Saving Sadie

"You can't be going back already, Mom. You just got here. We need to find someplace around here for you to live."

Ann was still doing most of the talking. Rick was still sitting somewhere in the vicinity, but not really there. And that made all of the difference to Jan. Jan wouldn't have come down at all if Rick hadn't gotten on the phone and told her to do that.

It had all gone OK between Jan and Rick for maybe the first two hours. Rick had tried to be reasonable and welcoming, but it just wasn't a go. He was steeped in it, the resentment. And Jan could well understand he would be. But none of it had been either Frank's or Greg's fault either. Jan didn't care if Rick went after her, but carping on Frank and Greg just couldn't go undefended. It didn't matter that in trying to rekindle a relationship with his mother, Rick was avoiding putting the blame where it belonged and was scapegoating with the men Jan had loved and lived with out of wedlock. Over the first day, Rick became more and more remote, retreating into the shell he'd been in for years now in relation to his mother, and was less and less adamant about Jan moving down near him.

And now, by the morning of day two, it was obvious that there wasn't any place for Jan here—let alone for Sadie. The apartment was small and in an urban area. There was no place to walk Sadie and no place for her bedding here. And no place for Jan here. Jan could feel the tension in the air. She couldn't do this to Rick and Ann. She'd known she had to get back on the plane almost as soon as she'd gotten off it.

"I've signed papers for a home up there. I think I should give it a try. It would be wonderful if you'd do a little checking around here—for someplace that will take a dog and would pledge a no-kill placement for when I'm gone. Maybe that would work out. Staying here, though, wouldn't work out. I'm sure we can all see that. I don't want to do that to you."

Jan looked over at Rick, sitting on the sofa, half watching a basketball game and half tuned to the conversation between Jan and Ann at the dining table. But Rick wasn't disputing anything Jan was saying.

"Sadie, Sadie, Sadie," Ann said, in exasperation. "Sadie and Frank. That's all you can talk about. Sadie isn't your dog—not really."

"I am Sadie's human. I'm responsible for Sadie. And Sadie saved my life," Jan said stubbornly. She was trying her best to keep her cool. They just seemed not able to understand. To them Sadie was just a dog. That was one reason Jan didn't want to be here when she died. She loved her son and daughter-in-law, but she simply couldn't entrust them with the well-being of Sadie after she'd gone. She'd just have to find some arrangements of her own back home—someone she could trust not to abandon Sadie.

And then the rest of what Ann had said hit her. "Frank? What's this about Frank? I haven't been talking about Frank."

"Yes, you have, Mom," Ann said. "You've been talking about Sadie and Frank the entire time you've been here. Not about Greg—but I can understand that. About Sadie this and Frank that."

"She's right," Rick chirped in from the other room.

"Why, I don't think I've mentioned Frank," Jan said. "I haven't even been thinking about him."

"I think you have, Mom," Ann said. Her voice went quiet and serious. "And I think that's the problem we've been dancing around. You're getting forgetful. You're repeating things without seeming to know you've already said them."

"Oh, I don't think so," Jan said. She did, in fact, know so. She just didn't realize it was that obvious. This was her own personal hell. She didn't know it was so apparent. They'd been good about accepting her explanation of the condo fire. They hadn't shown any suspicion of what she knew—that she was losing her mind and that this was what had caused the fire.

"At the funeral, Mom," Ann said quietly, "At Greg's funeral. How many time do you think you asked if it was right to bury him in a brown suit?"

"Oh, I don't think I would have asked anything like that," Jan said.

"Three for four times, Mom. You asked it three or four times—and each time you made it sound like it was a new thought. I knew then, Mom. The stove fire in your condo just confirmed it."

"I knew before that, honey," Jan said, finally giving up the fight. "That's why I've been looking into retirement homes. But I can't just abandon Sadie. I've got to set something up for both of us. And I don't want to give her up if I don't have to. I can't do that to her. It isn't just that she was Greg's dog; she saved my life."

Ann stood and reached out to the kitchen counter and took a tissue from a box and blew her nose. She turned from Jan then and Jan could see her shoulders quake.

"It's hard on all of us, honey," Jan said gently. "I haven't been much of a presence in your and Rick's life and it isn't a very good time to impose."

"You're not imposing, Mom. You're family."

"But I'm not crazy yet, Ann. I'm trying to work it out. Let me try. You look around at homes near here—if I come down here, I will have made other arrangements for Sadie—just give me a little time up there to see what can be worked out."

