Playing With Matches (23 page)

Twenty minutes later I arrived at the Sheraton Parkway where I motored to a distant spot in the parking lot. I inched toward the entrance, alert to the danger of Leah’s presence in every direction.

Before I pushed through the revolving doors at the front of the building I glanced behind me once last time.

That’s when I bumped into him.

Jake!

I drew back and tried to avert my face.

“Sorry,” he said. He stepped away and stared at me.

Why was he still there? Was he trying to torture her? I pushed into the glass doors with clammy hands as fast as the revolving door would take me.

With Jake apparently off my tail I surveyed the lobby until my eyes alighted on the back of Leah sitting on a couch. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders shook violently.

My urge to rush over to her battled with the necessity of escaping her line of vision. My heart raced as I considered how visible I was, stationed next to the front desk. Leah suddenly raised her head to pull a tissue from her Zara bag, then dabbed at her eyes. The muscles in my legs tightened. I had to will them not to start running because those legs were pretty darned determined to get out of Dodge.

When she was done, she rested her forehead in her hand, giving me the opportunity to slink toward the bathroom. I tiptoed across the marble floor to the safety of the bathroom where I examined the long row of wooden doors. I hurried to the last stall and opened the door. I found a frosted glass shelf attached to the rear wall with a silk plant glued on top. I tugged the envelope from my purse and gently wedged it between the plant and the tile.

My bangs were sealed to my forehead with an adhesive of fear. I exited the bathroom and sidled through the lobby as far away from the couch as possible. Leah was still sobbing silently. I swallowed and raced out of the lobby into the black night. Where the snow had turned into rain. Once inside Leah’s car I exhaled slowly to calm my racing heart. When my hands stopped shaking I dispatched an email to Leah with instructions for finding the cash.

I powered out of the lot with the rain heavy now. The rhythmic motion of the wipers throbbed like an infected tooth. A fresh swell of sadness rose in me as I visualized Leah alone in the corner of the hotel lobby, weeping silently.

As I approached Yonge Street my phone rang.

“Rain! Is everything alright?” It was Professor K. “I’ve been worried about you. You were supposed to be here two hours ago.”

chapter 25

Peace with Brutus

I slapped my hand on my head; I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to go pick up the Faulkner essay that he had offered to edit. At this point it was going to be a miracle if I passed half of my courses this semester, so his help was crucial. I felt terrible about Professor K. He’d even postponed a date with Esther so he could meet me. I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was 9:45 p.m. Bubby would be asleep by now and Mira and Eli weren’t coming back from Stratford until the next day. “I’ll swing by, Professor K.,” I said. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“I look forward to it.”

I hung a right onto New Westminster Drive. With the rain drumming on the roof, the car sounded like the inside of a tin can. When I arrived at his house thirty minutes later, we bypassed the pureed vegetables and headed straight to the computer. I pulled up a chair as Professor K. opened Word to find my paper on William Faulkner.

“First of all,” he said. “I want to congratulate you on a well-written paper.”

“You do?”

My phone attempted to interrupt us but I ignored the ringing. When the call repeated two more times Professor K. told me to answer.

“Rain, it’s me, Deb.”

“I’m kind of busy now,” I said. Professor K. flipped through the printout of my essay.

“I just want you to know that I’ve made peace with Brutus. We’re okay now.”

“Excellent, you fed the dog a treat?”

“Better. I went to Walmart and got him a big bag of chocolate. Choco-chickies were on sale.”

“Who wouldn’t love chocolate?”

Professor K.’s eyes widened under his thick frames.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “And considering how oversized he is, I got him sugar-free chocolate. The only thing worse than a Great Dane is a fat Great Dane. Anyway when I left Daniel’s apartment he was licking my hand.”

“They should package sugar-free chocolate treats for big dogs.”

Professor K. shook his head back and forth. I was starting to get a bit rattled.

