The Dog Year (23 page)

O
n an impulse, Lucy grabbed the phone and both dog leashes. She silently collected Larry from the bedroom and hustled both Little Dog and Larry into the car, marveling at how easily dogs accepted new relationships into their lives. Little Dog climbed into the front seat, Larry into the back. Everyone knew their place. Dialing her phone, she pulled the car into the street.

At the dog park, Little Dog used her nose like a blind person uses a cane. Lucy didn't notice Mark approach until Bella barreled into her, giving Little Dog an overly personal butt sniff.

“Hey, thanks for calling.”

Lucy nodded, gazed back into the expanse of the park and said, “It's a little overwhelming . . . all this . . . sparkle and shine just from a few droplets of moisture and cold.”

“Yeah, it's a lot of morning glory, isn't it?”

“Like walking into a party where everyone's already having a good time and there's a lot of ground to cover before you get there.”

“C'mon, let's get a cup at the keg.”

“That's against your rules, isn't it?”

“It's okay if it's a pretend keg.”

Little Dog stretched her leash to its limit, sniffing and snorting like a tiny, furry vacuum cleaner. “You know,” Lucy said, “it's possible none of these dogs know you and I are here.”

“You smell like lemons. I don't think she's interested in you.”

Lucy shot a glance at him, but he didn't seem to notice how that type of comment rocked her. The undeserved kindness of it. Together they crested a berm, allowing them an expansive view of the park: a patchwork quilt of whites, silvers, and grays. The tall brown grass, leftover from the summer, poked through the snow.

Mark tugged on Little Dog's leash and said, “Why not let her go? She can't get out.” Bella bowed her head, playing with the miniature Larry as if they were the same size.

“I don't think she'd come if I called. Remember the cat?”

“Suit yourself. She might like a little controlled levity.”

She met his eyes, held them, and slowly let the leash run through her fingers, as Little Dog's scent-seeking nose pulled her forward. “Your eyes don't match,” she said. “I never noticed that before. Did your mother have the hazel or the brown?”

He smiled. “My mother's were brown, my dad's kind of changed. We're misfits through and through.”

Lucy considered conversing about meaningless things: the mayor's fascination with rosemaling paintings, the new highway the city had planned. She knew there would be none of that today. Today was a day for real words. Words with weight and meaning. Words about a future.

Little Dog traversed the trail, tail up, ears skirting the ground like a Victorian woman's dress. She paused and strolled into an alcove of evergreen trees that folded her into a prickly hug. Her wingman, Larry, was eager to follow. “When I was a girl, we went to the zoo in Syracuse, New York. They had these sweet social elephants that liked to entertain the crowds. The trainers said the elephants were happiest when they were sitting on stumps or working on handstands. After the show, they walked the elephants around and let the kids pet their hides. I guess the elephants loved that.”

“That right?” Mark pushed a spiny branch away from Lucy, and she ducked onto a smaller path.

“Each elephant had her own trainer. They obviously knew each other well. I saw one of the trainers step in front of his elephant and the elephant bowed her head and covered the trainer with her ears. That's how they show love to people. That pine tree covering Little Dog made me think of it. It sort of reached down and hugged her.” Lucy paused before continuing, “I know I have to call Tig. Go back to AA. But I can't do the Higher Power thing.”

Mark chuckled. “If God is your copilot, he's sitting in the wrong seat.”

“Yeah, if he wants to drive, I can think of at least one time I would have been happy to have him at the wheel. As far as I'm concerned, he lost his chance.”

Mark trained his eyes on the horizon. “I try to stop thinking of God as one guy with plans. There's energy everywhere. Those bushes have some say in things.”

Lucy glanced over, intrigued. “Yeah? What's that tree saying?”

“Cute dog. Think I'll give it a hug.” Little Dog emerged from a brush pile and sniffed her way into a bright red shrub with Larry at her heels. “AA'ers don't care about what kind of higher power you choose. Could be Santa, Morgan Freeman, or Dunkin' Donuts.”

“Ah, the holy trinity.” Lucy smiled.

“They're just hoping people will acknowledge that addiction is not the center of the universe. It's possible other factions may be in play.”

“Factions?”

“Like Mothers Against Drunk Driving. You know they've got to have crazy-ass pull in the universe.”

“Is that what you think about when you're reading the Serenity Prayer? ‘MADD, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change'?”

Mark laughed and Lucy noticed the deep dimples in his face reminiscent of a time when he used those muscles for something other than drinking. “So you
did
give it a try. The prayer wormed its way in?”

“When I was a teenager I had a trash can. The Serenity Prayer on one side and ‘Desiderata'—‘You are a child of the universe'
—
on the other side
.
My aunt gave it to me. I wonder if she's psychic.”

“Sounds like she's part of the trinity for you.”

“The Father, the Son, and Aunt Nancy.”

