Page 296 of The Havenport Collection

Sam

A fter a night spent lying on the bathroom floor between bouts of sickness, I crawled into the shower to try and find some motivation for the day. It was already eight a.m., and my mother, always dependable, would be here at nine sharp to check on me.

This was week two of chemotherapy, and it was even shittier than I had anticipated. Meghan, my mentor, had warned me—she had said it would wreak havoc on my body, but I couldn’t have imagined this.

Infusion days were long, starting with an appointment with my doctor and lab work followed by hours in the infusion chair. Then I had to try and survive until the next one, while attempting to keep down food, water, and the handfuls of pills I had to take daily just to manage the side effects.

I wanted to be the model cancer patient—positive, cheerful, and organized. I wanted to be the kind of person who used affirmations to fight nausea and gratitude to energize me when I felt like I would collapse from exhaustion.

But I was not that woman. I learned quickly that there were no gold stars for cancer. There was no report card or achievement to check off. Getting through each day was a victory.

My mother was my rock, attending every appointment, taking notes, keeping tabs on my meds, and bringing me crackers and applesauce, the only foods I was able to eat these days. But I saw how much this weighed on her. How much the burden of my sickness was hurting her.

If she found me lying on the couch in yesterday’s clothes, there would be hell to pay. I threw on some shorts and a T-shirt, put a baseball cap over my dirty hair, and tried to talk myself out of the insane decision I had made last night.

I knew that chemo would be difficult. But I had never anticipated the emotional burden being much heavier than the physical.

The thing that helped—the one thing that got me through some of the hardest moments—were animals.

Cute kitten videos I watched on YouTube, the therapy dogs at the infusion center, and various pet adoption websites I visited in the middle of the night.

“You should submit an application to the Havenport Animal Shelter,” Rose had said, bustling around the kitchen.

Even though it was the busiest time of year for her stables, she and Violet popped by frequently.

“Yael and I can serve as references. We’ve adopted several pets through them.

They do an amazing job.” One of my favorite parts about visiting Rose and Yael on the farm were their dogs.

They had three, all rescues, who would curl up next to me at the fire pit, as if they knew I needed some comfort.

And being stuck in the house feeling terrible all the time had only strengthened my resolve for some animal companionship.

“Practically, it’s insane for me to adopt a pet, right? I don’t even know where I live right now. My job requires tons of travel.”

“But you’ve always wanted a dog.”

“True. I have. But what I’m feeling right now is something more. I have this overwhelming need to nurture something. To occupy myself with something else’s needs for a change.”

“Honor your feelings right now, babe.” She patted me on the head. “It’s worth exploring, and you will know if you’re ready. Plus, a dog will help occupy you and keep you in denial about Gio.” She smirked, and I regretted telling her everything.

“No Gio talk!” I snapped. “He’s probably partying on a yacht, surrounded by bikini-clad models right now.”

Violet cocked her head and gave me a weary expression.

“You know you’re being absurd now, right?

He’s in Bordeaux, not Ibiza for Christ’s sake.

And since I’ve known him as long as you have, I’d go ahead and say he is spending his days being a professional and doing his job and his nights moping about you. ”

I looked away, not wanting her to see the tears welling in my eyes.

“And, I’ll remind you that you can fix this. You pushed him away. You decided it was over, not him.”

I could not deal with truth right now. “My mind is not a reasonable place these days.” I threw my hands up in surrender. “I am a mess.”

“Well then, let’s get you a dog. They have a way of helping you fix what’s broken.”

“Fine. I’ll get my laptop.”

Apparently I was dog mom material. The director had emailed me back immediately, inviting me in to interview and visit.

I was desperate to go, if for nothing more than to get out of this house and out of my head.

It would be nice to talk about something other than cancer and see some cute animals.

I wasn’t going to get one. I was just going to look and probably make a donation.

Mom, of course, was all-in on this plan and insisted on driving me after stopping at High Tide for coffees and scones, which I managed to eat a few bites of.

