Page 59 of Dear Adam
Chapter twenty-seven
Levi
“Excuseme,couldyoupoint me to where I can pick up my dog?” I ask a gate attendant. With a phone to her ear, she shoots me a dirty look. A well timed howl erupts from behind me, and I whirl to find Hank’s crate being pushed by another attendant. Pawing manically at the door, he lets out another pitiful cry that sounds more like it would come from Pretzel than a ninety pound German Shepherd. Some guard dog he is.
“Is that your dog?” the attendant asks, eyebrow cocked.
“Nope,” I say and give her a little wave before following Hank.
“Excuse me,” I say to the man pushing his crate when I catch up with them at baggage claim. “I can take him from here.”
With a grateful nod, he steps away, muttering, “Thank God,” under his breath.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell Hank and bend to peek through the crate door. Instantly, he perks up and licks my fingers through the wire door.
When the luggage carousel squeaks to life, I straighten and watch for my bag. Next to me, Hank whines in his cage, his way of begging to be let out after being cooped up for the cross country flight.
“Shh, bud,” I say soothingly. “We’re almost home.” I feel bad lying to him, but he’s a dog; what does he know?
My bag passes through the flaps, but before I can reach for it, there’s a loudboom. I turn in time to see Hank throwing himself against the door, and before I can stop it, the lock springs. Sensing his freedom, Hank shoots past me, launching himself onto the conveyor.
Hank runs circles on the baggage claim, happy as a clam to be stretching his legs. Without hesitation, I climb up after him, hurdling suitcases both soft and hard. Other travelers gape in shock and awe as I chase my dog. Hank is close enough now that I can reach for his collar, but as soon as I extend my hand, the carousel stops, knocking me off my feet. Hank and I tumble gracelessly to the ground, taking a pink, hard sided suitcase with us.
“Hey!” someone yells. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I push Hank off me and find two security guards running toward us.
I offer a weak chuckle and sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. We don’t fly often, andsomeonegets a little anxious, if you know what I mean,” I say, hooking my thumb at Hank, who sits pretty at my feet. I take the opportunity to return him to the crate, doing my best to secure the nearly-mangled lock. “Dogs,” I add with a head shake and a jesting elbow to one of the guards. Both wear matching expressions of disgust. “We’re just going to go now.”
Stacking my bag atop the crate, I briskly push Hank to the nearest exit. Surprisingly, security doesn’t follow.
As soon as we’re outside, I kneel so I’m eye level with the crate. “Why?” I demand.
All I get in return is an unrepentant glare.
“Stop whining!” I say to Hank—who has been giving me puppy dog eyes from the couch all day—for the tenth time.
“What’s got you in a foul mood?” Glenda asks, sitting next to me and taking a bite of pizza.
“You’re here uninvited, for starters,” I mutter.
Glenda either doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore me. Around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni, she says, “She found the phone didn’t she?”
“Why are you here again?” I ask, taking the second slice of pizza off her plate and adding it to my own.
“I knew this was going to happen, and I thought you’d need company,” she says simply, and I’m reminded why I keep Glenda around.
“She found the phone,” I confirm. “And it didn’t go well.”
“Well, can you blame her for being upset?” Despite the fact that she’s right, all the fondness I experienced for her a moment before evaporates.
“No, I can’t blame her. But Ididtry to give the phone back. The timing was just never right.”
“Did you talk about it?” Glenda asks, eyeing the slice of pizza I stole from her. I cover it with my hand, then lick it for good measure.
“No, we didn’t. She told me to leave and stay in California for all she cared. So here I am.” Hank whines again, and I blow out a puff of air. “Hank also really misses Pretzel, and every time he whines, I’m reminded of what a complete screw up I am.”
“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” Glenda says. “But I also think you should give her time to process what you did, then go to her and apologize. Didn’t I overhear something about a big party at the end of summer? Go surprise her and tell you’re sorry. It’ll be just like the movies.”
