Daisy started to clear the plates only to stop and stare once more at the steps leading to the trail. She yearned to watch her best, bite-size friend, Peppers, scrambling off the porch steps, excited for the trail walk to the picturesque cranberry bog. Peppers, seven pounds of pure Yorkshire terrier, would chase frightened squirrels clambering back up trees, their cheeks crammed full of acorns.
Her husband Paul recognized she was daydreaming again, calmly clearing the plates then washing them in the sink. Paul had never enjoyed the mile-long walk, despite creating the trail years ago using his trusty machete, hacking through thick underbrush and sturdy tree limbs, their branches like thin, long fingers. To Daisy, the walk was nothing extraordinary but worth what waited for them at the end. The cranberry bog had always looked like an oasis in the middle of a desert jungle, filled with hundreds of floating cranberries. The water was so still she swore she could hear even the slightest ripples in the water.
The cranberry bog had been Peppers’ favorite place. He would happily circle the bog repeatedly. The outside world faded away, if only for a moment, in the serenity of the bog. Frogs lazily hopped to the next lily pad. The occasional crane made an appearance, soaring silently along the tree line.
Paul put his arm on her shoulder, forcing her back to the present. “I miss him, too.”
Daisy fought back tears. She was tired of crying all the time. It would get easier, she kept telling herself.
“Do you think you’re ready?” he asked nervously, walking on a massive eggshell. Daisy responded with silence as she had one week ago when asked the same question. He squeezed her shoulders and returned to the kitchen.
Her eyes felt wet and glassy. “We owe it to him to try.”
Paul retrieved a shovel and gently carried a small wooden box under his arm. Daisy followed him outside to the makeshift wooden steps leading to the opening. “Wait,” she said, “I’ll carry him.”
She cried again holding what was left of her sweet boy, making certain not to stain the box with her tears. The weight of it was nothing compared to the invisible guilt bearing down on her. For the first time, the walk she had cherished for so long frightened her. With each step, she wanted to turn around, run home and avoid seeing that awful place ever again.
Paul put his arm around her, “It’s going to be alright, honey.”
“How can you say that?” she asked. “How can I ever get over this?”
“You will. I have faith in you,” Paul said.
“I’m going to hold you to it,” Daisy said, managing a tearful smile.
She stopped short of entering the clearing. That terrible day came flooding back. Pepper’s cries for help as he struggled in the water. Her, unforgivably oblivious, sifting through meaningless news articles on her phone, regarding Peppers cries as playing. Peppers had made crying sounds so many times before, turning out to be nothing more than him rolling around in the grass or chasing frightened deer.
Collapsing to the ground, the box slipped out of her hands. She cried, yelled, pounded at the ground. “My best friend! My best friend in the whole world! How did I let this happen?”
Paul picked up the box and helped Daisy to her feet, “Come on, honey. Help me pick a spot.”
She knew exactly where Pepper’s had fallen in but dared not go near. She felt sick thinking of that day, her legs trembling, her thoughts spinning like a merry-go-round. Pepper’s had tracked a large toad swimming in the water to the other side of the lake. Being on her phone, she missed seeing when he jumped into the water in pursuit, something he had never done before. His cries could have lasted seconds or minutes. She didn’t remember anymore. Those terrible sounds played in her head like scalding hot knives piercing her brain.
Paul set down the box and shovel, “I’d be happy to pick a spot.”
“Please,” Daisy said, wracked with regret.
Paul circled the lake to the halfway point and got to work. He was not surprised when he heard their beloved pooch had drowned. Prior to the accidental drowning, Pepper’s started to show his age, his legs and energy level rapidly declining.
Before Pepper’s had entered their lives, he had cautioned Daisy that getting a puppy would be too much work for the two of them. The truth is that he’d done enough babysitting for a lifetime raising two boys, now out of the house living their own lives. Daisy, normally soft-spoken, had raised a fuss, standing her ground, insisting she needed some family in her life besides the occasional visit from their two sons.
Pepper’s final resting place was ready, the hole’s depth and width twice that of the box. He whistled and signaled for her to come over. The box felt even heavier in Daisy’s hands now, as if she was carrying Peppers body instead of a bag of ashes. The bog had transformed from Pepper’s favorite place on Earth to the site of one of the worst days of her life Was this really where she wanted to bury her sweet boy? She cursed the toadstools, the frogs idly laying on them, wishing something, anything, could be blamed besides her own negligence. Paul encouraged her as she repeatedly apologized and carefully lowered the wooden box into the ground.
Paul covered the box with loose dirt and said, “You can’t keep beating yourself up.” He had been saying this all week. It was getting old, fast.
I wish it were that easy, she thought.
Daisy couldn’t find the right words to say. She had come to love the silence of the cranberry bog. Now, she despised it. The frogs should scream, the birds howl, the deer stampeding past, shattering the angry voice in her head.
“Peppers’, Paul began, pulling Daisy into his chest, “I’m grateful you made my Daisy the happiest dog mom on the planet. We’ll miss you.”
“I loved you, so much,” Daisy knelt, patting the ground firm. “I let you down. I know I did. I wish I could go back in time and smash that phone.”
“He doesn’t want to hear that,” Paul said. “Peppers loved you to the moon and back. He’s still here with us now. Tell him how much you love him.”
“What kind of love was he getting when he was drowning, and I stood here like a stupid statue?”
“It was an accident, my love. I know, somewhere, he’s watching, and he doesn’t blame you.”
“I betrayed him, Paul. He’s dead and it’s my fault!” She stood and ran for home.
Paul pleaded for her to come back but she refused. This felt impossible. No amount of sappy words would undo the damage she’d caused. She ran as fast as she could, seeing Peppers peering at her from behind every bush and tree, the jingle of his collar echoing in the forest. Paul soon caught up to her. Taking her hand, she slowed down and they walked home together.
