BOONE - Part 1 of the HMB Doggie Series
Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

I feel like I’m dreaming although I know I’m not. Even though outside is still freezing the house has a warmth to it that hasn’t dissipated since Eric played me that song a few hours ago. Megan and James left shorty after that, sensing I needed some time alone to absorb everything that transpired this evening.

My mind goes back to the first few dreams I had about Eric four years ago. With his decaying face laying in the ground, he’d told me he will always be my Eric, that it wouldn’t always be this way. When we walked along the beach he said the same thing: That it wouldn’t always be this way. That he’ll always take care of me, in any way he could. What else did he say? Oh yes…that in a manner of speaking he had sent Boone to me. I’m not too shocked by that. But there was something else…something I thought rather out of character.

The memory is there but I can’t seem to replace it. Exasperated, I get off the couch and start pacing back and forth. What the hell did he say?

I wear a hole in the carpet until I stop in front of the fireplace. I stand with my hands on my hips, my eyes inadvertently drawn to the pictures on the mantel. One of my newer additions is of me, Boone, and John at a press conference for the release of Dreams of You. Boone and I are looking into the camera, huge smiles plastered across our faces. John is looking down at me, not smiling but not frowning either. It’s more like a look of wonder.

And then the memory smacks me right between the eyes. “I’m just glad he’s taking good care of you, is all.” Those were the words Eric spoke to me on the beach. And I remember being surprised he would actually complement the likes of John. The dream where all three of us sat in bed and talked about the stock market…Megan having James deliver a random dinner while John just happened to be here… “A sixth sense would be my guess.”

“No…” I whisper, “No, that can’t be right.”

What about the pictures that were turned backwards or flipped facedown? That doesn’t feel like a sign that Eric wants me and John to be together. Then the song comes to me:

“Yeah I will always love you, baby.

Always and I’ll be there

Forever and a day, always.”

“I’ll always be your Eric, babe.” Those words mix and meld with the lyrics to the song until I feel like my head is going to explode.

Finally I can’t hold it in anymore. I replace my big girl voice and address the room, “So are you trying to tell me that even though you will always be with me, I should start dating John? The grumpiest bastard in the Bay Area?” A few years ago I would have been able to exclaim that comment without the words sticking in my throat, but they stick now. Because the truth is, John isn’t a bastard. He’s just a hard-ass who got stomped on one-too many times.

“I don’t understand, Eric. You need to help me with this.”

