Left by Mary Hogan

Author:Mary Hogan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-two

IT’S THE “IFS” THAT HAUNT YOU. IF IT HADN’T RAINED THAT night. If I’d trusted myself more, trusted white coats less. If I’d said, “Okay,” when Paul said, “I’m not walking Lola tonight.” If I’d done more research, been more forceful with what I knew to be true. If I’d spent less time in fear and denial.

If, if, if. If only.

It had rained that night. For hours. After dinner, after my heavy pour of wine, after I was in our bedroom and in my pajamas, ready to burrow into the crime novel I’d just bought, Paul stomped down the stairs and announced, “I’m not walking Lola tonight. She can shit in the backyard.”

“Not fair.” My voice sliced the air with its jagged edges. “You wanted an athlete. I wanted a corgi.”

“One day. Big deal.”

“And if it rains tomorrow. Two days. Or it’s cold. Three days. Or your knee hurts,” I added, meanly. I’d become my nagging father. I should drive right over those bikes. That’ll teach you!

Lola sat perfectly still, facing the exit door. My yoga teacher would be proud. Our dog’s entire being melded into the moment. No barking, no panting, no whining. Lola’s silent expectation produced enough guilt to get what she wanted. Usually.

“I’ll give her a bone,” Paul said.

My face turned to stone. In silence, I exited our bedroom and walked up the stairs. In the reprimand of my taut back, I wanted my husband to feel the shame of denying Lola her nightly exercise, the disgrace of assuaging his guilt with food, as any bad parent would. At the top of the stairs, I stopped. I turned and stomped back down.

“I held up my end of the bargain.” I revved up the argument. “I walked her this morning, in the rain. You think I wanted to get wet? You think I didn’t want to give her a bone this morning? But I didn’t. I did my job for this family. Grow up and do yours.”

Sometimes, I couldn’t stand to look at his face. The way his glasses slid down his nose. The greasy smell of his hair when he didn’t shower. The leathery aroma of his work clothes. Disgusting.

Once again, I turned my back on my husband and marched up the stairs. I left him to prove to me that he was a man.

From my perch in the kitchen, arms crossed, staring out the window into the shiny darkness, I watched heavy raindrops hit the pavement like blobs of honey. I heard the opening and closing of the coat closet downstairs, the swoosh of the Patagonia parka I’d bought Paul back when he deserved such a loving gesture. Paul called out, “Come.” Lola’s toenails clicked across the wood floor to the door. She knew better than to test Paul’s patience at that moment. I could picture her dipping her head to insert it into the harness, lifting her paw to slip it into the chest strap. My girl was so smart she knew how to get herself ready.

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