Ann didn't answer—but she didn't argue either. Jan looked over to her son, sitting on the sofa and staring into the TV set. She could see that Rick's shoulders where quaking as well.

Chapter Seven

Jan was sitting on her favorite park bench, Sadie sitting at her side, her tongue hanging out and panting, both enjoying the early fall briskness in the air. The condo was still being refurbished, but Jan had it on the market. She knew she wouldn't be going back there, and that was a relief, really. There were too many memories of Greg there.

They were still in a motel. Jan didn't move into the retirement home for another two weeks. She had had to sit on the waiting list for a month, but it was a miracle it wasn't longer than that. Even that facility had a restriction on how many residents could have pets. And Sadie was probably too big for their rules—they were bending over backward to accommodate her; Jan couldn't push them. But she had been very persuasive. She was proud that she had managed that by herself. Maybe she could do more for herself than she had permitted herself to believe she could as long as Frank and then Greg were around to take care of her.

"Hi. Mind of I join you?"

Jan looked up. The voice sounded familiar and so was the face, but she couldn't quite place it. While she was still searching her brain for clues, her mouth formed the words. "Hello yourself, Frank. Yes, I'd be pleased for you to join me."

That's just exactly the sort thing her mind was starting to do to her. her mind knew it was Frank. It just neglected to make that clear to the Jan, who, increasingly, was becoming a different, separate being from her mind.

"Fancy meeting you out here," Frank said. He reached over and scratched Sadie's ear, and she gave a little whine—a whine of happiness this time—and she put a paw and muzzle in Frank's lap, inviting him to continue the scratching, which he did. Sadie liked men as much as Jan did.

"Yes, this is my favorite place to think," Jan said. "As you well know," she continued. "And I have a lot of thinking to do."

"World weighing heavily on you, Jan?"

"You could say that. Sadie and I are moving to a retirement home in a couple of weeks." Jan said it almost as a challenge, almost as if Frank had walked out of her life just yesterday and would be shocked to know that Jan was old enough to be moving into a home. There was a difference in their ages, but nothing like there had been between Jan and Greg. Jan mentioning the onset of old age could be expected to give Frank a pang of discomfort for his own advancing years.

"You don't say."

"Yes, I'm retired now."

"I know. I'm teaching at your university now myself. Same department. Modern playwrights."

They shared a little laugh over that. Such amusements had always been a comfortable sharing between the two of them.

"And Greg . . ." Jan didn't know if she was moving on shaky ground here. She wanted Frank to stay here, talking to her for a while. She didn't want him to get mad and leave. Jan desperately wanted someone to talk to, someone who knew and understood her, someone like Greg—or like Frank. ". . . Greg is gone now. He died. Two months ago."

"I know that too," Frank said softly. "I was there . . . at the service and the burial―both."

"Oh," Jan said. And then she looked closely at Frank again. Yes, yes, she knew now that Frank had been there. The middle-aged man standing apart from the others at the cemetery, not appearing to belong to any of the other clumps of people standing about.

"You didn't . . ."

"I didn't want to intrude. It wasn't the best of circumstances to reappear. But I wanted to be there. I know what he meant to you—that he was good for you. I wanted to be there. For you."

"Thank you," Jan said. "You were good for me too, Frank. You were always good to me."

"Not always," Frank answered. "I know now that I crowded you too much. I don't blame you that you moved on. But I felt a great loss then."

"But you never—"

"It was lonely . . . without you."

"Me too," Jan said. "That's the worst, maybe. The loneliness once someone is gone. I went to Hudson's the other day. But . . ."

"You did? I did too . . . out of loneliness. But I felt more alone in there than outside. We may just have missed each other."

"Yes, we may have," Jan said. A line of enquiry to check out with Romance writers, she thought. Narrowly missed connections that had an impact on their later writing. She'd have to remember to jot that note down somewhere so that it didn't slip away from her—and maybe look into unexpected events that also influenced them later too.

"You know, I tried the conventional route," Frank said. "I married an actress. Not something I'd recommend. Breaking that up had more reasons than my still carrying the torch for someone else . . . and her liking women, but not really liking anyone better than herself."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a grand experiment. And it helped me immensely in convincingly playing the jilted husband in a string of Broadway successes after that. I had my name in lights, you know."

"Yes, I know. I read the Times."

"Do you now?" Frank's voice sounded pleased. "You and Greg made a dashing pair, you know. I sort of kept track of you too. He was a handsome devil. Looked really good in that brown suit there at the last, at the viewing."

