Paradox Love: Paradox Love Book 1 (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

             
Grace and her brothers trotted along the two lane highway.  Hardened and calloused pads now immune to the rough terrain, their senses were attuned most keenly to the prospect of food,
any
food.  They knew that from experience, highways were occasional treasure troves.  Lost loads were sometimes edible loads.  Tossed trash was sometimes edible trash.  Thirst was ever present, but was always an aside to the desperation that accompanied hunger.

They were Bluetick Coonhounds.  As such, they had an extraordinary affinity for hunting and were sometimes fortunate in this regard.  However, the trio were still quite young and were far from perfecting their skills.  An hour’s drive from the city, few cars passed as they continued their jog.  Occasionally, a driver would slow down, briefly contemplating whether to stop.  Maybe for one dog they would, but for three?

The dogs had been on their own for going on three weeks now and before that, they’d had limited contact with people.  Their owner was a quasi breeder, subcontracted by another breeder with a better reputation to produce a high quality product for sale on the market.  The subcontractor could house and breed the animals without scrutiny.  He’d sell the best pups to the main breeder, who maintained a clean shop, suitable for public visitors and well publicized by adorable websites featuring angelic baby dogs.  Fancy logos and expert desktop publishing was the impressive front for the ugly business. 

Pups who didn’t make the cut were advertised in classified ads on the internet by the subcontractor at a bargain price.  For pups who could not be sold, even on the cheap, the future was bleak.  They were sometimes discarded to the dumpster as youngsters.  Other times they were older before their owner found the time to dole out their sentences.  In the case of Grace and her brothers, they were about six months old when they were driven well away from the owner’s property and dumped by the side of the road.

Since that time, they’d mostly remained on a nearby stretch of highway, venturing away from time to time when hunger called from some smell, some waft of flesh that darted between the trees.  But always, they returned to the roadway like ghosts haunting the place where they’d met their end.  Something about the road drew them back, something about the sounds of the passing vehicles, some sad instinct of possibility, of something remembered from this place.

Their colors hadn’t been good enough.  For Blueticks, the rule was the bluer the better.  Their black and white ticking had earned them their name, their speckled coloration a prized decoration.  The more ticking over the body, the better the dog and the more likely they were to be sold.  Dogs with large black spots interspersed within the ticking were less attractive to buyers and more difficult to sell.  In the puppy mill business, there was no measurement for intelligence, wit, loyalty or disposition.  Only looks mattered.  And these three were second rate.

It was Christmas day.  The sun had long since faded.  There were even fewer cars now, with most late arriving stragglers having already found their way to their family reunions.  It had been days since the dogs had given their bellies any work to do, their ribs clearly visible, eyes cloudy, as they moved along together. 

After a lengthy silence, a string of cars was coming along.  The first two passed, taking little notice, and then the third.  That third one held two passengers, a young couple on their way to the girl’s family home.  They were late and in a hurry.  Dinner was waiting and on hold for them.

Adam was watching his rearview mirror, Kate glancing over her shoulder.  There was a silent understanding between them.  Both were hoping that someone else would stop.  The cars behind them moved along.  Nobody pulled over.  Adam looked to Kate and she nodded in silent answer.  He slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder.  They were well ahead of the dogs, but knew instinctively that the three would continue toward them.  And they did approach, their cautious state only rivaled by its stronger competitor, hunger.

Immediately, the couple began to coax the dogs, using the universal voice appropriate for both the canine and the human toddler.  Hesitancy kept the dogs at bay, until Kate retrieved a box of crackers from the car.  Tossing them with intention, she drew them closer as they inhaled the offering. 

She took note of their appearance and her heart sank.  She wanted to take them all back to her folks’ place.  Any delay in the decision was split-second.  Although an unexpected Christmas offering, she knew that her parents would not be upset.  In fact, they would have been upset with her for
not
trying.  There were more niblets in the car, including sliced cheddar cheese. 

They came a little closer.  The couple noticed that they were more receptive to Kate than to Adam, which surprised neither of them.  Adam stepped back and let her keep trying.  At last, one was close enough that she could reach out and touch it.  There was no sign of aggression.  She ran her hand along the top of its head and found the sweet spot behind the ears, gently scratching. 

The food was gone now.  The two males had remained just out of reach and were backing away as soon as the gift was consumed, despite the couple’s gentle coaxing efforts.  The female seemed less sure of retreat.  She glanced back at her brothers, who were now moving away at a quicker pace.  She beckoned toward them with a sad whine, but it was no use.  They had turned to retrace their steps back along the highway, while she, the sister dog, turned her attention to the humans.

“Come on.  Come on, sweetie.”  They invited her into their vehicle, Kate keeping one hand gently on the animal.  And Grace did join them, stepping into the backseat.  A desperate relief was intermingled with the familiar curse of apprehension the young female had known all her life. 

Her brothers traveled away from her and she watched them disappear into the shadows.  Like a ship pulling up anchor, she was traveling from all that she had known, trusting that what was ahead was better than what was behind her. 

Grace was wound up, a nervous energy holding her hostage.  She looked out the window at the lights and shapes that passed like fire in the darkness.  It reminded her of something.  From time to time, she could not keep a sad, low sigh from being released.  But Kate never let go of her as they moved along and that reassuring touch slowed her racing heart, if even by only the slightest degree.  After a while, she slumped in exhaustion, while Kate continued to stroke her.

* * * * *

Kate’s parents called her Noel, having accepted her as no less than the best Christmas present.  On holiday break from college, Kate hadn’t been able to afford gifts.  So Grace, a dog now known as Noel, was welcomed into the family. 

