Page 43 of Average Joe

“I see…” A criminal. An ex-con. “I see…” A man who would make me love him, then leave me broken. “Average.”

The weight of his hands, his warmth, disappeared. “Average. Ouch.”

I hated the pain in his voice.

“Listen,” I said, hand on the knob. “You don’t want me, anyway. I’m a mess. I work too much. I’ve been a terrible bitch to you.” I’d been horrible, but how else could I protect myself? “But like a lost little puppy, you keep coming back for more.”

“I like you.” The hurt had left his voice, rage now taking the lead. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Angry Joe was easier to reject than Sad Joe, giving me the courage to turn and face him once again. “You’re just lonely.”

He huffed, backing away, two steps, then three, hands sliding into his pockets, shoulders slumping. “True. I get lonely.” His eyes lifted to mine, the fight gone, the desire snuffed.

I’d hit my intended mark. I hated doing so, but still, I finished with, “I can’t fill that hole for you. You should get a dog.”

“A dog?” His sneer twisted my guts.

Conscience be damned, I drove the knife to the hilt. “I hear pets are the best cure for loneliness.”

Mom had raised me to be kind and forgiving. Warren Masters, and every man after him, had swung their hammers until they’d forged all my soft and sweet into hard, mean grit. Still, that didn’t stop the shame and embarrassment from weighing me down as I left Joe, alone, on my front porch.

* * *

Yap. Yap. Yap.

I forced my eyes open, lids heavy with exhaustion.

Yap. Yap. Yap.

Ugh. Not even my pillow blocked the noise.

Yap. Yap. Yap. Yap.

I performed a full-body spasm, kicking off my sheet in the process, fuming at the audacity. Only terribly rude people allowed their dogs to bark at such obscene hours of the night.

Yap, yap, yap.

Cursing into the darkness, I hopped to my feet and tore open the curtain, revealing an inky, starless sky.

Aiming my ire toward Joe’s open bedroom window, I waited.

Yap. Yap. Whine.

His shades were drawn, the room dark, but I could swear that awful noise came from inside his home.But that was crazy. Joe didn’t have a dog.

Ears on alert, I watched for any signs of life. After five minutes of no barking and no movement, I fell back into bed, squeezed my weary lids, and drifted again into dreamland.

Yap, yap. Whine.

When I woke again, I blinked against the hazy rays of sunshine peeking through my curtains. Had I even slept? How was the sky so bright already? And why, why, why, could I still hear that damn dog?

I lay silent, listening for the offending sound, breathing deep to keep my heart rate at a steady pace. No barking. Perhaps I’d been dreaming. I stretched. Checked the time. Tried to go back to sleep.

At six-thirty, I gave up my quest for slumber and ate a quick breakfast of peanut butter toast washed down with a large mug of coffee before dressing in my yardwork attire—comfy sweats, black sweatshirt, and work boots.

I’d looked forward to my day off all week. There were weeds to be pulled, a mucky gutter that needed cleaning, and a lawn that was three days overdue for a trim. Mother Nature and I seemed to be on the same page since the sun was bright, the clouds nonexistent, and the air cool and dewy. A perfect spring morning.

Earbuds situated, I started the yardwork playlist on my phone and headed to the privacy fence dividing my backyard from Joe’s. I dropped to my knees and tore at the weeds that thrived under the weathered pine boards.

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