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On my way to the barn, my phone vibrates with a text:
Kelley:
You around? I was gonna stop by.
Come on over. I’ll be in the studio.
While I’ve got my phone out, I send a message to Penny:
Good morning, little darlin’. How’s my favorite person today?
Penny:
I’m good! :-) Someone just brought in a sugar glider! It was so cute. How’s your morning?
I’m sure it wasn’t half as cute as you. ;-) I’m just about to attempt making something cool out of an antique silverware collection while I wait for Kelley to get here.
Penny:
I can’t wait to see! Lily said she’s working at the diner ’til midnight, so she won’t be home for dinner. How do you feel about a picnic on the pier?
I smile at the screen She always cheers me up, no matter how shitty my day is.
I feel like I might be crazy about you. Can’t wait to see you. Xo
Guilt festers in me like poison. Jeff is eight years older than Lily, and here I am sending smiley faces and kisses to a girl twenty-one years younger than me.
It’s different, though. No matter how hard I’ve tried to fight my feelings for Penny, it doesn’t work. It feels as incomprehensible as sawing off one of my own limbs, detaching something I need to make me whole.
I don’t even know how—or when—things happened with Penny. I feel like it was always there, bundled up in a little cocoon, and then one day, it emerged, fully formed, full of love and life, a natural part of my life.
Another other half.
I still sometimes think Brianna sent her to me, sprinkling her with clues I couldn’t miss—the same color eyes, the similar hobbies and talents, the red hair—her favorite color. But if she did send her, why? To be a friend…or something more?
After staring at the cutlery collection for a good twenty minutes, I finally come up with an idea. If I bend the spoons and forks and snip off some handles, I can form them into little birds. I’ll make a standing tree with outstretched branches out of wood and fasten the silverware birds to the branches.
As I work, something brushes against my ankle. I look down to see a small, black, fuzzy animal at my feet. I jump back, thinking a baby skunk got in the barn. It bounces toward me, tiny, curled tail wagging.
It’s not a skunk.
It’s a black Chow puppy.
Shocked, I immediately kneel on the ground, and it wiggles its way onto my lap.
My chest feels like it’s going to explode with bittersweet emotion when the puppy starts licking my face. I’m slathered in puppy breath. It’s adorable and brings back so many memories of Cherry at this age.
“Kelley!” I yell. “Get your ass in here.”
He saunters through the door with a big shit-eatin’ grin on his face.
“What the heck is this?” I demand with a wry smile, holding the puppy.
“A gift.”
“Are you insane? I don’t need a puppy. I have so much fucking work—”
“Shut the fuck up, Fox. You know you’re already in love with it.”
I stare at the puppy’s jet-black eyes. It stares back at me with its purple tongue hanging out. He’s right. It took two seconds for this little furball to own my heart.
“You’re crazy, man. You know that?” I say.
“I know how much you miss Cherry. And I’m gonna be gone for a while, so I figured you needed a little friend to remind you to keep your shit together.”
I cradle the puppy against my chest. It smells like baby powder. “Gone? Where are you going?”
A wide grin spreads across his lips. “Just on a world tour with Seven Shot.”
I almost drop the puppy. “Holy shit, you’re serious?”
“Yup. I had a meeting with them a few days after the concert. It’s wild, man. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”
“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I gently put the puppy on the ground. “You owned that stage. And your voice? Fuckin’ killer. Everyone there was talking about how you sound exactly like Dylan. It was almost eerie.”
“I’m not even tryin’ to sound like him. My voice just sounds like his.”
“When do you leave?”
“Two weeks. One of my guys is gonna take over my jobs while I’m gone, and we’ll see what happens from there.”
“Dude, you aren’t going back to landscaping after this. I think you hafta get that through your head.”
He shrugs with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes that seriously shouldn’t be there. “Who knows? I’m just taking this ride day by day.”
“You better not forget me when you’re famous.”
His eyes land on the beginnings of my project. Rubbing his chin, he says, “Are those birds made out of forks and spoons?”
“Yeah.”
“Crazy cool. Is this for the exhibit?”
“No, this is a commission.”
“I love it. I don’t know how you come up with this stuff.”