While she had been a tremendous source of support, the one thing she would not allow was self-pity.

And it was starting to get on my nerves.

The cheerful, positive smile, the perfectly coordinated casual separates—she was driving me up the wall.

I missed Gio. So much. But I’d held firm, letting him work and live his life. That had been the plan all along. Have some fun and then let him go back to his life while my own was in flux.

What had sounded like an easy, breezy plan was anything but.

Catching feelings for Gio, or rather, finally understanding the full spectrum of my feelings—which, let’s face it, had been there for a really long time—was not part of the plan.

Sure, I could lie to myself and say I realized I was in love with him.

But the reality was, I had been a little bit in love with him my entire life.

And as soon as we removed the “just friends” barriers, our relationship evolved and grew rapidly.

So rapidly I found myself swept up in something that went far beyond casual.

It would have been one thing if it had just been me, but I saw how heartbroken he was.

Part of me wanted him to fight for us. To tell me he loved me and always would, and cancer be damned, we belonged together.

But I didn’t give him the chance. Because what if he said those things? What if he felt that way? And then everything fell apart? What if cancer took another thing away from me? I couldn’t let that happen. So I’d cut him off at the knees.

And now, I was left with the prospect of a lifetime of knowing what I could have had, knowing how wonderful it could be. But it wasn’t in the cards.

But I had learned one thing—I had a lot of love to give, even in my current weakened state. I wanted to give and receive it. I needed something more in my life than just my work. Hence, my current pet obsession…

The Havenport Animal Shelter was on the outskirts of town in what I remembered as an old, depressing industrial building.

Not anymore.

“What happened?” I asked Mom as we drove past the brand-new sign and into a cheery parking lot with a landscaped, fenced-in dog park and animal-themed signage pointing toward a spiffy-looking building.

“The shelter had a big fundraiser a few years ago and received some big donations. They do such wonderful work here.”

She led me up the stairs and through the entryway.

I had the paperwork I had printed out in a folder clutched tight in my hand and was feeling nervous.

Was this a good choice? A dog hardly fit into my lifestyle and was a big commitment.

But Grace had encouraged me to push myself out of my comfort zone—to give and receive love and work through things. So I knew I had to give it a chance.

I was a bit unsteady on my feet—still nauseated but feeling stronger. I adjusted my baseball cap and walked in, shoulders squared for my meeting with the director.

Nancy, the shelter director, was a kindly woman in her fifties with a no-nonsense attitude and a kind smile.

She had been a town fixture for decades, always advocating for the shelter and for animal rights.

She led me to her office and walked me through the adoption process, the fees, the commitment, and what to expect with a rescue.

I nodded politely, totally certain I would not be adopting anything. But it felt good to be at least considered. I learned that, even in my current state, I could still provide a good home for a pet. Nancy seemed like a good judge of character, so I took this as a win.

“Would you like to meet some animals?” she said. “We have a few that may be a good match for you.”

I smiled. “Sure. But I’ll warn you. I’m not adopting today. Just visiting and learning more about the process.”

Nancy gave me a pitying look, clearly thinking I was insane. “They all say that,” she said, opening the door for us.

We walked outside into the play area where dogs were running around happily, climbing on what looked like a toddler jungle gym, and splashing in a sprinkler that was set up in the sun. Human handlers threw balls and handed out treats.

Looking through the fence, Nancy pointed out some of the eligible dogs—their names, breeds, and histories.

“Would you like to meet some one-on-one? I can set you up in a visitation room. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

At this point, seeing all the cute little faces running happily in the sunshine, there was no way I’d say no.

I nodded, apprehensive. What had I gotten myself into?

Nancy led Mom and me to a small, pleasant room. I had just sat down when I was almost knocked over by the dog that came bounding through the door with an unsteady gait.

“Woah,” I said, leaning down to pet it. The dog licked my face vigorously and wagged its tiny, stumpy tail.

