Page 16

Chapter Sixteen

After school, I head to the shelter. I don’t volunteer during the week, but sometimes I stop to visit the animals. Today I need to cuddle with the new sweet little dog they got in.

Chloe looks up from the desk when I walk in. “Oh hey, Ava. Bad day?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, I just know you only come during the week when you need some good company.”

“That’s for sure.” I chuckle humorlessly. “Is Dot still back there?”

Chloe grins. “Surprisingly, she is. I’m glad she can bring you some comfort. And feel free to cuddle any of the others, too. They all need it. Poor things.”

I wave as I head into the back. The volume of potential adopting families doesn’t overwhelm the staff during the week, so they are easily able to portion out all the duties to keep the animals clean and exercised, which means when I enter patio Z to let Dot out of her kennel, there’s no one around, which is fine with me .

I open Dot’s kennel and the dog trots out, head and tail held high. She stands at my feet, looking up at me expectantly. So many of the animals we see at the shelter are from ill-fitting situations. Maybe a family adopted a dog that needs a lot of exercise, but they live in an apartment. Or sometimes the animals are relegated to the backyard and don’t get enough attention. But in Dot’s case, she was part of a group of dogs that were relocated after a hurricane separated her from her family. She spent time at a shelter near the weather event, hoping her family would claim her, but was put up for relocation in the hopes she could find a new ‘furever’ home.

Dot is slightly smaller than medium size. She has curly, black hair that is as soft as a stuffed animal, with a white blaze on her chest. Her ears are pointy, but they flop over at the top. She has a blunt nose and soulful brown eyes. Only the very tips of her toes are brushed in white, and the illusion somehow makes her look like she’s prancing like a reindeer when she trots. She’s well-behaved and even-tempered. I know she won’t be in the shelter long.

Lowering myself to the patio, I lean against the door of the supply closet. Dot licks my face in greeting, which tickles and makes me giggle. I wrap my arms around her neck and bury my face in the dog’s pillow-soft fur.

“I wish people could be as easy as dogs,” I say. Dot just pants. “See? You don’t even judge me or pity me. You’re just happy to see me.”

Dot lies down with her front legs draped over my legs. We sit together quietly, while I catalog all the things that are wrong in my life and contemplate how I might approach each problem. But no matter how I look at each issue, I can only see the problem, not the solution.

“You’re not much help, Dot,” I mumble, scratching the dog’s neck .

I can’t fix Mom or Grandma, so to save myself, I’ll have to move out as soon as possible. That means I need to get a job. However, I don’t want to start until after the end of the school year. And then there’s the fact that Joel is moving out. I can’t stop him from doing it. Nor would I want to if I could. With the facts lined out, I realize I’ll have to be extra diligent to avoid incidents like last night.

I look down at Dot and sigh heavily. Finally, there’s the matter of Dylan Scott. How did he become a problem in my life so quickly? I can’t even remember seeing him around school before he started volunteering at the shelter, and now, he seems a part of every thought I have – good or bad. He makes me smile one minute and growl with frustration the next. My pulse quickens whenever he’s nearby. Sometimes simply from a look he gives me. Other times because of something he does—like forgetting to close the gate and letting the dogs escape. And then there’s the problem that nobody has ever made me feel the heat of desire or the heat of shame like he has.

I sigh. The only thing that makes sense to me regarding Dylan is the need to keep him at an arm’s length. My life is complicated, and I don’t need to add to it.

Dot flops onto her side so that she’s stretched across my lap. I smile down at her and run my hand along her side. It blows me away that Dot went through such trials and insecurity but is still able to show me this kind of trust. Maybe because dogs seem to live in the now. I blink down at the dog and consider what is good in my life.

Number one is Joel. Hands down. I’m so lucky to have a big brother who stands with me against the toxic women in our lives. He’s always there for me, and I don’t think it will change completely after he moves out. Because he knows what it’s like, I have to trust he will still be there for me.

A close number two is Sam and Bek. A very close number two. Maybe tied for number one. What would I do without my two best friends? Together, they have provided a safe place for me to escape to, they’ve offered their shoulders for me to cry on more times than I care to admit, and they genuinely love me. Beyond a doubt.

And number three is stretched out across my lap right now. This place isn’t just a shelter for animals. It has been my hideout for almost two years now. I scan patio Z while Dot’s weight on my lap provides a sense of comfort. Sometimes there’s employee drama, but it doesn’t matter to me. I’m here for the animals. They truly need me. And I truly need them. Not all the animals appreciate what I do for them, but even Popeye, who ignores me completely, needs me to keep his space clean, let him out to exercise, and for the occasional feeding when staff is busy, or sparse.

