What the Dog Ate (7 page)

“Take that, brain cells.”

She went back to bed and crawled
in. She realized her feet were cold and reached into her nightstand drawer for
socks. She drifted toward sleep as Kona came in. His stomach was empty from
earlier events, and he sat next to the bed and whined.

“Go away.” He whined louder. “Go
away
, Kona.”

He emitted a frustrated half-sigh,
half-yowl.

“Oh, all right, you beast. If I
feed you, will you leave me alone? God, you’re a pain.” She threw off the
covers and stood up. “Whoa.” She’d underestimated the effect of two shots on
her empty stomach. Once back on solid legs, she stomped down the hall to get
Kona’s breakfast. She hit the damp hardwood floor at just the right speed and
angle with her cotton-covered heel. Her left leg flew up, and she landed with a
sharp pain on her right side, her foot turned under her.

“Shit!” She lay back, panting and
feeling even woozier than before.

Kona stood over her, apparently
wondering what fun new game this was.

“This is your fault. Did you have
to wake me up so damn early? Did you have to eat that poor baby squirrel?” Kona
crouched and backed away as she yelled at him, which made her feel even worse.
She’d foolishly thought that was not possible. “Did your dad have to leave us?”
She started to cry.
This is all his fault
.

~~~

That night on the phone with Shay,
after telling her about the squirrel murder and gruesome clean-up that
followed, she said, “On top of that, I slipped on the wet floor and fell and
sprained my ankle.” Kona slept on the sofa next to her; she grabbed his ear and
squeezed it.

“Yikes. You’ve got to be more
careful. What if you hit your head when you fell?”

“You mean now that I live alone?
Who would find me if I cracked my head open? How long would I lay here? Trust
me, I’ve thought about that. God, I’m so pathetic.”

“No, you’re not. Did you get an
x-ray?”

“It’s just a sprain. It’ll be fine
in a few days. I’m icing it.” She looked at her ankle, propped up on the coffee
table with a bag of frozen peas over it. She leaned forward and rolled her
glass of vodka and orange juice back and forth against the cold bag of peas.
“I’m taking something for the pain.” She swallowed the last of the drink.

“Well, you need to be more
careful.”

“I am. It’s just the floor was wet,
and it was still kinda dark, and I was a little tipsy.”

“I thought you said this was at
like five this morning?”

“I meant... light-headed.”

“You said tipsy. Were you
drinking?”

“No...” It came out like a
question.
God, I’m a terrible liar. But, really, I wasn’t
drinking... at that particular moment
.

“Had you been drinking
earlier
?”

When did
Shannon
start to sound like Mom?
“Maybe. A little. Just to get back to sleep.”

“Mags, if you’re not sleeping, you
need to go to the doctor. Get some proper sleeping pills. And take them
at night
. And, maybe you need something... for
depression.”

“No. I’m fine. I don’t need to go
to the doctor. I don’t need any pills. I just drank a couple of mornings, just
to get back to sleep. To get me over the hump.”

“I could come out there for a few
days, a week.”

“I don’t need you to come out
here.”

“I’m worried about you. You don’t
sound like yourself.”

“You don’t sound like yourself
either. You sound like Mom.”

Maggie heard a sharp intake of
breath. “I’m just trying to help,” Shannon said. She sounded close to tears.

“I don’t need any help. I’m fine. I
can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. I just thought
maybe you could use some company.”

“I’ve got Kona. When he’s not being
bad, he’s good company. Really, we’re... OK. I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you
later.” She hung up and Kona squirmed, still half asleep. He pushed against her
to make more room for himself on the sofa.

Although some
of us are more OK than others
.

The next day, the last Saturday in
May, Maggie opened the door to find Kevin on her porch, suitcase in hand. He
wore baggy, faded blue shorts and a T-shirt that read, “Golf Naked.”

“Annie and I broke up. And I’m sorta
between jobs right now.” He ran a hand through his beachy-blond hair. He needed
a haircut and a shave.

“That sucks about Annie.” Maggie
was not surprised about the job (Kevin moved from one company to another), but
she was surprised about Annie, who’d been Girlfriend of the Month for a record
nine months. They’d even moved in together. Maggie learned early on not to get
attached to Kevin’s girlfriends, but at thirty-six, she thought he might finally