It was then that I realized it only had three legs. There was a large scar that cut up across its hip where the right hind leg should have been.

I knelt down, taking the dog’s face in my hands and scratching behind its ears. It continued to shake with excitement.

“This is Xena,” Nancy explained. “She’s usually a little more guarded, but I’d say she likes you.”

I looked down at Xena, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

She was big, her body stocky and muscular, but her face was so sweet and her eyes were filled with kindness. So different from the tiny lapdog I had always envisioned for myself.

“I think she may be a bit big and high energy for me,” I said, continuing to scratch her. “But you are a very good dog,” I whispered to her as she licked my face again.

Nancy nodded. “She’s a pit mix, surrendered here over a year ago. She’s very gentle and loving.”

I nodded, continuing to pet her. I couldn’t have a dog this big. And a pit bull? Probably not a good idea.

But she was so cute. Medium-brown with a big white stripe down the front of her head and muzzle, and the largest, sweetest brown eyes I had ever seen. After a few minutes, she settled with her head on my lap, panting.

I stroked her gently, loving her pointy ears and stumpy tail. It felt so good, giving her love and affection freely.

“How did she lose her leg?” my mother asked casually.

Nancy took a deep breath. “Bone cancer.”

My heart stopped and I looked up at Nancy. “Cancer?” I felt dizzy. I looked down at this sweet animal and my heart broke. How much pain and suffering had this sweet girl endured?

“Yes,” Nancy replied. “Very serious. She had been here for a few months when we found out. But thanks to some generous donors, we took her to Boston where she had the best possible medical team. About four months ago she had surgery and then did a few rounds of chemo. As you can see, she has adjusted very well to the loss of her leg. Nothing slows Xena down. She’s a warrior. ”

I looked down at the sweet face. This poor baby had cancer and lost her leg. A necessary, vital appendage. And it wasn’t slowing her down. She wasn’t giving up.

“It was a very complex surgery. But we have a connection in Boston. Do you know Luke Kim?”

My mom and I nodded. “Not well,” I clarified.

“He’s a great friend to us here. Pays for top-notch health care for every animal. Insists on only the best for our furry friends.”

My eyes were tearing up and my heart was breaking. Here I was, feeling so sorry for myself and Xena had no home, no family, and had just lost a leg and survived chemo.

I bent down and stared into her eyes.

“You’re a survivor, huh, girl?”

She stared right at me, and in that moment, I felt so much love for this perfect animal. She had an uphill battle to get adopted—people discriminated against pit bulls, plus she had lost a leg and battled cancer—but she was a beautiful soul. And in that moment, I felt so much love between us.

There was no way I could walk away from Xena, my little survivor.

I wrapped my arms around her, told her what a good dog she was, and looked up at my mom, who was wiping away tears, and at Nancy, who was beaming at me.

“I’ll take her.”

After a trip to the pet store where I spent a small fortune on toys, treats, a rhinestone purple collar that Xena loved, and so much more, we finally took her home.

My grandparents’ house had a lovely yard, and I let her run around, tossing her a chewy, rubbery stick that the employee had told me was the newest fetch toy, as she sniffed every single corner, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

She was in heaven. Every few minutes, she would run over for some reassurances and belly scratches, as if she needed to make sure I was still there and this was still real.

And I loved every minute.

After dinner, I curled up on the couch to watch the Great British Baking Show , and Xena jumped up on the couch and lay across my lap.

She gazed lovingly into my eyes. “We were meant to be, weren’t we, girl?

” I asked, letting her lick the side of my face.

“I’m your human and you’re my dog. And together we’re going to figure this all out.

” She nuzzled me, getting her huge body almost into my lap, and we snuggled happily while watching pleasant, polite people whisk, fold, and frost their delicious creations together.

And for a few brief moments, I felt at peace—happy and content and not terrified of the future.

Because, while things were complicated with my human best friend, I had my new canine best friend for company.