She stuck close to Kate during those weeks.  Throughout the day, Kate would look down to see the dog’s head resting on her thigh.  Perhaps it was the tan frame of fur around the eyes, or maybe just the starkly difficult beginning to her young life, but Kate saw a wisdom in those eyes.  A wisdom and a sadness, the expression of which could never be properly articulated. 

It made Kate always bend at her knees and embrace the dog, stroking her and speaking soothingly.  If she’d been able to have a pet at her college dorm, she would have taken her.  Instead, she would be leaving Grace in the care of Kate’s best replacements, her parents.

She was safe now.  Safe and loved and even a little bit spoiled.  A couple weeks of steady meals had her filling out, if still on the lean side.  Though never having been an indoor dog, she acclimated almost instantly, the only mishaps coming in the form of toppled objects, whipped from their positions by a sturdy, muscular tail, always moving. 

Though faced with desperate hunger in her young life, she was well mannered, waiting patiently in the kitchen for her food bowl to be filled and placed in front of her on the floor.  She would finish and look up at Kate’s mother, Sue, tail still wagging, as if to plaintively inquire, “Is there more?”  And sometimes, there was more.

Then one day in early January, Kate packed her things.  Grace sensed the commotion and paced the hallway between the bedrooms and the kitchen.  Something was happening.  Some new event was interrupting the stable rhythm of her new life.  She watched through the front window as trips were taken to the car, loads packed. 

And then Kate knelt one last time to embrace her and to say goodbye.  And just that quickly, she was gone.  Grace watched through the front window as Kate got in the car.  She heard the thump of the door closing, the wheels beginning to roll.  She let out a series of deep throated whines.  She was losing family again.   

* * * * *

Luke was on his third stint of rehab in as many years.  He hadn’t graduated high school with the rest of his class.  Too many setbacks led to failing grades, unsustainable absences.  Finally, his mother convinced him to pick up the rest of his credits through an online school, and at the age of 19, Luke received his diploma. 

Once virtually guaranteed a football scholarship, he was no longer welcome to attend free at any school.  He’d so far made half-hearted attempts at getting some basic credits at the local community college.  He couldn’t work toward a major, because he didn’t have one.  It had always been football.  That was his path, his passion.  But he’d lost it. 

Now at 21, he was addicted to downers.  Illegal, legal, didn’t matter.  Just downers.  Artificial plungers that could squeeze you down and numb you up and sometimes make you forget for a little while.  And if he couldn’t find anything else, he resorted to alcohol.

He didn’t care about life anymore.  He was absolutely uninterested.  For the first year following Grace’s death, it could be fairly attributed to the loss of her.  But after that, after time carried her farther and farther from him, he stopped talking about her, stopped telling anybody that she was the reason.  He’d been down for so long that he couldn’t climb back out.  And he didn’t want to.  Everything had changed.  It was an effort to latch onto anything at all that could draw his interest, make him think about the future, make him want to be alive.

His early suicide attempt had devastated his parents, his mother the worst.  And he did place upon himself one requirement following that episode.  He wouldn’t attempt it again, so long as she was alive.  It wasn’t fair to do that to her.  But that was about as much as he could offer.

He was an inpatient at the New Herald Center, his first time at an adult facility.  He was disappointed in himself, ashamed even, but was sort of becoming accustomed to life as a failure.  Now seated in one of the visiting areas across from his mother, he couldn’t help but trace the deepening lines on her face with his eyes.  He knew for certain that she would not have looked so aged if not for him.  He’d put her through so much.

Yet she was there, unconditionally, always optimistic.  Today she was talking to him about the future, giving him ideas about what classes to take when he got out and whether he might like to completely redo his room when he came home. 

He was nodding, but doing little talking.  From the visiting room, he had a view of the facility’s outdoor yard.  The massive green lawn reminded of him of the hundred yards of turf that was once his playground.  Along the outer perimeter of the lawn was a tall wrought iron fence. 

He was grateful that he could see through it to the, “real world,” outside.  The juvenile facility had been bordered by tall block walls that seemed to send the message, “You’re in here, and everybody else is out there.” 

On the other side of the fence was a greenbelt twice its measurement.  Only in the distance could the street be seen.  And beyond it, a neighborhood.

His mother continued to talk, but his attention was outside.  She noted his distraction, but was not upset.  She’d been visiting for a while already.  It was time to go. 

Out past the black fence, Luke’s gaze was fixed on a mound of fur huddled on the ground.  He was curious.  He looked back to his mother, who was gathering her purse and sweater to leave. 

“Thanks for coming,” he went to her for a hug.  “I appreciate everything mom, even though I don’t always say so.”

“I love you, son.  I’ll always be here.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised before she turned to leave. 

He watched her make her way to the hallway and out the main door to the lobby.  Then he went out the backdoor and onto the covered patio.  Potted flowers lined the stairs on either side, down toward the lawn.  He had a little free time before his next session. 

As his feet hit the lawn, the dog’s head simultaneously rose from its resting spot in the grass.  Then immediately, it was up on all fours, neck arched, nose sniffing.

That speeding heart within the Bluetick Coonhound was the vessel containing every ounce of the love Grace had brought back with her.  And though she hadn’t the capacity to process her past life experiences, her canine instincts confirmed that her GPS had brought her to the right place.  She rolled her head back and howled triumphantly.  She continued with short chirping whines, beckoning him to her. 

Luke was intrigued.  He looked behind and around him to see who the dog might be so excited to see.  The only people outside were some distance away.  The dog was clearly honed in on him.  And as he continued his approach, its excitement grew, at one point standing on its hind legs and placing its front paws against the fence.