Five Shadows

Chapter Twenty-Six

I spoiled the living daylights out of Barbara the next day. The vet called in the morning and said she did great all night long. I was able to pick her up immediately. She was a new dog from the one I dropped off. I thanked the vet over and over until she said, "I actually have some other patients, so..." As soon as I got her home she had fresh water, special fancy food from the refrigerated section of the pet store, and I busted out a new toy for her too. I was worried she'd have bad memories of my apartment, but she marched right in and made herself at home. I took a couple pictures for Ryan and Marnie to prove she was okay. Marnie texted, "Pretty baby! So happy she's feeling better!" Ryan sent two thumbs up and typed, "She's lucky to have you!" Ha! That was a joke, but I vowed I would do better.

I snuggled with Barbara all day. Around one o'clock I got a call that there was a delivery for me downstairs. I made Barbara promise to stay put and ran down to the front door. A kid thrust some flowers in my face. A balloon was attached that had a little dog on it holding a sign that said "Get Well!" In the elevator, I pushed the dancing balloon to the side and rooted around for a card. "To Barbara," it read, "Stay out of the onions, dawg! Love, Mario." I giggled. Barbara didn't find the note as funny as I did, but she was fascinated with the balloon.

"Barbara wanted me to tell you to tell Mario thank you for the flowers and balloon." I texted Ryan.

"That guy is always sending flowers to the ladies!" he replied.

It was nice to have a day off and I definitely wanted to be with Barbara to make sure she didn't relapse or anything, but it allowed me too much time to think. Mostly about my dad. I couldn't get Eric's root beer float stories out of my brain. He never did anything like that for me. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid me.

Except.

There was one day.

A night actually. I was a freshman in high school and was a nervous wreck for my first week of exams. I was up studying my algebra long after everyone else went to bed. Except my dad who stayed late at work. Probably scheming and conducting shady business, I realize now. This was only about a year before he was arrested. But if I push past that unsettling fact, I remember going downstairs for a snack. He was watching TV. Something on PBS I think. I stuck my head in the living room when I heard the TV, thinking somebody just forgot to turn it off, but there he was. Sprawled on the couch, hands crossed behind his head, watching a cooking show.

"Dad?"

"Nora. You startled me." He immediately went back to watching. The chef was making buso ruco. He was so calm in the kitchen. His copper pans so shiny. I sat on the floor in front of my dad. When he didn't kick me out, I took the liberty of upping the volume a few notches. The chef pounded the veal flat (??MORE). The mere suggestion of the meal's scent made my mouth water. "I could see you doing something like that," my dad said into the dark, the blue light from the TV altered my vision and maybe my hearing too. My dad had never once suggested I may be good at something.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You'd be a good cook."

The next day, I pored over my mom's cookbooks until I found a dish that I thought I could manage. She did a ridiculous dance when I offered to make dinner that night. "Mom, are you raising the roof? No."

"Woop! Woop!" She wiggled around, palms to the sky. "I get the night off cooking!" Despite her over-the-top reaction, I was delighted to be in charge. It was nothing fancy. BLAH. Nobody raved about, but my dad went back for seconds. And that was all the encouragement I needed. My mom rarely cooked the rest of my high school career. It became my job and my joy. What I thought would be my life. I suppose I owe that to my dad.