6 Chapter 6

After spending some quality time at the yard with an orange Frisbee in my hands and Espresso and Peanut—a black Labrador retriever and a small brown Yorkie that Linda had adopted at the Humane Society of Northwest Iowa—we took off to Linda’s bedroom to look at some pictures on the Internet. She’d insisted on looking for the girl with the giddy voice on Brad’s Facebook page. A masochist necessity, perhaps. Or just a way to convince herself she’d done the right thing to let him go. I could see already doubt fluttering rowdily inside her head. It was part of her good nature: forgiving people even if their actions said otherwise.

When she found some pictures he’d posted yesterday with a blonde girl and him holding beers and kissing though, that doubt evaporated. It seemed he’d been holding back the images for a long time. His hair in the pictures had been shorter than it was now. And Linda noticed it. The stench of betrayal hanging in the air became thicker and she wrinkled her nose in acknowledgement. A tear escaped her rose-colored eyelid, reaching the corner of her mouth, and slid past the edge of her jaw. There were more pictures, and Linda couldn’t stop clicking on the arrow, waiting to be punched in the chest by the careless and treacherous expressions that filled them. I placed my hand over hers and the blue luminous mouse and pulled it out from her loose grasp. She broke into a quiet sob and lowered her head, refusing to look at the aching shapes of betrayal. I kneeled beside her chair and, for only a few short seconds, allowed myself to pull her into my arms and give her a soft hug.

I stayed with her for an hour or so, distracting her from the pain in her heart. Espresso and Peanut joined me in the process, cuddling against her and giving her soppy kisses, and from time to time biting one or two pillows and driving her crazy enough to forget about Brad and remember our Human Society weekly trip.

A lot of dogs needed to be taken out once in a while from their enclosed spaces, to breathe a bit of fresh air, to feel the earth beneath their paws, to live for a moment what every normal animal needed to experience, like Peanut and Espresso. And we helped with that. We played with them and took them out on a stroll. There was nothing better than looking at those tails wagging happily and eyes shining brightly. I hadn’t adopted one because of Buffy’s allergy, but I’d decided to take at least two under my wings when I finally had an apartment on my own.

When I left Linda’s house, the sushi craving I felt before came back with a mouth-watering explosion in my taste buds. I did not only need one California Roll and Gari, but two California Rolls and tons of Gari. Maybe some stir-fried tofu in hot sauce, too. And since we were going to watch a movie—and God knows what type of movie because Buffy had a deep weakness for chick flicks—sushi would definitely keep my eyes open and belly fully entertained.

Oh yeah, bring on the chopsticks and soy sauce.

The moment I pulled into the driveway of our Victorian house and looked through the rearview mirror, a black Range Rover came into view. By the way it was shining, almost like a black diamond under the stream of light of a luxurious jewelry shop, the four-wheeled machine was brand new. Maybe the Holland’s, our neighbors, had finally decided to replace their family van for a more adventurous and pricey piece of machine, though it wouldn’t be parked out there on its own where other cars could scratch its fancy painting. That meant it was from a visitor. And it could’ve been anyone’s visitor for that matter.

I slipped out from the car with the bag full of disposable boxes in my right hand and the keys in the other, and snapped the door shut with my hip. I loved the sight of the Lady (a.k.a Gran’s house) under the mild afternoon sun. The trees cast long, narrow shadows over the stone driveway, making them look like unearthly guardians from a fantasy world, shielding the three story conical tower standing on one corner of the house; the high half-round windows on the top perfect for stargaze. The hipped roof and shingle wrapping the house with fish-scale pattern created a façade worthy of a fairytale, like the ones you could’ve found in Hansel and Gretel. And the dark wooden wraparound front porch with carved swags on top, surrounded by a concerto of flowers at the bottom—whites, yellows, pinks and purples—enhanced the old-fashioned beauty of the house.

There were other Ladies around the neighborhood, all of them enclosing a rich past, but none of them were as cherished and beautiful as Gran’s Lady. She definitely caught some gazes on the street.

I stepped in front of the door and opened it with the multicolored key I’d painted last summer on an artsy outburst I’d had. My hangers, desk and dresser had been victims as well. Good victims, though. My bedroom had a lot of character now. I shut the door behind me, hanged my keys on the kitten-shaped key hanger, and walked to the kitchen. Gran was there, washing some of her garden tools in the sink.

“The flowers look beautiful, Gran,” I told her as I placed the bag on the counter beside her. She eyed the bag with curiosity. “It’s just some sushi I bought at Om. It’s my version of popcorn for a movie.”

“Sushi?” she asked as if I’d mentioned some disgusting bug. “I rather have some homemade potatoes, sweet baby carrots and fried apples.”

“Whoa, what a granny thing to say.”

She turned and dried her hands on the bottom of her stone-colored garden vest, stained with dirt on the edges. “Well, I am a grandmother, and a very good gardener at that.” She smiled and tilted her head forward, bringing down her brown suede hat.

“Yeah,” I said with a chuckle and pulled out a plate. “You should go for bananas and apple trees next time. That way you can cut them down from the shopping list.” I opened the disposable boxes and took out the bits of perfectly rolled rice. “Oh, and you could make more often those German apple kutchens and banana breads. It’s perfect.”

“Dafne,” she said with that critical voice she used when she thought I was prattling nonsense.

“Just think about the possibilities, Gran—and I’ve heard apple trees are pretty ornamental when they bloom, so no worries on spoiling that flowery landscape you’re creating.” I ended with the plate stuffing. Sixteen pieces of yummy sushi to be exact. My stomach groaned. I searched the cupboard looking for a small bowl for the soy sauce.

“It’s not there,” she said, stopping my frantic search. “Leave the sauce here and I’ll bring it to you. You have more important things now than discussing agricultural prospects.”

“Like…”

“Being in the living room with your sister watching a movie.”

“Is watching a stupid girl falling in love with a stupid guy more important than talking about the high-minded practice of cultivating the land? You’ve fallen pretty low, Gran.”

“Dafne,” she repeated again with that voice.

“Fine, fine.” I sighed and headed to the living room. I couldn’t wait to start eating, anyway. And since my stomach was growing grumpier with each step I made, I decided to slip inside my mouth a small piece to quench the anticipation. I closed my eyes and moaned inwardly in delight, savoring the soft texture of the rice and the crab, the crunchiness of the cucumber, and the sooth, rich contrast of the avocado. My taste buds clapped happily at the exotic culinary explosion.