Page 7

Four

Past

I ’m stuck on an endless Cooper loop at home.

Hardly anyone ever gives up their deep dark secret during session one, but there he’d sat, gaze intent on me, admitting that he does watch people—illegally.

His demeanor was too cool, too rehearsed.

I half-wonder if he said it simply for shock value.

His therapist has not returned my call. I roll my shoulders, trying to relieve the building tension.

Flash runs through the backyard, bellowing at a squirrel or chipmunk as I pace the porch, glass of wine in hand.

Something’s off, has my hackles up. My new patient speaks to me like he’s taunting me rather than unloading a burden or confession, and I’m completely intrigued.

It seemed almost as if he waited till his time was up to drop his bomb, that he purposely left me with a cliffhanger.

Maybe it was a test if I’d allow him to stay longer to keep talking? I try to unweave his motives but thinking his name outside the office feels odd. The way he looked at me was atypical of a new patient.

Too acute. Laden with hidden intents.

Saying his name out loud feels positively taboo on my tongue.

Lost in my own thoughts, it takes a moment for me to realize that Flash shouldn’t be barking.

I just bought him that damn bark collar, the one that blasts citronella near his snout in hopes it will keep him from annoying the neighbors—and myself—with his loud baying bark.

One nosey neighbor promised to call animal control and file a complaint if there’s one more Flash infraction.

“Flash! No bark!” I holler at him.

I set my wine glass on the railing and stomp down the three deck stairs to him. He gives me a growl—harmless but loud—and nothing happens. The vibration is supposed to trigger the sensor and spray the citronella but it’s not working.

I remove the collar and Flash trots away from me.

“You’re the worst,” I grumble while fiddling with the collar. The fluid level looks right. The little LED indicator is on, so it must be charged. I glance around, even though my yard is fenced in and no one can see me, before I bark at the collar.

I don’t know how else to test the damned thing. I try again, a little louder, but nothing happens.

These are the times I wish I had a man in my life. I’m not terribly technology savvy and this collar was supposed to be an easy way to defeat a stubborn dog.

It occurs to me that barking at it from afar probably isn’t registering the vibration trigger. My options are to simply give up or put it against my throat. I’m not willing to give up. This collar cost a pretty penny and was guaranteed to make a difference.

Sucking in a deep breath I press the prongs to my throat.

Flash is on to another squirrel and another round of barking.

Out of habit, I holler at him to stop and immediately get a blast of citronella to the face.

Instantly my eyes water and I cough before my hand falls away—collar with it.

Another cloud of citronella squirts into my nose on its descent.

Flash is still barking as I drop to my knees, trying to suck in a breath.

“Robin? Robin! I’m calling animal control,” my neighbor’s voice cuts through the air.

I rasp out for Flash to shut up between coughs, but he’s relentless. A peel of baritone laughter echoes in the night as I drop on my back into the grass, eyes burning, nose running, and chest heaving, while I spit and sputter.

Mortified, I wonder if my neighbor peeked over the fence and saw what a complete horror show this was.

Flash barks again, my eyes bug out of my head as I choke out a yell at him. This time he stops. With an air of I-told-you-so, he walks to me, sniffs and licks my face, then lies down next to the discarded inhumane collar of death and growls at it.

Lying under the burgeoning stars in the sky, I burst out laughing. There are days not even I can believe the things that happen to me. I snag the collar from Flash’s glare and fling it into the bushes when I sit up.

“Come on Flash, we don’t need that kind of crap in our life.”

He lifts his droopy eyes at me in solidarity and follows me inside.

***

Pen clamped between my teeth I shuffle into NEL’s recreation room, overstuffed tote weighing down one shoulder. I don’t need anyone’s help zipping or unzipping my dress. I go out solo. I pay my own tab, with my own cash. The very word alone sounds sad—even to me.

We crave companionship when sometimes what we really need is a reset. Knowing these facts doesn’t make me immune to societal standards. I’m in my forties. I’m supposed to have or want someone by my side.

And I do.

I try.

I date when I can, but at my age, finding someone truly compatible seems like an added time-intensive challenge to my already busy life.

Nora’s in the corner, palm waving through the air at me. I do my best to smile around the pen in my mouth. My bag’s sliding down my arm, headed for a solid thunk on the floor as she approaches.

Her hands are outstretched. “What can I help with?”

I remove the pen from my lips and grin at her. “Gravity beat you to it.”

Shaking her head, she says, “When are you going to ask for help?”

I chuckle. “Right now, actually, before I forget.”

A groomed eyebrow arches. “Is this one of your attempts at a joke?”

“No,” I say, “I have a speaking engagement next month, the tenth I think, in Bathon and I don’t want to stay at the hotel. You mentioned Liam took you to a cute place a while back. Where was that?”

Her eyes light up. “It’s only twenty minutes from there.

You’ll be enamored with it.” She claps her hands together.

“You could use some time off. Stay the whole weekend. There are Adirondack chairs on the wrap-around porch that all face the ocean. I swear you could taste the salt water. It’s just what you—”

“Nora. It’s for work. Just a night,” I cut her short.

Her face falls and a pout emerges. “If you’re worried about Flash, he can come stay with me and Liam for the weekend.”

I glance at the clock behind her and realize I’m late for the group session I’m running. “It’s not that. Will you email me the contact info? I’m late to group.”

She flips her fiery hair over her shoulder while shooting me a pointed look. I assume that’s a yes, as I head toward the meeting room.

“Dr. R!”

I look over my shoulder at her.

“I’ll do you one better,” she says. But she’s wearing that duplicitous look she so often gave me when we first met. I don’t have time to inquire; I plaster a smile on my face and cross the threshold of the meeting room to welcome the attendees.