Together (16 page)

Brenden
reached down and stroked the head of his special new friend lying on the floor
next to him.

"Nelson,"
he said quietly, "when I came here, I didn't know if I really wanted you,
and I certainly didn't believe that I'd learn to love you."

The big dog's
tail thumped the floor, and Brenden smiled as he removed his hand to stop the
wagging.

When the
graduates were called up individually with their dogs to accept their diplomas,
Brenden was surprised to find tears in his eyes. This time, however, he understood
that they were tears of joy and relief that he had succeeded in surviving the
month-long program at the school. Now he would be taking his dog and going into
the field, hoping to begin a new life.

He was
further touched by Harold Smith's emotion as he said good-bye to the old
trainer. He sensed that along with his own tears there might be just a few in
Smitty's eyes as he hugged Nelson, no longer trying to hide his feelings for
the big black dog.

"He's
the best I've ever trained, Brenden. If you use him well, you both will get
better and better at the job, and you'll find the freedom I know you're looking
for."

"I wish
I was as sure as you are, Smitty," Brenden said, giving the trainer a hug.
"I wish I was as confident as you are."

The man
reached into his pocket and handed Brenden a pair of socks.

"What's
this for?" he asked, surprised.

"We
always replace items that our dogs destroy," he said, smiling. "But
you know what, kid? You'll never have to worry about anything like that
anymore. I can feel from his eyes that Nelson has made a decision that you're
his master and he loves you. Now, what is it that I always tell you?"

The two men
intoned it together. "Trust your dog."

chapter sixteen

The flight
home from California was uneventful, except for a little eighty-five-pound
thing called a black Lab so nervous that he had to climb up on Brenden's lap as
they took off. Eventually, the big guy settled down on the floor under the
man's feet, and by the time they landed he was an old pro, not even stirring as
the 767 touched down in Denver. Brenden told his mother that he and Charlie
would drop her at home; he planned to visit Lindsey as soon as they arrived.

As the plane
droned on, Brenden said a silent prayer. He had to admit that he was more than
just a little uneasy about his coming reunion with Lindsey. Over the last
month, he had often asked God for guidance as it related both to his disability
and to his relationship with the girl. He felt like a tightrope walker—a man on
a high wire—in balance but always on the edge of falling, secure but not safe
in his teetering sense of self-worth.

Lindsey loved
him. He had to believe that. But he also realized that the stereotypes
surrounding disability must affect the way she perceived him. To her, Brenden
was handicapped, and Lindsey was about perfection. Over the past week, he had
heard too many excuses about her busy schedule not to realize that Lindsey put
Lindsey first.

Although
Brenden had grown in empathy and compassion while-learning to deal with his blindness,
he had no idea how self-centered his own attitude was toward her. It didn't
occur to him to consider what beautiful Lindsey might be taking on in committing
her life to a blind man. It never crossed his mind that perhaps in the interest
of her happiness, he might at least offer her a choice in the matter. He only
wanted to confirm that she loved him enough to accept his blindness, and he
needed to find out now.

After
dropping Brenden's mother at home, Charlie drove him downtown to Lindsey's
Larimer Square apartment.

"Listen,
Charlie," Brenden said, "I want you to leave Nelson and me a block
away from Lindsey's door. It's important that we arrive at her apartment on our
own. It's part of what she has to see."

"I get
it, pal," Charlie said. "Do you want me to wait?"

"Not
unless you intend to stay outside all night."

The other man
laughed, slapping Brenden on the shoulder. "Okay, dude, forget it. Good
luck."

During the
walk to Lindsey's apartment, Brenden took slow, deep breaths, trying to settle
his nerves, trying to put himself in a place where he would exude confidence, a
place where Lindsey would feel that she was seeing the old Brenden—a guy with a
can-do attitude, a person imbued with enthusiasm, someone who could handle
anything. Most particularly, he wanted her to see a man who could love her and
whom she could love unconditionally.

Lindsey knew that
Brenden was
coming home today. She figured that meant she'd have until tomorrow before she
had to face him. Surely he would spend the day with his mother, getting settled
in again at home.

