Demi
“Come on, Max. We only have a mile to go.” My words are chopped up by big breaths. I can’t remember the first time I ran through these woods, but it soon became a favorite thing for Max and me to do after I was discharged from the hospital three and a half years ago.
Dr. Nesser is great, and he has a wicked sense of humor, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t glad to see the back end of him. I was just shy of my twenty-fourth birthday when I was discharged. Dr. Nesser is sixty-three.
Enough said.
“If you hadn’t stolenallthe bacon from the skillet, you wouldn’t be so sluggish.”
I laugh between breaths when Max barks out a reply. I can’t understand a word he says, but I guarantee he’s cursing me. He does that a lot lately.
The older he gets, the grumpier he gets.
When I reach the top of the range, I wipe away the sweat streaming down my face with a rag before taking in the landscape. Montana is truly breathtaking no matter what season you are in. The air is fresh, the people are kind, and their bluish-green lakes fascinate me. I can stare at them for hours, mesmerized at how their coloring alters depending on the day’s moodiness. If it’s overcast and miserable, they appear greener. If it’s a cloudless day, they’re almost the color of the sky.
If memories of my childhood weren’t sloppy black pits of nothing, I’d confidently declare I’ve said something similar before, but since they’re nothing but goop, I yank my water bottle out of my backpack, then squeeze a generous portion of water down my throat.
Once I’m rehydrated, I bob down to Max’s level. He eyes me excitedly when I dig my hand into my backpack to pull out the collapsible water bowl I’m never without. Don’t let his heaving lungs fool you. He isn’t eager for a drink. He’s hoping the snack he saw me sneak into my backpack before our run falls out.
He’s so quick off the mark, half the time, I don’t even realize I’ve dropped something before he’s gobbled it up. I doubt it even hits the floor.
“One snack, then you have to drink some water. It’s important for our bodies.”I think.
I don’t get the chance to wallow in self-pity about my inner monologue. I’m too busy ensuring two female hikers that they don’t need to take a wide berth around Max to have a pity party for one.
Max is harmless, but I understand people’s hesitations. He has that look about him, that protective gleam I’m positive my daddy had even with my memories never returning, but he wouldn’t harm a fly.
Except perhaps Benjamin.
Serves him right, though. He is as quick out of the gates as Max, but his drug of choice is glazed donuts. Max still hasn’t forgiven him for the time he ate the last glazed donut. It doesn’t matter if we buy a box of fifty or three, everyone this side of the country knows Max dibbed the last donut many years ago.
Ben didn’t believe my claims.
He learned otherwise when Max gnawed his backside to express his annoyance.
Ben steers clear of the donut cabinet now.
While laughing at the memory of the time Ben got stitches in his right cheek, I toss Max a second stick of jerky before packing away his empty dog bowl. We do this run a minimum of two times a week, but the scenery never gets old, and neither does the smell.
After sucking in a big breath that will see me through a hectic week, I toss my backpack onto my back, then commence our jog down the mountainside. It’s warm today, so I don’t need to watch my footing like I do in the winter. I’m like a newborn foal in snowy conditions. I’m on my ass more than my feet.
With Max helming our race down the track, we make it to the parking lot with a new personal best on my stopwatch. It’s amazing the hoops people jump through when they’re scared. I don’t need to remind them to stick to one side. Max’s presence almost sees them leaping right off the track.
“Home to shower? Or breakfast first?” I ask Max while latching my belt into place. “Well, it is technically a second breakfast for you, Mr. Piggy. It’s my first since you stoleallthe bacon.” I scratch behind his pointy ears when he flops his fat head on my thigh with a sniffle. “I’m not angry at you, Maxxy. I could never be mad at you.”
I shake my head to rid it of the confusion that forever bombards it when I say something that seems familiar. I’ve undertaken all the programs Dr. Nesser suggested to regain my memories. Nothing worked. It truly does appear as if I buried them deep inside my head because they hurt too much to remember. It seems like the cowardly way to go about things, but I can’t be too hard on myself. I don’t know what I went through, so who’s to say I don’t have good reasons to bury the truth?
“I’m okay,” I assure Max when he pulls me from my thoughts by dragging his tongue up my cheek. “I was just thinking we should probably pick up some bacon on the way home. Ben will get super grumpy if he’s denied an artery-clogging staple.”
A giant grin stretches across my face when Max expresses his opinion with a toothy snarl. He doesn’t care what Ben wants. He tolerates him for my sake, not because he likes him.
It’s that way with all the male members in my life.
32
Maddox
The air outside of Harbortown Correctional Facility is the same air inside its walls, but when I walk past the barbwire-topped fences, I suck it down like it’s infused with Demi’s perfume.
