Thought I Knew You(52)

My eyes started to water. “No, thank you. I understand. Our dog ran away once. I’m glad I could help.”

I gave a little wave and began to walk down the steps, off the porch. I knew I’d made the right decision. Our family had moved on. I couldn’t see doing to Jimmy and Leo what had been done to Hannah and Leah.

I stopped and turned, wanting to know the answer to a question, but not sure how to ask. “How old is he?”

“We aren’t sure,” Ben said. “We found him about, oh, maybe a year ago now? We put up signs and called the ASPCA, but no one ever claimed him. He’s such a great dog; we couldn’t figure out why someone wouldn’t want him back. He’s an escape artist, though, as you can tell.”

I almost laughed, wondering what they would say if I told them the truth. I felt a little sad that I never thought to call the ASPCA. Would I have even seen the signs? My memory of that time was of drowning. I had been reclusive, barely leaving the house, certainly not driving all around New Jersey. I doubted Dad had driven ten miles out to put up our posters.

I had chosen saving myself over saving Cody. Watching him with his new family, I realized Cody hadn’t needed saving.

One of the boys—Jimmy or Leo, I wasn’t sure—bounded off the steps with Walter behind him and ran toward the backyard. They shut the gate, and I could no longer see them.

Goodbye, Cody.



I climbed in the van and drove home.





Chapter 23



The summer arrived with ferocity, setting more than one high-temperature record in the month of June alone. In July, we spent our days in the yard between a sprinkler and a baby pool. I achieved a nice summer tan, but the kids became restless. By midday, we had to seek refuge in the air-conditioned house, where we rambled around, irritated and snapping at each other.

I enrolled Hannah in day camp while preschool was out of session, and that helped break up the days. I still had not gone back to work, but the end of my sabbatical was looming. I had yet to make any firm decisions about my future. At the end of summer, I promised myself. In the meantime, we were bored.

“Why don’t you take the girls to the Arnolds’ summer home in Brigantine?” Mom suggested one day.

The Arnolds were my parents’ closest friends and owned several homes all over the country. Mom and Dad rarely paid for a vacation, but the drawback was they always had to vacation with the Arnolds. Deb and Don were nice people, but Deb talked more than anyone I’d ever met, including my mother, which was a feat. Don hardly ever said a word, probably because he was so used to not being able to get one in edgewise.

“Would the Arnolds be there?” I asked pointedly.

“No, they’re in… I’m not sure actually, possibly Africa, although in July? That seems odd. You’d think it would be too hot to safari in July, but then who knows? It’s the other side of the world. Aren’t their seasons different?”



“I have no idea. Listen, Ma, do you think they’d let us? That actually sounds like a great idea.”

She shrugged. “I can give you Deb’s cell phone number.”

“Can you call them?” I suggested hopefully. I had no desire to talk to Deb. Who knew what she’d say? The call would surely be awkward. Most of my conversations with acquaintances were awkward.

Mom paused, clearly thinking along the same lines.

I put a hand to my forehead. “I’ve been through so much…”

Mom rolled her eyes. “There will be an expiration date on this, you know.” She dug through her purse for her cell phone.

“Really? At some point, you’ll stop having sympathy for me and my kids whose father ran away and possibly died? That seems kind of heartless.”

Mom swatted me on the arm and dialed Deb’s number, stepping inside to talk to her. Almost a full half-hour later she emerged, shaking her head. “That woman never stops. Yes, they’re in Africa, and no, it’s not hot. In fact, it’s their winter! Isn’t that neat?”

“Neat. What about the house?”

“Oh, Deb doesn’t care. It’s not baby-proofed. She was a little concerned over breakables. But they aren’t renting it this year because they’re going to be in Africa for three months. But I can go over to their house tomorrow—the one here in Clinton—and pick up the Brigantine key.”

“Really? That would be fantastic!” I wondered why we had never done it before—Greg and I with the kids, as a family. I had actually never even thought about it. We’d always traveled for our vacations—North Carolina, Florida, and once, Maine.

I planned the trip for the following week, from Monday until we decided to come home. Probably a week or less, I figured. I packed and loaded the van with everything from bread and peanut butter to dishes, pots and pans, towels, bathing suits, and sunscreen. The doors to the van barely shut, and by the time we pulled out of the driveway, I was exhausted. We spent the first hour singing songs that all had the same lyrics, “We’re going to the beach!” with different melodies as dictated by Hannah.