When Sam signed him up for his first Silver Gloves competition, roadwork became a part of Xavier’s daily routine, a routine he quickly despised. Already long-limbed at fourteen years old, his stride had all the grace of a newborn giraffe. The effort to keep his legs coordinated beneath him made them burn as intensely as his lungs. After every run, he’d complain to his father that running had nothing to do with fighting, that no skills developed from these long, boring-ass runs. Time on the asphalt was time wasted when he could be in the gym hitting the bag or jumping rope for footwork.
“You’re training the most important thing.” He’d tap Xavier on the forehead. “Right here. You could run sprints, sure. But here’s the thing about sprints or long runs on the treadmill, or even bag and focus mitts. You can stop doing any of those at any time and you’re exactly where you want to be. You can walk to the locker room and towel off or over to the water fountain for a drink. You can go home.
“You can’t do that on the road. If you get tired before the halfway point, so what? Wherever you stop? That’s halfway. It’s that strength of mind, that force of will that powers the return. Knowing that you have to run the same distance back with less than what you started with, toward a finish line 106you can’t see until you’re within strides of crossing it. That’s mental toughness. That’s knowing you can finish the fight when the other guy can’t. Because you face down that challenge every day.”
The explanation never satisfied Xavier. His only contentment in training came when he could feel the pop of the pads at the ends of his punches. When he heard the whip and crack of the rope skating across the cement floor while doing double unders. When he saw how his father, holding the heavy bag, had to adjust his footing when Xavier hit with the right amount of power.
Sam would laugh in amused exasperation at his son’s lack of appreciation for the run. “Think about it this way, then. You have to build up your cardio because you’ll blow half your gas tank before you ever set foot in the ring.”
“What? How?”
“In those moments leading up to a fight, your heart rate goes way up. You start thinking about how you’re going to move and what the outcome might be. How your opponent is going to react and how you’re going to react to his reaction. Before you know it, your heart has been pumping so fast and for so long and you’ve already dumped a bunch of adrenaline in your system. When you actually step through those ropes, you’ve already fought at least one round.”
“Maybe that’s what you think about. I’m thinking about that pizza I’m going to get when it’s all over.”
Sam tousled Xavier’s loose curls. “And that is exactly why you need to get your ass on the road. You won’t have that metabolism forever.”
Xavier pulled the Volvo into the driveway and rested his head against the back of the seat. He was exhausted, despite the fact he hadn’t physically exerted himself all day—just like 107his father had told him decades ago. There was no way to train his psychological cardio.
Still, once he’d left the gym, one thought prevailed over all the others. Shot was right. He had a fight. Not the circumstances he’d like, but a fight, nonetheless. Not a smoker where a veterinarian was the only doctor on staff, and they weighed in on a bathroom scale. Far from it. He was back in The Show. All was forgiven, as long as he gave Carson what he needed. All Xavier had to do was lose a limb to make the weight and give up his entire purse.
For the moment, his excitement outweighed the stress of the brutal weight cut looming. The nervous anticipation before a fight was an old friend, one who rolled into town and asked to crash on your couch and eat all your food. A friend he knew was trouble, one who would probably get him in over his head, but whom he couldn’t help but spend time with. Never mind the inevitable pit in the stomach, the fretful, sleepless nights, the times he went to bed hungry and thirsty. Though all of it bordered on maddening, the fight never made Xavier feel beholden to anyone, and the fear and anxiety that accompanied it paled in comparison to the sense of relief and accomplishment, the near orgasmic sense of elation and fatigue that, win or lose, he knew awaited him on the other side.
As his longest year had drawn on, Xavier had been an apparition, in between this plane and the next, on a search for shape and form, unsure he’d feel that anticipation ever again. He’d convinced himself that was a good thing. The memory loss wasn’t improving despite his time away. But nothing had made him happier in the past year than imagining how he’d welcome that gorgeous misery back into his life today.
