Sashimi – Chapter Twelve
She woke in the night in a panic. Talking about the darkness brought it back for her. It was one of the reasons she wasn't keen on revisiting her time under the hood, it was something she'd rather just forget. But for him, she'd go there – into the dark because he would make certain she wasn't alone.
Her knight in tarnished armor lay still and quiet beside her, it was impossible to tell if he was awake without asking, which she stubbornly refused to do. The dog however, was standing on its hind legs, black paws on the edge of the bed, head cocked to the side looking at her. He somehow knew or heard and was concerned. There was some sort of freaky connection between her and the lost and found, as yet still nameless, pup from the park.
She reached over and picked him up and he began licking her immediately. He put his soft head under her chin, snuggling in there and making himself comfortable.
"You okay?" came Charlie's sleepy query. He was awake, but being still to give her the privacy to deal with her nightmares on her own. She loved him more for his discretion than she would had he been overly attentive and concerned. He was there – that was enough.
He snaked his hand under the covers to capture hers as he told the dog with the sandpaper of sleep in his voice, "Hey, that's my girl you're trying snuggle up to, buddy."
She smiled as he reached across her body the hip opposite him and drew her closer to his warm body. "Uh-uh, I found someone who loves me more," she teased, but didn't resist him.
"Not possible," he mumbled across her exposed shoulder. She relaxed as the heat of his body bled into her. She wasn't alone and Charlie was right, it wasn't really dark as the moon bathed the room in shades grey moon and sodium street lights cast long lines of pink across them.
"I love you," she whispered into his soft hair.
"Me or the mutt?" he rumbled against her throat.
She sighed but didn't answer, she didn't have to; he knew.
She woke in the early morning as light sliced through the windows in long rays. Two pairs of blue eyes regarded her, concerned, cautious and waiting. She smiled and the dog crawled forward and whined wanting permission. He was so polite for a dog, she thought.
Charlie simply smiled back and commented, "I think you're right. He does fit us."
"Let's take him to the park," he added cheerily, qualifying after her eyes narrowed, "after we get you some coffee."
Dani generally didn't speak in the morning. Sometimes she did growl, which elicited another very strange reaction from the dog who couldn't decide if she was playing or serious. He backed up into Charlie's chest and twisted his head at her, then he barked just once, but loudly.
"Yeah, I don't like her growling at me either," Charlie sympathized ruffling the pup's ears. "You get used to it," he told the dog rising and patting his leg. "Let's take you outside, buddy." The dog eagerly followed.
"Think of a name for him," Dani's sleepy voice drifted down the hall behind them, "no fruits," she qualified before adjourning to the bathroom for a long hot shower.
"Hmmmm," Charlie thought as the dog sniffed around the sparse backyard. "I know," he told it, "pitiful yard, but it's hard to get grass to grow up here." The dog ignored him entirely and took to chasing a grasshopper.
"What should we name you?" Charlie talked to the dog.
He tried out a few common names for reaction, "Buddy, Sport, Fluffy…" At the mention of the name Fluffy, the dog turned and gave him a look that was the dog version of a scowl and trotted the other way. "Okay, not Fluffy," Charlie scratched his head. "This is harder than I thought," he marveled at how difficult the task was proving to be.
He patted his leg and the dog followed him into the kitchen where he made coffee and contemplated things – some aloud and some to himself. "How about Krishna?"
The dog barked once. "Like that?" The dog barked again.
"Uh, no," Dani pronounced as she strode into the kitchen, "No Zen names either."
"I don't think that's Zen per say," Charlie argued, "besides he likes it."
"Or maybe," Dani countered, "he's just hungry and anything you say to him will produce that reaction." She turned to face the pup and said forcefully, "purple, seven and snorkel." Each time the pup barked. "See," she smiled. "This is why dogs don't pick their own names," she scolded both her mate and their new pet.
Charlie wagged his finger at the dog who pirouetted on two legs trying to eat his hand. "I think he's hungry," he pointed out. Dani rolled her eyes.
"I think he looks like an 'Archie'," she pronounced.
Charlie wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"No?" She laughed. She tried the name out and the dog trotted to her side.
"He's just hungry," Charlie observed, "he thinks you have food."
"Huh," she patted the pup's side. "You just don't like it because it sounds too much like 'Charlie'," she remarked to the man and the dog.
Charlie's eyebrows shot up, and then he had a bolt from the blue, "How about Max?"
Dani seemed impressed, she even showed it clearly on her face. "Max, huh?"
The dog looked from her to him and trotted back to Charlie to tug on his pants. "I think he either likes it or is going to eat me for breakfast."
"I'm just warning you," she continued as they walked to her car, "yesterday he got sick in the car, so keep his head out the window and let me know if you think he's going to hurl."
Charlie ruffled the dog's ears and gathered him in his lap. "We just need to get you some fresh air and focus on the horizon. It's what got me over seasickness," he talked to the mutt.
Dani looked at him skeptically and her look demanded more.
"Bobby decided we should go deep sea fishing one time," he explained. "I was turning green when the boat captain told me to go the front of the boat and look at the horizon instead of the water. The fresh air and different perspective did the trick," he smiled reminiscing.
Charlie had so few good memories from before that she didn't press and just let him have his moment. Moments later both he and the dog were sticking their faces out the open window, being in that moment together – it made her happy for no reason and brought an unseen smile to her face. This was getting ridiculous, she never smiled this much, not since she was a child. She was distracted from her worry over her prodigious smiling by Charlie's interruption.
He shouted over the wind in his ears, "Bobby still got sick, but in retrospect it might have had a little to do with all the beer we drank the night before," he happily recalled.
She slowed down. They weren't in a hurry like before, always rushing somewhere or demanding something of themselves or others. Today they were just a couple taking their dog to the park and that didn't need to be rushed. The joy in her heart was almost too much to contain as she looked at the lunatic riding beside her holding Max, bracing the small pup against his chest and ear-to-ear they squinted into the light breeze. Her mirror held nothing but a lolling pink tongue and Crews' familiar grin.
They stopped for breakfast tacos and the dog sniffed after Crews when he shut the door leaving him inside. "It's okay," Dani told the little dog, "he's coming back." The dog seemed swayed by her argument because he gave up looking after Charlie and returned to her. "I know he's a little odd, but I wouldn't trade him for all the money in the world."
She petted the dog absently and thought about the quote on the Zen web site the day prior that held, "You can't change the past, but you can ruin the present, by worrying about the future." Before she seemed incapable of not doing that – worrying; but these last few days with Charlie she felt at peace. The future didn't bother her, she lived in the now Charlie was always talking about.
The dog leaned looking and she knew Crews was coming back. She let him go and tried to dodge his wildly wagging tail as Crews opened the door carrying a white plastic bag full of breakfast tacos wrapped in little cocoons of paper.
"Are we feeding a baseball team?" she wondered testily.
"What? Two for you, two for me, two for Max and a spare in case I lose one," he smiled. It was a well-known fact between them that Dani did not eat two tacos, but Charlie's voracious appetite would ensure none went to waste. The dog rooted his nose into the bag eagerly. "Hey," her mate objected. "Okay, so you're hungry," he admitted.
"Don't feed him in the car," Dani warned. "Just in case, you know…" she reminded him of Max's earlier struggles with riding in the car.
"Okay," Charlie acquiesced, "but I'm telling you…he's cured." The dog sat back and barked sharply at him. "Uh-uh, Mom said no," Charlie wagged his finger at the dog.
"Don't look at me. Look at her," he demanded pointing at Dani. "Better yet," he changed tacks as he put the tacos on the floorboard behind him, "look out the window."