Page 5 of Forget About Me

She huffs out a breath. “Okay, I’m going, but I want some dirt on him!”

When I open the door to the kennel, the familiar scents and sounds remind me of my purpose here. I’ve got a homeless dog to take care of. It’s a tight space between the cages full of boarders, and they’re all eager to say hello. When Puck hesitates on the threshold, I lift my chest, keep my breathing even and give a quick tug on the leash. “Let’s go, buddy.”

He trots calmly by my side, so I coo, “What a good boy.” Since he isn’t freaking out, I pause to say hello to one of the calmer dogs. As I talk to the older lab mix, Puck stands calmly next to me.

Sometimes I wish I could spend my whole day back here, like I did when I started out. Cleaning cages isn’t fun, but the animals’ needs are so simple. No office politics, no owners making impossible demands, no wishing I were the vet instead of just a tech.

Right now, though, I get to go outside for a few minutes with a surprisingly well-behaved little stray. I scratch under his bearded chin, and he licks mine. “Okay, buddy. Let’s go make a poop so we can see what kind of worms you’ve got in there. Pretty sure there’ll be a nice variety.” He barks, tail wagging and eyes bright, like he agrees.

As we walk along the edge of the hospital’s parking lot, he follows his nose and I revel in the warmth of the late morning sun. It was summer when Ben and I got together. I thought I’d successfully shoved everything about that time so far into the corner of my heart that I’d never see or hear from it again. Just like I haven’t seen or heard from Ben in the seven years since he moved across the country without saying goodbye to me or my family.

A song sneaks into my head. Pat Benatar’s “Treat Me Right” was at the top of the mixtape I made for Ben the day after I talked him into helping me lose my virginity.

Come to think of it, he did a disappearing act then too.

Rushing down the walk because I’m late to catch the bus, I trip over an uneven brick and my bag goes flying.

“Goddamn it!” Now I have to scramble to pick up purse crap strewn across my front yard. “Fuckety, fucking, fuck!”

If it’s not obvious, my frustration isn’t just about being late.

A hand appears in front of my face. When I jerk upright, my forehead collides with a sharp chin. “Ow!” I rub my head. “Jesus, Ben!”

“Sorry.” He hands me a tampon and a Chapstick. Perfect. I snatch them away and stuff them deep inside my handbag. “What are you doing here?”

“Giving you a ride to work.”

“You are?”

He hasn’t given me a ride to work since we had sex. Ten fucking days ago. I figure it must’ve been so awful for him that he couldn’t face me.

He jogs over to pick up a receipt that’s flying across the grass. “Yeah. Uh. Sorry about the last couple weeks. The van was in the shop.”

I side-eye him. “It was?”

“Didn’t your brother tell you? I called and left a message.”

“I didn’t get any message.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the curb where the van waits, engine running. “C’mon, let’s go. You’re gonna be late.”

Completely discombobulated, I somehow make it to the passenger side without tripping again. Before I know it, the engine’s roaring. I instinctively grab the panic bar as Ben pulls out into morning traffic. Still running his words over in my head, I bleat when the van swerves to the right and into a parking space on a side street.

Before I can ask what the heck is going on, his mouth covers mine. I’m still braced on the panic bar, but his hungry kisses strip away the layers of anger and hurt that I’ve wrapped myself in since he disappeared on me.

Apparently, my hands don’t give a shit about pride, because when the slam of a car door startles me out of the kiss, they’re fisted in his shirt and have pulled him almost into my lap. Who knows what my mouth and tongue have been up to, but the pulse pounding in my nether regions tells me they were getting frisky.

When he pulls away, it’s like ripping a bandage off an open wound.

He flops back to his own seat, eyes on the van’s ceiling, hands in the air. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lucy. I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you.”

“Wait.” I brace myself in more ways than one. “Was the van in the shop or not?”

“It was. For a few days. But after that, I just—I couldn’t be alone with you again.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because this would happen.” He gestures to the space between us and then grips the steering wheel, hard. Lucky van. “When Tony came home from boot camp last week, I couldn’t even look at him without feeling guilty. I knew it was wrong to have sex with you, but I???—??”

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