Thirty-One Letters

Eighteen

Grief is in two parts.  The first is loss.  The second is the remaking of life—Anne Rolphe

On the couch sitting side-by-side, Hadley's parents gaped at their daughter.  They were hardly breathing, hadn't spoken.  They could have been statutes.  If it wasn't for the blinking. It seemed to be the only motor function that they were capable of. 

Hadley waited for them to say something—anything really.  She wanted to speak but knew that they needed a moment.  Their eyes kept flicking from her to the dog that had decided he was bored of the entire fiasco and had already made himself at home by stretching out for a nap on the plush carpet. 

Not for the first time, Hadley wondered why he'd been returned.  He seemed like a normal dog so far.  He liked to play and he'd inhaled his first bowl of kibble.  He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary that were grounds for dismissal...Yet.

"You bought a dog," her mom finally said.  The words were slow, like she was testing them out.

"Yeah.  Well, rescued if we want to be accurate about things."

"Why?"

Because your dead son told me to save a life and this was the first thing my friend's little brother suggested.  That was the truth but it didn't sound like a good idea to say out loud. 

Hadley smiled at them timidly.  "Um...Because he needed a home.  And we had one."

Her dad was just staring at Bandit.  The dog snored and he jumped, eyes growing wide like he hadn't expected Bandit to make a sound even though when Ty had dropped them off a half-hour earlier Bandit had come sprinting into the house barking his face off. 

"And you're going to take care of this thing?" her dad asked slowly.

"Bandit," Hadley stated firmly, "and yes.  I am."

Her parents shared a long look. 

"Okay," her dad sighed.  And then he clapped his hand against his leg.  "C'mere boy."

Bandit woke at the sound of the clap.  He looked disoriented for a moment until her father clapped again. Then, he raced over, half-jumping into her father's lap.  He slobbered all over her father's leg, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.  

"How was therapy this morning?" her mother asked as she tore her eyes away from the dog.

Hadley stilled.  Somehow, in all the chaos and challenges of the past few days, she'd forgotten to keep track of the days.  It was Sunday.  And she hadn't gone to the Good Mourning Group.  "I, um, forgot to go today."

"Hadley—"

"Honestly," she said, warding off whatever tangent her mother was about to dive into.  "I just forgot.  I swear.  Casey set me up on a blind date for today and with everything going on it just...slipped my mind.  It won't happen again.  I promise."

"I'm holding you to that."

Hadley nodded.

A fleeting smile passed over her mother's face.  "Who's the guy?"

She groaned.  "A train-wreck hopefully never to be seen again."

"Ouch.  So you went on a disastrous date and then bought a dog?  That's kind of a leap."

Hadley perched on the edge of the chair and watched as Bandit started chewing on the edge of the couch, even as her dad tried to ward him off.  "Yeah.  I mean, I saw Ty and his brother earlier and they gave me the idea and it just kind of happened."