Waiting For Ethan (10 page)

We drive without speaking, Brady's panting the only sound in the car. When we reach the main road, Ethan turns into a grocery store parking lot. He stops the Jeep and leans into the backseat to pet Brady's head. “Are you thirsty, boy?” He looks over at me. “Do you mind staying here with him? I'll be right back.”

Brady's standing in the back between the driver and passenger seats. He nuzzles my arm with his head. I pet him silently, no longer afraid of the poor dog who's about to be embroiled in a custody battle. A police car pulls into the parking lot. The cruiser turns up the aisle where we are parked. I imagine Leah's friend Karen calling the police when she discovered Brady missing. I crouch lower in my seat. The police car slows as it approaches the Jeep and then stops in front of it. Brady barks, and I tell him to be quiet. I feel my heart pounding through my jacket. I look to the store, but there is no sign of Ethan.

A car parked a few spaces in front of us backs into the aisle. The police car pulls into the empty spot, and the driver gets out and walks into the store. I curse my overactive imagination.

A few minutes later, Ethan returns with a leash, dog bowl, dog food, and water. He also has a bag of chips and two sodas. He puts the bowl on the backseat and fills it with water. Brady immediately laps it up, and Ethan fills it again. The police officer comes out of the store. Ethan watches him and hurriedly climbs into the driver's seat.

He throws a bag of chips at me and puts the sodas in the cup holders. “Change of plans. We're not staying or stopping for lunch. I need to get Brady out of here.” He glances at the cruiser. I swear his hands tremble as he starts the Jeep. We drive to the exit, the officer right behind us. Ethan turns right onto the road and checks his rearview mirror. The cruiser is still there. Ethan sits erect in the driver's seat with his hands locked in the ten and two positions on the steering wheel. We both appear to be holding our breath as we sneak glances into the mirror.
Hi, Mom and Dad, can you help? I'm in jail for stealing a dog. But, Mom, I did it with a man named Ethan. I finally met him.

Three miles up the road, the blue flashing lights come on. “Damn,” Ethan mutters as he pulls the Jeep to the side of the road. Will Luci pay my bail? The police car races by us. I let out a deep breath. Ethan wipes his forehead and cracks open his soda before pulling back out onto the road. “I thought maybe Karen reported Brady stolen,” he says, and he laughs. I don't say anything. I just turn the radio on, tune it to a pop station, and sit back in my seat.

An hour later, Ethan's cell phone resting in the console between us rings. I see the caller ID says “Leah,” though the ringtone is different from when she called last time. Ethan turns down the radio and smirks as he says hello.

A high-pitched scream comes from the cell phone. The only word I can make out is “Brady.” Ethan's tone is nasty as he responds, “He's here with me.” More words from Leah. I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure she calls him a bastard. Ethan interrupts her, “You're irresponsible. I can't trust you with him. You've already proven how untrustworthy you are.” Then, “You really want to go there?” He sounds incredulous. “You left him alone. He didn't even have water.” More silence. “The lawyers will figure it out.” Ethan disconnects the call and punches the steering wheel again. I jump in my seat. Brady barks.

Ethan reaches behind him into the backseat. “You're okay now, pal. You're with me.” Brady keeps barking, and Ethan pulls to the side of the road. He puts Brady on a leash and walks him into the woods. Again, his cell phone blasts and Leah's name flashes across the screen. If I pick it up, I wonder what Leah would tell me about Ethan. Would she warn me to be careful? Tell me he has a terrible temper and a violent streak? His outbursts today are mild compared to what she's put up with for years? Or is this just him being pushed to his limit and at his absolute worst?

When Ethan returns to the Jeep, he notices the missed call and turns off his phone. He looks over at me. “I couldn't leave him there, Gina. She doesn't care about him. She goes out of town for the weekend and leaves him alone. She has a friend check on him once a day, and she thinks that's okay. He's better off with me. He really is. I love him.” His voice breaks as he finishes speaking. I reach over to hug him.

He holds me tightly. “I'm sorry about today,” he whispers. “This isn't how I thought it would go.”

This is him at his worst, I decide, and I can help him through it.

“T
he only reason he took the dog was to get back at his wife.” Luci points her pen at me as she speaks.

I am powering on my computer. When the start-up tone ends, I respond, “He loves the dog and was worried about him.”

Luci stares at me while clicking her pen. She has the same expression she often has when she's explaining to an Ivy League analyst the difference between
it's
and
its
. “Listen to me carefully, Gina.” She stops clicking and again uses the pen as a pointer. “He took the dog as a way to get back at his wife. That was his only motivation.”

“You don't even know him.” I give her the angriest look I have, but she's not even looking at me anymore.

