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And I kind of… miss him.
I look for him at the Fourth of July parade that Saturday, but the firefighters are positioned well ahead of the library. Marty, who loves having an excuse to drive the old bookmobile, cranks it up, and we drive at a stately pace down Main Street as Trudy, Gigi, and I toss candy and flyers and bookmarks at the crowd and wave at everyone like beauty queens. By the time we reach the end of the parade route, the hook and ladder has been redirected back to the station. I’m unreasonably disappointed, though I couldn’t say exactly why.
In the evening, I head to the fireworks with Joyce, Hunter, Bailey, Nikko, Lucky, and Anthony. Nikko brings some amazing wine and a picnic basket full of equally amazing food. I try to focus on the food and the company, but I’m distracted by my constant lookout for the Chief.
It’s stupidly frustrating to know he’s here somewhere in the crowd yet not be able to see him. It’s also stupidly frustrating that I feel his absence so acutely. He’s just a guy, after all. A very attractive, nicer-than-I-thought guy, but still—just a guy.
I end up holding my baby godson most of the evening, partly to give Joyce and Hunter a break, but mainly because he makes me feel a little less like the odd one out. Surrounded by no fewer than three blissfully happy couples, I’m feeling my single-hood more acutely than usual.
That’s what this weird, restless need to see the Chief is, I decide. My friends have all paired off and I’ve got the hots for my neighbor, so naturally, I’m obsessing over him. It doesn’t really mean anything.
With some effort, I ignore the tug on my attention that makes me want to keep looking around. At the end of the night, the fireworks climax in an explosion of light and color, we clap and cheer, pack up our picnic blankets, and head back to our cars.
And still no sign of the Chief.
* * *
I’m woken up by a boom of thunder followed by a smattering of rain on my window. I snuggle a little deeper into my covers, thinking that the rain will make the Chief happy. More rain, fewer fires.
Thunder rolls again and rain spatters more heavily on the window. I pull my covers around me, grateful that I’m inside where it’s dry.
Then, dimly, I become aware of someone knocking—pounding, rather—on my front door. Blinking fully awake, I sit up. A glance at the clock tells me it’s well past midnight. I grab my robe and run downstairs, alarmed. A knock at my door at this hour can’t be anything good.
I get a glimpse of the Chief through the sidelight. He’s standing under the porch light, soaked through and holding a flashlight. Relief mixed with excitement spikes through me at the sight of him, and yes, I notice the way his wet t-shirt molds to his muscles.
Then I see the look on his face and my dirty thoughts go out the window.
I pull open the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Jackie’s gone,” he says. “I didn’t latch the gate properly earlier and he took off when I let him out. Between the fireworks and the thunder, I think he was really freaked out. I thought maybe you might have seen him and let him in?”
Of course I haven’t seen the little dog, but I know that what the Chief is really asking for is help.
I blink the last bit of sleep out of my eyes. “Hang on,” I tell him. “Come in. I’ll help you look. Just give me a sec.”
He shuffles in, his large frame seeming to take up my entire front hallway. I open the coat closet, ditch the robe in favor of a waterproof jacket, slide my bare feet into some rain boots, and snatch up my keys from the hallway table.
“Wait a sec.” I dash into the kitchen, wrap some slices of smoked turkey in a paper towel and stuff it in the pocket of my raincoat. Gross, but maybe it’ll be helpful. If Jackie’s anything like other dogs I’ve known, the smell of deli meat can overcome even the worst thunder terror.
I hand the Chief an umbrella and grab one for myself and we step out into the storm. The rain is heavy but the air is warm against my bare legs. It could be worse.
“Jackie!” we take turns calling. I peel off a bit of turkey and hold it out. I’m not sure if the rain will wash away the scent, but it’s worth a shot.
“What is that?” the Chief asks.
“Turkey.”
“Good thinking.”
Can’t lie. The admiration in his voice gives me a little thrill of pride. “Do you know how long he’s been out?”
“Not long. He was home when I came back from the fireworks around eleven.” He sighs deeply. “He was hiding under the bed, just terrified. Poor little guy was really freaked out by all the noise. He wouldn’t go outside at all, then he woke me up about twenty minutes ago to go out. I was half asleep so I just opened the door for him, and then there was a god-awful crack of thunder, and he was just gone. I should have put him on the leash and taken him out properly.”
The self-recrimination in his voice is heartbreaking.
“I should have said something about the gate,” I say apologetically. “It’s never latched well. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Jackie!” he shouts. “Come on, boy! Turkey!”