Back home, Daisy threw herself into chores, rewashing the dishes that were already clean, running a load of clothes already cleaned, dusting furniture three times over, even mowing and weeding the lawn, baffling Paul who had always managed the lawn. They decided they needed to get out of the house and splurged on a dinner and movie. It was nine-thirty p.m. by the time they got home. Daisy dove into a book she could recite by heart, staying up uncharacteristically late. Paul kept his distance, giving her the space she needed.
“I can’t ever go back there,” Daisy said the next morning in bed.
“You can, and you will. You need closure. Otherwise, this will fester.”
“I just can’t!”
“I know I can’t say anything to ease the pain, but let me at least say say this. The grief will never go away but gets easier with time. It’s easy to say now, but it’s true.”
“Maybe if he had been hit by a car or died of cancer. This is different.”
“You’re strong. You’ll come to forgive yourself. I know it.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had been on watch.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You’re not helping.”
“What can I do? I feel like this is eating away at you more and more every day.”
She sighed, annoyed, “There’s nothing you can do. There’s not a simple fix for this. I need time to process this. If it’s tomorrow, great. It might be never!”
Paul crept out of bed, “I’ll make breakfast.”
The smell of bacon soon filled the home, drawing Daisy to the kitchen. Paul had outdone himself, cooking pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and sausage links. “Thank you, honey,” Daisy said, pouring orange juice for them both. “Sorry for yelling.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Halfway through breakfast, Daisy broke the uncomfortable silence, “You don’t have to avoid talking to me.” Paul was normally the chatty one.
“I was giving you space.”
“And you have. Talk to me. I can’t stand the quiet.”
“Are you still going to your book club this afternoon?”
She about had a panic attack, “Oh! I completely forgot! I haven’t even started the book.”
“I thought the book you read last night was for the club.”
“No. That’s the one I should have been reading, though.”
“I think you should go anyway.”
“Who says I wasn’t going?
“I assumed you wouldn’t because you said you didn’t read the book.”
“Wouldn’t you find it rude if I showed up to your book club without having read the book?”
“No idea. I’ve never been to one.”
“There you have it.”
“Haven’t you told me the conversations are about more than just the book?”
“Most of the time.”
“So, maybe they’ll talk about something you can talk about that’s not the book. It would help clear your head for a little bit.”
“I don’t know about that. But, it’s a good idea. The worst that can happen is I sit there awkwardly listening for an hour.”
Paul cleared the table and washed the dishes. She was so grateful to have him in her life. The thought of being alone terrified her.
“Better than sitting around here watching me do lawn work,” Paul said, washing the inside of a glass.
“I took care of it yesterday.”
“You did, but you missed some weeds in the garden,” he said with a smile.
“Pity that.”
She remembered not having taken the clothes out of the dryer and, per her latest routine, checked under the laundry room sink to see that Pepper’s wooden box was really gone. It felt off-putting to not see it next to the container of bleach and hydrogen peroxide. She had looked at it every day, sometimes talking to it, other times crying.
Paul was right. She needed to get out of the house as much as possible.
Veranda had hosted a monthly book club since she met her in high school. Over the years, the members had whittled down to a tight knit, ride-or-die group of four friends. Standing outside Veranda’s home, she reflexively gripped a leash that wasn’t there. A leash attached to an excited Peppers, whom the four of them lovingly referred to as ‘Peps, The Book Club Mascot.’
Daisy rang the doorbell. Veranda promptly answered, welcoming her inside, proudly presenting raisin bread. Daisy couldn’t help but feel saddened seeing the row of hooks by the front door where Peppers fluorescent green leash once hung. When you adopt a dog, nobody tells you how painful your normal routine becomes after the loss.
Immediately to the right of the staircase of the main hall was the ‘tea room’, as Veranda called it, where Megan and Christina sat waiting. “There she is!,” the two shouted in unison. Daisy reluctantly welcomed their embrace. Even something as simple as a hug made her depressed.
The four women claimed their seats around the vintage, gold-tinted table. Delicate China clinked together as Veranda poured cups of English breakfast tea and asked everyone how they were doing. Daisy was the last to answer, “Taking it day by day.” Her response put the girls on edge, aware of what had happened to Peppers.
“Crackers and cheese, anyone?” Veranda asked before distributing three cups of tea.
Megan took a bite of the raisin bread, making certain she had finished chewing before proclaiming it was excellent. Daisy grabbed a piece, then Megan and Veranda. Wiping crumbs away with a napkin, Daisy realized she had not applied makeup, having abandoned most of her daily routine for a month now. Worse, she was still wearing yesterday’s dirty clothes. “I apologize, ladies. I must look awful.” With the embarrassment came her sudden confession, “Paul and I buried Peppers yesterday in the cranberry bog. Worst day of my life.”
“That’s a lovely place for him,” Veranda said, “If you like, I’ll do what I can to get those stains out before you leave.”
Daisy didn’t agree about the choice of the burial location but held her tongue, “Oh, no. I don’t want to trouble you.”
Veranda squeezed a lemon into her cup, “It’s no trouble at all. I love a good challenge.”
“You must take us out there someday,” Christina said, sipping from the teacup.
Daisy didn’t want to talk about this anymore, yet she felt compelled to, “That’s the thing. I don’t know if I can go back.”
Megan mercifully switched topics, “Let’s get into it, shall we?” She picked up her copy of A Road To Nowhere, “I thought the book was a little slow at first.”
Veranda balanced her copy in her hands. “I agree. I couldn’t wait for the boyfriend to make a move. What did you think, Daisy?”
Daisy bit her lip, embarrassed, “I’m afraid to say I didn’t read it.”
“Oh!” Veranda said, unsure of how to respond.
“It’s your standard boy falls in love with girl he can’t have because of an abusive father so they get together in secret and eventually escape her father’s clutches,” Megan said.
Veranda laughed, “That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”
“The sex scenes were a bit much. I mean, did the author really have to go into the nitty-gritty bits?” Christina asked, flipping through the book.
“Sex sells,” Daisy said, surprised by her admission.
“Oh, definitely,” Veranda said. The others nodded in silent agreement.
“I wanted so many times for the boyfriend to beat the snot out of the father,” Megan said.