Then he felt it. More remarkably, he heard it.
Nothing. 108
His headache, the whine in his ears, the rage and frustration—all of it gone. He smiled what felt like the most genuine smile he’d had in some time. He grabbed his groceries (he’d kept them in the passenger seat this time) and walked up the back steps to the house.
He slipped on his first step in the door. Something cold and wet crept onto his slides and under the sole of his foot. He looked down and saw a puddle, and a trail down the hallway into the kitchen that was either the fluid’s origin or its end. Some of the liquid had seeped into the seams of the laminate where it bubbled up in the center of the pool.
Then the smell hit him. Not unlike the car the morning he found Loki in the back seat. He called out for the dog and heard the slow telltale click of paws on the floor. Loki’s head peeked from behind the doorjamb and moved not an inch further.
“What did you do?” Xavier said in a low whisper.
Xavier straddled the line of urine as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. There he saw two large piles of formless feces and two more urine puddles. Both the food and water bowls were empty. The corner of a wooden bench that sat on one side of the kitchen table had been chewed into mush, the shavings collected in a small anthill on the floor. Xavier shook his head. His father had made that bench in the basement when Xavier was just a boy.
Xavier set his groceries on the counter and walked the floor, an investigator taking inventory of a crime scene. Loki followed slowly, his tail tucked, maintaining a constant distance. When Xavier stepped into the living room, he drew a sharp breath. The foam innards of two of the cushions and one of the arms of the couch had been strewn about the living room, the ripped fabric a gaping wound. Sam once told Xavier that he and Evelyn had playfully argued for months 109about the green plaid monstrosity, a holdover from Sam’s first bachelor pad, about where it would go when they moved into a real home. Xavier turned in a slow circle and surveyed the damage done to things irreplaceable. The steam whistle in his ears returned. Xavier screamed.
“What the fuck did you do, you stupid fucking dog?”
Loki skittered across the kitchen floor. He lost his footing and bumped his hind legs on the back of the table as he scrambled to hide underneath it. Xavier picked up the chewed upon bench and slammed it seat side down. Loki flinched at the resounding crack and retreated further. Xavier leaned on the table and peered underneath.
“Come out of there right now!” he growled. “Look what you did!”
He swiped and grabbed at Loki’s scruff. Loki bared his teeth, pressed as far back against the wall as he could go, his back in a feline arch. Xavier had visions of closing his hands around Loki’s thick neck and squeezing or sticking his hands into his maw and pulling apart until the jaws of his bones cracked like shellfish. His second swing brushed Loki’s muzzle and the dog loosed a protective snap that caught the edge of Xavier’s hand. Xavier leapt back. He kicked the food and water bowl stand, sending them skating across the kitchen. The bite throbbed. Xavier’s rage needle pinned.
Xavier pushed the drying rack off the counter and onto the floor. Plates shattered. Silverware bounced and chimed. Xavier held his hand under hot water and watched the blood from the puncture wounds turn into tiny tributaries and snake down the drain. He ripped off a stream of paper towels and held them to his hand in a bunch. When he pulled it away, he saw only two small spots of red. The bleeding had already slowed to a near stop. The fog of his rage parted just enough for him to see that Loki had only meant to warn him, to tell 110him he was afraid. His furious haze further dissipated. Xavier leaned against the sink and took in the tumult.
“What am I doing?”
He sunk down to the floor across from Loki, who panted, eyes fearful and trained on Xavier with desperate intensity. Xavier checked the paper towel again. The bleeding had all but stopped. He moved on his hands and knees across the floor to the table where Loki hid, but stopped short when Loki showed his teeth again. Though his throat could not produce a bark, a strained growl rumbled from within.
