Page 58

I should, too. But second chances feel like luxuries I can’t afford, not when they come with risks I’ve already taken and lost.
I know I overreacted. I was too harsh on Isaac. It’s the kind of person my life has made me — but it’s not the kind of person I want to be. I’ve spent all the days since then thinking about ways to apologize, but not once have I picked up the phone and actually done so.
It’s because I’m afraid. I know it. Too afraid to take another shot and get hurt again. Too afraid to hurt Isaac, to lash out at him again like I did at the shelter.
So, here I am, frozen, waiting for something to happen, for my destiny to change. I know it won’t, though. Since I’m not doing anything different, I’ll probably be alone the rest of my life.
“Emily, seriously, you’re doing great,” Jenn insists. She nudges me with an elbow, a playful spark in her eyes. “And look at all the money we’ve raised!”
It’s true. Ricki has already informed me that the lockbox is full with cash and checks. People are generous today, not just paying for washes but donating extra. All thanks to the marketing push, to Isaac’s influence.
“Can’t argue with that,” I admit, and it’s a genuine moment of pride that cuts through the melancholy. “The shelter needs this.”
“Exactly.” Jenn grins and hands me a towel. “Let’s get this big guy dried off.”
As we work, laughter comes easily between us, moments of lightness that feel almost normal. Almost. Because even as I throw myself into the task, part of me is elsewhere. Wishing for different circumstances. Wishing for Isaac to walk up, Baxter in tow, proving me wrong.
But he doesn’t.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re making the right decisions?” I ask Jenn, watching as the retriever bounds away with his human, happy and clean.
“Every day.” She shrugs. “But life’s about taking those leaps, isn’t it? Sometimes you land on your feet; sometimes… not so much.”
“Feels like I’ve been landing on my face a lot lately,” I confess, half-joking.
“Then it’s time for a change in strategy.” Jenn tilts her head, considering. “Or maybe a change in perspective.”
“Maybe.” The word lingers, uncertain but open. A possibility among the tangle of thoughts that refuse to settle.
“Are you thinking about Isaac?”
“I’m always thinking about Isaac,” I admit, brushing off a droplet of water from my cheek.
His face, his voice, his warm laughter — they’re all etched indelibly onto the backdrop of my mind.
“But he’s got a world of his own,” I say, struggling to put my feelings into words. “A world that I’m not sure I fit into.”
“You could just call him up,” she says. “Say that you want to move past what happened.”
I can never fool her. “Maybe,” I say again, biting my lip.
The day wears on, the sun arching across the sky as we wash and rinse and dry and repeat. And still, my heart whispers what my mind refuses to acknowledge. I miss him. I miss them both.
But missing isn’t enough to bridge the gap. Not when trust has been tested, and the results remain inconclusive. Not when I don’t know what to say to fix everything. Not when space feels like the only safe option left.
“Maybe it’s good he didn’t come,” Jenn says softly, reading my silence like a book. “Maybe you need this time.”
“Maybe,” I echo again, but conviction wavers. Because despite everything, despite the rationale and the justifications, there’s a hollow space inside me that only Isaac seems to fill.
“Or maybe,” she adds, a mischievous edge to her tone, “he’s giving you the space you asked for. That’s a kind of change, isn’t it?”
I don’t have an answer to that. Because what if it is change? What if Isaac really is trying, and I’m too scared to see it? What if…
“Focus on the now, Em,” Jenn advises. “Today is about the shelter, the dogs, and this incredible thing you’ve helped create.”
“Right.” I straighten up, resolve settling over me like a mantle. “The now.”
A woman with a springer spaniel approaches me, her smile as warm as the sun overhead. She’s been watching Jenn and me with the other dogs, taking in the lathered fur and wagging tails.