Christina flipped her copy over to the back, “That would have made for a short read.”
“Very true,” Megan acquiesced.
Daisy felt so rude in front of Veranda, who took great care in planning her beloved book club. The last thing she ever wanted was to appear disinterested, especially to Veranda. “How bad was the girlfriend’s father?” she blurted out.
Megan said, “Well, he frequently beat her. One time, he put her in the hospital.”
“He was a real piece of work. It was hinted that he poisoned the boyfriend’s dog.” Christina realized what she had said, saw Daisy’s face turn red, and tried to recover, “He got his comeuppance in the end.”
Daisy imagined Peppers sleeping in the small bed next to the couch. He was a well-behaved houseguest, not counting the times he tried to mount the furniture. Veranda refused to allow him on the furniture and for good reason. The loveseat and chairs were expensive antiques of sturdy quality.
Veranda looked at Daisy, “Is it alright if I spoil the ending?”
“Absolutely, Veranda. I should have read the book.”
“Well, I’ll say I thought the father’s demise was rather fitting, but I think it would be obvious to the authorities who had killed him,” Veranda said.
“For sure! The Dad dies, and the daughter flees to another state,” Megan said.
“How did he die?” Daisy asked.
“Poisoned,” the other three said in unison.
“Same as the dog then,” Daisy said, oddly comforted by the man’s deadly outcome. “Fitting indeed.” She had been subconsciously sipping a lot more tea than usual, fidgeting with the cup. Veranda noticed and poured her another cup.
Christina enjoyed a second piece of raisin bread, setting it delicately on the China plate. “I don’t know if killing the father was the answer. Sure, it made for a juicy ending, but child services could have stepped in so many times, what with the bruises the daughter had.”
“If I remember correctly, wasn’t the boyfriend concerned they might never see each other again?” Veranda said, also indulging in another piece of raisin bread.
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Christina said.
“Not only that,” Megan said, setting the book on the table, “but child services might pin it on the boyfriend. He wasn’t exactly an outstanding citizen.”
“What was the dog’s name?” Daisy asked.
The other three sat in silence for a moment, either perturbed she was so affixed with the fictional dog or they simply couldn’t remember the dog’s name. Veranda flipped through the first few chapters of the book, “Freddy.”
“What kind?”
“Dalmation.”
“The bastard, killing such a beautiful animal,” Daisy said, her cheeks turning red again, “I really should have read it.”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Veranda said, “I agree with you, killing a dog is pure evil.” Her face turned pale, realizing what she had said, “I mean to say, intentionally killing a dog is pure evil.”
Daisy didn’t take it personally. She was the one focusing on the dog’s part in the book. She really wanted to read the story now, just so she could rejoice in reading about the man receiving his just desserts for killing the poor dog. “Veranda, before I leave, may I trouble you for your copy of the book? I’d like to read it.”
“Absolutely,” Veranda said, happily handing her the book.
The hour came to an end. Daisy thanked her friends, especially Veranda, for putting up with her poor appearance and behavior. “Feel free to keep it,” Veranda said.
“That’s very generous, Veranda. Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t let me forget about your dress.”
“It’s quite alright, Veranda. I have to get home soon anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Just give me a minute.” Veranda left the room and returned holding a plastic bag full of Peppers treats, spare collar, leash, and a small plastic container full of white pills. Before Peppers accident, he had been taking gabapentin daily. Daisy hugged her tightly, “Thank you for being a good friend.”
“You never have to thank me,” Veranda said, smiling, “I thought this would be a good time to give you his things. I hope that’s alright.”
“It is,” Daisy said, daring not to look into the bag for fear she would burst into tears.
As Veranda led her to the door, Daisy felt happy she had joined her friends, and grateful Paul had pushed her to go. Staying at home, reveling in her own self-pity, wouldn’t have done her any good.
Megan stood waiting by her car, “I have an idea I think would help you with Peppers.”
Daisy, annoyed and just wanting to go home, deliberately took her time laying the plastic bag on the passenger seat.
“The best thing I ever did was take a dog out of the shelter to walk for a few hours. You don’t understand how grateful the dogs are to get out of the shelter and get some fresh air.”
“I appreciate the offer, Megan, I really do. I just don’t think I’m there yet.”
“I totally understand. If you’re ever in the mood, call me.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Daisy felt sick driving home, imagining walking through the kennels near her home. Dogs in rows vying for her attention, hoping with everything they have in their little bodies she would be the one to take them home.
Megan meant well but it felt too soon to try that.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Paul set aside his crossword puzzle to hug her, “I’m so proud of you for going.”
She kissed him. “Me too. I needed that.”
“What do you have there?” Paul noticed the book in her hand.
She took it into the living room and moaned, “The book I should have read.”
“How did it go?”
“Better than expected,” she said, fluffing her dress, “Let me change first.”
Flinging her clothes into the hamper, she practically jumped into the shower, washing away the grime from her fingers and the memory of yesterday, if only for a moment. How foolish I must have looked! Sad, dirty Daisy. A graying, sad woman looked back at her in the mirror. Nothing a bit of makeup couldn’t hide.
“Feel better?” Paul asked, circling in a seven-letter word, MARTIAN.
She checked her cuticles and dress. All the dirt was gone. “So much better,” she beamed.
Behind Paul in the back yard, a squirrel occupied the green cage feeder just above three crowded hummingbird feeders. The hummingbirds darted back and forth, as if dancing, precisely dipping their beaks in the sugar water. “Squirrels are at it again.” Her comment didn’t surprise Paul. She had filled the nearly empty green cage feeder full of wild bird food only two days ago. Paul had rehung it a few feet above the hummingbird feeders at the end of a hefty branch to try and deter thieving squirrels. Paul had suggested taking pot shots at them with his old BB gun, much to Daisy’s disgust.
“Tell me about that book you brought home.”
“It’s nothing, really. A boy chases after a girl with an abusive father.”
“Sounds like you and me, without the bad Dad, of course.”
“Excuse me, sir. I had to chase you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, silly.”