Xavier put a defensive hand up. “Okay, okay. You’re right.” He sat back. Loki covered his teeth but did not move. “It’s just, that stuff is—was—is special. One of a kind. I don’t … it’s been a complicated day, man. And then I come home to all this shit and piss, and then this?” He felt the rage summit again, a geyser ready to erupt, but this time it came with a surge of panic at its irrationality and terror at the violence he envisioned visiting on Loki. The combination vented the building pressure and kept the explosion at bay. “You deserve better than this, pup. I’m sorry.”
Xavier picked himself up off the floor. Then he cleaned. He wiped up the puddles of urine. He emptied the groceries from the doubled-up plastic grocery bags and used them to scoop the stools. All the while, Loki watched him from underneath the table. The whites of his eyes relayed his fear and mistrust. Once Xavier cleaned the floor with bleach wipes, he stuffed all the trash into a garbage bag and moved into the living room. He placed the shredded foam in the bag and tied it off, then tucked the damaged cushions under his arm and headed for the front door. Before he opened it, he looked back to see if Loki had ventured out from his cave. He hadn’t. Xavier stepped outside and walked to the trash bins on the side of the house. 111
A police cruiser slowed to a stop at the end of the short walkway. Two officers exited the vehicle. The older of the two sported a pair of reflective sunglasses and wore his graying blond hair close cropped, save a half inch or so on top of his head. Xavier couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the notion the officer would look like police in or out of uniform. His younger partner hadn’t yet subscribed to the official hairstyle or eyewear, his brown hair moussed up and away from his black wraparound shades. Both, however, put their hands on their belts as they ambled up the driveway.
“How you doing today?” the older officer asked. The cheeriness and familiarity in his question irritated Xavier instantly.
Xavier loaded the trash into the dumpster. “I’m good.”
“You sure about that?”
Xavier looked at the officer’s stance. Feet wide, arms tense, shoulders up, belying the relaxation his words were meant to convey. Xavier looked past him to his partner, who had moved his sunglasses down his nose to peer at Xavier through tight eyelids. Xavier caught movement in his periphery. He turned his head quickly enough to see Ray replace the blind to his window. Xavier remembered the open windows in the kitchen and cursed. The noise of his outburst had given Ray all the rationale he needed to finally call the police.
“Mind if we see some identification?” the older officer asked.
Xavier shielded his eyes from the sun to get a better look at his badge. “Yes, Officer Wilson, I do mind. I don’t carry my ID to take out my trash.”
“Well, it seems you’ve got some neighbors concerned about what’s going on in your house,” Wilson said. “This is your house, isn’t it?”
“Neighbors? You mean Ray, right? I mean I don’t see anyone else peeking out their windows. Are you sure Ray’s 112house is his house? Why don’t you knock on his door and ask for his identification?”
“I know Ray. I don’t know you.”
The younger partner stepped closer to Wilson. He eyed Xavier, but his look lacked the disdain of his partner’s. Xavier wiggled a pinky in his ear in a failed attempt to stifle the whistling. He turned to face Ray’s house and shouted at the window.
“This what you wanted, Ray? Enjoying the show? Fuck you, Ray. Fuck. You.”
“Why don’t you settle down, son, and show me that identification,” Wilson said.
“Son?” Xavier turned back and saw Wilson gesture with one hand while the other stayed by the gun side of his belt. Xavier put his hands in his pockets and Wilson’s hand moved to hover over his gun. He knew he should be afraid, but all he felt was anger. And he couldn’t change the channel. “Like I said, I don’t have my wallet on me. It’s inside.”
“Well, why don’t the three of us step inside and you can show me.”
“No, I’m not going to do that.”
“Sir, are you refusing us entry into the home?”
“First it’s ‘son’ and now it’s ‘sir’?”
Xavier took his hands out of his pockets and Wilson’s gun hand twitched. Xavier slowed his movement, then held his hands up and wiggled his fingers before crossing his arms over his stomach. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. You’re here pressing me for ID, assuming I don’t live here, and you didn’t even ask me my name.”
“Okay, so what is your name?” the younger partner asked from behind Wilson.
