Page 16 of Exiled

“Cocoa. Come.” His voice is low, but firm. Not angry, not threatening.

She shimmies like liquid, inches toward the edge of the bed, but doesn’t get down.

“Cocoa, comehere. Now, girl.”

That gets her. She hops off the bed but immediately goes down to her belly, tail tucked under, head to the floor. Her eyes never leave Logan. She shimmies closer and closer until she’s at Logan’s feet.

“What did youdo, Cocoa?” He seems close to laughter. Holding it in, but barely.

“She looks so sorry, Logan!” I say.

“She missed me. I’ve never been gone this long. She was afraid.” He goes to his butt on the floor, grabs the dog aroundher middle, and hauls her onto his lap. She rolls to her back, tail beginning to thud once more, and then leans up and licks his chin. Hesitantly, at first, but then with increasing happiness. “I know, girl. I know. I missed you too. It’s okay, I’m here.”

I have to hold back tears. Something about the sight of Logan with his beloved puppy on his lap—a giant, eighty-pound puppy—reunited, happy, it makes me emotional.

Damn it—no.

I blink it all away, kneel beside man and dog, and scratch Cocoa on her head, behind her ears. She gives me a quick wet doggy kiss, and then goes back to Logan. She scrambles to her feet, backs up, and then seems to notice the bandage. She gives a long, high-pitched whine from the back of her throat and sniffs the bandage covering his eye. Glances at me, as if for answers, and then at Logan. Puts her front paws on his legs and sniffs, sniffs, sniffs. Whines again.

God, that’s so sweet. She’s worried about him. She sees he’s hurt, and wants to know what’s going on.

I’m fighting tears again, damn it.

“I’m fine, girl. I promise.” He palms her ears and rubs vigorously, until she pulls away and shakes her head so her ears flop wildly.

I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m just... emotional. Nearly a week spent at Logan’s side in the hospital, sleeping poorly in the visitor’s chair. They let me stay through the night in contravention of visitors’ hours, because I have nowhere else to go, and because I think Logan somehow bribed or otherwise convinced/coerced them into letting me. I’m just emotional. There’s a lot going on, a lot to be worried and emotional again.

Logan hands me his phone. “Can you call Beth? Let her know what’s going and that we need help cleaning up. I don’t really do PAs, but she’s the closest thing I’ve got. The code is six-nine-one-five.” He stands up, pats his thigh. “Go outside, Cocoa?”

He’s gone, the dog’s claws scrabbling on wood, doing her happyyes-I-want-to-go-outsideyipping bark.

I stare at the phone for a moment. 7-9-1-5; type it in, and the phone unlocks. The picture in the background behind the rows of icons is me. Asleep, in Logan’s bed. Before I got my haircut, when it was still long. It’s splayed around my head on Logan’s white pillow, like spilled ink. My face is twisted to the side, and my hand is curled in front of my face. I look serene, beautiful, at peace.

7-9-1-5.

07-09-15.

The date we met. The date of the stupid auction party I went to with Jonathan.

That sends a spasm of emotion through me too, that the date we met is his unlock code for his phone.

I crush the emotion, ruthlessly, and find Beth’s name in the contacts. Dial.

“Hey, boss. How are you feeling? We’re all worried about you.” The voice is high and sweet, a little too much of both.

“Beth? It’s—this isn’t Logan. Obviously. It’s Isabel.”

“Isabel?” A silence, which somehow feels confused. “Ohhhhhh.Isabel.TheIsabel?”

“I guess? Unless he knows another one.”

“No, no. Just you.” Another silence. “So, what—um... how can I help you?”

“Did you come to his house and check on Cocoa at all?”

Beth responds immediately, a little defensively. “Yes! I went over the moment he e-mailed me. I fed her, let her out, made sure she had some water. I even threw the ball for her a bit. She’s such a sweet dog.”

“She really is. It’s just—”