The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 22

Maribeth put down her book when she heard tires screeching, followed by the terrible yelping of an animal in pain. She sprung from her chair and watched the heart-pounding developments from her window, her foot tapping on its own accord.

A black dog with a white-tipped tail lay in the street. Its back legs kicked as it fought to rise from the pavement but it moved as though the connections in its body had broken apart like it was no longer one dog but a collection of pieces of dogs that were loosely attached.

She stood with wide-eyed horror, frozen in place at the window. She wanted to turn away but was compelled to watch the scenario play out.

"Wait! Nick! Where are you going?" Ms. Margery Brennan's piercing voice bounced up the walls of the stairwell. "Nick!"

A man dressed in coveralls bolted out of the apartment building, waving his hands in the air at approaching motorists as he drew closer to the dog. The animal thrashed in a panicked state, kicking, twisting, and yelping. The man dropped to his knees, slowly reached out a hand, and gently stroked the animal's side, which seemed to calm the wounded dog.

"Are you going to fix my refrigerator or not?" Ms. Brennan shouted from the porch of the apartment building. "Nick!"

"Get me a towel." He gestured toward a white van and said, "My truck's open. Get me a towel."

"I will not," she replied. "I have cookies in the oven!" She returned to her apartment.

A good Samaritan, a middle-aged woman wearing sunglasses, got out of her car and rushed to Nick's van. She opened the passenger door and found a stack of old, stained towels.

"Bring 'em here," Nick said.

She walked a wide circle around the writhing dog and then dropped the towels in the street beside Nick. He covered the dog's torso with a towel while stroking and reassuring the animal.

He called to the bystanders that had gathered in a small group on the sidewalk. "Does anybody know a vet? Or a doctor?"

Car horns blared. The woman walked toward her car, directing the traffic that had backed up behind her vehicle. "Turn around! Go back the other way! Turn around!"

"Who hit this dog?" Nick called out.

"It was a red car," a guy wearing a gray hoodie said. "It drove off."

On his knees, Nick muttered some curse words and continued petting the dog. "Somebody get some water over here," he shouted. "Please hurry."

An irate driver burst out of his vehicle and stomped up to the scene of the accident. "Move that dog out of the street!" he said. "You're blocking traffic. Move that damn dog or I will."

Nick turned, his face red. "Don't you even think about it."

Heated words were exchanged. The argument threatened to escalate into a physical altercation when a police car rolled up, lights flashing.

"We need a doctor," Nick pleaded. "This dog needs help."

"You need to move that damn dog out of the street!" shouted the irate driver. "I'm gonna be late for work."

"What is wrong with you?" Nick roared. "Could you please be a human being for just a few minutes? Is that too much to ask?"

A spontaneous applause broke out amongst the bystanders.

From her third-floor window, Maribeth watched as the dog rose shakily to its feet, limping badly on its hind legs, one leg bent at an unnatural angle. Nick knelt beside the animal, holding it in place, petting its head, and whispering words of comfort.

Maribeth needed a closer look. She bolted out of the bedroom, and down the hallway toward the front door, her feet smacking the floor in an uncoordinated rhythm.

Aunt Sonya's head, adorned with a shower cap, popped out of the bathroom. "Maribeth! Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," she said and rushed out the door.

"Maribeth, get back here!" Sonya, still damp from bathing, pulled on her robe and stuffed her feet into her fluffy slippers. "Maribeth!"

The little girl rumbled down the steps, nearly stumbling in the process.

Frederick Gibbs opened his apartment door and called after her. "Slow down there, little lady. You're gonna take a terrible spill."

Moments later, Sonya descended the stairs from the third floor. "Maribeth! Don't you go outside!"

Maribeth fumbled with the front door and then came to a stop on the front porch.

She watched the police officers transport the dog to their car in a towel, as though he were lying in a hammock. Carefully, they loaded the animal into the back seat and wrapped him up before driving away.

"He's gonna be okay," an officer said to Nick.

Sonya trudged out onto the porch, her face pink, and trying to catch her breath.

"Did you hear that? Maribeth said. "He's gonna be okay."

"Don't you ever run out of the apartment like that again."

"I won't."

She watched Nick get into his white van. The road-stained amateurish signage on the side of his vehicle read: NICK&SON, the misshapen letters squeezed together too tightly.

Maribeth felt like she'd peeled back a curtain and accidentally stepped into a world where there was an order to things, and the order made sense. The air smelled fragrant, and the sounds of the neighborhood took their turn introducing themselves to Maribeth's consciousness. She was invigorated. This was a life worth living and it had nothing at all to do with hemp or soap or the man or faceless giants. She didn't realize that she was smiling.

Maribeth loved reading about her role model and trusted hero, Lizzie living autonomously, making the decision to build her treehouse, and without anyone's help or advice, she succeeded. It lifted Maribeth's spirit every time she turned the pages of the book. But where Lizzie's story was conveyed with words and illustrations, the story of Nick and the rescued dog unfolded right before her eyes. Nick was a real person, a man she deeply admired, a man she might never have known had it not been for that black dog with its white-tipped tail. People like her neighbor, Margery Brennan saw Nick as a man who repaired refrigerators and maybe dishwashers and clothes dryers. It didn't matter. Maribeth saw Nick for who he really was. A living, breathing hero who she desperately wanted to emulate.