Page 33 of Tides That Bind

“Just turned eight.”

“I’ve got a ten-year-old he’d be head-to-head with. Tall kid.”

“Like his dad.”

The words leave my chest and steal my breath and I wonder, as Lucas grows and grows more like Nate if they will keep searing my heart and burning my throat when I speak them.

I fall into small talk with Ben, who tells me he’s a high school teacher, a transplant from Northern California. He has a son, and lets me know—after a pregnant pause—that he’s divorced.

It’s then I notice how his eyes drift to my bare ring finger every few words and I’m hit by the realization that at some point I’m going to have to start telling people I’m single, and not by choice. The idea of admitting it makes me feel sicker than the idea of sharing closeness and intimacy with a stranger.

“I guess he appears more intimidating than he really is,” Ben says, after Tides jumps four feet in the air to catch a frisbee. “I suppose your husband doesn’t have to worry much about you two out on your own.”

“Definitely not,” I say without even thinking. But before I can backtrack, my attention is captured entirely by something else that has me on my feet.

“Excuse me for a second. Hey, Lucas!” I stand and begin to walk away from the bench.

My hurried steps turn into a sprint because it’s my two legs racing against four, and not the four belonging tomydog. They belong to someone else’s and my eyes bounce between the brown and white fur running along the fence and Tides who stares at it with the frisbee hanging in his mouth. I don’t like it one bit.

“Lucas, come here.”

Lucas barely gives me a nod of attention because the other dog has taken three quick steps and latched onto the frisbee held in Tides’s mouth.

“Hey! That’s not yours.” Lucas moves closer to the game of tug-of-war that has my heart beating so strongly it painfully thumps against my sternum.

I should tell Tides to drop it, but all I can worry about is screaming Lucas's name. I barely hear the whistle of the other dog’s owner or the growls. All I can see is my kid about to stick his hand in the middle of two pairs of strong jaws decorated with fiercely sharp teeth.

“Lucas, come here! Tides, drop it!”

Immediately he does, but it’s my son who doesn’t listen. Lucas grabs the frisbee, trying to wiggle it loose from the other dog’s mouth.

“Lucas, let him have it!”

I’m all of three feet away when the dog lets go of the frisbee, now dented by teeth, and lunges at Lucas.

But Tides, who never leaves Lucas's side these days, is there.

With a powerful swing of his hips and tail, Tides knocks Lucas to the ground, standing above him and caging him in protection as he barks and snaps his teeth.

I’m a foot away when the other owner yanks on his dog’s collar with both hands and all of his might, attempting to get him back.

“Are you alright?” My knees sink into the worn grass as Ipull Lucas from beneath Tides who still stands alert, still growling.

Lucas has pieces of grass and dirt caked into his hair and though I don’t see any blood, I do see how his face is twisted in a grimace. “My arm.”

I find his wrist swollen, red, and tender. “You’re okay,” I say it over and over as I pull him to me, my heart threatening to break out of my rib cage. “It’s alright.”

Ben and others have surrounded us, and there are yells and screams at the other owner. It has Tides wound up, whining between the barks he releases to secure a perimeter.

With Lucas crying against me, I click my tongue, running my hand over Tides’s smooth fur, trying to get him to look at me. But me? I look past him, at the dog who has broken out of his owner’s grasp and lunged again.

I hook my arm around Tides’s neck, to both restrain and protect him, and even though it’s the flesh of my forearm sharp teeth sink into, it’s Tides that whines and cries against me as soon as the dog lets go and more patrons of the park restrain him again.

I don’t feel the bite, but I do feel the blood which pools down to my hand, flowing onto Tides’s fur. Lucas looks horrified, but he’s okay, and that’s the most important thing.

He’s theonlyimportant thing.

“Good boy, Tides,” I whisper, resting my head in his coat as I cradle Lucas. “You’re a good boy.”

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