Silence skated between them like a referee at a hockey game. Lucy put down the metaphorical stick she usually held to keep people at a distance and Mark seemed to drop his shoulders an inch.

Out of sight, Little Dog yelped once loudly, and then released a long, fearful howl. Lucy froze as Mark took off for the underbrush, like an Olympic sprinter. Little Dog howled again and then let out a series of loud yelps. Lucy called, “Little Dog!”

Mark charged into the bush. Lucy tried to follow but a long dead branch snagged her coat. She snatched at her sleeve trying to free herself. Mark was struggling against the interior brush and Lucy could see his progress; the bush was a frenzy of limbs and dead leaves shaking in violation.

“Do you see her? Where is she?” Lucy called as she yanked her coat free and circled around the bush.

“I found her! I got her!” Mark said and the bushes calmed. “She's okay. She'd gotten her leash wound around a stump. She's not hurt from what I can see. She was just scared.”

Emerging from the woods, Lucy took the shaking Little Dog from Mark's arms and sank to the ground. She buried her face in the dog's fur and whispered, “We got you now. You're okay.” Then, to her surprise, she started to cry. Mark dropped his hand to her head and Lucy found herself leaning against his leg. Little Dog allowed a moment for the overwrought pregnant roommate who was holding her, but soon struggled, hoping for more free-range sniffing.

Lucy struggled to stand. “I'm a mess.” Mark pulled a cotton hankie from his jeans pocket and handed it to Lucy.

“You smoked weed in high school and now you carry hankies?”

He shrugged. “People grow up.”

Despite Little Dog's efforts to get free, Lucy clung to her as she and Mark called for Larry and Bella and walked out of the park to their respective cars.

Lucy said, “You know, I can't really do anything without a lot of drama lately, which is odd. Until recently, my life was the antithesis of drama.”

“That's what I like about the dog park. The dogs do all the dramatic things so the humans can relax.”

“I haven't relaxed since med school. Why don't you take Larry and head to my house? I think Sara would like to see you without me around. And I need to check in with someone.”

O
n the couch in Tig's office, Lucy unzipped her coat and rested her head against the wall. Tig handed Lucy a bottle of water and took a seat. “It's good to see you. You look really good.”

“The smell of this hospital doesn't make me happy anymore.” She closed her eyes. “The minute I walk in the front door, my anxiety goes up and I think of the night of the accident. I only just noticed that.” Tig nodded. Lucy said, “I used to think I felt nervous here because I was excited to go to work . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“And now?”

“Now, I think it's because I associate this place with losing everything. With missing Richard. I just didn't want to see it.” Lucy rubbed her eyes. “I haven't gone to twenty meetings. Of course you know that.”

“We'd like you to go to meetings. Twenty isn't a magic number, but I have to show Stanley something.”

“Show him I've returned the supplies I took.” Lucy pointed to the several tidy boxes that occupied one whole corner of Tig's office.

“I had no idea how much there was.”

Lucy glanced at the pile of boxes. “I've been living with them for a while. I guess from your perspective it does look massive.” She began to feel the shame take hold, and dropped her head. She touched the thumb on her left hand, painted black by Sara the night before.

They'd taken occasionally to watching TV together. With laserlike focus, Sara had painted each of her own nails with black lacquer, swiping and blowing until the tips shone. “Why always black?” Lucy had asked. “I mean, I know it's Goth, but is it also a kind of credo?”

Sara blew across the fingers of her left hand. “I've lived in some dirty places. Black doesn't show the dirt.”

“I did it again, didn't I? Showed my ignorance of your life.”

“You were just making conversation. I don't expect you to understand.”

Lucy nodded. “I guess I was thinking a credo might be helpful. I have to go see my therapist tomorrow at the hospital where I worked with Richard. So I have to face that place and be told I'm not doing enough to get my job back. The whole thing makes me feel . . .”

Sara lifted her eyes away from Lucy's nails. “What? Makes you feel what?”

“Weak.”

Sara untangled herself from Little Dog and Larry and moved to Lucy's side. She took Lucy's hand and painted her thumbnail black. “When you're there,” she advised solemnly, “you gotta remember who you are.”

Lucy, instantly overwhelmed with emotion, croaked out, “A poor little rich girl?”

Sara leveled her gaze and said, “A good person.”

Now, sitting in Tig's office, Lucy took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and said, “You know, compared to the pharmaceutical company giveaways, daily hospital waste, and patient mismanagement, this amount of stuff is nothing. It's not even a drop in the bucket.”

Tig nodded. “I guess that's true, Lucy.”

“Don't get me wrong. I know it was theft. I've had a lot of time to think about my behavior, and I don't mean just my recent behavior.”

“And?”

