The Dog Year (21 page)

T
he painters finished a week and a half before Christmas. The crown molding in the baby's room had been placed, and the December sun washed the walls in a heavenly light. When the crib came, ordered safely from the Internet, Lucy paid the workmen extra to set it up. As she watched men with hands accustomed to hammers and nail guns finesse the tiny screws in the crib, Lucy's throat closed with emotion. She stood in the doorway and listened to their conversation.

“My wife couldn't stop crying, the baby was screaming, and I couldn't get the tape off those tiny newborn diapers.”

Lucy thought of Richard and turned from the door.

Later that day she moved her hobo self out of the living room back into the baby's room. The next morning she lifted her head from the pillow and a wave of nausea hit her along with the smell of bacon from the kitchen. She closed her eyes, felt the rush of her saliva glands, and bolted out of her bed and into the bathroom. She vomited quickly and dry heaved twice before wiping her sweating face on a towel. As Lucy stepped out of the bathroom Sara rounded from the kitchen, munching on a slice of crispy bacon. Lucy put her hand over her mouth and heaved again, waving the girl away.

“Jeez,” Sara said, swallowing.

Lucy shuffled back to the baby's room. “Call the Humane Society, tell them I'm not coming.”

After five days of throwing up each time she stepped out of bed, Lucy saw it for what it was: a kamikaze-like morning sickness that came and went without a second of warning. The unpredictable pattern wore her down. Sometimes she could get through her morning shower, and sometimes just opening her eyes would have her reaching for the blue bucket she now kept at her bedside.

Chewing on a black nail, Sara watched from the doorway.

“Dude, you gotta eat.”

When Lucy didn't answer, the girl shuffled to the kitchen. There were sounds of cabinets opening and closing and much banging. And then Sara pulled a kitchen chair into the room. She was holding a glass of ice chips and a slender silver spoon.

“Open up,” she said, sitting down next to Lucy. When the glass was empty, she went back into the kitchen and banged out another glassful.

Then the phone rang. Lucy heard Sara's muffled words. “She needs you.” Then Sara walked back into the bedroom carrying a can of Lysol, Lucy's laptop, and a look of concern. “It says here that this happens at around six weeks of pregnancy and that's about right, right?”

With a careful nod, Lucy closed her eyes. “Who was on the phone?”

“That skinny friend of yours, Sidney. I gave her a grocery list.”

“She can't do it.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “I figured. She's picking me up.”

*   *   *

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” Charles said.

Lucy moved to sit.

“Take it easy. The warden called; said I was in charge of watching, feeding you ice, and trying to get you to eat saltines.”

Taking a shard of ice, Lucy whispered, “Sometimes talking brings it on.”

“My God, your own personal hell. You have to keep quiet or you'll throw up.”

“Please don't talk about throwing up.” She swallowed hard, gave a little heave.

“Think it's time to see a doctor?”

Lucy mouthed an emphatic,
No!

“You look a little gray.”

“Just talk to me,” Lucy said. “What's going on with you? I gotta close my eyes, but I'm listening.”

“Let's see. Phong has got some weird eye thing going on. Has to go in and get his pupils dilated. Maybe an MRI.”

Lucy frowned with her eyes closed.

“I'm convinced he's just overtired. Eyestrain from all the work he does on the computer. He's pushing himself on the adoption paperwork, too. What a pain in the ass this international adoption is.”

“I'd have a baby for you, Charlie, but if I get through this, I'm done. This is just too hard.”

“This is crazy, Luce. Let me bring you to the doctor's.”

But she waved him off. “Too tired,” she said with her eyes still closed. “Keep talking.”

“Okay, well. I know you don't want to hear this, but we all like Mark and think you should give him a chance.” Charles held his hand up as if to stop Lucy's argument before she could formulate one. “We know he doesn't look all that great on paper: divorced, alcoholic, impulsive procreation, and all that. But so what? Phong and I would never have gotten together if we'd been matched up online. We're total opposites. Plus, while Richard was great, theoretically—none of that made a difference in the end.”

