Mouse whines excitedly and then offers a play bow, trying to gain Molly’s attention, but she’s playing hard to get, sitting politely at Olivia’s feet.
“Madeleine, can I talk to you for a second?”
Adam is trying to draw me to the side of the room by the crook of my elbow, but like Mouse, I don’t budge. My fight-or-flight instincts are kicking in, and I want to go—now.
I tug Mouse and finally, he listens.
“I’m just going to take him outside,” I say, not looking at Adam or Olivia.
I want no part of this awkward exchange.
“Is that the friend you told me about?” I hear Olivia ask as I walk away.
I don’t hear Adam’s reply, and maybe that’s for the best. As it is, I can fill in his reply with whatever I want.
Yes that’s the friend I told you about, the one I’m madly in love with!
Ha.
When I walk out of the YMCA, I see that the rain has started again. Of course it has. It stops for women like Olivia, but for me, there’s a little raincloud perched right overhead. I don’t even bother rushing to my car. What’s the point? My clothes are still damp from earlier.
Mouse tries to claw his way back inside the entire way to the car, and then his whining kicks up another notch when I open the passenger door for him. He doesn’t want to leave, not while the new love of his life is back in that gymnasium.
“Believe me, it’s just puppy love,” I insist. “You’ll get over it.”
We both will.
I feel like a coward for leaving before class is over. Adam asked me to stay so we could talk, but how exactly would we do that with Olivia lingering nearby? I didn’t expect her to still be in Texas. If all she wanted was some closure and an official goodbye, she wouldn’t have brought Molly to the training class; she’d be halfway back to Chicago by now. And if she was still confident enough to show up uninvited with their dog, that means she still sees daylight, and whatever is going on between them is more complicated than I thought.
Complicated.
There’s my favorite word again.
My car starts after the second attempt (thank God) and Mouse whines. I feel like I have to hold it together for the two of us. If I start crying, there’s no going back. Rain beats down on my windshield as I drive the few minutes back to my apartment. I want to give in to the feelings of self-pity and sadness creeping in around the edges, but I won’t do it. My life might seem just as complicated today as it was a few weeks ago, but things have changed.
I sold a house.
I paid my overdue rent.
Mr. Hall isn’t following me around, hounding me for money.
I have an appointment on Monday at the mechanic.
Though it feels like all is lost on this short, sad drive back home, that’s not the case.
The storm kicks up another notch by the time I pull into my apartment complex, and Mouse and I make a run for it just as a gust of wind nearly bulldozes me back. I fiddle with my keys quickly, push open the flimsy door, and usher Mouse inside as fast as possible. He shakes, sending water everywhere. Normally, I would care. Right now, I just want a shower. A hot, uncomplicated shower.
I take my time, letting the water turn from warm to scalding before I step under the stream. It doesn’t solve all of my problems, but it helps. My lavender-scented body wash has a baptismal effect on me. In the ten minutes I lather myself up and rinse off, I decide things are going to be okay no matter what. If Adam and Olivia are back together and about to enter marital bliss, I can take it.
It’s not as if he and I made a commitment to one another. We spent a few weeks having fun. Admittedly, I let myself fantasize about more, especially lately. I didn’t want to indulge myself at the time, but it almost felt like a sign that he bought the white farmhouse. It’s my dream house, and he bought it. Sure, I’m not crazy enough to move in with a guy after only a few weeks of knowing him, but eventually…I imagined us living there together, Adam, Mouse, and me.
The rain seems to grow even louder as I finish washing off. Thunder rumbles as if it’s inside my apartment, a sign that the storm isn’t going to let up any time soon, which is just as well. Rain suits my current mood just fine.
I step out and dry off, waiting for Mouse to rush in and lick the water droplets from my shins. He doesn’t come, which probably means he’s still pouting about having to leave training class without his beloved.
“Mouse, believe me, she would’ve just broken your heart! I’ll let you have some chicken with your dinner. How’s that?”
There’s no jingle of dog tags, no sign that he’s listening to me at all.
Stubborn dog.
I wrap a towel around myself and step out of the bathroom.
My front door is wide open, forced against the wall by the heavy wind and rain. I rush forward and close it, nearly wiping out on the puddle of water in the entryway. I must not have locked it before my shower, and it doesn’t take much to push open the old door. Yet another thing I need to bring to Mr. Hall’s attention now that I’m a paying tenant again.
I hurry back to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to wipe up the mess, and that’s when it hits me.
Oh god, where’s Mouse?
I turn and check the apartment. He’s not in kitchen. He’s not in my bedroom, or the bathroom. The apartment is tiny, and it takes me all of five seconds to conclude that Mouse is gone. He ran through the open door. He bolted while I was in the shower and now he’s out there in the middle of a thunderstorm.
I yank open my front door and shout his name.
“MOUSE! MOUSE! Come here boy!”
I run to the end of the walkway and shout his name again, but he’s nowhere in sight. There’s no telling how long the door was open. He could have a ten or fifteen-minute head start on me. I rush back into my apartment and yank on the first clothes my hands touch. My keys are in my hand and I’m running barefoot to my car.
This isn’t happening.
I refuse to acknowledge that Mouse has run away.
He’s never done anything like this before. My front door has accidently flung open in the past and he’s never cared. He’s just a puppy. He was probably terrified when the door slammed open, and he bolted.
I force my key into the ignition and crank my car to life. It resists, but starts nonetheless.
First, I circle through the apartment complex’s parking lot. I roll down my window and shout his name, ignoring the pellets of water hitting my face and soaking the inside of my car.
“MOUSE!”
Nothing, just more rain.
“MOUSE! C’MERE BOY!”
He’s not here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MADELEINE
I try not to panic, but I can feel the worry rising up in my throat like bile.
He cannot run away.
He’s my Mouse.
He’s the one constant in my life.
He depends on me, and I depend on him.