Silence is my answer.

~~~

I wake up the next morning on the couch. I must have fallen into a dead sleep after all the fretting I did last night.

I was hoping for a “lightbulb dream” from Eric to tell me what all these signs are, but instead I got a black abyss with no dreams attached. Very annoying.

Usually Boone and I attack the newspaper together on Sundays but for whatever reason the paper isn’t on the doorstep like it normally is. Double annoying.

I let Boone out into the backyard so he can go potty and I start making my usual pot of coffee. Nothing wakes the mind up better then coffee. Maybe after my first shot I can sit down and start mapping out what these last four years have apparently been trying to tell me but I’m too thick to get it. Maybe it really is dementia?

Instead, I load up a travel mug with coffee and hook Boone to his leash. Maybe a walk to the corner market will help clear my head…and I can pick up a Godforsaken newspaper.

The morning is bright and crisp. I guess that cold front has no intention of leaving. I bundle up in my down jacket and pompom beanie, looking every inch the disheveled teenager with my messy hair, stained yoga pants and worn sneakers.

Boone is all ready for his walk, “Adventure! I’s love adventure!”

“Every day is an adventure with you, buddy.”

“That because I’s fun! And smart! And handsome! And fluffy!”

I laugh, “You are all that and more!”

“Team Boone and Sal! Off we’s go!”

He lurches me down the sidewalk. He’s always excited to go for walks but today he seems practically giddy. I move at a fast clip only because I don’t want to fall on my face trying to keep up with him. He doesn’t stop at his usual spots to sniff out what friends have been by. He marks his territory only once, which is shocking since this dog is like a proverbial camel when it comes to “pee zoning.”

We make it to the market in record time. I tie Boone up out front, giving him loves and scratches and promising him the moon if I’m not back in three minutes. I’m still cooing at him when I push open the door…and smack someone square in the face.

“Motherf- Oh, Christ that hurts! Watch where you’re going you-” John’s words come to a dead halt when he sees my horrified face.

“Oh my God, John! I’m so sorry! Christ, I’m such a klutz!” I pull him out into the fresh air and try to remove his hand from his nose, but he shakes me off. Boone is dancing at the end of his leash, clearly ecstatic.

“Is John! Is John! He here!”

“John…please let me look at your nose. I may have broken it,” I plead. Given the amount of blood that’s oozing through his fingers I’d say broken is a fair assessment.

“No. No, it’s okay…shit. Could you, um, maybe just get me a towel from inside?” He plops down next to Boone, who practically crawls into his lap and starts giving kisses, blood completely ignored.

“Yes, of course! Just…just stay right there.” Nice one, Captain Bumblefuck.

I charge into the store, startling the cashier behind the counter. “Excuse me. I just busted someone in the face with your door and he’s bleeding. Do you have any towels I can use for his nose?” My cheeks are on fire and I feel like the biggest dingleberry.

“Sure. Hold on.” She obviously doesn’t get the severity of the situation since she saunters into the back office like she’s taking a leisurely stroll through the park. And unless she’s hand-knitting the towels herself I can’t imagine what would take a person so long.

What seems like eons later she reemerges from the back, holding a wad of paper towels. Okay…so I guess she had to chop down the goddamn tree.

I try for civil as I say, “Thank you,” and rush out the door, cautious of any innocent bystanders I might clobber with my weapon of choice.

“Here, John. I have some towels for you!” I rush over and, God help me, trip on one of my shoelaces. I fall ass over teakettle, shrieking like a little girl. If there is a God up there, he’s pointing down at me right now and laughing his ass off: “Thou shalt forever be Bumblefuck.”

The towels that were meant for John and now blowing away in the light breeze. My hands are scuffed and I have two nice holes decorating my yoga pants, trickles of blood staining down the front. Charming. My cheeks are twelve shades of red and I’d love nothing more then for God to smite me right here, right now.

A ruckus is coming from my right. John is bent at the waist, one hand still covering his nose and the other clutched across his stomach. He’s laughing so hard his eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. Boone is sitting beside him, tongue hanging out and smiling like this is just the best scene in the entire world.

“Goddamnit,” I say. This makes John laugh harder. It’s a nice laugh, deep and hearty. I can’t help but crack a smile as the absurdity of the whole situation settles in.

I plunk back on my heels, momentarily forgetting that I’m sitting in a dirty parking lot with blood on my hands and knees, wearing a pompom hat and had just managed to break my agent’s face. The intensity of John’s laughter is contagious and soon I’m laughing right along with him, like two schoolgirls.

After a few minutes of some serious gut-busting we both settle down. I crawl over and sit next to John, who hasn’t stopped smiling at me this whole time.

“Can I see your nose?” I try to sound sweet and innocent so he’ll think to trust me again.

He removes his hand. Aside from a lot of blood it doesn’t look broken, but then again I’m not a doctor so who the hell knows what I’m even looking for.

“It’s not broken, trust me. I’ve had a broken nose before. This just hurts like a sonofabitch,” he offers, “You’re hands okay? Knees?”

“Yeah, totally fine,” I manage a smile that feels more like a grimace. “How did you break your nose before?”

“Football,” he grabs the end of his shirt and starts dabbing away the blood, “I was a linebacker in college.”

Ha! I always knew he could have been a linebacker.

“You sure you’re okay?” I feel awful and I let it resonate through my voice.

He laughs again, “Yes, Sal. I’m sure,” he clears his throat, “You sure you’re okay? That was…uh…quite a tumble.” The beginnings of another bout of laughter vibrate his voice, so I smack him on the arm.

“Stop that! I could have really injured myself,” I say this while smiling though, because I can only imagine what a fool I really looked like.

“I’m guessing you were never a ballerina,”

“Actually, smartass, I was.”

“Jesus…how many people you knock off stage?”

Grrrrr. Just when I think I can warm up to this man he has to start being all…dude-ish. Speaking of, “John, what are you doing here? If you don’t mind me asking. Seems the corner market is a little out of your neighborhood to be grabbing some,” I glance into his bag, “Bagels and a newspaper.”

