Swaying, she heads up the short walkway to her front door; soon to be out of my sight. But just before she disappears, she stops and looks up. Toronto is a bright city from space, and light pollution means it’s more difficult to see the stars. There are millions of pinpricks of light in the black blanket of night, only we can’t see them from our front yard.
I can’t see the speck that Rachel is staring at, if it is a star. For all I know, she might be trapped in an alcohol-induced trance.
Maybe I should see if she’s all right.
As soon as the thought pops into my head, I shove it out with enough force to make any object move. No way. The way Rachel was carrying on in the bar about my name and…
She cut her hair.
I didn’t get a great look at her the night of the dog incident, but I vaguely remember a tail of hair snaking over her shoulder. Brown, I remember. The way she’s standing now, I can’t see a ponytail or even a braid. Now, there’s only a cap of dark hair.
It’s possible that the toque she’d worn had some sort of hair extension attached. Or maybe I’m imagining things, since even I have to admit I’m not the most observant when it comes to the female species.
But if I’m right, Rachel cut her hair.
I should have said something to her earlier. She might have liked that.
But then she would have lingered longer at the table and who knows what she might have come up with to talk about then.
I stand silently by the window and watch her stare at the sky. Most of my students would undoubtedly call this stalking, but Bryce would berate me for not going out and offering myself to Rachel. Steven would stay here and watch her, long after she went inside. And then, no doubt, he would spend long minutes at the window, waiting to catch sight of her again. Amal would—
My sister continually tells me I need more friends. Maybe she’s right if I’ve got the voices of my students running through my head.
Instead of listening to them, I let the curtain fall, hiding Rachel from my view, and go to bed.
4
Rachel
I wakeup with a vodka-induced headache and an odd sense that I did something wrong.
For the second morning in a row.
Not the headache, thankfully. Even though I had been tempted to drown any residue of sorrow with a stiff drink the previous night, I did not. Mainly because Liv called.
I had nothing stopping me last night, hence the headache. And a suspicion that whatever I did wrong, I did to Boen. Again.
Not that I did anything—much—wrong the night I first met him. Rusty had business to attend to, and who am I to stop a dog from pooping.
I’ve tried that and it didn’t end well.
I didn’t tell Boen to step in it. If he waited until I got a bag, or even offered me one, none of that would have happened. If he hadn’t come out, all guns a-blazin’ to yell at Rusty, he would have a poop-free sock.
But even though I did nothing wrong, it still twists my stomach.
As I pick up the dogs for the morning stroll, I decide that I’ll apologize to Boen. I’m not one for constantI’m sorrysand insincere apologies, but sometimes a heartfelt apology makes everything better.
For me. And maybe for the person I supposedly offended, but unless it’s something that makes me feel really bad, I don’t give them much thought. Demi says I lack compassion and she’s probably right. But saying I’m sorry at the right time, in the right way, helps smooth everything over.
I decide this as I’m three houses away, the dogs in a panting semi-circle around me. Sometimes I just walk them around the neighbourhood, but if I have the time, I bundle the six of them into my beat-up SUV and take them to one of the dog parks in the city for a good run.
I might not have much compassion for humans, but I do for our four-legged friends.
Of course, as soon as I decide to apologize, I see Boen on the sidewalk coming at me with a determined stride that falters as he recognizes me.
“Are those yours?” he demands, stopping about ten feet away with a very wary look at the dogs.
“What are you doing here?” I ask at the same time. He’s wearing jeans for once and a Captain America T-shirt. Is that because I accused him of looking like a superhero? I feel a smirk beginning. “Don’t you work?” I add.
