Chapter 7
In the kitchen the next morning, I smile as I notice Edward has set up the coffee machine for me. I look out the window to see if I spy him sauntering away, but there's nothing but the grass, ocean, and sky.
Brewing a cup, I laugh at the Billy's Chowder House mug laid out on the counter as I soak in the aroma of fresh coffee. Warming my hands with the mug, I walk around the bottom floor of the house, exploring. I don't want to be too nosy in someone else's home, but I'm drawn to the living room, perusing the beautiful pieces of art on the walls. There's a large wall of books, much like at Edward's, and I look at the titles. There are a bunch of coffee table type books, but also some hardcover classics and dime store paperbacks. Whoever lives here has eclectic taste.
My nose turns down at the sight of the nautical decor, disappointed maybe that such a grand house has such predictable items dotting its surfaces. Sea shells in glass bowls, wooden boats lined up on the tabletops, anchors sewn into pillows. It's a cliché and I immediately feel bad for judging people I don't know. Maybe they've made their living off of the sea, and my stomach contracts at the idea. I'm no stranger to that lifestyle as much as I pretend I'm not.
Shaking my head at errant thoughts of the past, the couch is comfy as I settle in with my phone, scrolling emails. Looking for a coaster so I don't mar the sandalwood end table, I pull open a drawer. Inside is a picture of a couple, smiling and laughing on the beach. I guess these are the owners, and I wonder why the picture isn't displayed. Putting it back, I dig around some more and find another picture.
Edward, with the same couple, on a boat. He's a teenager, somewhere around fifteen or so and I gasp, dropping the frame. The realization that I'm looking at a picture of Edward and his parents before the accident makes my head pulse.
He's so young, so happy. Tanned from summer sun with the same messy hair and the same adorable smile. The ever present sad look in his eyes is nowhere to be seen, taken a year or two before tragedy forever changed him. It's remarkable how much emotions can settle in you permanently, living in the pores and crevices.
"Snooping?" I jump at his voice.
"I'm sorry, I was looking for a coaster and…"
"It's okay."
I lamely hold the picture towards him, almost not wanting him to see it head on. "Edward, this is your parents' house, isn't it? Your house."
He walks to the book shelf and runs his finger against some spines. "Yes, I grew up here. I moved into the cottage after the accident. Once I got home from the hospital, I just couldn't imagine being in here without them. I thought the cottage would be temporary, but…the cottage is where I recuperated, it's the only home Joey's known. I like it there."
"I like the cottage, too." My heart hurts for the boy who couldn't move into a house of sad memories. "You never stayed here again?" I silently place the picture back in the drawer, shutting away its reminder.
He sits in the chair and crosses his bare feet in front of him. "Nope. My uncle took care of everything, cleaned out their belongings and all. I have someone that comes in and cleans this place and maintains minor things. I had it redecorated a few years ago, though, when I updated the cottage. In fact, most of this has been renovated in some way. Paint, furniture, curtains. I hired a decorator." He grins. "But my room is exactly as I left it, posters of babes on the walls and everything. Wanna see my shrine to Angelina Jolie?"
I roll my eyes. A decorator explains the ship motif, I suppose, but I keep my disdain to myself. A thought suddenly horrifies me. "Edward," I whisper. "Am I staying in… their room?"
He laughs. "No, I wouldn't do that. Their room was on the second floor with mine." I sigh in relief.
The upkeep and property taxes must cost him a fortune, especially on a bartender's salary. But I suppose his parents had money if they had a house like this. All of that would've gone to Edward. "What did your parents do for a living?" I ask, but Edward slaps his hands on his thighs and stands abruptly.
"Enough for now, let's go get Joey and head to the brewery."
"It's ten o'clock in the morning." I hold up my coffee cup.
A smirk forms on his face. "What, fancy Manhattanites never day drink?"
The Brickyard Hollow Brewery is charming, if you don't mind bees everywhere. I swat one away from my flight and try to think if I've ever seen a bee in New York. I don't go to Central Park often, if at all, so my answer is a resounding no. They are hateful little creatures.
"If you swat at them, that's when they'll sting," Edward says as he sips some weird sour thing that has to be the most disgusting beer I've ever had. That one in my flight is still sitting full.
"It's an impulse," I reply, gingerly waving my hand over my small beer glasses. It's another beautiful day, and there are more people sitting at the outdoor picnic tables than I'd guess on a Sunday morning. But I suppose some people are on vacation, after all.
"Do we have to go inside?" Edward looks at me like I'm feeble and need special care.
I sneer at him. "No, I think I can handle a few insects. There are rats in the city as big as Joey." Not very noticeable ones where I live, and I don't ride the subway, but I've seen them on the news. At the mention of his name, Joey turns in his stroller to look at me, tongue out. He's riding in style, lounging in a sleek black stroller with a fluffy pillow behind him. I suppose I should be happy Edward isn't carrying him around in a carrier strapped to his chest like on the plane.
A couple walks by and they greet Edward by name, exchanging hugs and handshakes. They fawn over Joey for a bit and he basks in the spotlight. Edward knew the owner and all the people behind the bar, as well. I guess that's to be expected if you've lived here all your life, and are also in the libations business.
"Here." Edward hands me a baby carrot.