As I outline the positives in my life, I feel my anxiety abate. I suck in a deep breath until my lungs expand to their fullest. I hold it for a few extra seconds, concentrating on the release of my anxieties, and then I let it seep slowly out of my body. Most of the remaining tension eases away and I lean my head against the door with a smile. Maybe I have more than a year left in that house, but if I stay focused on the good things in my life—and avoid adding more drama on top of what I already have at home—I’ll be okay.

I shift my sore bottom and Dot hops up, wagging her tail.

“Thanks for hanging with me,” I say. I give her one last rub down before putting her back into the kennel.

Chloe is stocking the small retail area of pet supplies when I re-enter the lobby. “You okay, girl?”

“I am, thanks.” I scrunch up my nose. “Thanks for letting me hang out. I know these aren’t trained emotional support animals, but I swear they could be.”

Chloe waves a hand at me. “You are welcome to love on the animals anytime it suits you, you know that. They need it as much as we do.”

I appreciate Chloe including herself in that statement. “See ya Saturday.”

“Unless I see you sooner.”

I walk the short quarter-mile home, enjoying the crisp, but bright late afternoon, and formulate a plan on when I can start applying for jobs. When my house comes into view, I’m surprised to see Joel’s car parked out front. He’s been picking up so many extra shifts at the restaurant, that I rarely see him before bedtime during the weekdays.

I push through the front door and come up short. Mom is stretched out on the couch. Joel’s perched on the edge next to her holding a cloth to her forehead. Grandma glares down at her daughter, with her hands on her hips.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Oh, I fell, honey,” Mom says. She waves a hand. “Haven’t I always said you get your clumsiness from me? It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Joel growls. “I keep telling her she needs stitches.”

“You’re not clumsy,” Grandma barks. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, old lady.” Mom tries to sit up, but Joel gently holds her shoulder down and shakes his head. “I can’t sit here with her lecturing me.”

Joel cuts his gaze to Grandma. “Can you please leave? This isn’t helping.”

Grandma scoffs, flaps her hands against her thighs, and storms into the kitchen. A couple seconds later, the basement door slams.

I cringe, expecting Mom to start a tirade about that, but she just pats Joel’s arm.

“Thanks, baby.”

When Joel glances at me, I can tell he’s trying not to scowl. It’s hard on both of us when Mom acts loving. It never lasts long and feels so disingenuous because of that.

“Hey Ava, could you please run to our bathroom and get the Neosporin, gauze, and tape? And maybe a fresh damp washcloth. This one is pretty spent.”

My gaze shifts to the cloth in his hand and my eyes widen in surprise. It’s covered in blood.

“It’s okay,” Joel assures. “Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

I sprint up the stairs and grab the supplies Joel asked for. I slip coming down the stairs, and everything but the damp cloth that I have clutched in my fist falls to the floor. I toss the cloth to Joel before picking the rest up and dumping them on the coffee table. “Here you go.”

Joel hands me the bloody washcloth. I twist my lips in disgust and pinch the edge of it between two fingers like it might bleed all over me.

“Can you rinse that, please? The blood should come right out.” Joel picks up the fresh cloth to switch its position. “I might need it again.”

“She’s bleeding so much,” I whisper. I’ve never seen such a free-flowing stream of blood before.

“She’ll stop. Just make sure I have another cloth, please.”

I scurry to the kitchen, holding the hand with the washcloth far out in front of me like it might bite. I flip on the faucet and wait until the water is tepid before plunging the bloody cloth under the stream. My upper lip curls when I use both hands to rinse and twist and rinse some more. The blood washes down the drain and the cloth gets cleaner with each squeeze. When I don’t see any remnants of red in the dingy white cloth, I scrub the bar soap over the cloth until it works up a lather. Then I massage the lather all the way through the material to be safe. My stomach is a tumult the entire time. After it’s thoroughly rinsed and wrung out, I do the same to my hands.

Handing the washcloth back to Joel, my stomach turns when he swaps one cloth for the other and I realize I’m going to have to do it all over again.

“It’s finally slowing down, though,” Joel says. “So, rinse this one, but I probably won’t need it back.”

“Okay.” I lean forward. “Is that a bruise starting already?”