Daisy recalled the time she had first seen Paul in middle school. Seventh grade, to be exact. He had been deftly swinging from the bars of a jungle gym. Daisy watched, thoroughly impressed. She had grown up very conservative. Don’t jump into new things right away. Take things one at a time. It’s better to be afraid all the time than brave. She wouldn’t even descend the blue slide without seriously considering it first. The boy she watched looked more like a monkey, swinging upside down with ease. Whenever it looked like he was going to fall, he caught himself.
A scared and nervous girl back then, she worked up all her courage to approach him, asking, “Aren’t you scared?”
“Scared of what?” Paul answered mid-swing.
“Falling and breaking something?”
“I’ve fallen before. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re braver than I am.”
“Don’t be a wuss then.”
Daisy had been quite offended by Paul’s comment, regarding him as rude and arrogant. Still, she continued to watch during recess. It was like watching a skilled acrobat performing tricks high up in the air, defying gravity and death. None of the playground equipment was safe from Paul. He scaled metal bars resembling a colorful spider web, wriggled across a rope bridge using only his legs, scaled the rock wall one-handed, and even walked the plastic border circling the playground with both eyes closed.
The last day of school before summer break, she decided it was time to conquer the monkey bars. To her surprise, she found it easy, though she played it safe, keeping her feet on the ground the whole time. Not wanting to be outdone by a girl, the boy followed behind her, his feet never touching the ground. They hadn’t spoken to each other since he had been rude to her. This felt like her moment to get back at him.
“See? I’m not a wuss.”
“You’re not?” the boy said, swinging upside down from one of the bars.
“You don’t believe me?”
The boy crossed his arms across his chest. Being upside down, his light brown hair nearly touched the ground. “The monkey bars is nothing.”
“I’ll show you.” She thought about using the monkey bars again, but she really wanted to impress the boy. The rope bridge would surely do it. She slowly stepped onto the first rope, then the second and the third. Kneeling, she awkwardly swung upside down, keeping her ankles locked together. Trying not to panic, she pushed her dress out of her face then released her right leg to cling onto the next rope. You got this! she told herself. Reaching up and grabbing the net, she accidentally slipped from the rope and fell onto a bed of mulch, cushioning her fall. She laid there a moment, feeling not hurt but embarrassed. Paul would surely gloat about this now, calling her a wuss or sissy. She blew it. They’d never speak again.
“Are you okay?”
Moving slightly, the jagged pieces of mulch scraped her face, and she stood up. Brushing off her dress as best she could, she shied away, knowing the boy was staring at her. “I guess I’m still a wuss,” she said defeatedly, looking at anything but the boy. She’d be the wuss forever to him.
“That—was—AWESOME!”
Daisy perked up, “What?”
“I’ve never seen a girl try it upside down.”
“You haven’t?”
The boy shook his head.
“Did you say awesome?”
“Yes!”
Daisy frowned, “I got stuck and fell.”
“At least you tried.”
“Do you still think I’m a wuss?”
“Did I call you that?”
“You did. I thought it was very rude.”
Paul furiously scratched the side of his head like ants were chewing on his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“I want to see you do it, upside down like I did. Are you scared?”
The boy’s eyes widened, excited by the challenge. He again crossed the rope bridge upside down, shimmying like a gibbon monkey using ridiculously long arms and legs. Daisy crossed her arms, “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Practice.”
“I’ve always been too scared for that type of stuff.”
“I can teach you.”
The bell rang, ending recess and their moment together. “Well, see you next year.” Paul ran with the other kids back to where their teacher stood ushering them inside, “Time to get back to class. Come on, everybody!”
Daisy touched her cheek, swearing it was warmer than usual. She had conquered the monkey bars, challenged the rope bridge and talked with Paul, who thought she was AWESOME! All in one day.
“Come on, Daisy, time’s up.”
The playground was no longer a scary place to be. It felt safe and filled her with a sense of confidence. She could be as good as the boy with enough practice. A scary thought disturbed her, What if he switches schools and I never see him again? He wouldn’t get to see the new and improved Daisy next year.
“Daisy?” It was the boy now calling for her to return. She smiled, her face definitely hot now as she rushed over to him. He offered his palm and she returned hers for a handshake. “I like that name. My name’s Paul.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Paul,” she said, following him inside.
The entire summer, she surprised her overly cautious parents by insisting on visiting the playground as many times as possible. No obstacle or challenge stood a chance against the new-and-improved Daisy Peppercorn. By the time eighth grade started, she felt like Paul, an experienced man-turned-monkey swinging upside down from the rope’s. She was relieved to find Paul the first day, showcasing her success on the playground. They would eventually agree to be boyfriend and girlfriend.
Daisy felt like a fossil reminiscing about her school days, their beautiful church wedding, her career as a journalist, feeling suddenly sick as the timeline of her life car crashed into the loss of her sweet Peppers. “It’s been a while since the jungle gym, hasn’t it?”
Paul laughed, “Yeah.” He filled in another word, VORTEX.
“Make sure to check those after you’re done.”
“That’s no fun,” Paul grumbled.
She often found his completed crosswords incorrect compared to the answer key. Maybe it was better that way. Paul could feel like he had achieved something like he had during his many years as a successful furniture store owner, earning ‘Business Of The Year’ four times.
“Remember the day I fell off the jungle gym?
“You looked like one big ball of yellow in your dress.”
“I felt so stupid.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“You’re sweet to say that.”
“You have that quality in you, the will to overcome challenges. That’s what made you so fierce in the news biz.”
“News was different. I was under a lot of pressure, constantly meeting deadlines.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I suppose.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this again, but I know you, my sweet Daisy, will find a way to visit the bog again.” His comment soured the mood.
“Why are you bringing that up?”
“Because I know it’s on your mind. You loved Peppers far too damn much to never go back.”
“What would I even do if I did? Cry at his grave, feel awful about it every time I go? Is it even marked?”
“It’s a straight shot across the bog. I made a cross behind a tree closest to where I buried him.”
