Page 32 of Unbroken

Since Tato was deaf, waking him up wasn’t my favorite thing to do. But he needed to go outside.

I crossed the room, stuck my hand in front of his dusty pink nose, and lightly blew on his snout. Before his eyes opened, his nose started twitching. He gave me one long sniff, and his eyes flew open. His brown tail began wagging, and his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth as he stretched and sat up.

I scratched his favorite place behind his ears, where the white on his nose blended into the brown on the rest of him and kissed the side of his head. Tato had been through more than a dog ever should—there were scars all over his body that told a story I’d never know. But he still found it in himself to love me and trust me. He was still happy to be alive.

Tapping my leg and pointing to the door, I grabbed his leash from the hook next to it and held it up for him to see. If a dog could frown, he did it.

“Seriously, dude. I know it’s cold, but the sun’s out at least. And you haven’t been to the bathroom since like four this morning.”

He couldn’t hear me, but that didn’t keep me from talking to him all the time.

He sighed and lazily crawled off the couch. Slowly, he walked over to me and sat at my feet, looking up expectantly and with the same lack of enthusiasm.

“We’ll make it quick, I swear,” I said, hooking his leash on his collar and opening the front door. I grabbed a few doggy bags and walked outside. Tato begrudgingly followed me.

There was a large grassy area in front of our row of townhomes, and we slowly meandered across it.

“Blakely!” a voice shouted behind me. I held up my hand to block the sun and squinted in the direction where I believed the voice had emanated.

My neighbor, Maureen, waved. I raised my hand in return. “Did you like the cookies? They’re my son’s favorite!” she yelled.

I didn’t want to yell, but she wasn’t going to hear me unless I did. “Yeah, they were great!” I hollered back, and she gave me two very enthusiastic thumbs up.

Before she could say anything else, I turned back to Tato, who was staring at the woman like she had lost her fucking mind.

“I know, dude. She seems nice, just a little overbearing. And just be glad you can’t hear her.” He huffed like he agreed with me and started back toward our house. “I’ve gotta figure out how to tell people I don’t like peanut butter now.” He looked up at me. “I know, I know,” I said. “I should just start telling people I’m allergic, but that feels dishonest.”

We walked back into the house, and Tato was back nestled into his spot on the couch before I put the leash away.

I glanced over at the kitchen table and was happy to see that the update percentage had gone up since we’d been outside. But I needed something else to fill my time.

My eyes lingered over the journal that was sitting on the small bar that bisected the living room and the kitchen. The sight of it frustrated me.

I’d been writing in a journal—not that particular one, but a journal of some sort—for the better part of a year. It was cathartic and one of the easier parts of my ongoing therapy. Or itwas. I hadn’t been able to write in it since I’d left Amanda’s house a few weeks before.

Frustrated, I swept the journal off the counter and grabbed the pen next to it just before it hit the floor. I plopped down on the couch on the opposite end from Tato, who still looked at me out of the corner of his eye like I’d disturbed him.

My fingers ran over the soft black cover of the journal and the silver embossed flowers that trailed down around to the inside and down the spine. Flipping it open, it took me a while to find an empty page. I pressed down on the center to flatten the pages and uncapped my pen. It sat poised above the blank paper, and I stared down at the page, but I couldn’t write anything. Not even a single word.

I tried pressing the pen to the paper a few times before I ultimately closed it altogether and set it next to me. I reclined back on the soft, green couch and ran my fingers through my unruly, wavy hair.

I took a few deep breaths, inhaling for five seconds and exhaling for five seconds. The exercise wasn’t working, though. My mind was still spinning a mile a minute when my phone vibrated across the coffee table.

I stretched forward and retrieved it from the table.

Unknown: Blakely, it’s Shelly (Devon’s mom). Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night?

Emotions flooded my chest, and anxiety overshadowed my excitement. I wanted to say yes. My relationship with Shelly was one of the most important in my life, but I’d changed so much over the past two years.

It was something I’d considered about all my friends—that they may not like the person I’d become. Because as much as there were parts of me that mirrored my old self, there were so many new parts, too.

My phone buzzed again.

Shelly: I’m not taking no for an answer. Unless you really have plans that can’t be changed.

I saved her number and typed out a response before I could think too much more into it.

Me: Dinner would be great. Send me the address. And tell me what to bring.

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