“Xavier Wallace. This is my father’s—”
“Ha! I knew it!” the second officer said, whipping off his 113shades. “I knew I knew that face! Wilson, you know who this is?”
Wilson kept his stance and eyed Xavier, unmoved by his partner’s sudden enthusiasm. “Who?”
The young officer clapped his hands. “Man, this is the Scarecrow!”
“Who?”
“Xavier ‘Scarecrow’ Wallace! This dude is a pro MMA fighter.”
“Never heard of him.”
“What? Man, he fights in The Show.”
“That right? That’s the big time, isn’t it? You a big-timer, Xavier?”
“Not lately, no.”
“Yeah, I mean he’s not a household name or anything,” the younger partner said. Xavier jerked his chin back. The officer saw Xavier’s body language and turned sheepish. “No disrespect intended, Mr. Wallace. Wilson here’s a casual. I’m more of a hardcore fan. That suspension should be up soon, right?”
Xavier and Wilson continued their stare down. “Today, actually.”
“No shit? Nice! You getting back in there?”
“This Saturday, yeah. That might be up to Officer Wilson here, though.”
“Oh, shit, forget about all that. Chill out, Wilson. He’s cool.”
Wilson did not relax. With the residue of rage still clouding his judgment, Xavier had forgotten himself. He’d forgotten that his lighter skin only got him so far where the police were concerned. Maybe they’d looked at him twice when he’d been pulled over, sure, but they never seemed to approach him with the same bravado he’d seen them display when Shot was in the driver’s seat. Instead of that kind of aggressive posturing, they 114showed Xavier a cautious disdain. It was a privilege he was well aware of, but now he’d taken it too far.
Being the only Black man in front of Wilson meant he was as Black as Wilson needed him to be. He was in a neighborhood in which he’d already been told he didn’t belong, with a cop in front of him who had been called by the same man who told him he didn’t belong, and this was a cop who knew that same man well.
Xavier stood in his sliders, baggy basketball shorts, and oversized Sixers jersey, as much a uniform to Wilson as the cop was to Xavier. Though the officer’s partner might have believed he’d defused the situation by revealing his status as a professional fighter, he’d only made things worse. Now Xavier was even more dangerous, a threat that provided additional justification for whatever came next. Wilson had doubled down on his ready stance, and it became clear to Xavier that he was in very real, very mortal danger.
He tried hard to maintain the casual cool he’d conveyed just moments before, but the channel had finally changed. He was terrified, and he saw that Wilson saw it. Xavier knew his next physical movement might see him bleeding in his own driveway from a hole in his chest. Only one, if he was lucky. He could see Wilson had been doing this long enough, had had enough Black men in this position to see the fear behind Xavier’s suspect swagger, and he looked like he was enjoying it. Xavier wouldn’t have put it past Wilson to move his hand toward his gun just to see Xavier flinch, to see one solitary bead of sweat trace a line down his face, to tell him who was truly in charge.
“Wilson, seriously,” the younger officer said, patting his partner on the shoulder. “It’s cool. Let the man get ready for his fight.”
The corner of Wilson’s mouth twitched a subtle smirk. Then he finally relaxed, moving his hand away from his holster. He 115hooked his thumbs in his belt and walked backward toward the cruiser. His partner followed suit.
“Do Ray a favor and keep it down with whatever it is you’re doing in there, huh?” Wilson said. “He’s an old man, you know? Big scary guy like you makes him a little edgy.”
Xavier’s heart thumped. “Mmm-hmm,” he said, lips tight.
“Hey, uh, I know this is weird,” the partner said, “but would you mind if we took a selfie?”
His throat dry, Xavier whispered. “What?”
“Ah, you’re right. It’s gross. You know what, forget I asked.”
“Oh, come on, take a picture with the kid,” Wilson said. “We drove all this way and now our coffee’s cold. I mean, he is the reason we’re letting you off with only a warning. Reed, go over and get your picture.”