He paused. “Luce?” He waited another beat. “Lucy?” Then, standing, he pulled a chenille quilt over the shoulder of his sleeping sister. “Just give him a chance, Lucy. Even if it doesn't seem like the smartest idea.”

*   *   *

“How's our girl?” Sidney smiled when she and Sara returned from their shopping expedition. Charles had met them in the kitchen.

Sara looked at her list. “Is she sleeping? I think we got everything. We bought her tiny Cokes for her to sip all day. My mom used to give me those when I had the flu. Something magic in 'em.” As she pulled items out of a brown grocery bag she listed them aloud. “Crackers—Ritz and saltines. Lemons. Ginger. Lemonade. Potato chips and watermelon Jolly Ranchers.”

Sidney said, “The candy is supposed to take the place of real watermelon. Sara looked up all of this online.”

Sara tiptoed down the hall to peek at Lucy. Carefully she picked up the glass full of melted ice chips and returned with it to the kitchen. “I got ice from the gas station. There's two bags of it in the freezer. All you have to do is bust it up a little. Oh, and here's what I thought about when we were picking out all this stuff. When I'm out walking the dogs, grocery shopping, and shoveling snow, you and Sidney can be with Lucy. And when I come back, you guys can stay or go. I don't care.”

Charles said, “Uh, I can't be here on any set schedule. I've gotta work. Phong and I . . .”

“She needs you. She's your sister!” Sara's petite frame was rigid with indignation. Sidney put her hand on her elbow.

Charles said, “She's not dying. She didn't even throw up when I was here.”

A retching sound came from down the hall and Sara scowled at him. Sara rushed into Lucy's room. Sidney and Charles heard her say, “You okay? Can I get you anything?”

Sidney looked at Charles. “Who would have thought?”

“I've gotta go to work.”

“Oh, I know. And it's okay, you don't need to be here. Sara's just trying to help. I bet it feels good for her to focus on something other than herself for a change.”

“You think Lucy should go to the hospital?”

“I'll keep an eye on her. I'm an expert at this kind of thing.”

“Pregnancy?”

“Vomiting.”

“My God, we're a bag of nuts.”

“You know what they say. You shake a can of nuts and the biggest ones will rise to the top.”

Sara reentered the kitchen. “I'm going to walk the dogs. Skinny, you take the first shift.”

Charles shook his head. “I'm thinking there's a whole lot of shakin' going on around here,” he said.

*   *   *

On Christmas Eve, Sara woke to the now-familiar sound of retching. She watched as Lucy, her curly hair a mass of frizz on top and matting at the sides, hunched back into her room. Wearing Richard's old maroon robe and carrying the telephone, Sara tiptoed into the living room and made a call.

Twenty minutes later, Mark walked in the front door and down the hall, and scooped Lucy into his arms. Sara held the door for him, grabbing Lucy's purse.

In the hospital, Lucy opened her eyes after a B
₁₂
shot, an hour of IV fluids, and an antihistamine.

“You,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

She closed her eyes and slept for two days.

*   *   *

Lucy breathed in the smells of her house, now made tolerable by a week and a half of a cocktail of Benadryl, lemons, and vitamins. As she buttoned her coat, she grabbed her car keys from the hook by the phone.

“You gonna try the dog pound today?” Sara said, holding a coffee cup.

“The fresh air will do me good. I'm feeling a lot stronger.”

“Charles brought us some real sugar. I hate that fake stuff you use. Didn't you ever cook? You know, before?”

“Not really. I worked a lot.” Lucy pocketed her keys.

Sara picked at her fingernail. “Claire called. She wants to come over.”

“Did you tell her to come?”

“Her message is on the answering machine. I didn't pick up.” Sara shrugged. “You can call her.”

“Okay. Maybe she could come for lunch one day. Hey, thanks for unloading the dishwasher.” She paused. “And for calling Mark.”

“Something had to be done. You ever going back to AA, or you thinking you're fixed?”

“Eventually, I have to go back. I have to get to twenty sessions or I can't go back to work.”

Sara nosed a piece of dog kibble with her toe, picked it up, and tossed it into the garbage. “Can I come? To the dog pound?”

“You'd have to fill out an application. You can't just hang out.”

