“You have nothing to be sorry for. Dad, I can’t believe you’re such an idiot! You’ll never find anyone like Mom!”
“Now, son,” Brad said. “People get divorced all the time. Your mother and I have had a great marriage, but it’s simply time to start a new journey. We have different needs and hopes.”
“Is there someone else, Dad? Is that it?”
It was gratifying to see Brad’s face flush with shame. “Your mother and I have been growing apart for a while, Dylan. That’s all.”
Liar.
“You’re an asshole, Dad,” Dylan said, and left the call.
Since then, he’d called every day, sometimes crying to me on the phone because he couldn’t believe what his father had done, sometimes barely speaking.
I understood. Our wonderful boy had been thrust into the ugly task of reenvisioning his father, his family, and home.
“I’m actually glad to be so far away,” he said one night, his voice bitter. “I can’t imagine home without Dad. And I hate him at the same time. I can’t wrap my head around this, Mom! No more family game nights? What about Thanksgiving? What about Christmas?”
Oh, God. Dylan would probably have to split holidays. Or would he? He was eighteen. He could choose, right? “I don’t know, sweetheart. I know it seems like a disaster right now, but we’ll get through it.”
“I don’t want to get through it! Why did Dad leave you? Did you do something?”
I hadn’t expected that, and felt a gut punch. “No! I just . . . No. I had no idea he wasn’t happy.”
“He sure seemed happy.”
“I know.”
“It’s not fair!”
I closed my eyes, his voice tearing my heart in half. “I don’t know what to tell you, honey.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I know this is worse for you.”
My sweet, sweet boy. “You’re allowed to feel angry and sad and anything else, Dylan. We’re in this together, okay? You can always talk to me. You’ll always be my first priority. That will never change.”
Dylan hadn’t called his father since the Zoom call, and Brad didn’t want to talk to Dylan when our son was angry. Brad wanted him to be happy about this. For a therapist, he had no clue about the human soul.
A few days after we dropped that bomb, I was heading home from Hyannis Hospital after a long night. The mama, who hadn’t been my patient for prenatal care, had been stunned by the force of the contractions and begged for an epidural, which was fine . . . unmedicated birth was not appropriate in every case. After two hours of pushing, her baby boy had been born, healthy and robust, and she nursed him right away, smitten and amazed.
Thinking about them made going home to an empty house that much worse. For the first time in my life, I was lonely . . . and a little scared. With a sigh, I got in my car anyway and headed for Wellfleet.
About ten years ago, a guy had gone missing around the kettle ponds. A young man, Matthew Dudek, age thirty-four. His car was found parked on Old Hay Road, empty, no signs of foul play or struggle. His family, who lived in Peabody, had reported him missing when he didn’t come home from the Cape. The police had gone all out, canvassing the houses of all of us who lived in the area. Volunteers—myself included—had done a grid search, lines of us walking carefully through the woods, looking for any trace of him . . . a backpack, a sneaker. They dragged the ponds twice and waited to see if his body would rise, as most drowned bodies do.
He was gone without a trace.
I cried so hard when they gave up the search. Maybe because I was a mother to a boy, maybe it was because it was so close to home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I didn’t let Dylan, then eight, out of my sight for the next six months. From then on, every time I took a walk, I automatically looked for a sign of Matthew Dudek.
Now, it could be that he just ran away from his old life, because it wasn’t like the terrain was rough around here. Could be he drowned and his body got stuck under the water. It was unlikely, but there’d been a similar case in Connecticut where a child’s bones had been recovered from a lake after more than fifty years. It could be that Matthew Dudek walked to the ocean and drowned there, in which case his body might never be found. Could be he was an addict and overdosed out in the woods, and his remains were still out there but no police dog ever found him.
Living alone in my house for the first time in my life, I thought of Matthew far too much. My beloved woods seemed a little . . . sinister, and I could not let that happen.
On impulse, I pulled off at the next exit, got on Route 6 West, went back to Hyannis and headed for the Cape Cod Animal Shelter. It was time to look for my four-legged friend.
“Lillie?” came a voice as I went in.
“Poppy!” I said, instantly becoming my midwife self. “How are you? How are the girls?”
“I’m great! We’re great,” she said. “Want to see a picture?”
“You know I do.” She pulled out her phone, and I was treated to pictures of her two little girls, both of whom I’d delivered.
“Gosh, they’re beautiful,” I said. My eyes were a little teary. They were four and two now, that sweet age when they can talk and express themselves but still think you’re the best human on the planet.
“How are you, Lillie?”
“My husband left me for another woman,” I said. Oops. Hadn’t meant to tell the truth.
She looked at my face. “Holy crap,” she said. “What an asshole.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You here for a dog?”
Sounded good to me. “Maybe,” I said.
“They’re better than men anyway.” She smiled.
“I believe you.”
“Okay,” Poppy said, “usually we do a lot of paperwork and ask for references, but I know you and I trust you with my life. I actually did trust you with my life, and my babies’ lives, so you get to cut to the front of the line. What are you looking for?”
“Oh . . . maybe a dog who can tolerate being alone for a good chunk of time? I can put in a dog door, but my hours are unpredictable.”
“Totally understand. Come on in and see what we’ve got.”
We went into the kennel part of the building, and Poppy described each dog to me. “This guy here is a pit bull, very sweet. Still a puppy, though, and they need 24/7 attention. This pretty girl has way too much energy . . . probably needs a family with kids, but you’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you?” She was—part border collie, part black Lab. “Don’t worry, she’ll go fast. Oh, okay! How about this big guy? He’s part Dalmatian, as you can tell, part bloodhound, part Labrador, maybe part Great Dane. Super mutt, right, Zeus?”
Zeus was lying on the floor. He lifted his head to look at me, and on his nose were two spots, coming together to look like a heart. There was a big patch of black over his right eye, and my heart swelled. His tail thumped on the floor, and he seemed to smile, his doggy cheeks crinkling, but he didn’t get up.
“He’s a little lazy,” Poppy said. “He sleeps about twenty hours a day, don’t you, buddy? He might work for you. He’s been here awhile because of his size. He weighs ninety pounds.”
I had a vision of this rather gigantic dog lying on my big bed at home, or in front of the fireplace. Yeah. I wanted a pet of substance. Maybe I could train Zeus to protect me. It was a nice thought—Brad coming back, this dog with the heart on his nose savagely chewing off his arm.
That happy image sealed the deal. “I’ll take him,” I said. “If I can.”
“You absolutely can,” Poppy said. “That stupid husband of yours. Why are men like that?”
“How’s yours, by the way?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s wonderful,” she said, her face melting at the thought of him. “He’ll be so glad I ran into you.” She opened the kennel, and Zeus leaped up, suddenly energized. I knelt, and he licked my face with great enthusiasm, his backside swaying with the force of his wags. His ears were silky and his muzzle was velvet.