Only a warning? For taking out your own trash? Man, don’t you do a damn thing for this piece of pork.
“Yeah, all right,” Xavier said.
Reed’s face brightened. “Really?”
Xavier waved him over. Wilson crossed his arms, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Reed bounded back up the walkway and pulled his cell phone from his front pocket. Xavier leaned into the frame and made a fist but did not smile. Reed extended his hand and Xavier took it in his wet palm and shook it. Reed thanked him, wiped his hand on his leg, and jogged back down the driveway to the passenger side of the patrol car. Wilson gave Xavier a salute as he opened the driver’s side door. “Stay out of trouble now. Maybe start keeping that ID on you, huh? You just never know.”
Xavier gave a nonchalant nod. Satisfied, Wilson sat down into the cruiser and drove off with a solitary whoop of the siren. Xavier noticed a curtain pull back in a window of the house across the street. He turned back toward Ray’s house, where 116he once more saw Ray peek through the blinds before letting them snap shut.
“They didn’t shoot me, Ray,” Xavier called out. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ll be here whenever you want to come over and apologize.” He returned to the house and muttered under his breath, “Fucking asshole.” Once back inside, Xavier dropped down onto the remaining couch cushion and put his head in his hands. “They didn’t shoot me, Ray,” he said again.
He laughed. A solitary snort. Then another, until he couldn’t stop laughing. The more he tried, the harder he laughed. He laughed until his face ached, and his stomach muscles burned. That he couldn’t stop alarmed him, and as if downshifting his car, his laughter veered into crying, tearless at first, until he understood that whatever was going on with him, whatever was happening inside his brain, was as far beyond his control as whatever Wilson had decided he would do with the nigger in the driveway.
Was this how Shot felt the night the police beat his career out of him? Xavier had always felt righteous in his anger toward police, but part of him knew he never really understood what his cousin had gone through. His tears fell unfettered at the thought. He reined them in with gulps of air like a skinned-kneed child. Then he felt a cold dampness at his leg.
He pulled his hands from his face to see Loki at his feet. The dog pressed his cool wet nose against Xavier’s knee again. The gesture of selfless love in the face of what Xavier had made him endure moved him to further tears. Xavier moved to stroke the top of his head, but Loki withdrew. Xavier reached again and Loki took a full step backward, so he brought his hands to his lap. Loki stepped forward again and sat by his side. Xavier took a deep breath and stood, which sent Loki bounding backward and skidding across the kitchen floor to his refuge under the table. Xavier sat back down. Soon after, 117Loki peeked his head around the door jamb separating the kitchen from the living room. Xavier slid from the couch to the floor and held out his hand as he had done when they first met. Loki reappeared fully in the doorway and sat on his haunches. He gave no signs of moving any further.
“Smart. I’d stay there, too.”
Xavier picked up his cell phone. No texts from Shot. No missed calls from Maple Grove. He unlocked his phone and scrolled his contacts, hoping to find a number he didn’t remember putting there, while also hoping it wasn’t there.
It was. He called.
An hour passed. Xavier stayed seated on the floor, back against the couch. His ass ached from the pressure, but with each passing minute, Loki’s posture had relaxed. He went from sitting in the doorway to stretched across it. From there he began a slow and deliberate commando crawl across the floor, a trust game of inches. With each shuffle, he reassessed. Xavier’s only movement came from his eyes, establishing contact in spurts, then looking away. He kept his arms by his sides, hands upturned, welcoming Loki to sniff them, hoping he’d smell the comfort he’d found there just the day before.
Sixty minutes later, Loki had covered almost the entire distance, but stopped short of Xavier’s reach. He looked up at Xavier, his massive head between his paws, arching one side of his brow, then the other, the inquisitiveness of his expression all too human. Xavier laughed in spite of himself. Loki’s head popped up. Xavier looked down at his lap. “Sorry, sorry.”
