Caribou Island

Rhoda was trying to save a golden retriever, a dog locked in a shed for weeks without food. There had been enough water to keep her barely alive. Red-gold hair filthy and matted, ribs and spine protruding, a skull with slack hanging skin. Still good-natured despite everything. Licked Rhoda’s hand, looked at her with love, then had to put her head down again, no energy left. This killed Rhoda, the abuse of animals. She didn’t understand how anyone could do this.

You’re a good girl, Rhoda said as she set up an IV drip. We’re going to fix you right up. A bit of struggle, frightened at the prick of the needle, but Rhoda stayed close and calmed her. You’re beautiful, Rhoda said. We’ll make you strong again. But she knew the dog might be dead by morning. She hated this part of her job.

So she went on lunch break. She had to get out of here, and it was almost two o’clock anyway. Full raingear just to get to the car. Coming down in buckets, the wind insane. Cold, too. She wondered about the wisdom of driving anywhere in this, idled in the parking lot and tried again to call her mother, but couldn’t get through. She’d given her mom a cell phone, but there was no cell phone service on the island, maybe. They should have tried it before, not waited until a storm. What if something went wrong out there? No way off the island, no way to call anyone.

Damn it, Rhoda said. She tried a couple more times, then backed out and drove slowly onto the spur highway. She wanted a chicken pot pie. Comfort food. Fattening, but she needed something.

Another run through a parking lot with puddles, then she was settled in a booth drinking hot tea and waiting for her pie. She felt lost, alone. Rainy days did that to her, but there was also the abused dog dying, her parents unreachable on that island, and Jim not wanting to marry her. And her best friends had all left over the years, moving to places like New York and San Diego and Seattle, better places. No one stayed unless they were stuck. So there was no one to talk to. Her mother, but she couldn’t reach her mother.

Rhoda put her forehead down on the table and just stayed like that until the pot pie arrived.

Tired, darling? the waitress asked.

No, just unmarried and unloved.

Ah, darling, the waitress said, and gave Rhoda’s shoulder a squeeze. The way I look at it, men are like that pot pie, but God forgot to put in the filling.

Ha, Rhoda said. Thanks.

No problem, darling. Just let me know if you need anything else.

Rhoda lifted the top carefully, set it aside on the plate, portioned crust with filling, not wanting to run out at the end. The pie was good. Gravy for the soul. She felt like crying, but held back. Was it too much to ask for, to get married? She was willing to give everything, her whole life, so was it really too much to ask in return?

Jim was the one who’d asked her to move in. Easy access to sex. Maybe that’s all she was to him. The drive across town an annoyance, and her apartment small and dark, with old carpet. Maybe asking her to move in was just a way to not have to see that apartment again. She was only providing a service. Sex and food and house cleaning, a few errands and help with secretarial crap. She should be getting paid.

She took a bigger piece of crust, because she wanted it, even though the ratio would be off at the end. Everything was supposed to be different. He was supposed to love her and want to take care of her. The care should follow the love. It should be obvious.

Rhoda closed her eyes and stopped chewing, stared into the empty dark space behind her eyes for a while. She could feel her mouth pulled down in a frown, and she didn’t care if anyone saw. Her face heavy, her cheeks old. She finished chewing and swallowed. Nothing inside her except longing. For a home and a husband and the end of worry about money, the end of worry about her mother. She would give up her time to get to the other side. Not live these weeks or months if she could fast-forward to when things would be better.

Darling, the waitress said, and Rhoda opened her eyes. Only dessert is going to fix that one.

Rhoda smiled. A sundae, with everything.

You got it.

Rhoda already felt a little full, but she finished the last bites of her pie to clear the decks for the sundae. Expensive lunch, and she ran out of crust, but oh well.