Ziggy is almost deliriously happy to be going to the dog park. Like “backyard,” he seems to recognize the words, and he pants happily at the idea of it. I guess he’s a social dog. Although just about everything seems to excite him. I wish I had a tenth of his happiness.
We’re taking the car to the supermarket, and we’re going to stop at the dog park on the way. It seems crazy to take the car five blocks, but we’ll need it to get all the groceries home.
It’s frustrating that I can’t drive. I always liked to drive. I love the feeling of the steering wheel under my fingers and my foot on the gas pedal as music blasts on the radio. I wonder if there’s any chance I’ll be able to drive again in the future. It doesn’t seem likely. The thought of it would probably make me depressed, but it’s hard to feel too sad when Ziggy is bouncing around and licking me.
Camila attaches Ziggy’s leash to his collar, and we’re about to head out the door when she stops short. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. She stands there, reading a message off the screen.
“Oh,” she says. “Graham’s going to be home early.” I force a smile. “Great.”
By the time I see him, I’ll have sorted out what’s going on here. I’ll have met the mysterious stranger at the dog park and I’ll finally have some answers. For better or worse.
“So we better just go straight to the supermarket then,” Camila says. “You can take Ziggy to the dog park later with Graham.”
My heart sinks. “But… Ziggy is ready to go…”
She shrugs. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to go later with Graham.”
With Graham? No, that definitely won’t work.
“Can’t you drop me off at the dog park while you go shopping?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t do that. It’s not safe.”
A muscle twitches in my jaw. “It’s not safe? I’m a grown woman. What do you think I’m going to do?”
Camila’s pretty brown eyes darken. “It’s my job to stay with you today. We’re going shopping together, then you’ll go to the dog park later. Got it?”
I open my mouth to protest, but then I realize it’s pointless. I won’t convince Camila of anything. But once she unlocks that door, there’s not much she can do. She can’t tackle me to keep me from walking away from her. I’ll pretend to go shopping with her, but then when I’m at the supermarket, I’ll just leave.
“Fine,” I say.
Camila rubs her chin, studying my face. Finally, she nods. “All right, then. Let’s get going.”
I never asked what season it is, but I surmised from all the leaves in our backyard that it must be early fall. Camila opens up the hall closet and hands me a gray zip-up sweater. The feel of the sweater is so soft in my hands, I want to wrap my whole body in it. I want to bathe in this sweater. I check the label.
“Cashmere!”
Camila snorts. “It sure is.”
I look at the sweater, almost too intimidated to put it on. “I can’t afford cashmere.”
“Of course you can. You guys are rich.”
I think back to all of those articles I read about my company. About how well it was doing. I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. It feels like it must be some sort of mistake.
Either way, I already own this sweater. So I may as well put it on.
Ziggy seems heartbroken that we’re not taking him with us on our trip. I’m not sure who feels worse about it—him or me. Camila unlocks the front door with the key around her neck, and I observe her carefully, noticing the shape of the key. There’s got to be a spare key around here somewhere. They wouldn’t risk being trapped here if there were a fire or something.
Camila drives a rusty green Nissan that’s parked out in front of the house. As we walk out to her car, I wonder what she would do if I took off running. Would she chase me? Call the police? In any case, I don’t think it would be a great idea to make a scene in my own neighborhood. I’ll get away from her at the supermarket, which is only a short walk from the dog park.
“So how does it usually work when we go shopping?” I ask as I buckle myself in. “Do I have to follow you around?”
Camila starts up the car, which makes a strange crunching noise. It doesn’t instill a lot of confidence in me. But I’m already brain damaged—what’s the worst that could happen? “You usually grab a basket and do your own shopping.”
“Except I won’t remember what I bought by tomorrow.” “True.” She winks at me. “But isn’t the shopping part
the most fun?”
Camila slides a pair of sunglasses onto her nose, then she takes off down the block, the wheels of the car screeching in protest. As she drives far too fast, she fiddles with the radio controls using her right hand. She hits on an R&B station and turns the volume all the way up. I want to text the stranger to let them know I won’t make it to meet them, but I can’t let Camila see me doing it. If this person truly wants to help me, I can’t risk it.
The dog park is on the way to the supermarket. It’s about the halfway point. I look out the window as we approach the park, my heart accelerating.
The dog park is a large enclosed space at the far end of the park—fenced in so the dogs can roam free without fear of them running away. Camila skids to a stop at a red light, so I get a closer look at the dog park. There are three people inside. Two of them are women, who are animatedly chatting with each other. That leaves the other occupant of the dog park.
