Page 24 of No Kind of Hero
It was all very metaphysical, or rather, very biological. What itwasn’twas getting her thesis puzzled out, or anything else, either. Plus, it was too cold up here to stand around. She headed back down, moving as fast as the snowshoes would allow, her burning thighs complaining—or announcing, “Toning!” if you were a glass-half-full person. Which she was going to try a whole lot harder to be. Quit analyzing things so much and just . . . jump.
Howdidyou jump, though? Did you wait until you were both crouched over the paint tray and say, “I really want your body?”
Ugh. No. Only in a movie. Real people said, “Hey. Do you want to hang out tonight?” She practiced saying it out loud and got a raucous squawk from another jay for her efforts. So she said it again until it sounded natural. Casual. And if he said, “Yeah, sure,” she’d . . . well, she’d worry about that when it came up. If he liked her half as much as she liked him, he’d probably take it from there anyway. If he didn’t, she’d be clued in that he was either (A) way more passive than her reckless imagination suggested, or (B) only interested in having sex with her, and only because she’d made herself that extravagantly available. Neither of which was good enough, she told herself sternly, no matter how many fantasies she had of him throwing down the roller, hustling her out to his truck, and driving off with her to show her what it was all about.
Ha. She was so not the woman that would ever happen to.
Here in the real world, though . . . What if he said, “Sorry, I’m busy tonight. Going out with my girlfriend”?
Well, obviously, she’d shrivel up and die.
No.She’d say, “Oh, OK. I just thought I’d ask,” make an excuse, put the paint roller down, and go to her room. Andthenshe’d shrivel up and die.
She was almost at the road, and yes, she had enough endorphins hopping, or flowing, or whatever endorphins did, to do this. You bet she did. She was going for it.
It happened between one thought and the next. She came around the corner, saw the dark shape loping across it, and thought,Coyote. No. Dog,even as she registered the oncoming red pickup.
One heart-stopping moment when she thought that surely the lean brown animal would make it. And the moment when it didn’t. When Beth’s mouth opened in a belated, soundless scream, and the animal was airborne, then down, while the truck sped on, the noise of its engine fading into the distance.
Beth didn’t cry, and she didn’t scream. She was fumbling at her feet for the snowshoe straps, then leaving the snowshoes behind and running awkwardly through the last few yards of snow until she was on the road, where the dog was rising to his—her—its feet.
It’s all right. It’s not hurt,she thought for an instant, and then she saw the rear leg hanging awkwardly, the animal struggling.
Oh, no.She got to the dog, crouched down, said, “Come on. Come on. Let’s go get you some help,” one part of her amazed at how calm she sounded. The animal turned liquid brown eyes on her, hopped closer, and licked her hand, and Beth’s throat closed.
Carry it. Find a vet.Even though the dog wasn’t tiny, and carrying it wouldn’t be easy. There was no other choice. Her dad was at work, her mom was at the gym, and Beth didn’t have a car. But she had to dosomething.She got an arm under the dog’s chest. That was the easy part. When she reached around it, though, picked it up, and staggered to her feet, the animal whimpered, and Beth almost dropped it.
Toughen up.“You can do this,” she said aloud, her voice so fierce, it startled her. The dog was whining, a barely audible sound, and Beth was nearly whining herself. But shehadto do it or the dog would die, and the dogcouldn’tdie, not if Beth could stop it. So she clumped through the snow to the house, and then she was stuck. She couldn’t open the door without putting the dog down, and she couldn’t put her down. It would hurt her too much.
Instead, she kicked, her boot slamming into the door over and over. She yelled, too. Just in case he could hear. “Evan!” Kick.“Evan!”Kick.“EVAN!”She kicked until she thought she’d kick the door in. And finally, he came.
Overalls, T-shirt, work boots, and a startled expression. She said, “It got hit. By a truck. It’s hurt. Please.”
He said, “Wait,” and went back into the house, and she thought,What? No. Please. Help me.The dog was shivering now, and so was she.
She’d barely thought it when Evan came back, shrugging into his coat. It was only when he took the dog carefully out of her arms that she realized how heavy the animal had been. Evan was already down the steps, and she pulled the front door of the house shut and followed him.
He stopped at the door of his battered old pickup and asked, “Can you hold her in your lap?”
“Yes.” She was shivering as hard as the dog, but he didn’t seem to notice. He said, “Get in, and I’ll hand her to you.”
Hehadnoticed, though, because as soon as he got in and turned the truck on, he cranked the heat up. It took the entire drive, though, for Beth to stop shivering. The dog’s eyes were closed, and she panted all through that endless journey. The truck seemed to hit every bump in the road, too, until Evan was pulling into the parking lot of the strip mall that housed the vet’s office.
He said, “Hang on, and I’ll come around and get her from you,” and he did. He carried the unresisting animal inside, and then he carried her to the exam room, where he finally set her gently down. Beth leaned over the table, stroked the dog’s fur, told it—her—that she would be all right, and tried not to cry. And as for Evan? He sat on the bench and didn’t say anything. But when the vet came in and said, “Let’s take a look,” and Beth had to leave the dog and sit on the bench herself, Evan took her hand, and he held it. Which was when she cried. Which was when he put his arm around her and let her tears fall on his broad chest like she belonged there.
She went home four hours later with her savings account exhausted and a dog named Rosie, and if she also went home more in love with Evan than ever? Who wouldn’t have been, especially once he’d carried Rosie into the house and set her onto the dog bed Beth laid down, the one he’d run in and bought at the pet store while she held an exhausted Rosie in the truck? Along with the dog food and the dishes and the collar and the leash. And if none of that had been enough, he also stood with her while her mom asked questions, and he didn’t flinch or step back or look down or . . . anything.
“You realize what this means,” Michelle said, her too-sharp gaze moving between Beth, Evan, and Rosie, who had curled up on her new bed in the corner of the family room, her hind foot sticking out behind her, and was resting her chin on her brown-and-white spotted paws. “It doesn’t meanyougot a dog. It means your father and I got a dog.”
“I know,” Beth said. She was pleading, but Rosie deserved pleading. “But if you could have seen what a good dog she is, Mom. She never growled or nipped or anything at anybody, as badly hurt as she was. The vet was checking her, and it hurt her so much, and when it was over, she . . .” She had to stop a moment, take a breath. “She licked my hand.”
“You’d better not get too attached,” her mother tried next. “She’s bound to belong to somebody.”
“Who? Look how skinny she is. She didn’t have a collar, either, and she was on theroad. If shedidbelong to somebody, and they weren’t feeding her better than that, or keeping her at home, they don’t deserve to have her.”
Beth was never fierce, but she was fierce now. It was Rosie, and it was Evan. He was letting her talk, but he was standing beside her while she did it, giving her strength. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Mom,” she said, and now, a tear or two escaped. She couldn’t have stopped them. “But Rosie matters. She’s a good dog. She deserves a home. Please.”
She’d won that day, and so had Rosie, but it had taken all day, and it had been dark for an hour by the time Evan packed up his things and prepared to leave.
