce were soon decked out with every possible doggie decadence.

Anthony came over that night. “Surprise,” I said, pointing to Bruce, who’d decided the rug in front of my fireplace was more comfortable than the dog bed I’d bought for him.

Anthony looked at Bruce. “Whose dog is that?”

“My dog.”

Anthony wrinkled his nose as if Bruce smelled, which I know he didn’t because I’d bathed him after we got home. “Oh.”

“Aren’t you going to say congratulations?” I asked.

“I’m going to confess, I am not a dog lover,” he said slowly.

I couldn’t hold that against him since I’d never thought about getting a dog until today. “He’ll grow on you.”

Anthony didn’t look convinced. “I wish you would have talked to me about it.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say
why would I?
but that seemed rude, so I settled for saying, “I didn’t plan on him, but I’m glad he’s here.”

Anthony simply nodded.

I hadn’t had a lot of experience functioning as half of a couple. Maybe I should have mentioned getting a dog to Anthony.

In the end, I decided no, I shouldn’t have.

We were dating, not engaged or married.

I didn’t need to ask his permission. After all, I was making a decision for myself, not for both of us.

Anthony left rather early. He’d wanted to go out, but I didn’t want to leave Bruce alone his first night home.

Not that I thought Bruce would have been overly bothered at being left. He seemed at home at my place and content to curl up on the rug.

When I went out to the front porch, he happily came along and curled up on the loveseat as I wrote in Amanda’s journal.

Dear Amanda,

I wonder if you have a pet.

I never did. It never occurred to me to want one, but now that I have Bruce, I can’t imagine not having him.

I’d have never thought about getting a pet on my own, but thanks to Ned, I have one.

Maybe that’s what having a good friend is all about . . . having someone who pushes you to try new things and forces you to look at the world in a new way.

I love the scene in
Dead Poets Society
where Robin Williams gets up on a desk and tells his students to look at the world from a new perspective.

When I looked at Bruce sleeping on the rug in front of the fireplace earlier, and now, as he’s curled up on the loveseat, I can see that I was always meant to have a dog . . . I just didn’t know it until Ned showed me that I did. Now, I’m on top of Robin Williams’ desk, looking at my life from a different perspective, and I realize I was always meant to have a dog . . . this dog.

I hope you have a pet, too. If not, I hope when you’re older, you get one.

Love,

Piper

Junior Year

Chapter Nine

Thanksgiving’s a crazy time for me. We gear up at Amanda’s Pantry, trying to make sure everyone who uses our services has the ingredients for a proper holiday meal. All our volunteers show up to hand out baskets the weekend before.

Ned, my parents, and Cooper were there this year.

Anthony was not.

He was involved in a big case and said he didn’t have the time.

I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. He’d still never come to the food pantry. I was on my way to Thanksgiving at his parents’ place in Pittsburgh, because it was important to him. But I’d never felt he placed any priority on what was important to me.

Little things. I kept trying to tell myself that I couldn’t let the little things wear away at what was a good, comfortable relationship, but they did.

Just a few weeks ago, Anthony called and invited me to lunch with him, Josiah, and Muriel. I said I would have loved to join them, but I was working.

He laughed and said I could do that as easily before lunch as after. Later in the conversation he said something about me just sitting around my house with my dog.

He still didn’t like Bruce.

I’m not sure why I was thinking about that as we headed down I-79 toward Pittsburgh. As much as I tried to tamp down the feelings of being underappreciated, they kept swirling around my thoughts.

I wanted Anthony to understand that my work and Amanda’s Pantry were as important to me as his work was to him. I wanted him to be involved in my life and passions. I’d joined him for a number of other parties and gatherings because they were important to him. I didn’t feel the consideration was reciprocated.

I tried to hold back a sigh because I was back to feeling annoyed about him skipping out on Amanda’s Pantry. To be honest, I hadn’t told him about Amanda, but even without knowing about her, the food pantry was obviously something I felt passionate about.

The question nagged at me. Why hadn’t I told him about Amanda?

It wasn’t embarrassment that I’d been a teen parent. Amanda was my heart. She was at the very core of everything I’d done since she was born. Maybe the reason I didn’t talk about her was that sharing my heart didn’t come easily.

I’d sent such a large piece of my heart away with her that maybe I simply safeguarded what was left.

I had not planned on making the drive to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving, but again Anthony simply assumed I’d go with him. I chafed at his making plans for us, as if we were joined at the hip and functioned as a pair. But I’d gone because it was important to him. He’d shared holidays with my family, so it seemed fair I share one with his.

Ned volunteered to take Bruce for the day and teased about the massive holiday dinner he was going to make the dogs.

I’d never spent a holiday away from my parents. They decided to go out to dinner instead of cooking. Maybe my mother would enjoy the break.

