Page 18 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
A woman breaks down in tears about her own weight-loss journey, horrified that anyone would euthanize a dog for being overweight.
It’s a lot, talking to all of these people, but Aggie makes it easier with her open, amiable demeanor, and since she’s the obvious conversation starter, I don’t need to hunt for things to say. I just follow the other person’s lead, and Aggie’s. Several people ask if she has a social media account they can follow. I smile politely and say no, holding back the rant I thrust on Everett that day in his car, but the more people ask, the more I wonder if it’s time to reconsider my complete avoidance. If Aggie’s inspiring strangers while hanging out in a park for a few hours, setting up an account for her could be kind of fun. Nothing fake. Nothing overly curated and manufactured. Just this beautiful, tenacious girl and her fight to rebuild her life in a happy, healthy way.
“What do you think?” I ask her when we’re on our way home. “Do you want your own Instagram account? Or would you prefer TikTok?”
She smiles at me like she’s up for anything. She probably is. I’m the one resisting.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.
And I do.
Chapter Eight
For the next three weeks, I catch up with my classes, do my weekend job with a new determination to hold on to it despite its frustrations, hunt fruitlessly for remote work that will supplement my reduced income from quitting the pizzeria job, and assist with Aggie’s recovery. Aside from her carefully monitored diet and meds, on most days her rehab includes spending time on the upturned bin, draped over it like a big, furry, limp starfish, while I bounce a ball in her direction and she watches with only nominal interest until we give up on catching practice and read or watch TV together. We also take a lot of wagon walks with exercise sessions in nearby parks, enjoying fall while it lasts, with its crisp blue skies and the cozy smells of chimney smoke and pumpkin spiced lattes scenting the air, conjuring images of hearth fires and big, plush armchairs to curl up in. Everett joins some of our walks, though he’s overloaded with work and rarely has time. I take him at his word that he’s busy, but some unavoidable insecurities bubble up as I wonder if I was the only one who felt a spark of attraction between us.
Did I imagine it?
Was he just being nice?
Is this high school and college all over again?
You didn’t actually see this going somewhere, did you?
The questions only annoy me, remnants of a past that’s better left in the past, so I shake them off as best I can and enjoy Everett’s company whenever I can get it.
Meanwhile, Aggie’s improvement is slow but steady, and at her first weigh-in at the vet’s, she’s down six pounds already. She’s also able to support more of her own weight on her legs as we walk, allowing us to go farther with the help of the sling. There’s still no sign of hair on her tail, but Dr. Beinecke, the vet we’re now seeing, is pleased with Aggie’s overall progress and encourages me to stay patient. This was never going to be an overnight transformation, and I knew that going in, but I appreciate her perspective so I don’t feel like I’m not doing enough.
Thankfully, the vet’s office is close by so I pull Aggie home in her wagon while she’s greeted by people who recognize her from prior walks. Some just say hi while others ask how she’s doing and are elated when I share her progress update. She beams with pride as relative strangers shower her with praise, and I love seeing her drink it all in, hoping that in some small way, it helps compensate for years of neglect no living being should ever experience.
My mom texts when I’m halfway home, letting me know she had a fabulous time while out for dinner with some neighbors I knew when I was growing up in Roseburg, and I should check out her latest Facebook post to see her photos and all the nice comments people made about those photos. I’m tempted to remind her I don’t use Facebook, but instead I text back that I’m glad she had a good time, and hope that’s the end of the conversation.
It’s a minor interaction but it gets me thinking about the socialmedia account I still haven’t created for Aggie. Mostly, I’ve been busy, but also, I found it all so draining when I used to be on it. The FOMO. The parade of cliquish friend gatherings and happy-couple photos. The travel diaries and award announcements that made my life seem so small and inconsequential in comparison. I had enough social struggles in real life. I didn’t need to amplify them online.
However, Aggie and I have concrete progress to share now, with her first six pounds gone and her mobility increasing. I’m so proud of her, and other people will be, too, once I update them. People like Hannah, who can be hard to connect with directly, given our time difference. Or Andy and Nora from Hounds and Hearts, who aren’t in town. Sam and Sariah from Ruff ’n’ Rescue, who’ve done so much for Aggie and for me. The regulars who pass our favorite bench along the trail, always inquiring about how she’s doing. My dog is amazing. I want everyone to know that, and recording her journey for a few friends and acquaintances to follow doesn’t mean I’ll get swept back into everything I deliberately stepped away from.
When we get home, I get Aggie settled on her upturned bin, where she paws at the monkey she’s recently become curious about. I sit beside her on the floor, scrolling through pics and videos while asking her opinion on which ones to share. We start with the first video I took of her, the one where she’s in the back of Everett’s station wagon, and I cue up four others: one of her propped on the bin, chewing on her monkey; one riding in her wagon with a big smile on her face; one sleep-twitching on her bed with her head on the pillow I now think of entirely as hers; and a brief selfie I shoot of the two of us. I compile them into a single video, hunt for an appropriate song, and write a short caption introducing peopleto Aggie, noting how her first seven years were spent, her current weight and health concerns, and how we’ll be chronicling her recovery under the TikTok account name Goode Girls. I tag Ruff ’n’ Rescue, noting their invaluable support in her journey, and before I can overthink it, I post.
“Away we go!” I tell Aggie as I pocket my phone.
She wags her tail and smiles at me, like she already knows she’s a star.
I give her nose a teasing smoosh. “Flirt.”
Her tail wags harder, confirming my suspicions. Definitely a flirt.
AS EVENING ROLLSaround, I become keenly aware that it’s Friday night, I no longer have a job to go to, I need a break from homework, I’m down to half a box of Raisin Bran and no milk of any variety to go with it, and even my dog might be bored with my company. So I reach out.
CAMERON:Any chance you’re free for dinner tonight? I still owe you
The response doesn’t come right away, but after a few minutes, my phone pings.
EVERETT:You don’t owe me anything. But tonight’s not good. Sorry. Another time?
I stare at my phone, willing it to deliver a more thorough explanation.I’m working. I have plans with friends. I’m on a dangerous anddaring plant rescue mission that could change the future of our imperiled planet. Not that he owes me any explanation at all, but my mind has a tendency to fill in blanks when blanks are provided, and given how little I’ve seen of him in the past few weeks, those blanks feel especially large and especially empty.
I look over to find Aggie watching me intently from her bed.
“What?” I ask. “I’m not allowed to be curious?”
