Now I get what Mom meant: Love is wildly dangerous. But you can’t help it. Your heart says yes, this and that’s that.
My heart has said yes, this to Chewbarka.
I’m afraid it’s starting to say it to Ash too. I feel so much better when she’s around.
Back at Dad’s apartment, we unlock our bikes and spend ten minutes collapsing the trailer and folding down car seats and finagling Vlad and Sir Reginald Bevis into the back of the car. I tell Ash to take the front seat so she’ll be comfortable, but she squeezes in the back so she’s sitting on top of a folded-down seat with her feet resting on the frame of my bike.
Nobody talks on the car ride. About five minutes in, my phone pings with a text from Ash: I was thinking, it seems weird a grown dude would name his dog Chewbarka. I looked up the name the shelter lady gave you. Chewbarka has a family and one of the kids goes to Oakmont Middle. Her name’s Bella McBrenner. Do you know her?
Doesn’t sound familiar, I write.
I found her Insta. Ash sends the link.
I uninstalled the app, sorry.
A few minutes go by, then Ash sends a bunch of screen grabs. I don’t know the blonde girl in the selfies, but it’s clear she loves her dog. Chewbarka is in every one of them.
Do you think we should talk to her? Ash asks. Tell her we have her dog?
No way. What if she tells her dad? Chewy would be killed and Tina would get fired. I’ve blown so much stuff lately. I don’t need to blow this.
“Are you two texting each other?” Dad asks. “You’re sitting two feet apart.”
Ash giggles. Another text comes in: Maybe Bella wouldn’t tell her dad. She sends a screen grab of a post from eight days ago. It’s a Chewbarka collage, from her puppyhood all the way through her face starting to go gray and her eyes cloudy. Can’t believe she’s gone, the caption says. RIP baby girl xoxoxo your so loved.
Guilt goes through me. I didn’t post about Frankie before I deleted Insta. I was too sad.
Looks like Bella got Chewy when she was two, Ash writes. Most of C’s teeth were pulled a few years ago. That’s why her tongue doesn’t stay in her mouth. Her eyes are cloudy b/c she has cataracts. She limps and she’s scared of other dogs b/c a stray attacked her and Bella’s dad didn’t want to pay for surgery to fix her torn ACL. And he got mad when Chewy had an accident in a hotel a year ago and C. wasn’t allowed on family vacations after that. There’s a pause, then Ash writes, I think it’s safe to say Bella’s obsessed with her dog.
I wrap my body around Chewbarka. It sounds like Bella felt she had to protect Chewy from her dad. Maybe telling Bella would be a bad idea, because if her dad found out . . .
Ugh. Chewbarka must miss Bella so much. It’s obvious from the photos that she’s Chewbarka’s person, the way I was Frankie’s person. He belonged to our whole family, but I was his. He slept with me every night. I fed him and gave him his medicine. I carried him outside and pulled him around in our old wagon when he got so old and feeble he could barely walk.
I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if I found out he was still alive.
I know he’s not. Putting Frankie to sleep was the last thing our family did together before Dad moved out. I felt Frankie’s heart stop under my palm. I’ve worried for two months that my complete sobbing hysterics afterward are the reason Dad hasn’t come home, the reason Mom’s been extra hard on me about being so emotional.
But what if Mom or Dad had taken Frankie to that vet appointment without me or Mitchell? What if it turned out Frankie just needed a new kind of medicine or something, and someone else had him, and I found out he was still alive?
I asked Griffey if he knows Bella, Ash texts. They’re in jazz band together. He says she’s in seventh grade and she plays clarinet like a boss but can’t read sheet music to save her life.
I nestle my nose into the back of Chewbarka’s neck. I don’t know what to do.
17
Fold It Up, Shove It Down
Ash
Daniel asks Mr. Sanders to drop us off at my apartment building. He doesn’t look thrilled, but he glances at his Apple Watch and says okay. Maybe he wants to invite Grace back over for dinner later.
After we extract everything from the car in my parking lot, Mr. Sanders looks at Daniel on the curb holding Chewbarka. “You okay, Danny?”
Daniel nods. “Thanks for the ride. It was . . .” He bites his lip. “It was good to see you.”
Mr. Sanders grabs him in a sudden hug. “I miss you, kid.”
I can’t see Daniel’s face. His shoulders go stiff like he wants to lean in, but he’s not letting himself.
I get it. Part of me still craves Dad’s approval.
After Daniel’s dad leaves, Daniel gets Chewbarka settled into the trailer. “Thank you for coming with me today,” he says. “It meant a lot.”
“It seems like more is bothering you than the dog situation.” I stick my hand in and ruffle Chewbarka’s fuzzy ears before snapping the last part of the trailer’s screen in place.
“I just . . . I can’t believe my dad’s seeing . . .” His voice is tight and he sits down hard on the curb. “I can’t tell Mom. She’ll know I biked to Dad’s, which she’ll freak out about, and she’ll want to know why I went and then she’ll find out about Chewbarka. But I