settle down, and Annie seemed perfect for him. She knew better than to ask what
happened, though. Kevin turned stone deaf when asked about his personal life.
“But I kinda wish you’d called first.”

Kona ran to greet Kevin, who
thumped the dog on the side like a watermelon. Kona maneuvered his behind under
Kevin’s hand. Kevin obliged, scratching the spot where tail met dog until
Kona’s legs sank beneath him and he sat on Kevin’s foot.

“Somebody’s gained a few pounds,”
he said, looking up at her.

He better be talking about the dog,
Maggie thought as her eyes narrowed.

“Can I crash here?” He strode
through the door and added, “You look like hell.”

Well, I feel
like shit, so I guess that’s a step up
.

“Thanks. Come on in,” she said to
his back as he dropped his bag. He bent his tall frame and shuffled the meager
contents of her fridge with his praying mantis arms. “Make yourself at home.”
She tried to sound sarcastic, uninviting; maybe he’d get the hint and leave.

He grabbed the orange juice and
took a swig. “Geez Mags, you’re still in your PJs? It’s almost eleven.”

“I’ll have you know I was up really
early this morning, but then... I went back to bed.”

He studied her with a look she
couldn’t read, as she pushed a tangle of auburn curls out of her eyes. She knew
he was right; she looked like crap. Her roots, streaked with gray, cried out
for their usual touchup of Midnight Mahogany. Bags, large enough to exceed the
carry-on limit, drooped beneath her eyes. She wore a stain (chocolate sauce?)
like a brooch on her oversized T-shirt. Her lower legs stuck out of her capri-length
pajama bottoms like strawberry-blonde Chia Pets. The ace bandage wrapped around
her ankle hung loose. The house fared no better. It smelled of too few windows
opened and too many bags of microwave popcorn consumed. Newspapers and junk
mail hid the top of the dining room table; dirty dishes, mainly ice cream and
cereal bowls, covered the kitchen counters; and crumpled tissues, like autumn
leaves, blanketed the floor around the couch.

At least Mom couldn’t drop by. And
friends weren’t an issue either. Her best friend had moved to Dallas two years
ago and they’d been reduced to infrequent emails. As for the rest, she’d been
so out of touch (canceling lunch, happy hour and dinner invites at the last minute
because of work), that she figured they’d given up on her. Which was fine. She
didn’t feel like talking to anyone. In fact, she’d been thinking about going to
a hotel to get one of those Do Not Disturb signs to hang on her front door.
Better yet, get two and wear them like earrings.

Yet, here was her brother, the only
person she knew who would drop by unannounced, wanting to be her roomie. Except
for two men named Ben & Jerry, she did not want a roommate. But she could
never say no to Kevin, whom she always thought of as her “little” brother, even
though at six-three he’d towered over her since his growth spurt at age
sixteen.

He’d just
better not expect me to feed him
.

“You eat eakfast-bray yet?” he
asked, still hanging onto the fridge door.

She picked up a box of cereal lying
on the counter under a half-eaten bag of stale popcorn and said, “You’re
looking at it.” She grabbed a handful and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Why don’t you make some of those
yummy waffles? Or, no, wait, how about one of your awesome smoothies?”

The nerve
.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m out of flour and the milk’s questionable at
best. Go ahead and take the spare room. I’m going back to bed.”

She walked out, weighing the pros
and cons of having him there.
Cons: have to make civil
conversation. Or not. Need to clean the house. Or not. Have to stop lying
around on the sofa all the time. Or not. Pros: he can pick up any dead baby
squirrel bits
.

~~~

Monday when Maggie came home from
Clean N’ Green, which had been a typical first day of filling out forms,
learning names, and figuring out where the coffee and bathrooms were, she was
shocked to find that Kevin had straightened up and washed the dishes.

He wasn’t there, but breezed
through the door a few minutes later with a pizza and Caesar salad. They spent
the evening eating pizza, drinking beer and watching the Padres lose to the Astros.
Other than, “Another beer?” and comments on the pitching, they didn’t speak
much.

At ten, Maggie yawned and said,
“Well, some of us have to work tomorrow.” As she and Kona got up to head down
the hall to bed, she added, “Thanks for dinner.”