Loki rose to all fours and sat next to Xavier. His thick torso leaned against Xavier’s arm. The pair looked straight ahead at the blank television screen. Loki’s warmth had the power of an embrace that Xavier hadn’t known he missed or wanted. He slowly raised his hand. Loki side-eyed him and 118licked his chops but stayed in place. Xavier placed his palm on the velvet softness on the flat of Loki’s head. Two thumps sounded from his rear before he stretched out to lie alongside Xavier’s long legs. Xavier patted his back. His tail swooshed then stopped, swooshed then stopped, as if he were unsure of the safety in displaying his happiness.
“Good boy, Loke. Good boy.”
Another thirty minutes went by. His legs and ass numb, Xavier finally stood. At ease once more, Loki wagged his tail freely. Xavier went to his pantry, where an unopened bag of treats sat on a shelf. He grabbed them, as well as what was left of the opened bag of dog food. The rustling brought Loki trotting into the kitchen. Xavier picked up a leash and collar, which sent Loki bouncing.
Xavier snapped the collar around Loki’s neck and led him down the back hallway. He made a quick stop in his room to pack his bag with his jiu jitsu gear. He then changed into a pair of running shorts, pulled on his cross trainers, and laced them up. Loki watched and cocked his head curiously. Xavier threw his bag over his shoulder, collected the food and treats, and walked Loki down the back steps to the Volvo. Loki jumped so quickly into the passenger seat with the lure of a treat that Xavier cursed himself for not thinking of the tactic sooner. He pulled out of the driveway and drove to the 309 expressway, toward Germantown Pike, until they reached the entrance to Forbidden Drive.
The stifling heat hadn’t deterred the after-work bikers, runners, and walkers from taking their rides, runs, and constitutionals on the canopied gravel trail. Xavier pulled into the first available space he could find, closer to Germantown Pike than the trail itself, and re-leashed Loki. With four paws on the ground, Loki pulled like a Clydesdale toward the trail 119entrance, so hard he panted, until he was hoarse and strained. Each time Xavier matched his pace, attempting to put slack in the lead, Loki broke into a brief run, until the tension in the leash pulled him off his front paws. Xavier smiled wistfully at his enthusiasm.
At the beginning of the trail, Xavier stood on one leg as he stretched one quad, then the other. Loki sat, but only just. With every movement Xavier made, he lifted off his haunches, ready to take off down the path. “You think you can keep up?” Loki’s large tongue unfurled and lolled, his jaws wide open in a smiling pant. His paws danced back and forth in anticipation. “Okay. Let’s do this then.”
Xavier ran. Loki took off sprinting out of the blocks, nearly pulling Xavier off his feet. Once Loki felt the initial tug of the lead, he fell into a rhythm with Xavier’s pace, the cadence of his four legs in almost perfect rhythm with Xavier’s two.
Xavier rarely ran without headphones in his ears. His playlists ran the gamut from “Clair de lune” to DMX to the chunkiest power chord hard rock and metal, all organized in a fashion to hit the highs and lows of his distance runs, to drown out the sounds of his own labored breathing telling him how tired he was, how alone he was in the struggle to find his halfway to the journey back home.
Today was different. Today’s run was one of a kind. Today he wanted to hear the crunch of the gravel under his feet. Today he wanted to hear beyond the brush that bordered the trail, the burbling of the Wissahickon as the water smoothed and reshaped the rocks it had run over before he’d ever set foot in these woods and would continue to do so long after. Today he wanted to hear children beg their parents for triple scoops piled high on homemade waffle cones as they climbed the steps to the ice cream shop. Today he wanted to hear the musical cacophony of birds in the trees on either side of 120the trail, trees whose branches reached across and intertwined like the laced fingers of hands holding. Today he wanted to hear the hellos that accompanied the nods of fellow travelers on the trail as they passed in opposite directions. Today he wanted to hear Loki pant and trot, the closest sounds to joy the dog was capable of producing, as their legs propelled them through the woods.
