Page 13 of Jeremy
“We’llstop by your place to get you some clothes and your meds.”
Herlips purse, but a smile breaks through. “You’re stubborn as a winter itch.”
“Yep,it’s better to just give me my way.”
We’relaughing when the nurse enters and presents Agnes with a pair of crutches. Shesigns her paperwork, and we’re released.
“I’mgoing to leave a message on my son’s voicemail, in case he looks for me,” Agnessays, after we gather her things and head back to my place.
“Goodidea. Give him my number and address if he wants it.” It doesn’t seem like hegives half a fuck, but someone in her family should know where she’s staying.
Agnesmakes herself at home in my guest room, and I really enjoy having someone elsein the house. Amos picks her up most days, and they spend their afternoonstogether, but it’s nice to have someone to eat dinner with in the evenings. Havingsome company to talk to seems to make the time fly by. We spend a lot of timesitting on my back deck, enjoying the scenery and getting to know one another.Before I know it, September is nearly over.
Itoccurs to me that my seventy-five-year-old temporary roommate has more of asocial life than I do. I’ve needed this time on my own to get a grasp on myselfafter the last few years, but I need to start making an effort. A good place tostart would probably be putting my work out there again.
Ibegin by emailing the owner of a local gallery, including pictures of my latestwork. My name was pretty well known in the art world before I went away, so I’mhoping I wasn’t forgotten.
Withthat done, I head out to run some errands. I’ve been craving cheese lately forsome reason, so I stop at the grocery store to get the ingredients to make acheesy chicken and rice casserole.
Ayoung girl sits outside the entrance, a large cardboard box beside her. As I’mwalking past, a tiny head pops over the side. “No, Woody, get back down. Ialready told you,” the girl says, exasperated. The side of the box readsFreePuppies, but it looks like this curious one is the only one left.
“Hi,”the girl greets, when she sees me smiling at the pup.
“Hi,are you trying to find a new home for him?” I ask, reaching to pet the little guy.He practically attacks my hand, licking frantically, his tiny legs scratchingagainst the side of the box as he tries to climb out.
Herface droops. “Yeah, Mom says I have to because our landlord won’t let us haveanother dog. Woody is my favorite.” She shrugs. “But nobody wants him becausehe’s hyper. Mom says he’s too high maintenance.”
Woodylicks my knuckles and burrows under my palm, encouraging me to pet him somemore. Two oil drop eyes look into mine, and I make a rash decision. “I’d loveto take care of him.”
Thegirl’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yes,do you know if he’s had his shots?”
Sheproduces a half sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Mom said to give these towhoever took a pup. It’s the name of the vet who gave them their shots andstuff.”
WhenI pick him up, he’s a ball of excitement, wiggling and trying to run on air.The little girl and I both laugh. “Do you think you could keep him here forjust a few minutes while I’m in the store? I need to get him some food.”
“Helikes Puppy Bites, the one with the cow on the bag.” She watches as I returnhim to the box. “Will you…are you going to change his name?”
Myheart goes out to her. She’s obviously very attached to her little friend. Kneelingdown, I try to reassure her. “No, I think he likes his name, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Ipromise to take very good care of him. I just moved to town and I don’t have manyfriends yet. He’ll be my best friend.”
Thatputs a smile on her face.
“I’mgoing to go grab some groceries, and you can say goodbye, okay?”
“Okay.”
Itry to get my shopping finished quickly, but I take a moment to stop by thepharmacy and pick up an acne cream. It’s embarrassing, and I have no idea why,but my face has been breaking out again. I haven’t had that issue since I was ateenager. Maybe it’s stress, although this is the less stressed I’ve been inyears.
Thepet department has everything I need for my new puppy, and I can’t resistgrabbing a few extras. The toys are so cute. When I push my cart back throughthe entrance, the girl is waiting beside a taller version of herself.
“Thereshe is, Mom! She’s taking Woody!”
Ican hear Woody scratching away at the cardboard as we chat for a moment. Thegirl’s mother scoops Woody up, and they follow me to my car while I load thegroceries. I grab the new fuzzy squirrel toy I bought him, and the little girlsmiles as he takes it from me.