Still, it felt wrong not to be at home.

Most years Mom and I did most of the meal preparations.

Except the turkey. Dad was not a cook, but brining a turkey was his one cooking expertise. For more than a decade now, he brined them, then stuffed and prepped them. Each year he experimented with the brine. Last year he used an apple wine in it . . . it added a little something delicious to the taste.

Dad said as long as a man could excel at one dish, the rest was gravy. Then he always added the word
literally
and laughed. It really wasn’t funny, but we always laughed, too.

Once the prep was done, we had another family tradition. We pulled out
White Christmas
and picked at leftovers as we watched Bing, Danny, Rosemary, and Vera dance and sing . . . and fall in love.

“You’re very quiet,” Anthony said, and without waiting to give me a chance to respond, he added, “We’re almost there.”

The tree-lined sections of I-79 gave way to city views. And finally, he turned off the highway all together and made his way to his family’s Squirrel Hill neighborhood. He pulled up in front of a lovely brick home in the middle of a cul-de-sac. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yes. It’s considered a classic revival.” He laughed. “I’m not sure precisely what that means, but my stepmother will probably explain it to you at length, whether or not you want to know.”

“I love to talk about things like that,” I said as I got out of the car and smoothed down my dress.

“Did I mention how nice you look today?” Anthony asked. “You should make some effort more often.”

He leaned down and kissed me.

I felt nothing but another spurt of annoyance and I knew that wasn’t fair. I’d dressed up, hoping to make a good impression on his father and stepmother. That Anthony had noticed and appreciated the attempt shouldn’t have bugged me, but it did.

His parents were delightful, and some of the vexation I knew I’d been stoking faded.

His stepmother, Anne, was a petite brunette with a large smile and bubbly personality. His father was also named Anthony, but there was no confusion since Anthony and his stepmother both referred to Anthony’s father as
the judge
.

Dinner was a catered affair. It arrived at two o’clock from a local restaurant. I helped Anne put everything into serving dishes.

The four of us sat in a formal dining room with hardwood floors, dark wood trim, and a stained glass transom that ran above the windows.

It was the kind of meal that required multiple forks.

The judge and Anthony talked about cases and trials for a while. When there was a break in that conversation, I asked Anne about the house. She talked about meeting the judge because of her work for a preservation society.

Anthony said, “Piper does a lot of volunteer work as well.”

“And you’re a writer, correct?” the judge asked.

“Yes. I volunteer for a local food pantry—”

Anthony interrupted. “She’s being modest. She started it and runs it. And she reads to kids at the school across from her house.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Anne.

“They’re my audience. It’s a nice way to try out new material,” I said, feeling uncomfortable.

“You write children’s books?” Anne asked.

I nodded.

“The volunteering and children’s books . . . those are the kinds of things that are very marketable for a man who has political aspirations,” the judge said in such a way that I suspected that Anthony had some political aspirations I’d never heard of.

“Just throw in a kissable baby and there’s no race that can’t be won,” Anne said with a laugh.

“Unless the baby barfs or cries,” I pointed out.

Three sets of eyes shot me looks that said clearly that in their world babies did not barf, at least not as a matter of dinner table conversation. I took a long drink, hoping to cover my embarrassment.

“Speaking of babies,” Anne said, steering away from my faux pas. “I know I won’t be their real grandmother, but I’d do my best to spoil them rotten when you and Anthony . . .”

She let her words die off as I started to choke on my drink. When I stopped my spastic coughing, I said, “There are no babies in my future.”

She changed the topic once again and we finished dinner, but I’d seen Anthony’s expression.

After dinner, I helped Anne with the dishes while the men discussed more cases. Then we regrouped and continued discussing . . . legal issues and added a few political things into the mix. Every time I tried to steer the conversation to something that was more group friendly, the gambit fell with a thud.

I tried not to compare the experience with the thought of sitting at my parents’ watching
White Christmas
, but I’m afraid I did. And Anthony’s holiday, by comparison, was lacking.

On the ride home, he said, “About kids. You don’t want them or you can’t have them?”

“Does it matter? Kids are not in my future.” Now. Now would be the time to tell him about Amanda and explain. I tried to push the words out past the huge lump in my throat, but couldn’t manage it.

“We could adopt,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say. We’d been dating a year, and I guess that’s why Anthony had begun thinking beyond simply dating. But I . . . I hadn’t. At least not about the two of us.

I’d never felt as if we were close enough to have a discussion about hypothetical children, but then I never felt we were close enough for Anthony to assume we functioned as a unit and he could speak for me.

“Anthony, I am not planning to have children, biological or adopted,” I said as clearly and succinctly as I knew how.

