But today his anger seemed to be directed at the school, not us.
We head inside, the three of us walking side by side. Before we get to the door, Paul hooks his hands on the back of our necks.
“Good job today, boys,” he says. “But don’t do that shit again.”
Jude and I fight off matching smiles as Paul heads in, cracks a beer, and takes a seat on the back patio alone. We grab snacks from the pantry—a bag of hot Cheetos and two cherry Gatorades—and make ourselves scarce while Paul cools down.
For the first ten years of my life, it was just my mom and me. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever have anything close to a dad or a brother. Now that I do, I can’t imagine my life without them.
No matter what happens, I’ll always have their backs.
Chapter Seventeen
Jovie
* * *
I heat up some leftover sirloin for Domino and push his food bowl toward his bed. He rises, sniffs it, then spins three times before lying back down with a huff.
Grabbing my phone, I play the video Ida sent me earlier in the week, just a recording of her talking to Domino in a lovable grandmotherly tone. The first few times I played it, he’d wag his tail a couple of times.
Now he just looks at me like I’m the idiot in this equation.
He’s not falling for it anymore.
“Want to go for a walk?” I ask, emphasis on walk. His ears perk and his gaze follows me as I grab his leash. A moment later, he reluctantly makes his way to the door, and I pet the top of his head before hooking onto his collar. “Good boy, Domino.”
By the time we hit the sidewalk, it’s dusk. The sun is low in the cerulean sky and the salty air has turned tepid. Summers in Portland are magical—the perfect antidote to punishing winters. Of course, only a handful of residents stick around all year. The overwhelming majority are visitors, part-timers. Here for a good time, not a long time.
Domino stops to sniff a bush before choosing the perfect spot to lift his leg.
“Since when did you get a dog?” A woman’s voice half startles me.
I glance up and find Connie Carrington, the woman who lives above me in the four-plex. She’s always been cordial enough, if not a little on the chilly side. Another neighbor told me she went through a divorce a few years ago, came out with enough to retire early, and now spends her days sticking her nose in everyone else’s business.
“Oh, he’s not mine,” I say. “I’m watching him for Ida Moss.”
“Who?” Connie scrunches her nose.
“The woman who lives in the house to the west of us,” I say.
“Oh,” she says. “Well, what kind of dog is that?”
I glance at Domino, wondering if it’s even possible to surmise such a thing with his polka dotted fur, stubby legs, hazel eyes, and long body.
“Some kind of mix,” I state the obvious. “You’ll have to ask Ida when she gets back.”
“When’s she coming back?” Connie asks.
“Sometime in the next couple weeks?” I shrug.
She inspects Domino again, her eyes squinting and her lips forming a frown. Maybe she’s not a dog person?
“It was good to see you,” I say, giving the leash a gentle tug to prompt Domino to start walking—which he thankfully does.
Connie bats her hand, muttering something under her breath before heading to the mailbox.
“Some people just like being miserable,” I say to Domino. “Don’t take it personally.”
Half an hour later, we’re back from our walk, and he makes a beeline for his bed only to stop short in front of the steak I warmed up for him before we left. In a matter of minutes, he inhales it all, then finishes with a trip to the water bowl.
I text Ida with the good news, and then I plant myself on the couch, turn on some Netflix for some background noise, and spend the hour that follows Googling dog breeds like a woman on a mission. I could easily ask Ida, but she hasn’t replied to my last message yet and I don’t want to bother her.
After growing bored with my fruitless internet searches, I drag out my laptop and check my email.
My life is a constant flux between working ten- or twelve-hour days to meet a deadline and then having weeks upon weeks filled with more free time than I know what to do with. There’s never an in between.
Since my split with Jason, I’ve viewed Portland as a lily pad of sorts. I figured sooner or later I’d hop to the next one, but the longer I’m here, the more I fall in love with this city, with its cobblestone streets, Victorian architecture, and the constant ambience of seagulls, tugboats, and crashing waves. Being a half hour from my hometown means I can go home any time I want, but at the same time, I feel like I’m half a world away.