Mom looks at me with concern. “I’m going to have a bruise?”

Joel nods. “A really big one, too. The skin around the gash is swelling, and the bruise is already spreading down to your eye, I think.”

Mom sighs. “Great. That’s all I need. I’m going to look like an abuse victim at work.”

“I still think you need stitches.” Joel lifts the cloth and looks up at me, his eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah, Mom. I think so too,” I say. The gash looks like a chasm opened over Mom’s eyebrow.

“I’ll be fine.” Mom pats Joel’s knee. “Joely can bandage it up nice and tight.”

“Joely has no clue what he’s doing,” my brother mumbles.

“It’ll be fine.” Mom assures.

While Joel works, I realize it’s the second day in a row that Mom is awake early. “What were you doing up, Mom?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” Mom sighs. “Mom started in on me when I came down for something to drink. I was coming out here to watch some T.V., got dizzy, and fell. On my way down, I hit my head on a table.”

The coffee table is free of blood. There isn’t even a dent from the impact.

When Mom mentions getting dizzy, Joel and I share a look. Is that her new excuse for staggering? Not knowing what to say, I keep my response simple. “I’m sorry. ”

“Okay, I got it all bandaged. I hope it’s good enough,” Joel says. He studies Mom intently. “I don’t know a lot about head injuries, so I don’t know if you’re supposed to stay awake or go to sleep or what. But if you don’t feel right, let someone know.”

“Thanks, Joely.” Mom presses her hand to her bandage. “I’m gonna be fine. Don’t you worry about me.”

Joel stands and rolls his eyes at me. I spin toward the staircase so that Mom can’t see my smile. “Feel better, Mom.” I snatch my backpack from where I dropped it and follow Joel upstairs. “Don’t you work tonight?”

“I was just about to leave when that happened.” We speak in whispers so Mom can’t hear us. Joel hitches his thumb toward the stairs. “I’ll get cleaned up and disinfected and head out. I texted Ruffo that I was going to be late.”

A stab of fear shoots through me at the thought that something worse might happen to Mom after Joel leaves. “I’m glad you were here. Grandma probably would have just left her to bleed out.”

“You’re not kidding. She was yelling at me to leave her alone before you got here.”

“What were they fighting about this time?” I ask.

Joel leans in his doorway. “I have no idea. I wasn’t listening. I stopped listening years ago. Haven’t you?”

I try to rub the tension out of my forehead and cross my arms over my chest. “Mostly. Sometimes I can’t help it though. They’ve been fighting about us more and more lately.”

“Us?” Joel shakes his head. “That makes no sense. We literally barely need them anymore.”

I hug myself as a chill runs up my spine. “Do you ever wonder what they will do after we leave?”

“No. And I don’t care.” Joel squints at me and his whispered tone becomes more insistent. “Ava, do not give one ounce of concern for them. They’ve had plenty of time to show they care. The best Grandma did was keep us alive. Mom has literally done nothing. And when it comes time for you to leave, do not tip your hat. Simply move. You know things could go very wrong if you give them warning.” Joel leans forward. “Ava. Are you hearing me?”

I stare at the empty staircase as wave after wave of sadness envelops me. “This is just so sad, Joel. Why does it have to be this way?”

Joel puts his hands on my shoulders and my gaze snaps to him in surprise. His gentle sureness is welcome and comforting. Fortifying, even.

“Ava, you can’t fix them. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can create some sort of perfect family atmosphere suddenly. Those two were completely screwed up long before we came to this earth.”

My lip quivers as I stare at him.

“You’ll show them. You’ll have a chance to make the perfect family of your own one day.”

An image of me and Dylan rises to the forefront, which makes no sense. I blink it away, replacing Dylan with some faceless guy who I will make a happy home life with. Tears prickle behind my eyes.

“What if I don’t know how?”

Joel sighs. I see in the droop of his shoulders and the knit of his brow that he’s worried about the same thing. “The right person will help you learn how, Ava. We’ll both find that person and we’ll work hard to make it work.”

I throw my arms around him and bury my face against his shoulder as my sobs burst free. I cry as quietly as I can. Earning the best-brother-of-the-year award, Joel holds me until my silent sobs abate.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I know you have to go.” I wipe my tears and back up.

He dips his head to look at me. “You are way more important than work, Ava. You know that, right?”

I give him a quavering smile. “I do. I really do. And it keeps me going.”

He squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “I love you, little sis.”

“I love you too, big bro.”