Sydney Porter by L.G. Reed

Author:L.G. Reed
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bullying, friendship, PTSD, coming of age, kindness
Publisher: Keyes Canyon Press
Published: 2019-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They took Dad away in an ambulance last night, and of course, I couldn’t go with him. Mom’s face is slack when she brings out dog food, and I can’t figure out why she’s here and not there, except that Fred needs food; Dad would make sure of that. She’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. She looks a wreck.

“Hi, guys,” she says as she puts the two bowls on the ground. I’m hoping she’s forgotten that she said they had to find my owner—which won’t happen, because I don’t have one. I guess you could say Mom and Dad are my owners, so I’m already home.

Fred eats his food in his customary three gulps, and I eat mine as fast as I can, so she can take the bowls back inside. But she sits down on the stoop, and I sense that my time is here.

I run up next to her and push my nose under her hand like Fred does to Dad.

“Mom, it’s me, Sydney. See?” I wiggle and snuggle up next to her. She starts to pet me, and I almost melt into her side. Mom and I have been alone for so long, we have a way about us, but with her working so much, it doesn’t include much touching, hugging, or leaning on one another. Work is important to her, and to me if I want stuff, so I thought maybe I’d grown up so much that I didn’t need her to hold me, but now I know that I do. I love this closeness and her perfume. The sunny-fresh scent of her hair spray tickles my nose.

Just when I think I’ve got her won over, she pulls out her cell phone and starts dialing. When the voice on the other end answers, I can hear him say, “Stanton County Animal Services.” I shrink back from her hand. Rachael’s words “put to sleep” ring loud in my mind.

“I have a dog that—are you a no-kill shelter, or—?” she asks. His response is garbled, but the word “rescue” comes through, and she smiles. The fur on my neck bristles.

“That’s good. She really is sweet, I just can’t—No, I don’t know if she has a microchip. You’ll check for that, right? Okay. The back gate is unlocked. Not the shepherd, the smaller one. Female, yes.”

She’s really going to send me to the animal shelter. My own mom. I jam my nose into her hand, wriggle as cutely as I can, aiming to prove who I am, but she pushes me away. So, I bark. I say my name as loudly and clearly as my canine vocal chords allow.

She smiles, but it’s a melancholy, wish-things-were-different kind of smile.

“Sorry, little girl. I just can’t handle a stray dog when my own child is missing and my husband is in the hospital, not to mention so depressed he can’t function. I can’t handle much right now.”

I whimper as she goes inside. I’m not sure if she was talking to me the dog, me the kid she didn’t recognize, or herself.

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