Page 17 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
She blinks at us like this doesn’t quite compute.
“Okay,” she says. “Cool.” Then she returns her attention to her phone as she swings open her door and enters her apartment, leaving a waft of weirdly pleasant fruity perfume in her wake.
Khalil flashes me another quick smile. “Case in point.”
I glance past him at Phone Girl’s closed door. “At least she said we were cool.”
“I don’t think that was a direct compliment.”
“A goal for next time, then.”
This makes him chuckle a little, and after dropping off his bike and helmet, he comes with me to meet Aggie. In the short time since I left her, she’s managed to inch forward about a foot so her back legs are stretched out behind her with only her feet still on the bed. She sends a guilty look my way, as though I’ve caught her trying to escape, Shawshank-style. I drop to my knees beside her and tell her she’s allowed to move anywhere she likes, earning me a tail wag.
“Aww,” Khalil coos behind me. “What a sweetie. What’s her name?”
“Aggie. Short for Agatha.” I give her a scratch on the head. “Aggie, meet Khalil. He makes robots and he’s very nice and he’s going to help us get you outside.”
He crouches down and lets her sniff his hand. She immediatelystarts licking him, and not in a polite way with a delicate flick of her tongue, but a sloppy and rather forward lapping and slurping. I expect him to withdraw his hand, but he does the opposite, nudging it forward.
“I grew up with Labradors,” he says, catching me watching the interaction. “I used to get a full tongue bath after a long ride, and then needed a real bath after.” He rotates his hand so Aggie can access more of his sweat. It’s sweet of him, and she’s having a fabulous time, so while she licks every inch of his fingers, I tell him a bit about her history and health, and my hopes for the weeks ahead. He listens with interest, and with sharp indignation toward her previous owners that cements my already high estimation of him as a genuine and caring soul.
Before Aggie can start on his arm, he gives her a quick pat on the head, runs back to his apartment, and returns after a couple of minutes, rolling a collapsible wagon behind him.
“It’s perfect!” I exclaim. “I should’ve thought of a wagon.”
“It’s nottotallyperfect,” he says. “It’s old and dented, and the extension doesn’t have a proper handle since it’s designed to attach directly to a bike.” He points out the bolt holes and security strap at the end of the metal arm. “But you can tape a towel around this part so it’s easier on your hands. The wagon’s sides also drop down, which should help with loading and unloading, and I haven’t used it in ages, so it’s yours for as long as you need it.”
I gush with gratitude while Khalil dismisses my gushing with a humble “No worries”and a flick of his hand. He lets me get a feel for handling the wagon and shows me how to drop the sides. I put a blanket in the base and slide the sling under Aggie again. Then I take one handle, Khalil takes the other, and we lift her in. Shesettles in with her tail wagging and her head held high, like a queen on her palanquin. She looks so happy, and I take a moment to marvel at how she could be treated so badly for so long and still look at us with such love, trust, and joy. It’s both a gift and a lesson, and not for the first time, I silently promise her I’ll earn it.
I tuck a textbook, a bowl, and a bottle of water in the corner of the wagon. Khalil helps me get the wagon out of my apartment, into the elevator, and out again at the ground floor, holding the front door for me as I wheel Aggie into the sunshine.
“Will you be okay from here?” he asks.
“Yeah. I think so. I’ll get the hang of it.”
“Cool.” He gives Aggie a quick scratch on the top of her head as she blinks up at him with delight, a russet-furred, shaggy-browed mountain of joy and innocence, with her tail lightly thwapping against the back panel of the wagon. Between her clear adoration of Everett and now Khalil, I’m starting to think she’s a serious flirt. “Knock anytime you need a hand, okay?”
I almost tell him I’ll be fine but stop myself before reflexively rejecting his offer.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “You too. And I’m glad we finally met.”
“Better late than never,” he echoes from earlier.
“Exactly.” I flash him an only slightly less awkward wave this time. Then he heads inside, and Aggie and I set off on our first grand adventure together.
PEOPLE OFTEN THINKof New Hampshire when they picture New England parks colored by fall foliage and speckled with cozy benches or neatly landscaped around a romantic gazebo, where lovers can steal kisses in the rain, but Ithaca holds her own on thisfront. Within only three blocks of my apartment building, Aggie and I hit the start of the Cascadilla Gorge Trail, which follows a creek for about a mile and includes views of half a dozen waterfalls, ranging up to eighty feet in height. It’s like a little paradise right in the heart of the city, connecting downtown to the Cornell campus. The trail has too many steps for me to wheel Aggie the entire length, but we find a bench tucked back from the trail with an open patch of grass that’s perfect for us.
For the next three hours, we work in shifts. I read Aggie a dry but informative chapter from my immunology text on a topic like hyperproteinemia or antinuclear antibodies testing. Then I help her out of the wagon and we do some brief walking exercises on the lawn, exercises that are more like standing, but she does take a few faltering steps while I hold her up. When we both tire of the exercise, we return to reading. When we tire of reading, we return to exercise.
Despite Aggie’s obvious effort at managing forward motion, she seems genuinely engaged in the process, like she wants to not only walk, but to run, and she’ll work as hard as she needs to, to reach her goals. I praise every step she takes and gush with hugs, love, and a few carefully apportioned liver treats when we manage a full minute of standing and stumbling. Her skinny tail wags at high speed and my heart nearly bursts. It’s astonishing, given her history, how she hasn’t become completely defeated, and when people pause on their trail walks to ask what we’re doing or if they can say hi while Aggie reposes in her wagon or on the grass after a few hard-earned steps, I find my pride and joy mirroring hers.
Look how amazing she is, I think.Look what a fighter she is. Look at this glorious, miraculous being I’ve known for less than two weeks, who’s already teaching me how to live.
Two teen girls in running gear pause mid-jog to hear Aggie’s story and cheer her on.
A guy with a brace on his knee tells me about his rehabilitation and how similar it seems.
A kid with what looks like strawberry jam all over his face insists on giving Aggie a hug and kiss, giggling while she licks his face and his mom digs a pack of wet wipes from her bag.