Last night
she had gone to a party where she drank way too much, and now she was not only
hungover, but some guy named Danny or Eddy was in bed with her. He was a little
man with little manhood in comparison to Brenden, but there he was, and she had
slept with him, because she needed to hate herself enough to end her
relationship with Brenden.

In some odd,
backhanded way, she could better handle blaming herself for failing morally
than for being unwilling to face his blindness.
I'd
rather be a loose woman than a cruel and selfish one.
At least that's what she
thought as she lay there in bed beside what's-his-name.

Her doorbell
rang.

She glanced
at the clock. Four in the afternoon, and they were still in bed. She was
wearing only a T-shirt.

"Who the
heck is that?" the guy asked, as if he had any right to be there.

"I don't
know," Lindsey said. "Let me find out."

Crossing the
living room, she pushed the intercom. "Yes?" she said, still groggy
and half-asleep.

"Hey,"
Brenden said, his voice full of enthusiasm, "that doesn't sound like my
Lindsey. That sounds like a girl who has been studying too much or is
hungover."

Lindsey
started to shake. "Oh no, Brenden, oh my—"

"That's
right, baby," the voice said through the intercom. "It's your Brenden
with a new friend for you to meet. Open up, sesame."

Brenden heard
muffled voices through the intercom.

"Lindsey?"
he said. "Lindsey?"

"Just a
minute, Brenden."

More muffled
voices, and his heart went cold.

Now he could
hear water running and the sounds of—what was it—another set of feet on the
floor? Wow, he was getting too good at this blind stuff. He was getting to
where he could hear everything.

Thirty
seconds later the buzzer signaled that he could open the door. The man and the
dog climbed up the one flight to the girl's apartment, where she met him on the
landing, trying to put up a good front. Her arms went around him, and she
attempted to kiss him, but there was a smell—of what? Of nighttime. Of
lovemaking. Of someone else. Brenden knew it in an instant, and he felt the big
dog tense in the harness, suggesting he saw something or someone through the
still-open door.

He pulled
away from the girl's embrace, appealing to her with his blind eyes. Brenden's
voce was incredulous. "Lindsey, what is this? I love you."

The young
woman was desperate, understanding that Brenden knew she wasn't alone. "I
love you, Brenden. I love you very much." Her voice rose. "No.
Please. This doesn't mean anything. He doesn't mean anything."

Being caught
out, Danny or Eddy, or whoever he was, slunk back into the apartment, trying to
find his clothes, and Brenden heard everything.

"Couldn't
you have waited, Lindsey?" he said. "Couldn't you at least have
waited until I put some of the pieces of my life together? Did you have to
shatter my life and then step on the broken glass?"

"Brenden,
wait," the girl entreated. "Please wait. Let's talk about this. I
just wasn't ready to—"

Brenden cut
her off. "To what? To deal with a blind man? Someone whose eyes can't see
how beautiful you are, Lindsey? Well, maybe that's just as well. You may look
great on the outside, but on the inside ... on the inside, Lindsey, you're ugly
as a corpse in a cesspool."

The girl
tried to hold him again, but he pushed her violently away with his free hand as
he gave the dog the command. "Nelson, downstairs. Find the stairs."

The dog did
exactly what he had been trained to do, turning 180 degrees and placing his
master's feet squarely on the edge of the staircase.

He heard her
sniveling and could tell she was in tears, but he didn't wait. "Forward,
Nelson," he said. "Outside."

Brenden
didn't even reach for the banister as the team descended the stairs with
elegance and confidence. Lindsey watched them, amazed in spite of her distress.

On reaching
the street, Brenden became an automaton. He was lost in his pain, unable to
connect to his present, unable to gain support from his past, unable to
consider something as simple as an immediate future that would take him—where?
Home? Some bar? Another woman? He didn't know, and he didn't care.

Life, fate,
God had dealt him another blow. He had prayed for help, prayed for a small
miracle, prayed for love. And now, now there was nothing, only the emptiness
that arises from a broken heart and a shattered spirit.

