Page 121 of DadBod

ELIZABETH

I’m sotired of driving and listening to Ryann whine that I get the giggles after she asks, again, “How much longer?”

The first half hour of the drive north, Ryann regales me with stories of the other people in the waiting area. Apparently, there was a woman who was refused entrance because her husband, an inmate, didn’t want to see her. “That was like an episode of TheReal Housewives. After that, a guy shows up carrying a box. When the guard tried to take it from him, it barked.”

“The man or the box barked?”

Giggling, Ryann explains, “The box barked. The man thought he could bring in a puppy.”

“A puppy?”

“Yep. He said his brother loved dogs. It would cheer him up.”

“You know what, I bet it would’ve cheered him up.”

“Bernie should do that.”

“What?”

“Take some of the dogs to places like that.” She means the prison. “People who aren’t violent can interact with the animals.”

“That’s a great idea. I wonder if anyone does that?”

Ryann fiddles with her phone for a minute. “Yeah. There’s a prison in California that trains dogs.” She reads on. “There are different prison programs that work with rescue dogs; I guess my idea wasn’t that original.”

“I think it was. You should talk to Bernie.”

“Maybe.” Ryann glances out her window. “I heard Charlie found a foster home.”

“He did?” I knew about that too. “That’s great news. And it’s all because of you, Ryann.”

“I know.” She sounds defeated. “I’ll miss him.”

“You’ll still get to see him.”

She side-eyes me. I guess she knows more than me. Charlie will be fostered, and hopefully adopted. She probably won’t see him again. “Is there another dog that could use your help?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Charlie’s just special.”

“He is.” Luckily, I’m able to change this difficult subject with “We’re here.”

Pulling my car up to the trailer my dad now lives in, I smile at the flowers near the door. I planted those when I was home last year. I’m happy to see they’ve bloomed again.

“Here?” Ryann sounds almost offended. “You lived here?”

I don’t like her tone. Not one bit. “No. After everything, when Dad couldn’t afford the house, he moved here.”

“It’s a trailer.”

And that’s it. “If you make my father feel less than he is, Ryann. You and me…” I point at her, then at myself, which is rude, I know, but I had to do it for emphasis. “…are going to have a problem.” I gesture to the trailer home. “That man in there has been through hell and back. He works his butt off and still has nothing. He’s a good man. He loves his family, and if he could, he’d give us the shirt off his back. That, to me, means more than what his home looks like. My father has always tried his best with us. Always loved us, hugged us, and made sure we had food to eat.” God, I’m so mad. “I swear, Ryann…”

Holding up her hand, she quickly states, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry. I was being judgmental, and that’s not right.”

“Exactly.” I’m still pissed. “I would have left you at home if I thought for one second you’d come here and treat my family with disrespect. If you––” I’m about to tell her I’m going to call her father to come get her, but she stops me.

“I’m sorry. I won’t treat your family with disrespect. I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to my dad or Calvin…”

“Exactly.” Still a little pissed though––but better.

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