“No prob. Hey, tomorrow I’m golfing
with my buddy, but after that, I thought I’d try to fix your ceiling fan. I
noticed it’s not working.”

“That’d be great. Thanks. Again.”

Two days later, Maggie had the day
off. She’d planned to sleep late, but awoke at five. She groaned at the glowing
green numbers on her clock. She lay there, trying to ignore the broken record
asking her what she was going to do with her life now. She thought about
sneaking out to the liquor cabinet.
I don’t have to sneak.
This is my damn house
.

She got up and walked down the
hall. There at the bar, reading the paper, sat Kevin.

“Hey, you’re up. Good. I was about
to make some coffee but didn’t want to wake you. You sit. I’ll make pancakes.”

She sat and stared at him as he
whipped up a stack of fluffy pancakes.
I don’t feel like
pancakes at
five a.m.
It’s too early to eat. Oh... but not too early to drink? Just eat the damn
pancakes
. She dutifully cleaned the plate he set in front of her. Then,
full, went back to bed and slept for three more hours.

When she finally got up, he was
gone. She decided to go grocery shopping and make chicken piccata for dinner.
That afternoon, she called Shannon while she cooked and apologized for accusing
her of sounding like Mom the last time they spoke. Shannon said it was “low,”
but forgave her. Kevin came in with a six pack while she was on the phone. He
took over cooking the chicken and also made a salad.

As they sat down to eat, he handed
her a flyer for a yoga class at the neighborhood rec center. He said he’d seen
it at the grocery store, while picking up the beer.

“You should go. You might like it,”
he said. She dismissed him, but he continued on, his mouth half full. “Annie
used to drag me along to her class sometimes. It was kinda cool.”

“I dunno,” she said. She’d wanted
to try yoga, which seemed to be the perfect combination of relaxation and
exercise. Two birds with one stone; efficient. But, after twenty-two years with
a man she’d shared most of her hobbies with, it had been a long time since she
tried something new on her own. “I’ll go if you’ll come with me.”

“Can’t. Tuesdays are poker night.”

“I don’t really wanna go by
myself.”

“What are you, twelve? I double-dog
dare you to go.”

“
OK
.
I’ll try it.”

And so, the following Tuesday, she
found herself practically being pushed out the door, with a purple rubber mat
in hand. Kevin told her he’d found it in his trunk; Annie must have left it
behind.

When she walked into the hall at
the rec center, she considered pretending she was in the wrong room. Lean,
lithe, confident-looking people, mostly women, filled the room. They sat
cross-legged on their mats and watched the instructor, waiting for class to
start. Maggie felt like everyone was looking at her; the large pendant lamps
felt like spotlights. Noticing they all wore earth-toned halter tops and yoga
pants, Maggie played with the hem of her cotton gym shorts and tied a knot in
the extra-large T-shirt she’d pulled on over her jog-bra.
They
should tell you what to wear, and where to shop for this stuff, on the stupid
flyer
.

Maggie moved to the back. She
bumbled through the opening moves, hoping no one noticed, but when they
progressed to the more challenging poses, they must have seen the instructor
correcting her posture: helping her place her feet just so or her knee at the
proper angle. She glanced at the stretching jungle cats that surrounded her and
felt like a three-toed sloth.

God, this is
hard
. She’d expected a lot of gentle movement and deep breathing, but
her T-shirt stuck to her sweaty back. Her arms shook while she held some of the
poses. An unbelievable cramp gnawed at her right buttock.
I
swear this is never going to end
.

The woman in front of Maggie, who looked
to be in her late forties, had a gorgeous, athletic figure.
Didn’t expect to see Madonna here. What a hard body. Wonder if
that’s just from yoga?
Madonna’s forehead touched her shin when they did
the forward bends. Maggie rested her head on a blue foam block the instructor
gave her, stood up on end the long way. For the seated poses, Madonna folded
herself along the length of her slim leg and clasped her hands beyond her foot;
her white-blond hair, silky and fine as a doll’s, fell along her cheek. Maggie
held a strap wrapped around her arch; wisps of hair that had flown free from
her lopsided ponytail snaked across her face.