"Uh, no thanks." My stomach does rumble though, as all I've had today is the coffee and now a local lager – which I have to admit is pretty tasty.
"It's for Joey. He loves them."
"Oh." I take the orange carrot and hold it out to Joey, who sniffs it first and then takes it gently from my fingers. He chomps on it, much of it falling into the stroller which he quickly gobbles up like he hadn't just eaten a steak the night before. I can't help but pet him, my fingers gliding down the surprisingly soft fur of his back.
"He's growing on you, huh?"
Smiling, I look at Edward. He's looking at Joey with that happy-sad look again. I guess I can't blame him. "Yes, I suppose he is." Biting my lip and continuing to stroke his fur, I don't want to bring the mood down but I am here on a job. "So, what's wrong with him?"
"Nothing is wrong with him." Edward smiles at me and I know he's teasing me.
"Right, he's perfect. I suppose I meant what ailment is he suffering from?" My phone slides onto the table and I start recording.
Edward sighs. "He has a tumor on his kidney. It's cancer. Ironic, isn't it?"
My eyes widen, not expecting to hear the similar diagnosis, and I want to stop the questioning and just comfort the two of them. "Is he in pain?"
"Any discomfort he has is mostly from his back legs and hips. He's not getting around as well as he used to." He taps the stroller. "As for pain from the cancer, the doctor said not likely, as he's still somewhat active for his age and isn't showing signs. Like whimpering, lying down all the time, et cetera."
"How did you find it?"
"He started peeing. A lot. More than usual, and more frequently. He'd never had an accident in the house until one day he did. We ran some tests and… they were off so they x-rayed. There it was."
"When was this?"
"About a month ago. That's when I decided I had to wrap up a few things, and then I'd give him my undivided attention."
"So he could just go? At any time?" The thought horrifies me. What if I'm here for it? What would I be able to do to soothe Edward's agony?
"They said it could be about two to three months. But I would never let Joey suffer. I'm not going to sit here and watch him deteriorate. I'm not going to wait until he's in real pain."
If he found out a month ago, and he's got maybe another month or two, that means… I close my eyes, knowing what he's saying, but having to confirm. "So you're going to…"
"I'm going to put him down, sometime after his sixteenth birthday." Edward's voice cracks and he takes a sip of his beer to cover it up or pacify a suddenly dry throat.
I never liked dogs or cats. Never really understood having one to take care of. Hell, I don't have strong emotional ties to people let alone animals. But I just can't shake the melancholy that's been growing heavily in me over the last few days, let alone fathom the pain this man is going through.
Giving him a minute to compose himself, I finish my lager in one gulp and move onto the next beer. Day drinking suddenly seems like the best idea.
Edward asks me to watch over Joey while he uses the restroom. I just nod, knowing he's fighting back a torrent of emotions he doesn't want to unleash in public.
Or maybe just not in front of me.
I start to question whether or not I'm a sympathetic person. Have I shown any emotion for what he's going through, or have I been cold and unreachable? Have I not shown Joey enough affection? I can be standoffish, this I know, and I can also admit that I came into this assignment acting like a class A jerk. Yet I find I do want to feel that Edward and I have connected over this dog, that we've had a few moments where I felt close to him, and him to me.
But reality is maybe he hasn't had a moment at all. I find that bothers me, but I remind myself that I'm a reporter here on a job. I'm not a friend.
In fact, I don't have many friends of my own. Michael, I suppose, is one. A woman at work I have lunch with sometimes is another I could maybe call if I had a need to. And then last there's Aro, who is probably the closest thing I have to a 'good' friend.
I pet Joey's head, stroking his unbelievably soft ears and he leans into my hand. Eyes closed, I try to think about what if this were my pet. My best friend. Joey licks my hand when I move to tickle under his chin, and I hesitantly pick him up out of his stroller. He comes willingly though, and I lean my head down to rest on his. I feel his stomach move, his breathing a little raspy in the outside temperature. I try to picture where a dog's kidney might be and lightly stroke his side. He smells good, like peanut butter and ocean air and I nuzzle my face into his neck.
I hear a fake phone shutter sound and look up to see Edward taking a picture of Joey and me. "Pic or it never happened," he says, smiling.
"Even I wouldn't believe it," I laugh but keep Joey on my lap as Edward sits. "Is this okay? That I took him out?"
"I don't see him complaining." Edward's phone rings right then, and he answers. "Jasper? What's up?" His brow crinkles and he frowns. "No, I know you wouldn't." He listens for a moment until he answers. "Yeah, okay, I can be there in fifteen or so." Hanging up, he looks at me apologetically. "Problem at the restaurant, I'm sorry, but I have to go check it out."
"Don't they know you're…"
"Yeah, but I'm in charge of purchasing, and apparently I did something that is preventing the arrival of a very important restaurant staple. This week's liquor."
"Oh, okay. Do we have to drop Joey at home?" I ask, moving Joey to the stroller. I'm sorry I'll be missing out on some quality conversation time with Edward, but speaking with his co-workers will be useful.
"Nope. I take Joey all the time. They'll be happy to see him."
Surprising myself, I impulsively lean down to kiss his head before standing. "Who wouldn't be?"
Shout out to CarrieZM and LayAtHomeMom who I would love to be at a brewery with right now.
This is for Squiggy.