Her eyes are glued to her computer monitor while her fingers sprint across her keyboard. “I don't have to know him. I know that crazy in love often turns to plain crazy when it's unrequited, and kidnapping your wife's dog with your new girlfriend qualifies as crazy.” She looks up across her desk at me, and her voice softens. “Sorry, but I can't stress this enough. You really shouldn't be dating him right now.”

“Knock it off.”

Luci flinches. She and I stare at each other across our desks. After several seconds she looks down at her keyboard and begins typing. How about that? I finally beat Luci Chin at a staring contest.

For the next hour, the only sounds are the clicking of Luci's and my fingernails on the keyboards and muffled voices from the mailroom next door. I occasionally steal glances at Luci, but she is concentrating very hard on whatever it is she's working on and doesn't notice, or maybe she's ignoring me? It's hard to tell. After almost ninety minutes of neither of us saying anything, which might be a record, Luci lets out a startled yell, “Oh my God.” I look up. “Come here.” She excitedly beckons me to her desk.

I roll in my chair to her side of the office and look at her monitor. I gasp when I see what's on her screen, an Internet dating site. “Are you doing online dating?”

She glares up at me. “I was looking for men named Ethan for you.” She turns back to the screen and points to a thumbnail image. “But look who I found instead.”

“Whom,” I correct, leaning toward her computer and peering at the photo of a short man with short dark hair. It looks like Cooper Allen. Luci clicks on the photo. It triples in size. It's definitely Cooper. He's dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that has a number pinned to it. A sign that says 10K
FOR
K
AYLEIGH
hangs in the background. Cooper's user name, MobileMan, appears next to the photo, and below that is his age, thirty-seven. He's only a year older than I am? Impossible. I had him pegged at forty-five at the youngest.

Luci clicks on Cooper's user name, and more details appear. She points to his height, which is listed at five-ten. “Liar,” she says. She's right. I'm five-four, and Cooper is only a little bit taller than I am. Luci, who is five-seven, towers over him, although she usually wears heels.

Luci reads Cooper's profile out loud:

“
About Me: I have a stable career and am goal-oriented.”
She laughs. “Yeah, at TechVisions. Big whoop.

Luci scrunches her nose. “Gross!”

“
I like to play as hard as I work and when I'm not in the office you'll find me on my sailboat, mountain bike or cheering on one of the local sports teams. My darkest secret is that I love karaoke. Seriously. I've been told I do a mean Frank Sinatra.

“Cooper does it his way,” Luci sings off-key
.

“
I could go on and on, but I think it's better if we meet so that you can make your own conclusions.

“About My Match: The woman I'm looking for has a down-to-earth attitude, high moral character, and easygoing personality. She likes to laugh, even at herself. She can spell and has good command of the English language.”
Luci elbows me.
“She does not watch
Jersey Shore
or
The Bachelor
. She's attractive but is not obsessive about her looks. She loves to eat but keeps herself in shape. She doesn't get frazzled by setbacks and is prepared for life's little emergencies. She's looking to meet a great guy who wants a committed relationship.

 

“Wow!” Luci screams, pointing to the About My Match section. “He may as well have said her name is Gina Rossi.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I am down-to-earth, easygoing, and intelligent, but I do watch
The Bachelor
, so I'm out.”

Luci uses the cursor to highlight some of the text:
likes to laugh, even at herself
;
can spell and has good command of the English language
;
loves to eat but keeps herself in shape.
“Even if he doesn't realize it, he's describing you.”

“Why is Cooper on a dating site? He has a girlfriend.”

Luci shakes her head. “He definitely doesn't have a girlfriend.”

“Monique,” I say. “There's even a picture of her in his office.”

“I've never noticed it.” She clicks on the photo section. There is one other picture, Cooper sitting on a tan carpet with a girl who might be five and a boy who appears to be a little older. The Candy Land game board is spread out in front of them.

“How sweet is that?” I ask, and I swear to God, my eyes tear up.

Luckily, Luci doesn't notice. “Cooper Allen playing Candy Land. It's making my head hurt,” she says.

She abruptly fumbles for the mouse and clicks off the page. I hear footsteps and then Jamie's voice. “What's making your head hurt?”

“The data in this report. Gina's helping me figure it out. I think we've got it now.”

“You guys have to work faster,” Jamie says. “The analysts are complaining about turnaround time.”

“You spilled something.” Luci points to a small brown spot on Jamie's white shirt.

I roll back to my desk and reach into the bottom drawer. “I have a detergent stick that will get that right out.”

Jamie takes the stick from me. “You keep that in your desk?”

I nod while Luci says, “That's Gina. Prepared for life's little emergencies.”