“Why? You’re so good with kids. You make your living dealing with kids. I’ve never read your books, but I’ve looked at them online. The reviews all talk about how you understand your audience.”

“I guess in a way, I have a lot of children already. Every book I write is like a child. I take it from conception to book. And then I turn it over to the readers, and in another way, they’re my children, too. I don’t need anything more than that.”

“I do,” he said slowly.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

The conversation fizzled after that.

I knew I should tell Anthony about Amanda. If I explained, he might understand. But I couldn’t. I’d always known that if I ever fell for someone, I would tell him about the daughter I’d given away.

The fact that I couldn’t share this with Anthony was telling.

And I was pretty sure exactly what it was telling me, but I didn’t act on it because I wasn’t truly ready to admit it. I thought maybe if I gave it some time, we’d figure our way around the issue. Maybe if I gave it more time, my feelings would change.

When we pulled in my driveway, Anthony kissed me and said he had a lot of work the next day, so he was heading home.

It was late, after midnight, and though I wanted Bruce back, I wasn’t going to wake up Ned in order to get him.

After Anthony pulled away, I realized I was too wired to go to bed, so I went out to my porch.

I thought about getting Amanda’s journal.

I’d found that sometimes writing to her helped me clarify things in my own mind. Maybe if I explained my reluctance to tell Anthony about her on the journal’s pages, I could make sense of it all.

After all, Anthony was a nice man. We’d been dating a year now, and I enjoyed his company, even if I occasionally bristled at his heavy-handedness lately.

Part of that was my fault. I’d let him. I was going to have to say something.

As nice as his father and stepmother were, I missed being home, surrounded by my family.

I knew that wasn’t fair. When two people were in a relationship, there had to be some give-and-take. Maybe the fact that I resented spending the holiday with his family made me selfish.

Maybe not wanting to have more children made me selfish, too.

And not explaining Amanda to Anthony, that more than anything probably made me selfish. I held onto her, unwilling to share her with anyone else.

I never spoke of her to my parents, who knew about her, or my friends, who didn’t.

It wasn’t from embarrassment or even pain.

I stared at the empty school. Most nights, lights glowed from windows as the cleaning crew worked. But tonight was a holiday and it was empty and dark.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t talk about Amanda.

I was afraid if I shared her, only emptiness would remain, so I clung to the moments that I had, hoarding them like some miser who was unwilling to share the wealth.

I
was
selfish.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Ned, interrupting my self-examination.

Bruce and Princess greeted me with more enthusiasm than manners. “I missed you, too,” I assured both dogs.

“I was just going to take them for a quick walk before bed,” Ned explained. “Want to join us?”

“Sure. Let me change shoes.” I ran back inside, kicked off my heels, and slipped on a pair of sneakers. “These look absurd with the dress,” I said when I came back out, “but I wouldn’t have made it much past your house in the heels.”

“That’s fine with me. You always look a bit . . . well, ‘not you’ in dressy clothes. I mean, you look nice and all, but I’m used to you . . .” Ned stopped. “I’m making a mess of what was supposed to be reassurance.”

“No, I took it as a compliment.” It felt nice to have someone think I looked okay when I was dressed in my regular clothes. “I never quite feel like myself in dressy clothes. I’m more at home in my jeans, a laptop balanced on my thighs, or out in the backyard planting something new.”

“Sipping out of your fancy teacup and talking to the voices in your head.” Laughter tinged his voice.

I smiled as we walked along in companionable silence. The dogs paused every now and then to sniff some fascinating smell or do what dogs did on walks.

“So, why were you heading out walking so late?” I asked.

“I was on the job and just got home a bit before you must have.”

“You worked on Thanksgiving?” I asked.

“We have a witness who has been . . . well, not easy to find. I figured he’d find it hard to stay away from his family during the holiday. Most people want to be home. And I was right. He showed up at his parents’ and I tailed him back to his new address.”

“Definitely a
Magnum, PI
move,” I teased.

He laughed. “So how did ‘meet the parents’ go?”

“They were very nice.” It was a noncommittal response. I was afraid that Ned would push and I’d have to say the words I was just beginning to suspect.

I should have known better. Ned never pushed me.

We walked in silence. The dogs were leash trained when we’d adopted them, so walking was easy with them.

I’d always thought that autumn smelled of cinnamon. I breathed deeply and decided winter smelled of peppermint. Not peppermint candy, but the real herb I had growing in the backyard. Sharp, cold, with a bit of a bite. Clean. Not that it was officially winter yet, but the season arrives early on the shore of Lake Erie.

As if on cue, it started to snow.

“And thus it begins,” Ned intoned.

I laughed. “Another Erie winter.”

“Snow shovels and snowblowers,” he said.

I added, “Snow brushes.”