me limits; only one cage at a time in each room for the rescues.”
She sighed, like this was something she had to work on.
“Come on, let me show you the phones.”
Chapter Fourteen
I had arranged to work at Ashland in the afternoons until the end of June. When Eve asked me “How was school?” I’d just smile and say, “Good, thanks.”
I’d never said I was in school. They’d just assumed. It didn’t feel like lying.
The end of the year was happening without me. Finals and yearbooks and the exhibition baseball game with our rival high school. Meg would call daily with updates, thinking that I’d want to be kept in the loop. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I didn’t like being absent from all that stuff, but working at the animal hospital made me feel like I’d gone away, and I wanted to be away more.
Suzie Sirico had said during one of our morning sessions, “The hardest part about grieving is that people often have to do it in the spotlight. Everyone’s watching them to see what they’re going to do next, how they react to things. So I’m glad that you got out of the spotlight.”
Out of the spotlight, I answered phones and filed paperwork while Eve checked clients in and out. Every minute at work was full of something and kept my mind busy. At night I was so tired that I slept, albeit with dreams so tense and vivid I woke up each morning drenched in sweat.
Walking the dogs only made me miss Masher. Which then made me wonder how David was doing, what David was doing. If having Masher was helping him.
Then I thought of David’s shapeless eyes, his bony elbows poking out of a brightly colored but stained polo shirt, and the almost friendly sound of his voice the last time we spoke.
“You saw that a-hole?” asked Meg bitterly during one of our phone calls, when I finally got up the nerve to tell her that David had been here. “What did you say?”
I wasn’t sure what to share. It was as if by making some peace with him, I’d handed all my anger to my best friend for safekeeping. Meg knew every thought I’d ever had about every boy we knew, but how could she understand my concern for David when it perplexed me too?
“It was very businesslike,” I said. “Believe me, I was in no mood to see him.”
The receipt with David’s email address was still sitting in front of the computer. After a few days, I found myself drafting a message to him in my head.
Hi, David. How is Masher? Just wanted to see how he’s doing.
Hi, David! How are you and Masher? Hope you are both doing good.
Hi, David and Masher. Everyone okay?
No matter how many versions I wrote, I couldn’t find the right balance between “casual/friendly/concerned” and just plain lame. But eventually, I had to get it out of my brain, so I sat down to type:
Dear Masher,
WOOF! I hope you and David are doing well. I just wanted to remind you about your appointment!
The next day, I got this response:
WOOF back. Feeling great and planning to be there.
I couldn’t bring myself to put the date on my calendar, as if writing it down would make it seem more important than it was.
WHAT REMINDS ME MOST OF THE PERSON I LOST IS . . .
“Their stuff is everywhere.”
Suzie and I usually started off each session by her showing me a Feeling Flash Card and spinning a conversation out of whatever answer I came up with. I was honest and serious with my replies now.
“Do you mean their belongings?” Suzie asked.
“Nana cleaned up most of the clutter, but some things she just left. Neither of us can touch them.”
I thought of the crossword puzzle my dad had been working on the morning of the accident. It often took him all week to do them, scratching in a few words every day. Nana had left this one, two-thirds finished, tucked between the salt and pepper on the kitchen table.
“Laurel, have you been able to go into their bedrooms?”
“No,” I said simply.
“I understand about not touching things. It’s too soon. Eventually, you and your grandmother might consider packing up the ‘stuff’ and giving some of it away. It’s very cathartic. But for now, one thing you might want to do is go into your parents’ room and stay aware of what reactions you have.”
For two days after that session, every time I walked