Page 25 of Recollection
“I’ve heard it enough.” He doesn’t explain, but I wonder if it’s because he’s played it that much for me. “It’s cleverly written.”
The mild words from a man like him are high praise. I feel like preening. He reaches over to restart the song, and we sing it together. He knows the next song on the playlist too. I can’t seem to stop smiling as we sing.
We’re home before I want the drive to be over, and as we come into the house, I feel that same excited, breathless, slightly insecure feeling you get at the end of a date. We look at each other, standing in the entry hall.
I really want to kiss him, and I have to lower my eyes to hide it, occasionally peeking up through my lashes to see what he’s doing.
He’s not doing anything. Just standing there, gazing down at me, his hair windblown despite being pulled back at his neck and one side of his collar askew.
His eyes are so soft. I never imagined he’d look at me that way.
I never imaginedanyonewould look at me that way.
I have no idea what might happen, but then Stella walks through the back hallway and pauses when she sees us to ask how our outing was.
Disappointed and relieved both by the interruption, I tell her the appointment was good and we stopped for ice cream afterward. I tell Arthur I’m going to take a walk since I clearly need some space and fresh air, and he heads back to his home office to work.
I wander around the gardens and grounds, giving myself a sensible lecture about how I’m not in fit mental condition right now to make good decisions about relationships and that Arthur might feel sorry for me but doesn’t likely think about me as anything other than his friend’s daughter and maybe a foolish little girl with a crush.
It’s a depressing sequence of thoughts but effectively puts a damper on my rising giddy thrills.
Eventually I make my way back to the old stables. Previous generations of Worthings kept horses, but not in my lifetime. The stables were solidly constructed and are still standing. I’m about to pass by them when I notice a flicker of motion at the entrance.
Curious, I glance inside and see a long tail before it disappears into one of the stalls.
I’m sure it’s a dog. As far as I know, there are no animals on this estate other than scattered wildlife. I tread carefully over the muddy ground and peek into the stall.
It is a dog. A gaunt, unkempt mixed breed—maybe part border collie—with a dirty face and matted fur. It’s trying to hide behind an old crate. Its tail swishes above the top edge when I say, “Hey, buddy. What are you doing back there? Are you okay?”
The dog doesn’t come out, so I crouch down lower and keep talking. “Come on out, buddy. I’m not going to hurt you. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself. Someone should be taking care of you. Come on, fella.”
He repositions and sticks his head around the corner of the crate to look.
I smile. “Hey, buddy. There you are. I bet you’re a real good boy. You wanna come out and say hi to me?” I extend one hand.
He slowly steps over and sniffs at my hand a long time. I wish I had some food, but he responds to my gentleness anyway. Comes a little closer until I can cautiously stroke his head. Scratch his ears.
He gives a little whimper and nuzzles me.
Ridiculously, I’m near tears at the dog’s pathetic gratitude for basic human kindness. I talk to him and pet him for a long time. Then I decide he needs something to eat and some water, so I get up to leave.
He darts behind the crate as soon as I start to exit the stables.
I have to sneak into the kitchen to get some leftover chicken and rice, a bottle of water, and a metal bowl.
As soon as the dog spies me returning to the stable, he comes to greet me, wagging his long tail.
He scarfs down the food and laps at the water. I hang out with him for almost an hour until I realize it will be dinner soon and Arthur will be wondering where I am.
Arthur seems to notice I’ve been up to something. He asks what I’ve been doing, then asks if anything is wrong. I tell him everything is fine but don’t tell him about the dog.
For the next two days, I visit the stable at least three times a day, bringing food and water and doing my best to comb out the dog’s matted fur. We’re best friends by the second day.
On Friday, I ask Arthur if we can stop by a drugstore on the way back from the counseling appointment, explaining I need some personal items. He doesn’t question the request. I’m carrying an oversized purse that can conceal the small bag of dog food I buy. I also buy a box of tampons I carry out in a plastic store bag so Arthur will see the personal items that were my excuse for the stop.
Having the dog food makes it easier. The dog eats it just as happily as the deli meat and leftovers I’ve been sneaking out of the kitchen.
Arthur keeps asking if everything is okay, and I keep telling him nothing.