“I’m overthinking,” Bryony said. “Leave a note. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“I have a note ready to go.” He’d prepared it for his Cleveland dog-sitters. He would print it and make a few edits with a pen. “Thanks, Bryony,” Cal said. “I’ve missed seeing you.” His whole face immediately tensed, wishing he could take back the words. They matched his feeling, but not his better judgement.
Bryony’s silence said it all. She hadn’t noticed his absence. Better that way, cleaner, no drama.
“I’ll leave a key under the front mat,” he said. “Thanks, again. You’re a good friend.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Drive safely. I hope your father’s okay.”
They ended the call, and Cal finished the tasks on his mental to-do list.
The temperature outside had dropped. His car was cold. Cal threw his bag in the back seat, hung the shirts, and started the engine. It had been less than twenty minutes since Heidi’s call. Remembering one more detail, he turned off the ignition and exited the car to slip the house key under the porch mat. Prior to starting the car again, he took a breath and went over the list once again, ticking off each item in his mind until he reached the end.
List double-checked, he was good to go.
Backing out of the driveway, he reviewed his phone call with Bryony. Had he missed telling her anything vital? He didn’t think so. She had his number and could call if she had questions. He could count on her. And she could count on him to be a friend. An appropriate, distant friend with no other expectations. Cal turned on the radio.
Hard rock would keep him awake and drive away the worry and regret thrumming through his mind and body.
BRY FALLS FOR CAL’S KITCHEN
Streetlights still on, Bryony climbed the three steps to Cal’s front door. The key lay under the front mat as promised. Apprehensive, she unlocked and pushed open the door to enter.
In the brief time they had toyed around with dating, they spent all of their time together away from their homes because they always had somewhere else to be. She felt odd walking into his house now, too curious, like a trespasser, like an intruder.
“Bailey?” she called. Cal’s dog bounded down the last few steps of a staircase, fur flopping and tail wagging. He stopped at her feet, sat, and looked up panting, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth.
“Aren’t you the well-behaved one today?” Bryony asked. She patted his head. Bailey slurped her hand. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so hard after all.
“Show me around the place,” she said as she started wandering down the wide hallway.
Bailey wagged his tail and followed.
Cal lived in a neighborhood a notch up from hers. Bryony assumed homes like these were always owner-occupied. Maybe Charity knew the owners. Maybe she had suggested the arrangement.
The first door on the left opened into a massive living room, the second into a dining room.
At the end of the hall, she pushed open a swinging door, located the light switch, and gushed, “Wow!”
The house may have been built fifty to seventy-five years ago, but the update on the kitchen was recent, no more than five to ten years.
Floor-to-ceiling oak cabinets surrounded a granite counter reflecting under-counter lighting on its polished surface. A double sink with a gooseneck faucet sparkled. The six-burner gas stove sat atop a double-oven. Overhead lights bounced off the built-in microwave and a stainless steel side-by-side Sub-Zero refrigerator freezer.
Bryony sank onto a chair. Cal had been holding out on her. Had she known about the kitchen, she would have suggested a dinner date at his place. She sat for a full five minutes, reverence and peace descending over her. She belonged in a place like this, a shrine to that which made her spirit puff up like a perfect pastry.
Bailey sat in front of the kitchen sink, watching her. Bryony noticed cans and boxes on the counter. She pushed herself out of the chair to investigate. A page-long list of dog care tips quelled any leftover fear about not knowing what to do. And now she knew they had surpassed the proper time for a walk per the line, Bailey will expect you take him out the minute you walk in the door. All will go better for both of you if you follow his guidance.
A dog leash lay beside the boxes and cans. Bryony hooked it to Bailey’s collar. Two colorful plastic bags were tied to the grip end.
“Okay, boy,” she said. “No chasing cats, no digging in flower beds, and no knocking me down.”
He led her out the front door and peed on the first tree they came to.
“I guess we left at the right time,” Bryony said.
She had never lived with a dog. When she was five, she begged for a pooch, but her father nixed the idea, saying he had a dog when he was kid and he was not going through that again. Later, she learned her father had witnessed the dog’s death under the tires of a speeding car. As an adult, she could understand why he chose to not risk a repeat of such loss. But the five-year-old in her still yearned for a living being like Bailey, someone, or something, who would greet her with unrestrained welcome every time she returned .
Bailey walked her around a five block tour of his territory. He seemed to need to acquaint himself with every hydrant, bush, tree, and post they encountered. Instructions in the note were to let Bailey sniff until he was done, so Bryony did, impatient until she started to enjoy the morning air, hints of pink in the eastern sky, and architecture revealed by porch lights and lamp posts.
A few friends in elementary school had lived in these houses. She remembered a summer day with pony rides for a birthday party at a house around the block. Those were the years when everybody in the class had been invited.
Bailey made one long last sniff at the tree in the neighbor’s front yard, then trotted up to his front door and wagged his tail. Bryony dug the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. She might as well put it on the metal ring with her key fob and house key.
The door latched behind her. Bryony went back to the kitchen counter to read the note again. There were handwritten additions. The one at the top read, I attached the business card for my local vet. She glanced at the card for Benson’s Veterinary Services. Across the left margin of the page, Cal had scrawled, Call me on my cell, day or night, if you have any questions. Thanks for being a good friend. Cal.
Maybe they could be friends. He had invited her into his home without him being there, and trusted her enough to place his animals in her care. But her version of friendship implied effort to spend time together. Once the “dating” thing fizzled, Cal seemed too busy to come around. But Bryony supposed she had done the same, making little effort toward him.
A note was scribbled in the right margin of the paper. Leave a can of fresh cat food in Buggy’s bowl in the morning and evening. Fill her water bowl. Put her food and water on the middle shelf in the pantry and leave the door open. Otherwise, Bailey consumes it. If you want to see her, you’ll have to search. She hides under the bed or in the den.
Bryony opened a can of cat food and dropped it into one of the bowls stacked on the counter. The food smelled fishy, like being at the ocean, but a tad more nauseating.
She carried the cat bowl over to a door and opened it. Stairs led down. She shut the door and opened the one beside it. Light from the kitchen revealed a large walk-in pantry with mostly empty wire shelving on both sides.
An empty bowl like the one in her hand sat in the middle of a shelf halfway up to the ceiling. Bryony picked up the empty cat bowl, replaced it with the full one, and picked up the empty dog bowls from the floor.
After refilling Bailey’s food and water bowls and placing them back on the floor, curiosity about the rest of the house convinced Bryony she wanted to meet Cal’s cat. She left the kitchen to explore.