“Why did we even choose the bog?”
“You told me yourself, sweetheart. It was Peppers’ favorite place on the planet.”
“I wish we had just planted him in the yard. Or not buried him at all.”
“We agreed on the location. Many times, honey.”
“What if somebody digs him up?”
“All the more reason to check up on him.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s like running over a deer on the highway and returning every so often to pay your respects.”
“This isn’t a deer, though.”
“I know that. Can you dig him up and bring him back?”
Paul wrote STOP in one of the four-word bubbles without realizing it. “Absolutely not! You’ll come to hate him buried in the backyard, too. Remember how many times you said you couldn’t stand to have him in the house?”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess.”
“Just give it time. You’ll overcome this, I know it.”
“Stop saying that. I feel like you’re putting a lot of pressure on me.”
“Fine. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Did you need help with your crossword?”
Paul erased the word STOP and shook his head. “Why don’t you start your new book after lunch?”
Daisy glanced at the clock. Two p.m. “Late lunch.”
Paul took the hint, setting the newspaper aside to make tuna sandwiches. Daisy washed a bowl full of grapes and prepared a pitcher of lemonade. Tuna on rye with lettuce, onions and a splash of red-wine vinegar had been a staple of theirs since they moved in together decades ago.
“How are the girls?” Paul asked, pouring Daisy and himself a glass of lemonade.
“Their dresses weren’t covered in grass stains,” Daisy said.
“Oh, come on,” Paul huffed, “You always look beautiful, whether your dress is dirty or not.”
“You’re really going for those brownie points.”
“Life’s too short to focus on the negative,” Paul said mid-chew.
“It’s been hard to focus on the positive. Anyway, Veranda was nice enough to lend me the book and Megan offered to take me to the shelter.”
“Animal Control?”
“Yes.”
“That’s bold of her to offer so soon. Let the wound heal a little, at least.”
“Oh? Mister look on the bright side?”
“Okay, so it was a nice gesture. A bit premature, though.”
“I’m not ready for all that.”
“Especially since that’s where we picked up Peppers.”
“Don’t remind me.” Little dogs like Peppers were very popular compared to bigger dogs. They didn’t last more than a day or two at the local shelter. Paul had not wanted a pet. He had grown up with two guinea pigs, loved them dearly, but had no interest in caring for a pet, claiming raising two boys was ‘punishment enough.’ Yet, Paul being Paul, granted Daisy’s wish to adopt a small dog.
On that Saturday thirteen years ago, she had woken up very early to be the first one browsing kennels full of available dogs. Big dogs, all north of sixty pounds, welcomed her presence with a mix of barks and sad stares. Being in her early fifties at the time, she was still strong enough to consider a bigger dog. Paul, on the other hand, had a bad back, and though his issues were minor, she foresaw them worsening in the future. By God’s grace coupled with a dependable line of healthy family genes, Paul’s issues had remained minimal thirteen years later.
That day, the only tiny dog, who happened to be a puppy, lay in a ball, facing away, shivering on a paper-thin bed. Without thinking twice, she filled out an adoption application. The shelter promised she could pick him up in three days. Three days turned into an agonizing week and a half. Waiting around, wondering, hoping, made her angry she had put herself in this position. Paul was no help, claiming the pooch had probably been adopted or euthanized. How he changed his tune when she brought Peppers home. His pink nose and even pinker belly, his wiry, golden coat of fur, his pathetically adorable whimpers for food, love, and attention.
All those memories would flood back if she visited the shelter.
Daisy cleared and washed the dishes before setting them in the drying rack. She spent the rest of the day and most of the evening reading A Bridge To Nowhere. As she predicted, the part about the dog being beaten to death really stuck in her mind. Would she feel better if Peppers had been killed by someone else other than her? There would be someone else to blame, someone she could focus her anger on. The rest of the book felt like a slog until she reached the chapter where the Dad choked to death eating poisoned onion soup. At any other time, she would have felt sick reading about death. Now, she loved it. Karma for killing one of God’s greatest creations. And, for being an abusive father, of course.
The next morning, she couldn’t find Paul. She checked the entire property, even the outdoor enclosure Paul had built for Peppers. He had woken before her ever since she’d known him. He would foolishly risk hurting his back working on something like blowing leaves and debris off the roof or crawl on his hands and knees setting up mouse traps in the garage. Her advice to take it easy fell on deaf ears. Paul was stubborn as an old mule.
Then, she remembered Paul left notes on the kitchen table in the rare event he made plans without telling her. It hadn’t happened in a long time. Indeed, Paul had taped a note to a Raisin Grain box sitting beside a cereal bowl and spoon on the kitchen table. It read,
Good morning, my love!
I decided today is the day to start my own routine of walking to the cranberry bog. I didn’t want to tell you and cause any alarm. I will check on our sweet boy and be back soon.
I made eggs and bacon. Top shelf in fridge.
Paul
The air felt cool enough to wear her insulated coat while she waited on the bench swing for Paul to return. Paul had surprised her with the bench swing on their tenth anniversary, building it out of driftwood he had collected over the years during their trips to the beach. Paul correctly predicted it would become her favorite reading spot, affixing a collapsible, bronze metal footrest painted brown.
Paul had been wise keeping his intended hobby of walking to the bog a secret. She would have made a big fuss and tried to talk him out of it. The sun appeared behind another cloud as Paul appeared.
“You sly dog,” she said, patting the empty seat beside her. “Get over here and tell me all about it.” Paul did, putting his arm around her.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said, kissing him.
“Sorry for not telling you.”
“You’d be sorry if you hadn’t left a note. How was it?”
“Peaceful. The weather is perfect.”
“How’s our boy?”
“I told him we love and miss him.”
“Did the ground look like it had been dug up?”
“You worry too much, honey.”
“Worrying’s what I do best.”
Paul slapped his knees, wanting this to be a happy day, “What should we do today?”
“What are two old retirees supposed to do?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Paul said, stretching his legs.
That’s exactly what they did.