Sara considered this, scratched a scab on the back of her hand. “I'll need an address and telephone number. I sure can't use the dog park.” Lucy noticed for the first time something other than defiance or worry in the girl's eyes. She didn't dare name it.

“Use this one. Put me down as a reference. And Mark.” Lucy started toward the door. “And get a coat. It's freezing out today. They start everyone new in the exercise area.”

*   *   *

Sara wore an old goose down–filled ski jacket that made her appear even smaller than usual. Lucy cranked the heat in the car.

“How come you don't have any friends, except old drunks and Skinny?”

Lucy was too tired to be offended. “Well, I had my husband, my job, and my brother. I didn't think I needed any friends.”

Sara nodded. “I like your brother.”

“Everybody does. What about you?”

“When you're trying to figure out where you're going to sleep or how you're going to eat, friends aren't that important.”

“I can't imagine your life.”

“Yours is kind of boring.”

“Hey, Sara. Maybe we don't have to talk.”

Sara gave her a thumbs-up and closed her eyes.

*   *   *

They separated at the Humane Society. Lucy headed straight for the dog exercise area with two compatible canines: Candy the basset and Sassy Parker. The dog joy she observed while watching them bowing, dodging, and nipping made her feel lighter. She caught sight of Sara dutifully following another volunteer into the cages, helping to clean them. She'd taken a rubber band and pulled her hair off her face, which was unlined and pale.

Lucy led Candy to her doggie bed at the front desk, and Sara stopped to pet her. She scratched her ears. Candy beat a back leg, grateful.

“You know who would love this dog?” Lucy said to Sara. “Claire.”

“Legit.”

“Think I should call her?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. Let's get her here, then we can have lunch at our place.” Her mention of
our place
was not lost on Lucy. “And Kimmy can be next.”

“She lives with her dad, though,” Lucy pointed out.

“He can't live forever,” said Sara, the ultimate pragmatist.

When Lucy's phone rang, she checked the name. Mark. She hit Ignore and shoved the phone deep into her jeans pocket.

“Why do you do that?”

Lucy met Sara's gaze head-on. “He won't live forever, either.”

Sara frowned, and something lifted between the women, as if the barrier they'd both erected had finally been dismantled.

*   *   *

Less than a week later, Claire reentered their lives. Thinner and almost hairless, she approached the doors of the Humane Society, where Lucy and Sara were waiting for her. Sara opened the door and with a worried expression, moved to grasp her arm.

Claire said, “Don't even think about it. I am feeling just fine. The only people I want taking my hand are my lovers, and only for reasons that have nothing to do with helping me through a door.”

“Gross, Claire.”

“What's trash to one person is treasure to another, little girl.”

Claire hugged Sara and kissed Lucy on the cheek. “Look at you two. Frick and Frack.” She stood back like a proud, southern matchmaker. “Partners in crime, that's what we have here,” she said.

Lucy looked around, hoping to see the typical lack-of-people-interest from workers at the Humane Society. She did not talk about crime with the dog people. “I don't think Sara thinks it's a compliment to be compared to me, Claire.”

“Not the worst thing someone's said about me,” Sara said, not meeting Lucy's eyes.

They both hustled Claire into the visitors' room, and Sara gave Lucy the signal to retrieve Candy. As Lucy left the visitors' room, she hesitated for a moment at the sight of the unlikely pair: the southern lady and the tough young homeless urchin. Sara placed a pillow behind Claire's back and Lucy felt a flash of envy for the older woman, despite her health struggles.

In the hall, the all-knowing Marilyn had Candy leashed, smelling of lavender, and tied with a trim pink ribbon around her neck. The sound of the basset's toenails scratched the linoleum as Marilyn gazed down at her. “I'd take her in a second, but then my husband would divorce me. Which wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but still.” She cleared her throat. “We discourage dogs as gifts, as you know, but since you are not technically giving this dog to your friend, I am supporting you on this.” Lucy nodded. With a quick knock, she entered the visitors' room.

Claire took one look at the dog and squealed. With the energy and intensity of a puppy, Candy flopped up to Claire and nuzzled her leg.