Page 59 of Love in Training
My blood starts pumping again with her words. I open my laptop to find other notifications I’m happy to see. Re-posts from my social media. Nods from other journalists and political figures. A few promising-looking nods from larger news organizations.
But Mrs. Vanderpool’s email, more than anything else, brings me peace. She’s the reason I was willing to do the feature in the first place. After hearing the tearful account of how her husband flaunted his disrespect for their marriage, and for her. How he did whatever he wanted for years while she endured with no voice of her own.
Until today, when I gave her one.
A burst of warmth kindles in my chest when I think about it, keeping me afloat even as I skim through my social media comments. There, inevitably, my confidence is knocked down a couple of pegs by some entitled men defending their rights to women’s bodies. But I don’t spare them my attention. I can’t. Not after the Features editor atDenver Editorialsends a personal note complimenting the piece. It’s barely twosentences, but I nearly fall off my chair knowing my name is on her radar.
By five o’clock, things have gone better than I imagined they could all day. Even Rufus seemed to whine slightly less while I stayed on top of all the responses, though I did ply him with some of Lydia’s chews. We’re both ready to leave the desk behind by the end of the day, though, so I tug him with me into the ladies’ room to change before we head to the park.
I’ve hardly had a moment all day to think about meeting Drew, but now the idea of spending time with him after work instead of just going home or for a run puts a hitch in my good mood. I spend an extra moment straightening my desk in a blatant attempt at procrastination and decide to also check my email one last time before packing up my laptop. Unfortunately, this is where what’s left of my mood takes a swan dive into the sewer.
Wednesday, March 18, 20__, 5:01 PM
From:[email protected]
Subject: your hair looks nice
You wore your hair down today. I liked it. Better than your fucking article.
My skin freezes over. When I try to swallow, my mouth fills with a sour taste. I had been standing a moment ago, but I realize I’m back in my chair when Rufus’s head drops into my lap. The whites of his eyes are visible as he stares up at me and lets out a new, unfamiliar low whine. Unconsciously, my fingers land on a warm place between his ears while my thoughts try to find traction in my brain.
Colin Vanderpool is exposed. This was supposed to be over.
Except somehow, Iknowthis is the same person.
How, though? It’s been six weeks since I got a message like this. The address is different (it always is), but surely Mr. Vanderpool has more important things to do today than harass a local journalist.
Like meet with his lawyers.
A creepy, unsettling sensation curls through me as the idea that it mightnotbe Colin Vanderpool dances at the edge of my mind. But why would anyone else care about the article?
A low moan issues from Rufus’s throat, vibrating against my lap. I look down to find his golden eyes less reassuring and more... pleading. I glance at the clock, suddenly remembering where we’re supposed to be heading.
Quickly, I forward the message to Randall. It wasn’t technically a threat, but it sure as hell felt like one. Then I archive it into a folder reserved for exactly this sort of thing, where I can keep it on record without having to look at it. When that’s finally done, I stand from my desk and glance over my shoulder, holding tight to the dog’s leash.
“Okay, Rufus. One asshole down. Only one more to deal with.”
The grass in Washington Park has already turned a gorgeous emerald green thanks to all the moisture we had this week. We enter the green space from Downing Street and head for a clearing on the north end in the trees. I glance over my shoulderagainas we leave the path, hating how quickly I’ve fallen back into paranoia. Everyone and their dog is literally here because of the nice weather. The hordes of people ought to be reassuring—safety in numbers, or whatever. But I can’t help wishing I were alone in my apartment behind a locked door.
My spirit sinks further when I see the familiar, broad-chested figure waiting in the trees. He’s in jeans this time and another stupidly form-fitting Henley. His unruly hair looks like it won a battle with the comb—veryunlikehis brother’s high and tight hairstyle. In fact, each time I lay eyes on Drew now, he reminds me less of Kyle. But I guess that only means he’s becoming his own obnoxious persona in my life instead of haunting me like a ghost.
He greets me with a nod as we approach, but as soon as Rufus lays eyes on him, I apparently cease to exist. The dog jerks me forward, wagging his tail and bouncing circles around Drew. I roll my eyes and let go of the leash, reminding myself that Rufus only acts like this because the man carries a literal tool belt of dog treats like some Pavlovian superhero. In no time, he moves from licking Drew’s face to wriggling upside down in the grass, inviting him to rub the lighter fur on his belly. I glance at my smartwatch, counting the seconds until this “training session” is over.
Drew indulges Rufus for another minute, scratching his ears and stroking him with his enormous hands. But eventually he straightens and utters a low command, and the dynamic between man and dog immediately shifts. Rufus is on his feet at attention, eyes and ears focused intently on Drew, who marches up and down between the trees, giving him different subtle commands. Rufus does all the basics: sits, lies down, and heels so closely at Drew’s side it looks like he might trip him.
Once Drew seems to have captured the dog’s rapt attention, he starts running him through different drills. He clips a long leash to his collar and makes him stay put from farther and farther away before releasing him. Each time Rufus does whatever it is Drew tells him to do, the man gives him an enthusiastic “Yes” and rewards him by letting him tug the end of a blue toy that looks like a ball with a rope handle on the end.After some minutes, I decide I need one of those since Rufus would clearly do anything to chomp his teeth around it.
But eventually, man and dog repeat these commands and rewards so many times, my attention wanders. I sit down against a tree, idly scanning joggers and dog walkers on the path, and farther away along the road. Every one of them looks like they belong here, of course, and also somehow like they might break character and close in on me if I let my guard down.
“Sound good?” Drew grunts directly behind me, and I sit up so fast, my spine cracks against the trunk of the tree.
“What?” I look up, annoyed.
“Isaidthis is probably as much as we can do for today. Do you know his basic commands?”
I haul myself to my feet, wiping pine needles off my butt. “Yeah, like, sit, stay, down, whatever.”