“Hang on,” I said to Deb. I turned to Professor K. “Are you okay?”

His brows knit with worry. “Chocolate is toxic for dogs. It affects their hearts and nervous systems. We
never
gave Chaucer chocolate.”

Uh-oh.

“Sugar substitutes are especially dangerous for dogs,” he said. “They can lead to coma or even death.”

A ball of nausea started bouncing in my belly.

“Oh my god, I heard that!” Deb said on the other end of the line. “Daniel will hate me.”

She had a point.

“I shouldn’t have been cheap,” she said, her voice trembling. “I should have just bought him a pie.”

“It was the principle.”

“Darn right.”

Professor K. tapped on the desk. “Rain, the dog might be fine but your friend really should take the dog to the vet
immediately
.”

“My car’s in for repairs. How am I going to get him to a vet?” Deb was practically sobbing now.

“Can’t you just take a cab?”

“Have you seen the weather out there? The rain’s turned to snow. It’s a mess. It’ll be an hour wait.”

No, no, no, no. Don’t ask.

“Rain, would you mind terribly driving me and Bronx to the vet? I’ll walk over to Daniel’s place and meet you there.”

I glanced at my watch. Dahlia would still be at the bar mitzvah so she wasn’t available. Since I had created this situation, I needed to own it.

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me where he lives, then call the vet.”

As I flew out the door, Professor K. called after me, “Try to give the dog some water! And let me know how it goes!”

I punched Daniel’s address into my GPS, put the car in gear and raced down Bathurst Street. I floored the pedal and the car careened through the intersection, my hands curled so tightly around the steering wheel that it felt like it would snap off the dashboard any second.

When I arrived at Daniel’s side split bungalow, I bolted up the front steps and flew through the front door. My stomach dropped when I found Bronx lying at the foot of the sink, the empty box of Choco-chickies next to him. Deb was kneeling on the floor and gently stroking his back.

I dropped to the floor. “Bronx,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

As if in answer, he raised his head and his eyes fluttered for a second. My heart skipped a beat.

“Come on, big guy,” Deb said with a quivering voice. Bronx turned to Deb and his eyes locked on hers. You could see the bulb going off in his brain — it was the moment of truth. The hyper-intuitive animal; the amateur therapist. It was an “aha” moment as he confronted the agent of his harm.

Bronx’s mouth gaped wide open. Deb and I eyed each other with terror as he leaned over to her with his jaw hanging open.

And licked her face.

She exhaled, hugged him, then jumped up and raised her arms. “Thank god. He lives, he lives, he lives. The dog lives!”

I rose to my feet and wiped off some stray dog hairs from my skirt. Bronx watched Deb with a goofy look, almost a smile, and then promptly collapsed onto the floor again. We gasped in horror as his eyelids slowly closed.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!”
Deb was screaming. Or I was screaming. I’m still not sure.

“The vet!” I said, as I sank to the floor again and stroked Bronx on his back. “Please, Bronx. Can you please get up?”

Bronx lifted his head again and slurped my face, like it was covered with pie. Or kibble. “How are we going to get him into the car?” I said. He was the size of a motorcycle, and seemed to be too woozy to do anything more than shower us with slimy affection.

“Okay, so you take the front, I’ll take the back,” she said. I grasped his shoulder and Deb pulled his legs and we yanked, but Bronx was too heavy to lift. I grabbed Bronx’s collar with both of my hands and tugged. He slid around three inches across the ceramic tiles with an amused look on his face. I think he was actually enjoying the attention.

“Think, think, think,” she said, placing her hand on her head.

“When’s Daniel coming back?” I said. I cringed as Bronx licked my face again.

“Tomorrow afternoon. He’s flying back from Philadelphia.”

“That’s it!” I shouted. “Let’s get a suitcase with wheels. Does he have more than one?”