When tension let up in the leash, Xavier slowed his pace, believing Loki needed relief from the heat and effort. Loki rewarded Xavier’s attention with a faster trot and pulled Xavier back into a run, as though the reprieve was for Xavier and not him. Before Xavier knew it, they’d reached the turnaround at Kelly Drive and Loki seemed even more energized. He looked at Xavier with eagerness, his tongue at a length that seemed impossible for his head to contain. They turned back and ran on.
As they approached the last quarter mile, Xavier felt tightness in his chest, though not from the effort of the miles. The inevitable awaited them at the entrance to the trail. There was no way to explain to Loki that what was to come was necessary, that it would hurt Xavier no less. That while better things were on the other side, there would be pain and loss, and all those other things impossible to see past in the moment.
“Not yet.”
Just past the covered bridge, he pulled Loki off the trail and onto a footpath that led down to the creek. The rocks were algae covered and slick. He took off his running shoes and socks and left them on the bank. Three young Black boys were knee high in the water a hundred feet away. One had created a makeshift rod with fishing line and a branch. Two of them kicked and splashed at each other. Water beaded in their hair and glinted like diamonds as it caught the sunlight peeking through the trees. The young fisherman admonished 121them for scaring away his quarry. The two splashers caught sight of Loki and Xavier cooling their feet in the water and stopped for a moment.
“Is he friendly?” one of them asked.
“As friendly as they get.”
“Can we pet him?”
Xavier looked down at Loki, who looked up at him. His rear swayed side to side with the whip of his tail. Xavier reached down and unclipped his lead. “Go on.”
Loki bounded off, breaching and sinking in the creek water. When it was deep enough, he paddled his way over to the boys. His paws found ground again and he stood and shook the water off from head to tail, spraying the boys to their delight. Loki reveled in their jowl rubs and butt scratches, their head pats, and “good boys.” Xavier smiled and walked along the bank to join them. One of the boys pulled a stick from the mud and tossed it out into the water. It landed with a splash and floated across the surface. Loki sprung after it. His large head wiggled above the water as he swam back holding his muzzle high with pride. After a few more minutes of fetch, Xavier felt a text buzz in his back pocket. He retrieved his phone. His smile faded and he chewed at the inside of his cheek.
“Okay, Loke. Time to go.”
The boys voiced their disappointed protest. Loki played sprinkler again, shaking loose a hail of droplets all over his playmates, lingered for a few more pets and scratches before trotting back to Xavier. The pair made their way back up to the main path. Xavier waved to the boys and left them to their fishing once more.
They approached the entrance to the trail. Loki’s tail vanished in a speedy blur. His paws pranced back and forth. Zoey, the head of the rescue Xavier had met at Maple Grove, 122stood at the path’s end. She turned and saw Xavier and Loki and smiled, though not happily. Xavier let him off the leash. Loki galloped and threw himself at the crouched Zoey, sending her onto her rear with a giggle. Loki wiggled and squirmed in her embrace until he was on his back. She obliged him with furious belly rubs. Xavier stood over them, hands in his pockets.
“Thanks so much for meeting me here,” he said. “I hope it wasn’t too much of a drive.”
“To see this guy again? Worth it.” Zoey looked down at Loki and got a tongue to the cheek for her trouble. She pointed her chin up to avoid a second lick and looked at Xavier. “Are you sure about this?”
“He won’t be put down, right? I mean if no one else takes him.”
“We’re a no-kill, so no. Honestly, if you hadn’t taken him, I probably would have kept him myself at some point. I just wanted to give him a chance somewhere else. Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Give him a chance.”
“He’s not the one who messed up.” Xavier poked himself in the chest. Creases lined Zoey’s forehead. She inspected Loki, her affection turned examination. She held his face in her hands and checked his paws. “No, no, he’s fine. It was nothing like that. I’d never hurt him.”