“I need a grief counselor, not AA. I need a grief counselor and friends. In my life, I've spent a lot of time being alone. I was never part of any sport teams, and medical school was solitary and competitive. Once I found Richard, I thought I had everything I needed. Then he was gone.” Lucy lifted her hands like a sad magician. “Poof,” she said. “I stole because I needed something. Something concrete that wouldn't die. Hospital supplies may not be a solution to loss, but they are helpful when faced with a situation where death is a possible outcome. Keep supplies close by and at least you have a fighting chance.”

She shrugged. “I'm a problem solver, but it turns out you can't solve death.” Her gaze wandered around the room, landed on a tissue box, a stuffed bear, the windowsill, and beyond, into the winter gray outside. “I wonder if other doctors know this.”

Tig let the silence drift between them. After a long moment she said, “Nope. Death isn't the problem, but it has to be acknowledged. If you understand that you have limited time, you won't want to waste a moment watching reality television, fighting about a parking space, or stealing suture kits.”

Lucy met Tig's eyes and stood up. “Yes,” she said. “I've decided that I'm never stepping foot in this hospital again. It reminds me of everything I lost: my partner, and my time to an institution that didn't value me. Stanley had a lot of choices and instead of being creative, he shoved me into a box and out the door.”

Tig didn't move. The heater clicked on and a whoosh of warm air swirled into the room. “Some people aren't who they seem to be on the surface, and I don't want to work for a place that would risk losing me because they didn't take the time to understand me.”

Tig nodded.

“The truth is, with life insurance and what we saved, I could retire today.” She took a step toward the door. “But I'm going to work again. I'm going back to what I'm excellent at, and that is helping women feel intact.”

Tig smiled a broad, knowing smile. “Let me know when you resign. I'd like to have a little talk with Dr. Menken. I'm excited to see the child you produce, Luscious Peterman. I'll bet you could name her Marvelous, and she'd hold her head up high.”

*   *   *

Lucy pulled her hat down over her curls and snapped her coat up tight. The car idled in the lot next to the dog park, its tail pipe sending exhaust into the mouthwateringly blue winter sky. It was the kind of day that was too cold for snow, or hail, or anything other than crystal-clear thinking.

“Why are we going to the dog park today, Sara? It's freezing.”

“Ask Claire. She's mental about getting Candy socialized. She all but came and picked us up.”

They opened the doors against the wind that whipped ice off the roof of the car and onto the dogs. Unfazed, Little Dog trotted forward. Larry, less sure, high-stepped across the parking lot, dressed in his Christmas present from Lucy: a red fleece sweater and booties.

“This is crazy. I hate this cold. Let's meet Claire, let the dogs poop, and get out of here,” said Lucy.

With their heads down against the wind, the two women trudged across the frozen landscape. The solid ground held pockets of ice wherever water had pooled when the temperature changed.

Standing in a small alcove of trees, Claire smoothed her one-piece pink snowsuit and called over the wind, “Well, I wondered if you were gonna let this cold win out over a kick-ass day at the park.”

Lucy and Sara picked their way through the tiny icescape. “I would have stayed in the car, believe me.”

“Oh, hon, I saw you in there and for once in my life I let the universe do the talking. I said to myself, let that girl alone, Claire, she'll come out in her own sweet time.”

“Nah, she would have stayed,” said Sara. “I made her get out.”

Candy snuffled up to Little Dog, welcoming her hind end in a way no human would ever agree to outside of a stripper bar.

With their dogs in tow, the three women walked down the gravel path toward the wire gate that kept the park contained. As they rounded the corner, Claire said, “Now don't be mad, but I have a surprise for you all.”

Around one of the clusters of trees Lucy saw a small grouping of people surrounded by dogs of all sizes, circling a man in a wheelchair. Lucy hesitated, and Claire urged her on. “They are just people who care about you. That is all.”

Sara said, “I didn't know anything about this. Claire? Seriously?”

“It's nothing but a coffee klatch without the coffee. This is not a meeting of any sort other than a meeting of friends.”

“Lucy and Sara.” Ron nodded and in his formal way said, “Very nice to see you again.” His dreadlocks stuck out from under a multicolored wool cap. Claire lifted a mittened hand to a skinny woman with striations in her jaw and neck that looked many years and many drinks in the making. “This is Olive. She's newish—not to us, but to you two.” Then she smiled and said, “Sara, check out Kimmy.”

Kimmy stepped forward with a wry smile. She pulled a piece of something out of her fanny pack and fed it to a mop of a dog she held in her arms. “They didn't know it was addict day at the park, did they, Claire?”

Ron narrowed his eyes and said, “Claire?”

Lucy felt a flush crawling up her neck under the intense scrutiny of the group.

“All right, everybody,” Claire said. “You all know I have trouble with boundaries. What's the big surprise?”

Ron pushed the lever on his wheelchair forward and faced Lucy and Sara. “Ladies, although it's certainly very nice to see you, I can see you were lured here under false pretenses.”