Newspaper?

“Oh, yeah, um,” Big Burly John now looks like a fidgeting little boy, “I was actually coming to see you.”

I’m not entirely sure why this surprises me because, duh, why else would he be on the coast on a Sunday morning? Nevertheless, I am.

Instead of elaborating he says, “Wanna get out of here? I’ll drive you home.”

We both stand, albeit gingerly. I untie Boone and we head towards John’s car. It’s a sleek black Lexus LX, a car he purchased last year. I made quite a profit with all my book deals and the movie but I always seem to forget that others were able to reap the benefits as well.

I’ve never been inside John’s car and I can see right away that this car was practically made for him. It’s huge, for one, and accommodates his large frame nicely. It’s clean, which doesn’t surprise me at all since John is a bit of a diva when it comes to hygiene. And it’s manly. All the red leather interior screams “dude.”

I get into the passenger seat and before I even blink Boone has hopped onto my lap, all 90 glorious pounds of him.

“Really, Boone?” I wheeze out, since he’s practically crushing the air out of me.

“I’s front seat dog!”

“Um, Sal…want me to put him in the back?” John is standing with the passenger door open, giving me a hilariously skeptical look.

I look Boone in the eye, “I’s good dog. Front seat. Team Boone and Sal.”

I smile and kiss his nose, “No, it’s okay. It’s a short drive.”

We don’t speak on the quick trip back to my house. It’s not an awkward silence though. It’s pleasant.

When I let us in through the front door John tells me he’s going to go clean up his face. I take this opportunity to head upstairs and clean off my hands and knees, change my clothes and attempt to run a brush through my knotted hair. I give my teeth a pass with the toothbrush as well. Stank breath is the last thing I need to contend with.

When I walk into the kitchen John is already cutting up the bagels, a cup of black coffee sitting on the counter and another one sitting next to it, the sugar and cream put out as well. His face is all cleaned up. Not even a scratch. Lucky bastard. He hasn’t seen me yet so I take a moment to really look at him.

He really does have a handsome face, all sharp lines and clean cuts. There are the beginnings of some lines around his mouth, either from years of frowns or smiles I don’t know. I’m just now noticing the slightest peppering of grey at his temples, a color that was not there four years ago. His body is still rock hard, shoulders as broad as any football player I know of…which isn’t saying much, but whatever. Overall, John is a fine man. I just never thought to look at him any other way other then “The Boss.” I’m still not sure I want to look at him in any other way.

“You gonna stand there like a statue all day or what?” His voice startles me out of my musings.

Feeling slightly sheepish I go to make myself a cup of coffee. He doesn’t stop his bagel prepping but I can feel his eyes on me as I busy myself around the kitchen, pretending that I wasn’t just examining him like a bug under a microscope.

“You’re looking good, Sal. Strong. You working out?” His tone is breezy and I appreciate the neutral territory he’s taken the conversation.

“Yeah, I have been,” and just like that I launch into a detailed description of my workouts. I ramble on and on about my personal records and how Boone is my inspiration to stay in shape and how I’d really lost it there when Eric passed away. I’m like a monkey in a tree but I can’t seem to stop. I feel that if I stop he’ll tell me the real reason he’s here and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

We chat over our bagels and coffee. At some point he pulls out the newspaper and we spread it across the dining room table, reading in silence. Boone snores loudly from the living room. The sun streaks in through the windows. It feels…domestic. Pleasant. Safe, even.

After I’ve skimmed every section of the paper I get up and go about tidying up the kitchen. John sits at the table and watches me. Now I feel like the bug underneath the microscope.

“Sal…” John’s voice is soft, like he’s treading through uncharted waters, “I’m just curious. Do you ever think about that night I told you about Robin?”

“Sure, sometimes,” I try for nonchalant, “It is the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself after the endless amount of years we’ve worked with each other.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” There’s the typical John I know. “It’s just…a lot has happened since then, ya know? You got two best-seller books out, a movie, we traveled all over the damn free country…it’s amazing what time can do.”

I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going.

“Remember what I told you that night…that’s I’d never get over it? I mean Robin. That I’d never get over what Robin did?” He’s kinda cute when he stumbles over his words. “I think I spoke too prematurely,” he pauses, “All this time with you, working with you…I think it’s kinda helped me put some of my issues to rest.”

I smile, again trying for nonchalant, “That’s great, John. You certainly seem to have lightened up a bit.”

“You not letting me drive home that night reminded me that there is good in people. If you didn’t care you would have just let me drive off, possibly killing myself or someone else. But you didn’t,” he pauses again, “You’re a good friend, Sal. It’s amazing what one small encounter can bring about, ya know?”

It is amazing actually. Because this encounter is showing me a side of John I didn’t think existed. It’s a tender side, contemplative and verging on something that could possibly change our relationship forever. My stomach knots at the idea and I become a busy body again, gathering up the newspapers and scrubbing the countertops because I have to do something with my hands.

I know John can sense my discomfort because he doesn’t say anything else until I’ve run out of counter space to wipe down. He stands and walks over to me, placing a large hand on my shoulder. I feel dwarfed…but not in a bad way. My stomach knots tighter.

“Sal, look at me,” he tips my chin up with his finger. It’s a tender move and I can’t say if I like or dislike it. “Have you ever looked at someone one way and then suddenly, one day, you see them in a completely different light?” His dark eyes bore into mine.

“No,” I squeak out. Knot. Tightening.

“No?” He must see the fear of God in my eyes because he backs up. “Not at all?”

“Nope. Not once.” Lying through my teeth.

And John knows it.