“Brilliant! I’ll go look.” Deb’s eyes darted around the room as she tore out of the kitchen. She pounded through the living room and stomped down the stairs, the force rattling the crystal lighting fixture in the dining room. I scooped up Bronx’s bowl and poured in a bottle of water from Daniel’s pantry, then placed it in front of him. He took a few sips and then smiled at me.

Deb charged into the kitchen pulling an enormous black moulded plastic suitcase the size of a phone booth. She placed it on the floor next to Bronx and ripped open the zipper.

“Okay,” she said as she propped up the suitcase on its side. “All we need to do is pick him up just enough to tip him into the suitcase. Then we roll him out to the car.”

This was an excellent plan. “I take the front, you take the bottom,” I said. “Let’s count to three and pick him up.”

“One, two, three,
push!
” We dragged his forelegs over the side of the suitcase and on the second shove deposited the rest of his body inside. We tipped the suitcase upright and Bronx fell right in. I zipped up both sides, leaving the top open for air. Deb extended the plastic handle and gingerly pulled the suitcase toward the front door.

I bolted into the living room and yanked a folded fleece blanket from the end of the couch and then tripped out the front door of the house.

I was glad that it was dark outside. I didn’t want any neighbours taking this the wrong way, like we were carting a body out to the car or something. We were, but you know what I mean.

I helped Deb gently ease the suitcase down the three stairs and then we pulled it up to the backseat of the Saturn. I threw the blanket over the back then we hoisted the suitcase and gently tipped it over, rolling Bronx onto the backseat.

Deb stroked his face one more time. “I’m so sorry, Big Guy,” she said in a whisper. “You’re going to be okay, alright?” He answered her with another face lick with his enormous tongue. As a bonus he raised his paw and stroked her arm. I had to admit, as a non-dog person, Bronx was kind of growing on me.

She squeezed his paw, and then hurtled back into Daniel’s house, dragging the empty suitcase behind her and locked his door. Deb bolted back to the Saturn and jumped into the passenger seat, panting. I put the car in reverse and rocketed out of the driveway onto the empty street.

“Watch the speed bumps!” Deb roared. She turned around, leaned over to the backseat, and stroked Bronx’s ear. “I just wanted him to be my friend,” she said in a tearful voice. “I should have researched dogs more. It’s all my fault.”

No, it wasn’t
all
her fault. I mean the chocolate part was, but it was my idea to win over Bronx. It was nothing short of miraculous that Professor K. heard my conversation with Deb and told me to take the dog to the vet.

Deb pulled out her cell phone, keyed in a number, and babbled.

“Daniel, it’s me, Deb. I feel sick to my stomach but I made a huge mistake and left some treats for … Bronx … and didn’t know that chocolate was dangerous.”

She paused briefly and stifled a sob. “I’m on my way to the vet with him now and I’ll stay with him all night. I’m so sorry. If you hate me for this I understand. I feel like a horrible person. Daniel, please forgive me.”

She closed her phone and wiped her eye with the back of her hand. I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She leaned over to the dashboard and jabbed the radio button, flipping between stations.

“What are you doing?” I said, as a jumble of sounds stabbed the air and assaulted my ears.

“Bronx loves jazz,” Deb said as she frantically punched the scan button. She finally settled on a station, cranked up the volume, and a forty-piece 1950s band convulsed the car. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. “This is all so wrong.”

I glanced at her. “Deb, he’s going to be okay —”

“You don’t get it,” she said, her head snapping toward me. “This is swing.
He needs Miles Davis
.”

“I completely agree.”

Deb peered behind her at the rear seat. “His eyes are closed again!” she yelled.
“Drive faster!”

I gunned the car, just missing an ancient Chevy driven by nothing more than two bony hands grasping the steering wheel. I could have kicked myself for my stupid idea.

“Faster!”
Deb said.

I lurched to the right lane but within seconds a tiny Smart Car emerged from a parking spot. We veered back into the left lane, rocking violently like we were on a sideways roller coaster.