Page 56 of That Birthday in Barbados
Nicole’s mind raced, her thoughts all running into one another at the same rate as her pulse.
The door opened, and Jerry stepped out. She ran to the door. “Where is Nash?”
Jerry looked irritated and said, “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“Where is he?!!?” she screamed.
Jerry tried to close the door, but she jerked it toward her, and it opened wide enough for her to see Nash, the sweet old dog she’d promised would be okay, the dog she was going to adopt, lying on the floor on his side, his eyes open wide but now unseeing.
“What did you do?” She sobbed the words at Jerry who jerked the door from her and closed it.
“Owner surrender. We can euthanize those before the owner pulls out of the parking lot. It’s Saturday. We empty the kennels for the weekend for whoever hasn’t been adopted. What? Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
Nicole stumbled backwards, her shoulder crashing into the wall. “No. I. . .I didn’t know. How could you? You’re a monster!”
“If you’re gong to work here, I’d suggest you stay up front where you belong. Behind the desk in Pollyannaville.”
Pure hatred filled her, and Nicole turned and ran to her Toyota Corolla in the parking lot. She drove home crying so hard she could barely see through her tears.
Looking back, Nicole knew that this moment, this scene, her own heartbroken sobs marked the beginning of a lifelong depression and sadness that would take root inside her and forever mark the world as a place where horrible things happen. Because despite the fact that the sun shines, that people laugh, that babies are born, horrible, truly horrible and unjust things happen. Every. Single. Day.
*
ON THIS SUNNY, blue day in Florida, Nicole sits in the well-kept yard of the Ruth Ann Cosby No-Kill shelter with an older dog named Callie. They are sitting on the grass, Callie’s chin resting on Nicole’s knee as she dozes with her eyes closed in the warm sun. Nicole strokes her head, her touch soft and comforting. She isn’t sure whether the comfort is for her or the older dog, but the nice thing is that she knows they both have something to give the other.
It’s always been like that for her with animals though. She’s always felt an acceptance, a connection from them that she has never felt with people. It’s as if animals see that part of her she never lets others see, the part that wants to be loved for who she is. She knows that is how she sees them.
She tries not to think about the fact that Callie’s family gave her up because she now has trouble making it outside to potty. The shelter vet put her on a medication that has helped her a lot. The family was notified of this, but they did not want to take her back.
Nicole runs her hand across Callie’s soft back and wishes for a moment that she could think of her own life with Callie in it. But every time she tries to do that, her thoughts stop at the black wall, and her chest feels as if an enormous block of concrete has been lowered onto it.
Pain floods through her head and rushes through her veins with such force she has to close her eyes against it. She wishes with every good thing left inside her that she could be this little dog’s miracle. The undeniable truth though is that she is as far from miracle-material as it is possible to get. Maybe a good family will come for Callie, a family deserving of the love of a good dog like her.
Nicole is not that person, not for Callie, not even for her own parents and sister.
Chapter Twenty-four
“The poetry of the earth is never dead.”
?John Keats
Catherine
“YOU’RE REALLY NOT going to tell me where we’re going?”
“This is a surprise you’ll like. I promise.”
It’s just before five o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun has started to dip in the pink-streaked sky. The windows are open on the Defender, and the wind, warm and humid, blows my hair back from my face.
I’d like to argue, but honestly, it’s easier not to. I settle back in the leather seat and turn my gaze to the island views flowing by, and I’m overcome with a feeling of contentment. When was the last time I felt happy to hand the decision-making over to someone else? Made the choice to be patient and wait for whatever unfolds ahead of me?
Never would be the answer.
But today, I am. I don’t understand it. But I am.
We drive for fifteen or twenty minutes more before we turn onto an unpaved road that winds through some palm trees and big, colorful bushes before the ocean appears in front of us. Other cars are parked in the grass at the edge of the sandy beach. Agroup of people stands to our right. A couple of them glance around and raise a hand when they spot Anders.
I turn a questioning gaze to him. He smiles and relents. “I think I told you I help out with the Sea Turtle project when I’m needed. A bunch of babies hatched out today on Needham’s Point Beach, and volunteers have been collecting them to release this evening when they have a better chance of survival.”