Over the next
few hours, Nelson became educated on another side of life as Brenden found
three bars along the way. Irish whisky with a beer chaser. He didn't know how
many he drank. He only knew that by the time darkness settled over Denver, he
and the dog were still walking, and the animal still performed perfectly. Walk
a straight line, come to a curb, cross a street. Walk a straight line, come to
a curb, cross a street. Don't bother to listen for the traffic. The animal
would take care of him. That's what Smitty said.

As for
Nelson, he found that it was more difficult to keep his master going in a
straight line. Brenden was tired, very tired. Tired of everything. Tired of
struggling. Tired of fighting for a life that now had no meaning. Tired of
feeling less than a whole person. So tired of being blind.

Why not take
a rest? Why not just find a quiet place to sit down and rest? Why not do it in
the middle of the street? See what would happen. Just sit in the middle of the
street and see what would happen.

The dog moved
him forward to another curb, and for the first time Brenden listened for
traffic. None.
It must be a side street,
he thought,
someplace
off the beaten path where a man could just sit or lie down and rest.

"Forward,
Nelson," he told the big dog.

They stepped
out into the street, but halfway across, Brenden dropped the leash and let
himself sink to the pavement.

For a moment,
the dog stood next to him, confused. What was going on? Why was his master
sitting down? This wasn't right. He had to get Master out of the street. The
dog raced to the other side, jumping up on the curb and turning to face
Brenden, his eyes imploring his young friend.
Come
on, come on,
he
tried to say.
Come with me. Get out of the street.

The man
dropped his chin to his chest and sat motionless. The dog raced back to the
middle of the street, grabbing the man's jacket and pulling hard, trying to
drag Brenden to safety.

The man
lashed out with his free hand, striking the dog hard on the side of the
shoulder and causing the animal to yelp with pain. Jumping back, the dog tried
again, pulling even harder on the man's jacket, ripping the sleeve. This time
the blow caught the animal squarely on the jaw, hard enough to loosen a couple
of teeth.

Now
adrenaline drove danger signals through the big dog's body, and when he grabbed
Brenden's arm, he locked his teeth deep into his master's flesh, pulling with
all his strength.

Brenden cried
out as blood spurted from the wound. "No, Nelson. No!" Flailing out
with his free hand, he missed the dog's face by mere inches. "No. Leave me
alone. Go away."

The man's cry
of pain caused the dog to release his hold and stand, panting over his broken
master.
What to do?
Every instinct told Nelson that this was wrong. His
training said it, and his capacity for survival said it, but he could not leave
his master, and so he did the only thing left. He lay down next to Brenden,
placing his head on the man's knee.

Out of some
fundamental need for love and intimacy, Brenden reached out to pat his friend's
head, and the dog responded, licking the man's hand, then trying to lick away
the blood from the wound.

Brenden was
crying now. Somewhere in the back of his mind another picture formed. There
would be a car coming down the street any second, and he would be dead. Fine.
But so would Nelson.

No. That can't happen
, he
thought.
Something this good can't die. Something with this much
love to give can't end.

"Nelson,"
he said, his voice croaking out the name. "I love you, Nelson." And
with that statement, the man knew he had to stand up, get out of the street,
get to safety, find his way home, try again.

If an animal
could love you enough to lay down his own life for your survival, then you had
to love yourself enough to keep on living.

Brenden
leaned on Nelson and pushed himself off the ground. The dog was immediately at
heel, his eyes looking up at his master, pleading for the man to pick up his
harness and get out of the street.

In seconds
they walked to safety, and in a few minutes they found a friendly passerby who
called them a cab and sent Brenden home to a shaky but new beginning.

c
hapter seventeen

The
introductory meeting between Nelson and Gus was a psychological study in
contrasts. Initially, Nelson's view of the aggressive West Highland terrier was
that nothing that small should be making so much noise and asserting so much
aggression. Gus ran around the big dog, growling and barking, making it clear
that this was his house, his territory, his family. Brenden managed to take off
Nelson's harness and leash, then stumbled off to bed, leaving the animals to
get acquainted on their own. Without Brenden to back him up, Gus gave one of
those
feet, don't fail me now
reactions as he backed off
while still trying to posture his ownership of the house and everyone within
it.

During the first three
days
, the
new acquaintances argued over the possession of toys, food, and space on
Brenden's bed.