Starting With You

11. I didn't mean to do that.

Jensen

I TOSS A TENNIS BALL FROM MY seat on the patio chair behind my apartment building in the afternoon sun. The dog quickly scrambles after it, incorrectly anticipating where it'll land and trips over it, tumbling across the grass a few times. He shakes himself off, hunts down the ball, grabs it, runs back to me with it in his mouth, and drops it at my feet.

It's been two weeks since we found the dog, a week of fostering this rambunctious puppy. Teddy has tried everything to locate his family, but his appearance remains a mystery.

"Sit," I sternly tell the dog. When he continues to stand, wagging his tail so hard he nearly topples over sideways, I repeat the command. It takes two more times before he finally sits.

Since he didn't immediately obey, I make him wait awhile before I throw the ball again, his body quivering in an effort to sit still. When I raise my hand to throw the ball, he takes off before I even have a chance to release it. Chuckling at his enthusiasm, I chuck the ball toward the tree line, making sure it doesn't go too far. I learned that mistake the hard way and then had to go hunting for the lost dog.

"Never thought I'd see the day that my big brother would have a puppy." Sutton is standing on the edge of the patio, her sudden appearance startling me.

"He isn't mine. I'm just fostering him until Teddy can figure out what to do with him."

The dog abandons the ball when he realizes we have company and trots over to my sister, jumping up on her. Laughing, she pushes him off, bending over to scratch him on the head. "Hey there, buddy. Is my brother treating you ok? Wanna come live with Aunty Sutton? I bet you do, huh? Who's a cutie? You're a cutie."

I raise my brows at the sound of her baby talk. "Cut it out, Sutton. He's a manly dog. He doesn't like that cutesy talk."

"His tail tells a different story, brother." She pulls out a chair at the table and sits across from me, pulling the sunglasses off the perch on her head and sliding them on her face. The calendar ticked over to May this week, and the days have been gradually warming up.

"What brings my baby sister to the farm on a Saturday?"

"I didn't come to the farm, J. I came to your house. You just happen to live at the farm."

I wave a hand at her, letting her know the distinction means nothing and to answer the question anyway.

Sighing, she says, "I'm just coming from visiting grandpa. It wasn't a good day."

Our grandpa has dementia and is currently living in an assisted living care center. On his good days, we can see glimpses of the spirited man he once was and hold meaningful conversations with him. His bad days, however, remind us of what the disease has taken.

"Shit, Button, I'm sorry." I nudge her foot under the table. "Was it bad?"

"He didn't remember me at all. Got mad. Threw stuff at me. Finally, I just left. I didn't want to upset him further." She looks off into the distance where the dog has abandoned the boring humans for a pile of sticks.

"Those days are rough. Sorry, sister."

She waves her hand dismissively, a sure sign she wants to change the subject. "I forgot to tell you that I went to the library a few days ago. You know, to look into the missing girl?"

The topic of my Uncle Don's mysterious safety deposit box contents completely slipped my mind in the last few weeks. Apparently, it's been on Sutton's mind, though.

"There wasn't much to find, unfortunately, which is weird, right? A little girl disappears and causes mass panic but then the story just seems to stop. One day it's front-page news; the next its zapped from existence."