“Gina,” Jamie says. “How are things going with Cooper?”

I feel my chest tighten. I look at Luci. She raises her eyebrows. “Umm, what do you mean?”

“Haven't you two been brainstorming ideas for improving turnaround time?” Jamie runs the detergent stick over the stain on his shirt.

“Oh, that.” The tightness disappears. “We don't have a plan yet, but we're working on it. It's hard to find time to meet with Cooper's schedule.”

Jamie hands back the stain remover. “You and Cooper have to get together and get to it.”

Luci giggles. Jamie looks at her. “I was just saying the same thing.”

B
rady's first week at Jack's has not gone well. On Monday, while Ethan and Jack were at work, he peed all over the living room rug. Tuesday night, Jack left a steak on the table while he went to the garage to get a beer; when he returned to the kitchen, he found the plate shattered on the floor and Brady in the corner gnawing what was left of the meat. “He's only allowed in my room and the garage now,” Ethan says and then yawns.

I take a deep breath. “Maybe he'd be better off at Leah's?”

“No way.” We are talking on the phone so I can't see Ethan's face, but I imagine he scowls when he says this. “It will get better. I hired a dog walker to take him out during the day while I'm at work. She starts tomorrow.”

I immediately imagine a dowdy, middle-aged woman dressed in a long skirt and flannel shirt matted with dog hair. “What's her name?”

“Amber.”

Definitely not a middle-aged woman, then. Probably a highschool or college girl. “How old is she?”

He sighs. “I don't know, Gina. Twenty-something, I guess.” In the background I hear Brady bark. “Settle down, buddy.” Ethan's tone is much gentler than the one he just had with me. “What I do know is that Brady liked Amber and Amber liked Brady. Right, buddy?” Brady barks again.

“Did Brady like me?” The question pops out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying. I immediately regret asking it because it makes me sound so needy. On the other hand, it's Thursday, and I haven't seen Ethan since Saturday so I'm feeling a bit insecure.

Ethan laughs. “Oh yeah. He told me he really wants to see you again. In fact, he suggested I cook for you on Saturday night.”

“I knew I liked that dog.”

 

It's there waiting in my in-box when I wake up Friday morning, sandwiched between spam from Ann Taylor and CareerBuilder, an e-mail from Neesha. My hand trembles as I click on her name. The first thing I notice is that her message is lengthy. This makes me smile, remembering how much she loved to talk.

I read the message again. As I do, I can clearly hear Neesha's fourteen-year-old voice in my head. I picture Ajee in her sari, and I wonder why in the world she would want to spend eternity on Towering Heights Lane.

I reread the part about Neesha's family. She named her daughter after her mother. I close my eyes. A memory of Neesha's mom flashes through my mind. She was wearing tan shorts, a green tank top, and flip-flops, her long black hair was tied in a loose ponytail, and she held a fork like it was a microphone, dancing around the Patels' porch singing “I Will Survive.” She bowed when she finished. Neesha and I were sitting under the umbrella at the patio table on the other side of the porch. We clapped and yelled, “Again, again.”

“Please, no.” Dr. Patel laughed as he said this. He was sitting with us under the umbrella, and he got up to flip the burgers on the grill, stopping to kiss Neesha's mom as he walked by. Neesha and I were probably five at the time, which would have made Mrs. Patel thirty-three. She'd die less than two years later from breast cancer at an age younger than I am today. A shiver runs up and down my spine as I click on the attachment to look at the picture of Neesha's husband and kids.

The first thing I notice is a little girl, with long black hair, uneven bangs, and a gap-toothed smile. I swear I'm looking at Neesha when she was eight. Next to the girl is a handsome, dark-haired man with his arm around her shoulders. He does look like Johnny Depp. The man's other arm is around a small boy, who has his eyes. They are all sitting on a bench, palm trees in the background. I imagine Neesha standing in front of the bench, taking the picture. Well, good for her. She deserves this beautiful family.

I know that forwarding the picture to my mother will probably result in another invite to Florida to meet Mrs. Bonnano's son or in a lecture about how I've ruined my life, but I can't help myself. My mother will be thrilled to see a picture of Neesha's daughter and learn that her name is Jayda. My mom and Mrs. Patel were best friends. Through the years my mother often remarked how much she missed Neesha's mother. In fact, sometimes I think part of my mother's annoyance with Ajee was that Ajee's presence was a constant reminder that Neesha's mother was never coming back.

A few seconds after I send the message to my mother, she responds:
“Neesha's children are beautiful. Jayda would be so proud.”
Her next line is coated in sarcasm.
“So, Neesha's returning to Towering Heights Lane. Maybe you'll meet Ethan soon.”