"You think so?" Jan asked. "You don't think he would have looked better in blue?"

"No, the brown was perfect."

Jan wasn't sure that Frank could have said anything to please him more. But then he proceeded to do just that.

"Sadie's a nice dog, Jan. If you ever need someone to take care of her, give me a ring. I live nearby. I can bring her to the park. She seems to like it here."

Jan couldn't readily come up with a response to that. All of a sudden, weeks of tension seemed to be flowing out of her body and her eyes were tearing up.

"In fact, Jan, I'd kind of like to have Sadie come live with me now. I think we're bonding here." And, indeed, Sadie looked like the petting Frank was giving her was better than sex.

"Excuse me?" Jan managed to say.

"But I'd have one proviso, something that could be a deal breaker. A hard requirement."

"And what's that?" Jan's hopes deflated as fast as they had inflated.

"You'd have to come with her. I've got a pretty big house. And I'm lonely rattling around in it. I need a companion . . . and a dog."

"Frank." Jan's voice was strangled. "Frank, you don't want to do that. I'm going crazy. I sometimes can't remember anything but what's in front of my face on a given day."

"Aren't we all, Jan . . . going crazy that is. And I rather fancy being in front of your face every day."

"Frank, I can't impose . . . I can't ask . . ."

"It's my idea, not yours, Jan. It would be more for me than for you. And I want to have your dog. And I won't take her unless you come along."

"But I'm going into a home in two weeks. I've paid a deposit."

"Pffft."

Jan sat there, dumbfounded, while Sadie almost climbed up into Frank's lap and started licking his cheek.

"And I lied about wanting a companion," Frank continued. "I do want that, yes, but I want a lover too."

Jan blushed up at that. "Frank, when I die, will you do something for me—I mean something more than make sure Sadie still has a good home—if she's still here then?"

"Sure, anything," Frank said, smiling a little smile in relief now, knowing that this was Jan's capitulation to his proposal. The negotiation had been particularly delicate; it was Frank asserting his will again. That had spelled disaster before. But now, knowing how dangerous the edge of that was, there was a good chance it wouldn't happen again.

"I'd like to be cremated—and separated into three. You and Greg and Dennis. I can't choose, and I don't want to worry about it anymore."

Frank said nothing other than a simple "yes." Even though Jan was rambling, Frank knew exactly what she was asking, and he felt a thrill inside, as ghoulish as it was, that he was one of the three.

"And, Frank."

"Yes?"

"You won't leave me, will you? Not the way Greg did."

"I'll try not to. That's as much as I can promise. I think you know that."

Jan nodded her head. It was a good answer. As good as she had a right to expect. She continued sitting there in silence for several minutes, something trying to rise up in her mind, something that seemed important. A question she had. She hadn't quite surfaced it, when her mouth formed the words, supported by the necessary breath for delivery. "But how did you find me, Frank? How did you know I'd be here?"

"You don't know, do you?" Frank said. "He didn't tell you, did he?" He was wearing a tremulous smile. He stopped petting Sadie with one hand and reached over and touched Jan's arm. Jan shuddered at the touch. It didn't matter how old she was; she was still capable of shuddering at Frank's touch, melting to him, wanting him.

"Rick. Your son, Rick, called me, Jan. He said that you needed me, and he begged me to come for you—and for Sadie too. He said you both needed me; said he wanted to meet me too. It was a nice thought, but he didn't have to beg me. I would have come anytime I knew you needed me. Anytime since the day you left me."

He paused then, both of them struggling for control of their emotions.

But then, being the Frank she knew, he twisted the tail of if. "But it's the dog I'm really after, you have to understand. It's not you and me I want to save—it's Sadie."

Jan was beside herself; she didn't know whether to cry at the poignancy of what Frank had just told her or laugh at his joke about really being after Sadie. So she did both at once. Frank had always been able to move her to both tears and laughter at the same time.

"But, you know, I'm surprised. You haven't asked," Frank then said.

"Asked? Asked about what?" Jan said.

"Asked about Peter. Asked how he's doing. If he stands at attention."

Jan reddened up, still having enough memory left to remember what they'd always referred to as Peter in their lovemaking—as if it had a life of its own.

"In case you are still interested, Peter is doing just fine. And misses you and would like to be inside you as soon as I can get you up from this park bench and home.

Jan did laugh at that. A long, lusty, on-the-journey-back-to life laugh.