winter has passed, and the first hints of spring prick my senses on the walk to Wilder. I pass Mrs. Jansen’s rosebush and inhale. Jess chats noisily beside me, Beth on my other side. Jackson kicks in his carrier, so close to walking, he’s eager to get down. I grip the harness in my left hand. “Beethoven.” My guide dog instantly slows, and Jess laughs.
“Only you would get a dog named after a nineties movie,” she says.
“It was meant to be.” Beethoven had come from the B litter of guide pups and was trained for eighteen months. He’s now two years old and ready to work. “You know you mention this every time you see him.”
“Naturally,” she says.
Though I’ve only had Beethoven for a few months, he’s the perfect addition to our family. Jackson adores him, and I am thrilled my son will grow up with a dog who not only knows him, but can protect him too.
And me.
We turn left into the park, our pumpkin lattes clogging the air with the last remnants of the season. I adjust the light scarf around my neck and suck in the crisp air. Jackson’s ankles jingle—now sporting a bell for each foot as he prepares to move into the next stage of life: walking.
“Wait, stop,” Jess says. “I want to take a photo.”
“It’s not real unless you post it, right?” Beth jokes.
I know this is more for them than me, but I tell Beethoven to halt and hold my latte up in one hand and smile for the camera while Beth and Jess squeeze in. Me, Beethoven, and Jackson. One happy family.
We locate our familiar bench at the park, all of the incidents of the past months steadily draining with each passing day. Beth and Jess comment on the activities lined up for spring. Beth mentions her friend Crystal, who’s on a committee for one of the charities she backs. The name twists in my brain.
Crystal left me a long voice mail after I decided not to press charges, but I deleted it without listening. I know through the grapevine that Savi is in therapy, that Oliver was returned to Crystal under strict supervision from the state, and that she’s put her house up for sale. I’m not sure where they’re going or when, but I hope it’s somewhere they can start fresh. I don’t tell the girls how much I miss all three of them, and how, even though I haven’t yet forgiven them, I do want them to be okay.
We spend the morning talking as the kids play on a picnic blanket spread out in front of the bench. Jackson crawls at warp speed, and I lunge after him every few minutes, which constantly cuts into our conversation. After an hour of chasing and talking, I tell the girls I need to get Jackson home for a nap. I retrieve Beethoven’s harness.
“Don’t forget the nanny interview tomorrow,” Jess trills.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say. “I’ve got so many music lessons lined up, I might hire her no matter what.”
Jess set up a nanny interview for me after months of gentle prodding, and instead of saying no, per usual, I was ready to accept. I’ve realized help isn’t a bad thing—it’s necessary, and it doesn’t make me a weaker person because of it. I’ve always been capable. I trust my intuition, and my intuition tells me it’s time for help.
I’m finally listening.
On the way back, I think about how much my life has changed in less than a year. I’m sleeping. I’ve found a good, local therapist. I’m no longer paranoid or imagining things. I’ve even formed a group for vision-impaired mothers in surrounding areas. We meet once a month at the local community center.
At my front door, I disarm the alarm and stick the key in the lock. The house has received a modest renovation thanks to the help of a contractor Jake knows. It’s nothing drastic, but it’s enough to make it feel like my home—not my mother’s.
As I turn the key, the hairs on the back of my neck prick to attention, and I rotate, key stabbing the air. My pepper spray hangs from my key chain, and I clutch it in my fist, ready to aim and spray. Beethoven barks in confirmation.
“Hey, it’s just me. Sorry to scare you.”
Crystal’s voice barbs my skin, and I take a step back until I ram into the door.
“Why are you here?”
“I just wanted to say good-bye. We’re leaving—moving. I’m