Paul stuck to his word and walked to the bog the following morning. He stopped short of the clearing. Two men in black waders collected basketfuls of cranberries. The duo worked as a team, one straining the cranberries then dumping the lot into a large basket held by the other man. They barely made a sound, gently moving through the water.
Paul waved to them, “Hey there.”
“Greetings,” the older man said, dunking the basket back in the water.
Paul approached and asked, “How many can you collect at a time?”
The dark-haired younger man holding the basket shook it back and forth. Water streamed through the bottom back into the lake. “Anywhere from five hundred to one thousand.”
“Wow! Have you ever cleared a full lake in one pass?”
“That’s what the trucks are for,” the older man said, raising the bucket again. Tiny water droplets fell from his thick beard.
“Why collect them manually?”
“We’ve been collecting the first of the harvest by hand for years. Instead of being transported to our warehouse like the rest of these here, we use the first few to make a special batch of cranberry sauce. It’s a longtime tradition of ours at Maplewish.”
Paul recognized the name. Maplewish is one of the largest players in the fruit juice game. “How many bogs do you have around here?”
“Plenty,” the older man said, dumping his collection of berries into the other’s basket.
“I hope you boys don’t mind, but my wife and I buried our dog here the other day. We’ve been taking walks here for years. Is this considered private property?”
“It’s federally protected. So, technically private land, but it’s not a big deal if anyone visits,” the young man responded. “Did you say you buried your dog here?”
“Yes. I hope that isn’t a problem,” Paul said, regretting he had mentioned the burial.
“No problem at all. I’m sure our boss, Mr. Maplewish, would love that you did that.”
Relieved, Paul joked, “I sense sarcasm.”
“Not at all, sir. Mr. Maplewish is a good, honest guy.”
“I appreciate that, gentlemen.”
“Sorry for your loss,” the older man said. The younger man echoed his sentiment, “Yeah, sorry. You picked a good place for him.”
Paul found the cross he had made of sticks behind the tree closest to Peppers grave. He sat down on the patch of dirt, pretending Peppers could hear him, “I hope your mother will join me one of these days. She misses you greatly. We both do. She’s staying busy around the house to keep her mind off you. I know that sounds bad, but she blames herself for what happened. Peppers, I’m sorry you’re gone. I know the way it happened was scary. You’re in a better place now. No more suffering, no more pain. And look, you have the best view one could ask for.” He meant what he said; the cranberry bog is a peaceful place in the thick of nature.
He circled back to the trail leading home. The two men from Maplewish headed for a man waiting beside a truck at the edge of the bog. The third man began uncoiling a large suction hose. Soon, the bog would be drained, forcing frogs to temporarily abandon their lily pads.
At home, Paul greeted Daisy in the kitchen. “They’re draining the bog today.”
“It always looks so dull after,” Daisy said, comparing the drained bog to a gigantic tomato after having all of its red color sucke out of it. She handed him A Road To Nowhere.
“Did you like it?”
Daisy shrugged, “It has its moments.”
Paul noted the page count and said, “I’ll make quick work of it.”
Megan called Daisy later that day wanting to meet for lunch at a local coffee shop. Daisy agreed, excited to be getting out of the house again. Cup Of Joe’s, a family-owned coffee shop, was Daisy’s favorite in town. The flavors were head and shoulders above the other mega-chain coffee shops, not to mention the long-term staff made an effort to get to know her beyond her first name.
“Hello, Daisy!” Three baristas working behind the counter smiled as she walked in.
The smell of coffee was always so inviting; she’d considered working there part-time just to be surrounded by the lovely aroma.
“Hello, Daisy!” Megan waved, sitting at one of the tables by the window. “How many times a week do you stop by?
“Why?”
“You received quite the welcome there.”
“I’ve been coming here for years.”
“Better than Bruno’s?” Bruno’s was their regular coffee spot that Veranda had introduced them to years ago.
“What’s good here?” Megan asked. The whiteboard behind the counter included an overwhelming array of options.
“Everything,” Daisy smirked. “The French Silk is my go-to.” Preferring her coffee black meant she wanted the darkest, most flavorful roast. Knowing Megan preferred hers with milk and sweetener, Daisy suggested the iced latte.
“Done,” Megan said, reaching for a napkin in advance.
Brooks, a bubbly brunette Daisy didn’t recognize, took their orders then tended to a couple that had just sat at a table behind them.
“You want any food?” Megan asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Veranda told me you borrowed the book.”
“I finished it.”
Megan’s eyes opened wide, “Already?”
Daisy nodded.
“Wow, that was fast! It took me an entire month to read it.”
“I was bored. Well, that’s not true. The part about the dog had me curious.”
“What do you mean?”
Daisy just couldn’t help re-opening the mental wound afflicting her, “I know this sounds morbid, but I enjoyed the part about the father dying the most. He deserved it for what he did to the dog.”
“To be honest, I’ve already forgotten most of it.”
“I think I would have, too. It’s just—with what’s happened—it was one of those books that spoke to me. I know that sounds corny.”
“No, not at all. I totally get it. You know, I have a pretty good idea what book Veranda will pick next.”
Brooks returned with their coffee’s, “Can I get you two anything? Cream or sugar?”
“We’re okay, thank you,” Daisy smiled up at her.
Daisy waited for the coffee to cool down, swishing the small spoon in circles. “What’s the book called?”
“Abrupt Impact. An FBI agent discovers his wife is a double agent. That’s the gist of it.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“It’s a long book, though. Over five hundred pages.”
“Oh, dear. We might need two months to read that one.”
“Listen, Daisy. I wanted to apologize for suggesting a visit to the shelter so soon.”
“It’s no big deal, Megan. It was a kind gesture.”
“It’s just, you looked so distraught at Veranda’s. I couldn’t help but try and make things better.”
“I appreciate that. How bad did I look?”
“You want me to be honest?”
“Always.”
“You looked like you could use a shower and a fresh pair of clothes.”
“Believe me, I hopped in the shower as soon as I got home.”
“I’d have done the same thing.” Megan sipped her latte.
