She studies Otis, bites her lip, and looks around. “Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll let it go this time. But next time make sure you bring the papers.”
“Thank you!”
Grammy’s room is on the third floor so I head to the elevators and push the up button. Otis is making funny noises in his throat and trying to back away. I grip the leash tighter. “It’s okay, little buddy.”
The doors open and I step forward and tug the leash. Otis won’t budge.
Oh right. He doesn’t like elevators.
People get off, and others get on, and I scramble to grab Otis and get inside before the doors close.
“What floor?” asks a man with an amused look.
“Three, please. Thank you.”
The doors slide closed and Otis wraps his front legs around my neck in a vise, his nose tucked down under my chin. He’s shaking.
Oh my God. This dog has even more problems than I realized.
I get off the elevator and as I walk down the hall I greet the various workers. I’m here often so I know Shanice and Valeria and Katy. I also say hi to Mr. Bernstein, sitting in his wheelchair outside his room.
I carry Otis into Grammy’s room, where she’s sitting in her wheelchair by the window. The sun streams in and it’s nice and bright. I helped decorate her room with some of her favorite things when she moved here a couple of years ago.
I set down Otis, and he presses against my legs as I walk across the room to bend and kiss Grammy’s cheek.
“Whose dog is this?” Grammy asks. She loves dogs. She used to have a little fluff-ball dog. It was years ago but I know Grammy still misses her.
I explain to her how I came to have Otis and she nods, holding her hand out for Otis to sniff. My heart pangs at seeing her hands, the knuckles swollen with arthritis, the skin speckled with age spots.
Finally, Otis settles down. I sit too in a nearby armchair, and Otis lies at my feet.
“Have you heard from your dad?” Grammy asks.
“No.” I sigh.
“Asshole,” Grammy mutters. Grammy is my mom’s mom.
I grimace. She’s not wrong.
I love my dad, but he’s going through a “weird phase,” as my mother puts it. A few months ago, he quit his job, and when my mom refused to go with him, he left alone to go backpacking in Asia. In fairness, he does stay in touch regularly. He once sent a selfie of himself standing in front of a Buddhist temple in Bangkok, and I almost didn’t recognize him with his tan, scruffy beard, and prayer bracelets.
“I feel so bad for your mom,” Grammy says.
“I know. Me too.” And yet I hate to criticize Dad to others, even though I think he’s being selfish and irresponsible. Mom is living all alone in the house in Syracuse, paying all the bills herself because Dad left his job and cleaned out their savings account. I know she’s embarrassed when people ask about him. Grammy can’t help her out because of her own financial issues, which I can’t even think about without becoming incandescent with rage, and I’m sure as hell not in a spot to be able to help out either.
“I assume he’s okay,” I say. “I hope he’s getting everything he wants from this trip.”
“I don’t,” Grammy says darkly. “Especially if what he wants is another woman.”
I’ve had the same thought. If that’s the case, I too hope he’s not getting it. Jerk.
I swallow a sigh. He’s my dad, and I love him. He was a great dad. Until now. I’ve heard of men buying a motorcycle or a convertible sports car, or even getting a girlfriend and a divorce, as part of a midlife crisis, but this is crazy.
“Do you have any idea when he’ll come home?” Grammy asks.
“No.” I make a face. “Last I heard from him he said he’ll know when the time is right. Mom says it’s important to him.”
She makes excuses for him and it drives me crazy. She should be having her own adventures, but she’s not.
“I have some bad news of my own,” I say reluctantly. I don’t even want to tell Grammy this.
“Oh no.”
“Yep. I got fired on Friday.”
“Oh my God, Lilly!”
“I know, I know. I didn’t do anything, I swear. I was working hard.” I tell Grammy about the boss’s wife and the painful scene where she accused me of screwing her husband and me getting fired.
Grammy reaches over to pat my hand. “You’ll be okay, honey.”
“Thanks.” I pluck lint off my jeans. “But I’m making a bit of money with Otis here, and I’ve gone back to walking Lola. I’m going to go online this afternoon and start looking at jobs.”
“What’s happening with the court case?”
I shrug. “Not much. The wheels of justice turn slowly.”
I’m suing my last employer. I mean second last. Which is partly why I have a hard time finding jobs. I totally get it. They all think I’m a litigious nut who’s going to launch a lawsuit the first time they look at me wrong. And I can’t really say much about it, per my lawyer.
“They sure do,” Grammy agrees. “Are you still convinced you’re doing the right thing?”
I set my jaw. “Yes.”
I glance at Grammy. I’m not responsible for what happened to her, but I feel like I am. It’s because of people like her that I’m determined to go through with this. Sometimes I question my decisions, but I’m not backing down. And I do have a stubborn streak.
“Are you okay for money?”
Her question almost makes me cry. I know Grammy doesn’t have much. “At the moment.” I don’t tell her how much I’m getting paid to look after Otis because it’s crazy. Also, I haven’t let on to her or my mom how much debt I’ve had to go into. I may have let my family think my savings were substantially more than they were. I feel guilty that I can’t help them out more, and I don’t want them thinking that I need help.
If Dad was still here…ugh. Whatever. Men suck.
Another lie. I really like men. But there’ve been a few in my life lately who’ve made me a little bitter.
“You’re a good man, Otis,” I tell him where he lies on the floor. He hasn’t slept; he’s alert and watchful. He’s probably worried I’m going to leave him here with yet another stranger, poor guy.