It won’t. Even he can’t possibly believe that. Nothing will ever be the same again. Not for me, and definitely not for Kristin when they find her. But we’ll try, won’t we? We can start over again. We’ve done it before. We’ll just have to do it again.
“Alright,” I say, sniffing back the tears. “I’ll move into a motel.” It’ll eat up my meager savings, but I’ll worry about it later.
Breakfast happens in silence between us. I don’t have much of an appetite, but I manage to choke down a few bites of omelet and drink half a glass of orange juice before I decide it’s all I’m going to eat. Beau doesn’t comment on my lack of appetite, and when we leave, I’m surprised that he takes a dog with us.
“Ares, right?” I ask when the large Belgian Malinois jumps onto the back seat. “Named after the Greek god of war. Violent, savage, and very dangerous.” I turn to Beau when I say the last word, and I suspect that the owner is in every way as dangerous as his dog.
“You remember their names after a single introduction,” Beau comments as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“It’s easy enough to remember Ares, he’s the only Belgian Malinois,” I point out as he starts the engine. “The other three are German shepherds. The female one is Athena, named after the Greek goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare.. The two males, Zeus and Hermes, named after the king of the gods and the messenger of gods, are a little hard to tell apart.”
“You seem pretty knowledgeable about the Greek gods.”
“Oh, I spent a lot of time in the library growing up. My parents couldn’t afford to hire a babysitter when I was younger, so they would drop me off at the library on the weekends with a packed lunch and pick me up at the end of the day. I had a whole phase in middle school when I was obsessed with Greek mythology.” I reach back and brush a hand through Ares’s fur. “Why did you name them after the Greek gods?”
“It’s symbolic,” he says, surprising me with his answer. “It represents qualities and—”
“Immortalizes them, in a sense.”
His eyes briefly find mine, surprise flickering in them. There’s something else too, but it’s gone before I can make sense of it. It’s odd, finding understanding in the eyes of a man I wouldn’t think I’d have anything in common with. But when I look into those green eyes, I see loss. The need to make someone or something feel permanent.
But nothing lasts forever.
The thought becomes more evident when we reach the small house my parents left me, the one Kristin and I have shared for nearly two years. The couch we saved for months to buy has been torn to shreds and the TV smashed. Those pretty flowers she Kristin loves have been knocked over, the vase broken. Our peaceful little corner of the earth, our safe haven, violated.
“Fuck!” Beau curses as he shoves into rooms, opening and closing the doors to make sure the house is empty. “They moved faster than I expected.”
“They ruined everything,” I say with a sob, reaching down to hug Ares when he nudges my knee. “They destroyed our home.”
“We’ll make them pay.” I lift my face from Ares’s fur at the anger in Beau’s voice. His jaw is clenched, and those perfectly curved lips are pressed tightly together. Just then, he looks everybit as dangerous as the god of war his dog is named after. “Pack everything you need. I’m not taking you to a fucking motel. You’re coming back home with me.”
***
It felt like another violation.
Watching all those cops walk through our little house, stepping all over the pretty rug that Kristin and I bought at a yard sale. All those strangers in our little space, photographing damage, dusting for fingerprints, and recording statements.
Gathering evidence, they called it. Our little sanctuary was now a crime scene.
I didn’t think there were any more tears left to spill, and I was worn down, body and soul, when we finally made it back to Beau’s house.
That was hours ago. Several hours since I locked myself in his guest room, watching the sun change its position through his floor-to-ceiling windows, thinking about my best friend. Worrying about her. Hating myself for being safe in this fortress of a home while my friend is locked up God knows where.
I hate it.
Hate that I wasn’t with her when she left yesterday afternoon. That I didn’t try harder to stop her or call her sooner to make sure she was alright.
Christ.
I don’t come out for lunch or dinner, and Beau, sensing my need to be left alone, keeps his distance.
Long after the sun has set, I remain seated on the bed, staring into space. There are movements downstairs, the whining of a dog outside my door, but I make no move to come out. I stay rooted in place, lost in thought, and after a while, Icatch the soft paddle of paws as they leave the spot outside my door.
Still, I don’t move. Not even when the silence downstairs sets in as everyone retires. Instead, my mind reverts back to the day Kristin and I first moved in together. We’d pooled our savings to buy necessities but still couldn’t even afford a bed.
“Someday, we’ll move out of this place,” she told me that first night while we lay on a futon, staring up at the ceiling, feeling incredibly proud of ourselves. “I’ll become a model and earn millions upon millions of dollars, then we’ll move out of this place and into a nicer one. We’ll meet guys and date. Oh Rosie, I can’t wait to fall in love. My guy will have muscles for days and a charming smile. What about yours?”
“I don’t know,” I told her honestly. “I’ve never thought about it. Growing up, I just wanted to find a job and give my parents something better than the life we could never quite escape. Now, maybe I’ll give it some thought. I’d like him to be strong and have a nice smile too, I guess.”