“How is it?”
“A tad sweet, but very good.”
“Exactly why I prefer mine black. No extra junk like my sons get. You’d think they were drinking an ice cream smoothie.”
“Like those spiced pumpkin lattes they rave about in September. I tried one and nearly spit it out.”
“Bruno’s always goes crazy promoting those.”
“I can’t stand their commercials.”
“Speaking of which, why didn’t you want to meet at Bruno’s?” Daisy asked.
“I remember you mentioned this place a long time ago and wanted to try it. So, how’s Paul?”
“Same old, same old. If he’s not working on some project around the house, he’s reading or relaxing.”
“Good old Paul.”
“He scared me the other day going for a walk to the cranberry bog without telling me.”
“That’s not like him.”
“He did leave a note, which I later found after running around the house like a crazy person.”
“Like, a paper note?”
“What other kind of notes are there?”
“Mark and I plan everything in a calendar on our phone.” Mark is her accountant husband and had to have every little event planned out and scheduled.
“Paul and I used to pass notes in school. It’s kind of our thing.”
“That’s so cute. Do you still walk to the bog? I know since—well, I figured it would still be a nice walk to take.”
“Paul and I buried Peppers in the bog. I haven’t been since. Paul has taken it upon himself to walk there every day to talk to him.”
“Are you thinking of joining him soon? Sorry if I’m being too forward again.”
“I absolutely love the trail and the bog. I’m not quite sure when I’ll be up for visiting again.”
“If I can make a suggestion, try to think of it as a couples walk and not where Peppers passed.”
Daisy hadn’t considered that, having walked to the bog only with Peppers for thirteen years. “We’ll see. I just wish it would have happened differently, that he hadn’t drowned while I was supposed to be watching him. It eats me up every day. I feel like I unintentionally left my child in a hot car to die. I don’t know how one gets over that kind of grief.” Daisy realized she hadn’t told Megan, Veranda or Christina how Peppers had died. All they knew was that Peppers passed away.
“It sounds like an accident.”
“Megan, I was on my phone, my stupid phone. I ignored Peppers for that.”
“I’ve experienced lots of animal loss before. All I can say is try the walks. They might help more than you can imagine.”
“What have you experienced?”
“No, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have—”
“Just tell me, Megan. Please.”
“Okay,” Megan said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I had been volunteering at a rescue shelter, cleaning up kennels, taking dogs for a walk, whatever they needed me to do. I was getting ready to leave for the day when I found a chihuahua in a cardboard box, a freakin’ cardboard box. No blankets, no food, no water, nothing. The poor thing was covered in painful, red sores, which turned out to be an incurable bacterial infection. Needless to say—”
“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry I asked.”
“That feeling, like you can’t do anything, was almost too much at times.”
“I assume the heartless owner dropped the dog off and left?”
“The shelter had it all on camera. Not much we could do about it, sadly. The law does very little to punish such behavior.”
“Was anything done?”
“A visit from the police with a nice note asking not to do it again.”
“Sickening.”
“I had to take a break from volunteering after that.”
“I would have quit.”
“There’s good days then there’s bad days.”
“In the chihuahua’s case, there’s someone you can blame. I only blame myself for Peppers.”
“Well, let’s talk about something more fun.”
“How’s Reily?”
Megan beamed at the mention of her daughter, “A firecracker just like her crazy Mom!”
~~~
The bench swing rocked gently back and forth. Daisy laid her head on Paul’s shoulder. Anticipating he would ask, she beat him to it, “Megan is well. Riley has gone off to college. She’s apparently loving it.”
Paul ran his fingers through her graying auburn hair, “Great to hear she’s doing so well.”
“Honey, I think I’m ready to take the walk with you.”
Paul sat up, surprised, “Really?”
“Don’t quote me on that. Don’t set a day or time. I’ll be outside before you when I’m ready.”
“Okay, my love. I’m so proud—”
“No compliments, either,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Not about this.”
“That’s going to be tough.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Daisy woke up earlier every day to prepare herself to take the walk. She read while Paul took his walk. Sitting in the bench swing would be her reward for braving the walk to see Peppers. Paul kept his promise, avoiding any mention of Peppers or the walk. Four days later, Daisy donned her insulated blue jacket and waited for Paul in the back yard. Their home looked more inviting than ever. She could run back inside, go to sleep and try another day. There would be plenty of chances to take the walk with Paul. Peppers wasn’t going anywhere.
Paul soon appeared, opening the back door. “Funny seeing you here,” he teased.
Daisy breathed in the frigid morning air, fearful, her legs stiff. Paul’s warm, mittened hand closed around hers. He walked alongside her up the seven wooden steps leading to the trail. The warmth from Paul’s mitten spread to the rest of her, calming her, strengthening her resolve.
Daisy focused on yellow and red leaves, softened from the morning dew, crunching under their feet, before closing her eyes, imagining Peppers by her side. Her right hand tensed and felt for a leash that wasn’t there. She could hear Peppers collar jingle somewhere in the forest. “I can hear him. He’s here with us.”
Paul played along, “I hear him too.” He made certain to match her pace, gently guiding her along the trail.
“My sweet boy,” Daisy continued, “We’re going to your favorite place.”
Peppers barked, excited as she unclipped the leash from his collar. Peppers burst forward with a torrent of energy. Nothing could stop him tearing through the forest. Squirrels kept their distance, familiar with the ferocious canine, all seven pounds of him.
“Go, boy, go! Take us to the cranberry bog.”
Peppers happily sprinted ahead. Daisy threw the leash over her shoulder, “He’ll meet us there.”
The wind blew sharply against hefty limbs of trees, helping them to shed their leaves. Peppers barked in the distance. They soon stopped and Daisy opened her eyes. They had reached the clearing.
“What a scoundrel! He started without us.” Daisy chased after Peppers into the clearing. Paul followed, his heart heavy. “Peppers, you silly dog. Where did you go?” She excitedly dashed around the bog, looking everywhere for her sweet boy. Peppers loved to hide. His golden coat acted as camouflage within the yellowing grass.