“You’re about to, though. Doing this will hurt.”
“I know. But time heals all wounds, right? He’ll forget about me soon enough. Look how happy he is to see you.”
“That means he doesn’t forget.” Xavier had no response. Zoey shook her head. “You know, I get so tired of people treating dogs like accessories. They don’t understand that they’re responsible for another life. It’s not like you can just keep the receipt and return it if the fit’s not quite right. It takes work.” 123
“You’re absolutely right. But this isn’t that.”
“Yeah. God, I don’t want to, but I believe you, actually. I wouldn’t have let him go home with you if I didn’t think it would have worked out. I never saw him react to someone like he did with you. That’s why I came. I had to hear from you what went wrong. And maybe see if I could talk you out of it.”
Xavier crouched down and joined in the belly rubs. “You probably could. But it would be a mistake.”
“Hey. Hey.”
Xavier kept at his scratching. Meeting her eyes meant explaining. Saying it out loud would only affirm his decision. But he knew she’d let him change his mind. He knew she wanted him to. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. He looked up at her.
“What happened?”
He wanted to let it all out, to tell her everything, no matter how horrific and embarrassing and terrible and irresponsible. He wanted her to hate him, so she’d snatch Loki up without another word, take him to her car and drive off as fast as possible, to keep him away from the awful man who treated this gentle soul so, no matter how good his intentions were. It would be best for all of them. But he couldn’t. He was afraid of what saying it all out loud would mean. Telling her what happened meant speaking it into reality, and he feared it might sear all he’d done into his brain when all he wanted to do was forget. Forget he had forgotten, forget the rage, and forget Loki the way he hoped Loki would forget him. “I couldn’t take care of him the way he needed it.” And as soon as he said it, he realized he didn’t know if Loki was the only one he couldn’t take care of.
“Maybe I can help? It just seems like you two were supposed to be together.” 124
The words left her mouth, but none registered with Xavier. He’d been rocked by the epiphany harder than any punch he’d taken. Loki had been a subconscious test for him to see if he was meant to take care of anything since he had failed his father. Now he’d failed Loki. Xavier wasn’t fit to take care of Xavier.
He stood. “I’ve got a bag of food in my trunk and some treats, but I’m parked all the way up by Germantown Pike. I can bring it down if you want. Donate it to the rescue or whatever.”
“Just like that?”
“It has to be.”
She pursed her lips, her disappointment clear. “Then no. If you’re going to go to your car, then you should just go. Bring the food to our drop-off box outside the shelter if you want. But do me a favor and don’t come inside. I don’t want to take the chance that he might see you. It won’t be fair to let him see you leave twice.”
Xavier’s mind went to his mother’s silhouette on his wall, replaced by light as her shadow slid out of frame before she walked out. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d imagined that night, somehow different each time. Sometimes her outline would reappear, and he’d turn over. She’d come in and sit on the edge of his bed, loop her fingers through his curls and tell him she’d stay if he asked her to. And he’d ask her to. And she’d stay.
Yet as often as he’d conjured that happy ending, he’d recreated another experience as well, one where he called his mother’s name to have her stay in the doorway, only to have her leave despite his pleas. A recollection as fictional as the other, but one that hurt in equal measure. He’d imagined these scenarios so many times as of late that he began to question which of them was the untruth. 125
Zoey was right. If he left, he’d have to leave for good. Her resigned look made it clear she’d hoped she’d pulled off some feat of reverse psychology. Xavier reached down and gave the top of Loki’s head a tousle. His panting ceased and he pressed his head into the caress. Xavier tucked in his lips and took a step back. Loki’s tongue stayed in his head and his posture tightened, visibly confused as Zoey wrapped an arm around his thick chest with a hold meant to contain and console. Xavier turned away from the trail. Behind him Zoey asked Loki to sit, then to stay. Her voice sounded strained, and Xavier knew Loki pulled at her to follow. He considered a last look back. And then he walked on.