Page 90 of Hate Mail

I’m able to ignore the cry for another minute, but it becomes unbearable. I slip on my shoes and I head out into the hallway. No one else seems concerned. I must be the only one who can hear it. I go upstairs and follow the screeching sound to Jake’s apartment. I haven’t been up here before, but I can tell by the placement of the door that it’s the apartment right above mine. I tap on the door. The screeching doesn’t stop. I tap again. No one answers. The terrible noise continues. I try the doorknob, but it’s locked.

I dial Jake’s number, but it goes straight to an automated voicemail. I know that I won’t be able to focus on anything until this noise is gone. I go downstairs to the lobby. Joel is eating out of a jar of pickles. I look out the front window and see Caitlin doing a cartwheel.

“Joel,” I say. He looks up, seeming startled that I’m addressing him. His cheeks are bloated with the pickle he just stuffed in his mouth. “There’s an animal making a lot of noise in the apartment above mine.”

He finishes chewing the pickle, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “It’s a puppy. Are you here to file a noise complaint?”

I shake my head. “Can I get a spare key?”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I heard you two were taking some time off on account of you seeing someone else.”

I thought that Jake might be avoiding me, but to hear someone else say it makes it feel real. It’s like a punch to the stomach. On some level, I hoped that I was overthinking things. I guess I thought that he would be mature enough to tell me it was over in person.

“Did he say that?”

Joel gives a noncommittal grunt.

“You told him about Luca, didn’t you? You know, it makes sense now why you were always frowning at us when we were together. I know you feel like you’re doing your son a favor, but you can’t go messing with my personal life like that.”

He rolls his eyes, which annoys me even more. “This is exactly why I shouldn’t give you the key.”

“Come on, Joel. I’m not going to trash his apartment. I’m just going to take the puppy for a walk before it drives me and all my neighbors insane.”

He watches me with narrowed eyes like he’s skeptical of my intentions, and then he glances at a lockbox he has sitting on his desk. “Don’t make me regret this,” he says. He unlocks the box, sifts through a pile of keys, and then pulls out one that has a tag with Jake’s apartment number.

I take the key and head back upstairs. As I reach the fourth floor, I can hear the puppy’s high-pitched whine all the way from the stairwell. I’m surprised that no one else has complained yet or even poked their heads out of their apartments, but I guess most people are at work at this time of day.

I unlock the apartment and step inside. The layout of his apartment is the same as mine, but his is decorated more sparsely. I spot the source of the noise sitting inside a dog crate in the corner of the living room. The puppy stops crying when he sees me. He begins to jump against the side of the crate, whimpering and wagging his tail like he knows I’m there to rescue him.

I think I recognize him from the adoption event last weekend. His body is mostly white. He has a brown spot over one eye, and another brown spot that covers half of his back. He looks like one of the puppies from the pen that was getting the most attention on Saturday. I wonder why this one didn’t get adopted.

“You poor thing,” I say as I kneel down to unlatch the crate. The puppy stumbles out and launches himself against my legs, squirming and begging for attention. “Aren’t you cute? And soft.” I run my hand over his body. “So soft.”

I pick him up before he has a chance to pee on the floor, then turn around, looking for a leash. I find a harness and leash on the kitchen counter. I struggle a little to put the harness on the puppy. I’ve never had a dog, so none of the straps make any sense to me, but I figure it out. I hook his leash to the harness, and then I head downstairs, still carrying him because I don’t want to clean up a mess in the hallway. I may have never had a dog, but I know that puppies as young as this one are prone to accidents.

I set him down on the sidewalk when we get outside. Caitlin squeals with excitement and comes running just as the puppy lowers his hips and pees on the sidewalk. Caitlin doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just doesn’t care. The puppy doesn’t seem bothered by her squealing either.

“You got a puppy!” she exclaims. “What’s his name?”

“He’s not mine,” I tell her. “I’m just taking him for a walk.”

“Can I come?”

“You should probably stay by the window where Joel can see you.”

“I’ll go ask him if I can come with you,” she says.

“I don’t—”

Before I can finish protesting, she’s already through the door and talking to Joel. When she comes back out, she skips over to me. “Mr. Pickles says that I can come with you as long as we don’t go too far. How far are we going?”

I sigh. “Not far. Just to the end of the block and back.”

“Can I hold the leash?”

“I should probably hold it just to be safe. There’s a lot of traffic on this road and I don’t want to put the puppy in danger.”

“Okay. I heard Mr. Pickles and Fishman talking about you.”

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