“I have treats for you!” She felt for the cheese bites in her pocket.
“Honey, what are you doing here?” Daisy asked incredulously. Paul had never followed her to the bog before.
Paul continued to play along, “I know where Peppers is.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Show me.”
Paul led her to the spot adjacent to the cross behind the tree.
“I swear I looked here,” she pushed through the grass as if she had lost an earring.
“He’s not there.”
“What? What do you mean he’s not there?”
Paul knelt to the ground, patting the earth, “We buried him here.”
“That’s not funny, Paul. Now, where is he?”
“Daisy, he passed away.”
She took a step back, “What did you say?”
“Peppers passed away.”
“If he’s gone, then why do I have a—” She felt for the leash on her shoulder, then the treats in her pockets. She had neither. The cranberry bog, Peppers favorite place, looked ugly now, like a giant, flat pile of grass. “Peppers,” she whispered. She studied both of her palms like they’d been dipped in blood.
“What have I done?” she said, falling to her knees. Paul started rubbing her shoulder, but she protested, “Please, let me be.”
Every awful detail of that day came rushing back. Her best friend, her sweet boy, was indeed gone. The air felt colder, biting at her skin. She shivered, putting her hands in her pockets. The bog was nothing more to her now than a graveyard. There was nothing left for her here.
“We’re here with you, Peppers,” Paul said, gently resting his hand on the ground. “Mama and Papa are right by your side.”
Daisy crawled over and placed her hand beside his, “How can I forgive myself? How?”
“You come here and talk with him. Let Peppers know you’re thinking of him.”
Daisy wiped cold tears from her eyes. “Do you forgive me? Don’t say you love me. That’s not an answer.”
“I never blamed you to begin with. What happened was an accident.”
“What if I do it again? What if you’re dying and I ignore you?”
“Don’t think like that. This wasn’t your fault. Please try and remember. Peppers was old and fragile. He went quickly. You could have put yourself in danger going after him.”
“He’s gone and it’s my fault.”
“Peppers loves you with everything in his heart.” Paul put his hand over hers, “We will see him again.”
“Why did I even come here?” she pulled her hand away. “I hate this place.”
He pulled her hand to his chest, “Will you walk with me here every day so we can speak with him? Can you promise me?”
“I can’t.”
“Talk to Peppers. Tell him you love him.”
“He knows I love him, Paul!” she yelled. “I can’t forgive myself!”
Paul shied away from her yelling.
She wiped away more tears and let Paul help her to her feet. “Let’s go home.” Daisy walked ahead of Paul, annoyed that he had tried so hard to make her promise in her distraught state. It would have been a lie. Losing someone you so dearly loved was always hard, returning to the scene of the crime even worse. The bench swing would not be her reward today. She had accomplished nothing.
Paul avoided her, giving her the space she needed, which she was thankful for. She appreciated him more than he would ever know.
She hated this feeling. How could such a calming place like a cranberry bog feel like such a torturous hell? Maybe it was time to find a new place to walk, although the street they lived on remained steadily busy, with no sidewalk to speak of.
“I’m not weak,” she whispered under the blankets. It didn’t need to be said; she knew she was strong. The cranberry bog, like the playground, was just another obstacle to conquer. She kicked off the covers. Enough crying, enough tears! She couldn’t avoid and hate the cranberry bog forever.
She left the sanctuary of the bedroom she had holed up in all day. Paul tended to the never-ending scourge of weeds in the back yard. She made supper early, making enough for her and Paul. Without telling him, she retired early.
In the very early hours of the morning, Daisy frantically silenced the alarm, hoping not to wake Paul. “Wish me luck,” she whispered, blowing him a kiss. She had two hours before Paul woke to take his walk. The last time she woke at the crack of dawn was when her second son, Monty, required daily encouragement to run three miles for cross country before the school day started.
The temperature being in the fifties, she bundled up with mittens, hat, and a zip-up fleece underneath a thick, insulated jacket. The first rays of sunlight appeared, trickling through the trees, reflecting off wet leaves from the night’s rain.
Full of a sense of confidence she couldn’t explain, she braved the trail. The voice in her head repeatedly told her to give up, to turn back. “I’m not weak. I’m not weak,” she kept saying. This time, she didn’t reach for an imaginary leash or treats or hear Peppers bark. Taking a couple deep breaths, she entered the clearing and stopped where Peppers had drowned. She could hear his panicked cries, the freezing cold water after she jumped in, frantically feeling underwater for him. She had tried to save him long after she told herself he was gone, lightly pressing on his belly after blowing air into his mouth. Her panicked, horrified screams shattered everything she had come to love about the cranberry bog. That awful walk home felt like it would never end.
She checked behind each tree closest to the bog, remembering what Paul had told her of the cross he had made. “There you are,” she said, walking adjacent from the cross to the earth nearest the bog. The drained cranberry bog looked not ugly and gloomy but wet and beautiful. Crickets chirped while frogs croaked. Clouds of mosquitoes danced everywhere. There was life here. Beautiful, thriving life. Life that would be around long after she and Paul were gone
“I’ve missed you,” she said, not with sadness but with tenderness.
She knelt and removed her mitten, touching the earth, “Looks like you have a few friends to keep you company,” she ran her fingers through the dirt the same way she used to run them through Peppers golden fur.
“I know you’re probably sick of me telling you, but I miss you. I love you. Papa and I are going to visit you every day.”
She imagined Peppers running as fast as his little legs would carry him. He would be chasing something in the underbrush before giving up and running back into her arms.
“Tomorrow, I’ll read you a story. I think you might like it.”
“Daisy! There you are.” Paul ran into the clearing and didn’t stop until he had reached her. He crumpled to his knees and fell backwards onto his back. Exhausted, he said, “Honey, I was very worried about you. You didn’t leave a note. I tried calling you.”
She had left the phone at home on purpose.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Daisy turned her head, looking from the bog to Paul. Regarding him lovingly, she said, “I’m fine. Our sweet Peppers is with us.”