“Hey,” Claire said. “Lighten up, Ron.” Then she turned to Lucy. “I said this isn't a meeting and I meant it. This is a social event with dogs. Nobody is going to talk about addiction, dependence, or anything other than the best dog food or chew toy. I promise.” She gestured to the group. “We're nice people, you're a nice person, we have dogs. Okay? Tig isn't here on purpose, but she said she's coming and bringing Millie next time, for sure.”

Lucy said to the group, “I'm just not sure that AA is right for me.”

“She doesn't even drink,” Sara said. Claire and Ron exchanged looks.

Kimmy said, “Nope, can't talk about that. It's all dogs from here on out.” She hugged her tiny dog bundle close.

Claire held up two fingers. “Scout's honor! We don't want to know anything other than where to get discount rawhides and what you can do to discourage barking.”

Lucy smiled. She looked at Sara and then at Olive.

Olive said, “I don't drink, either.” Shrugging, she added, “Weed.”

“Olive's fine,” Claire said. “She brought the donuts! Hand 'em over. She's got both cats and dogs. See how inclusive we are!” She took the white bakery box from Ron, and the wind whipped the lid open. She offered a donut to Lucy.

“Let's get the dog introductions out of the way for Olive and start moving. “Ron's got the shepherd, Coltrane, over there in the brush. Watch yourself with him; he'll hump anything alive or dead.”

Ron laughed. “It's true. I don't know what gets into him.”

“It's your fault,” Claire said, pointing at his wheelchair. “Those who can't do, teach.” Claire continued, “Miss Crab-Ass over there has the miniature pinscher named Larry.” Sara touched his back and the dog sprang around her feet. “After my stepdad,” she said.

They waited for clarification, but when none came, Claire continued. “Olive has the cocker spaniel named Joe.”

Olive scratched her face. “Joe Cocker, get it? ‘You are so beautiful'?”

Lucy smiled at her sitting there with her luxurious dog, guessing there would be an extra donut in the box that never touched Olive's lips.

“She
is
beautiful,” Lucy agreed, and they all took a minute to admire the dog's sweetheart of a face and glossy black fur.

Claire pointed to Kimmy's shih tzu. “That's KiKi. You gonna let that dog use her legs today or is it the princess chair for her?”

“Claire always gives me trouble about carrying KiKi but she's just not a joiner. Plus,” Kimmy said, stroking her white coat, “I just bathed and blew her dry.”

“Suit yourself, Kimmy. Don't come crying to me when she can't make friends at obedience school.”

Kimmy held her dog closer and said, “KiKi is never going to school. She's perfectly behaved.”

Ron began a wide turn with his chair. “C'mon, you hens, let's get a move on. I'm cold and I've gotta get something done today.”

As the group moved forward, its members convened in little staggered gatherings. Sara joined Ron while Claire paired off with Olive. Lucy could hear her voice on the wind, “Sweetie, no matter what ails ya, this place has got a kind of healing magic. You'll see.”

Kimmy took up the rear with Lucy. The dogs ran randomly around their owners' legs, barking in canine solidarity.

“I feel terrible about this. You must feel a little manipulated,” said Kimmy, stroking her dog.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “I gotta say, I'm like KiKi; I don't like groups.”

“Claire just doesn't understand that. She's always cross-pollinating her collections.”

A bundle of dogs raced by them in a flurry of tails and fur, barking and neck biting. Lucy pulled Little Dog out of the way just as the pack switched direction and plowed into Kimmy. “Gotta be on your toes here. Those dogs will take you out.”

Lucy kicked some mulch out of the way and said, “So is this really just dogs and chat? No therapy? No talk of God and drinking?”

“I'm not going to say we don't talk about things that are important to us. But nobody recites the Twelve Steps. We're going to meet here regularly every day around 8
A.M.
to hang out and chat.”

Kimmy continued, “We still meet at the Serenity Center for AA, with Tig in attendance, but we decided that there is nothing like a dog park to make oddballs feel like they fit in somewhere. Dog people love other dog people—gun lovers, peacekeepers, and alkies alike. It's the place we can all convene with a mutual love of everything canine.”

“Funny that it takes dogs to bring the masses together,” Lucy said. “Wouldn't it be nice if there was a people park where humans got together to hang out?”

“There is a place like that. It's called the mall.” Then, as innocent as can be, she said, “So what do you hear from Mark?”

*   *   *

Lucy approached Sidney's house and was surprised to see all the lights on. Frost hung in the air, and Little Dog pushed herself between Lucy's legs. When Sidney answered the door, she ushered Lucy inside and said, “I'm so glad you called. Come in. How are you?” Chubby Lumpkins jumped up on Lucy's leg and turned to sniff Little Dog in one fluid movement. “These two should be in Cirque du Soleil,” Sidney laughed. Then she hugged Lucy. “How are you?”