We Were Never Here by Jennifer Gilmore

Author:Jennifer Gilmore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-04-25T07:00:00+00:00

The Shelter

The following weekend, after Dee and Lydia marched in and marched out, some kind of squadron, when I was finishing up my essay, my father knocked on my door.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” I said. “Enter!”

He cracked open the door à la Connor. But it was just my dad. “Mabel wants to go for a walk,” he said.

“Really?” My computer was on my lap, on my knees really, to avoid, like, melting the bag. “Mabel does?”

“Yes. Mabel does.”

“Okay, Dad.” I set my computer aside on my bed and went for my sneakers.

When I opened the front door, it was way colder outside than I’d thought, and so I took my father’s jean jacket from the hook in the front hall closet.

My father put Mabel on her leather leash and we were off.

Which makes it sound easy. It took me a while to get down our stone steps. So it was more like: after ten minutes of my tottering down those and then finally reaching the driveway, then! we were off.

“You okay, honey?” he asked me as we made our way up our street.

“I mean—” I start.

“No, I know,” he interrupted. “I know you’re not okay, but how not okay are you? How okay aren’t you? How are you handling this, honey?”

I gulped, trying to get my swallowing done even though my throat felt blocked. “I don’t know.”

He nodded and we kept walking, Mabel stopping to pee every five seconds, an excuse for me to secretly try to catch my uncatchable breath. One of the many charms of a girl dog.

“Why did we end up with Mabel anyway?” I asked after a period of silence.

“Why?” he asked.

“I mean, how did it end up being her? Why a breeder? Why a springer?”

“Well, your mother had done all this research on dogs, the best ones with kids, the ones who are adaptable. She and I went to some shelters. We didn’t want to bring you and Zoe, because we knew you’d fall in love with every dog! And there were so many ones we wanted there. But in the end, it was always the springers that had our hearts. I had wanted one from the start. We had them when I was growing up.”

“You did?” I asked.

“We did. I had a springer named Daphne. Can you believe it?”

I looked at him. My father. He was graying, and I only noticed it then. I’d seen so many pictures of him young, with a mustache, wearing army pants and tie-dyes, and then when I was born. Now he looked like a professor. Like a dad.

“That is hilarious.” I pictured him as a kid, calling Daphne! Daphne! and my mother in the form of a dog running up and licking his face. “I’d thought you rescued Mabel.”

My father shook his head. “No. That would have been nice, though.”

But then she wouldn’t be Mabel.

“You okay?” He turned to look at me.

I nodded. “I just have this eye thing,” I said, touching the corner of my eye. “You know, Mabel is seven,” I said.

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