It’s a man. I can tell that much. But it’s hard to tell much else. He’s wearing a dark baseball cap low on his forehead, a pair of sunglasses concealing his eyes, and a beard covers the lower half of his face. He’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a dark brown jacket, his hands shoved deep into the jacket pockets.
I stare at this man. Is this the person who’s been texting me? Is that possible?
The man looks up at the Nissan. Even though he’s got on his sunglasses, I can feel his eyes on me. He’s staring right at me. And then he takes his sunglasses off.
Holy crap. Is that…
Harry?
My mouth falls open. I want to roll down the window and call to him, but I’m not even sure it’s him, and anyway, the light has turned green and Camila is speeding away. I sit back in my seat, gripping my knees with frustration.
It’s him. I’m sure of it. I knew he would never have abandoned me. We loved each other too much.
“Camila, could I wait at the park while you’re shopping?” I ask desperately.
“Wait at the park?” She frowns at me. “What are you talking about? We’re just going to be at the supermarket for fifteen minutes. Then we’ll head back.”
“Yes, but—” I can’t tell her why I want to go to the park without giving it away. “I just think it would be nice to have some fresh air.”
“Graham will take you there later. Don’t worry about it.”
I’m not going to change her mind, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as we get to the supermarket and I’m out of her sight, I’m going to the dog park myself. I’ll text Harry to wait for me.
The parking lot for the supermarket is nearly empty. I had been hoping it would be more crowded so it would be easier to slip away, but it’s the early afternoon on a weekday, so that was unrealistic. Camila tosses her sunglasses in the car and we get out together. As she stretches from the drive, a man in the parking lot lets out a low whistle. She snorts and rolls her eyes.
“You wish,” she remarks.
It’s hard not to notice all the appreciative looks Camila gets as we walk to the supermarket together. From men and women. She’s beautiful, like a sculpture. Even I can’t help but admire her. Graham probably…
No. I need to stop thinking about that. Anyway, I don’t care. It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest if the two of them were having an affair. They’re both strangers to me, after all.
When we get inside the supermarket, Camila grabs a shopping cart and hands me a basket. She looks me straight in the eyes. “Fifteen minutes, then we meet at check out, okay?” When I don’t respond, she says, “You got me, chica?” “Uh-huh.” I bob my head. “Is there anything in particular
that we need? Anything I should look for?”
“You let me take care of that,” she says. “You get whatever you want. Something to help you enjoy the rest of the day.”
I get the subtext of what she’s saying. Whatever I buy, it should be something I can use today. Because by tomorrow, I likely won’t even remember I have it.
Camila takes off for the dairy aisle. I watch her disappear into the distance while I head to the display of soaps. It always amazed Harry that there could be an entire aisle just filled with soaps. Why do you need a separate
soap for your face and your hands? Aren’t they all basically the same thing—soap?
I pick up a bottle of watermelon soap. I pretend to consider buying it, in case Camila is watching me. But then with my other hand, I pull out my phone. I punch in a message to the same number that texted me this morning:
I’m at the supermarket. I just need to get away from Camila then I’ll come to the dog park. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.
The reply comes almost instantly:
No, you won’t. Delete these messages.
What is he talking about? I’m a ten-minute walk away. Camila is nowhere in sight. Does he think I don’t know how to get to the dog park?
I’ll be there. 15 minutes.
Don’t try it. Delete these messages.
I frown. Before I can stop myself, I type: Harry?
Three bubbles flash on the screen repeatedly as I wait for his reply. My legs feel almost weak as the message pops up on the screen:
Delete these messages. Now.
Damn it.
I do what he says. I delete the messages on my phone. But I have not aborted the plan. I can make it to the dog park. I just hope he waits for me.
I drop the basket I’ve been carrying on my elbow onto the ground. I peek along the edge of the aisle, making sure
Camila isn’t in sight. We’re supposed to meet in about fifteen minutes. So that’s how long I have until she notices I’m gone. It’s plenty of time.
I tuck my hair behind my ears—I still can’t quite get used to how short it is. Why did I cut it? I had assumed it had something to do with the surgery I had after my head injury, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. I miss my hair.
I stride purposefully in the direction of the exit. Once I’m outside, I’ll turn left, and then it’s a five-block straight shot to the park. It’s funny how I remember it so well. I know how to get to the dog park, but somehow I can’t remember the man I am supposedly married to. There’s something seriously wrong with that.
I reach the sliding door, prepared to break into a sprint the second I step outside. But just as the automatic doors slide open, a large hand closes around my arm like a vise. And then a deep male voice booms in my ear:
“Where do you think you’re going?”
