The Foxe & the Hound by R.S. Grey
I take my time, letting the water turn from warm to scalding before I step under the stream. It doesn’t solve all of my problems, but it helps. My lavender-scented body wash has a baptismal effect on me. In the ten minutes I lather myself up and rinse off, I decide things are going to be okay no matter what. If Adam and Olivia are back together and about to enter marital bliss, I can take it.
It’s not as if he and I made a commitment to one another. We spent a few weeks having fun. Admittedly, I let myself fantasize about more, especially lately. I didn’t want to indulge myself at the time, but it almost felt like a sign that he bought the white farmhouse. It’s my dream house, and he bought it. Sure, I’m not crazy enough to move in with a guy after only a few weeks of knowing him, but eventually…I imagined us living there together, Adam, Mouse, and me.
The rain seems to grow even louder as I finish washing off. Thunder rumbles as if it’s inside my apartment, a sign that the storm isn’t going to let up any time soon, which is just as well. Rain suits my current mood just fine.
I step out and dry off, waiting for Mouse to rush in and lick the water droplets from my shins. He doesn’t come, which probably means he’s still pouting about having to leave training class without his beloved.
“Mouse, believe me, she would’ve just broken your heart! I’ll let you have some chicken with your dinner. How’s that?”
There’s no jingle of dog tags, no sign that he’s listening to me at all.
Stubborn dog.
I wrap a towel around myself and step out of the bathroom.
My front door is wide open, forced against the wall by the heavy wind and rain. I rush forward and close it, nearly wiping out on the puddle of water in the entryway. I must not have locked it before my shower, and it doesn’t take much to push open the old door. Yet another thing I need to bring to Mr. Hall’s attention now that I’m a paying tenant again.
I hurry back to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to wipe up the mess, and that’s when it hits me.
Oh god, where’s Mouse?
I turn and check the apartment. He’s not in kitchen. He’s not in my bedroom, or the bathroom. The apartment is tiny, and it takes me all of five seconds to conclude that Mouse is gone. He ran through the open door. He bolted while I was in the shower and now he’s out there in the middle of a thunderstorm.
I yank open my front door and shout his name.
“MOUSE! MOUSE! Come here boy!”
I run to the end of the walkway and shout his name again, but he’s nowhere in sight. There’s no telling how long the door was open. He could have a ten or fifteen-minute head start on me. I rush back into my apartment and yank on the first clothes my hands touch. My keys are in my hand and I’m running barefoot to my car.
This isn’t happening.
I refuse to acknowledge that Mouse has run away.
He’s never done anything like this before. My front door has accidently flung open in the past and he’s never cared. He’s just a puppy. He was probably terrified when the door slammed open, and he bolted.
I force my key into the ignition and crank my car to life. It resists, but starts nonetheless.
First, I circle through the apartment complex’s parking lot. I roll down my window and shout his name, ignoring the pellets of water hitting my face and soaking the inside of my car.
“MOUSE!”
Nothing, just more rain.
“MOUSE! C’MERE BOY!”
He’s not here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MADELEINE
I try not to panic, but I can feel the worry rising up in my throat like bile.
He cannot run away.
He’s my Mouse.
He’s the one constant in my life.
He depends on me, and I depend on him.
I go back to my apartment to confirm that I’m not crazy, that he isn’t just asleep on the couch. I harbor a false sense of hope that he’s been there the whole time, that he would never leave me. Too bad it’s not the case. I run back outside.
“MOUSE!” I shout once more before running back to my car and broadening my search. I turn right out onto the street. I want to be a math wizard, want to calculate how far he could have gone if he left my apartment five minutes ago, ten minutes, fifteen.
I stick to the right lane and creep along, shouting his name into the fading light of the day.
Cars honk and swerve by me, annoyed at my snail’s pace.
I hardly notice them over my shouting and shouting and shouting.
I check the YMCA parking lot. It’s far, but he has a motive for being there.
Class is over and the parking lot is empty. I loop around and check for Mouse’s black and brown fur, trying to spot the little white patch near his eye. Another bolt of lightning lights up the sky followed by an ominous BOOM. The thunder is loud, too loud. Mouse has to be scared out here all by himself.
I give in to a wrecked sob, but just one—it won’t help if I lose it.
I have to keep it together. I have to find my dog.
I loop around the surrounding neighborhoods then check outside Daisy and Lucas’ house. I glance across the street, at Lucas’ old rental house, but the lights are off and there’s no dog sitting on the front porch. I put my car in drive and continue. There’s no rhyme or reason to my search other than to check the spots I’ve frequented with Mouse in the past. There’s Hamilton Brew; they have a dog-friendly patio out front, but he isn’t there. I stare at their dog bowl getting pelted by rain and I remember not long ago when Mouse and I walked to the coffee shop early one Saturday morning. He waited while I went in to order a coffee, then we sat there together for hours. I read and he people-watched at my feet, accepting any free head pats or ear scratches that came his way. But now, the water bowl is overflowing from the rain and I need to keep going.
Next, I drive out to the dog park I’ve taken him to a few times. The rain is coming down in sheets, so hard that I have to squint to detect any movement outside. He’s not in the fenced-in area. He’s not roaming around outside. I pinch my eyes closed and try to think. He’s out here in the storm, scared and alone. He could be anywhere. Terrible images of him cowering beneath a bridge or hiding in a ditch bring out another sob. Don’t think like that, I remind myself. He’s Mouse, he’s probably having the time of his life getting wet and muddy. I just need to find him before the fun is over.
I take a deep breath, and because it feels so good, I force another.
I will find him, and I’ll bring him home.
I put the car in reverse with plans to head back and check to see if he’s returned to my apartment, but the car doesn’t move. My tires spin in the mud, digging themselves deeper and deeper.
SHIT.
I bang my hands on my steering wheel.
SHIT SHIT SHIT.
My whole body is shaking. Panic is starting to creep up within me, overtaking logic and reason. I quell the sensation and assess the situation: I’m at the town’s dog park, which is a couple miles away from my apartment. There is a raging monsoon taking place outside and now, my car is stuck in the mud.
I glance down and my heart lurches in my chest.
When I ran out of my apartment earlier, I was panicked. I assumed I would find Mouse within a few minutes. I didn’t think to slip on shoes. No purse. No phone. I’m wearing sleep shorts and a tank top.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say to myself, trying to calm down.
My shaking hands clench the steering wheel and I let myself have three seconds to despair in my complete ineptitude. I have no phone. I have no phone, which means I can’t call someone for help. I have no phone, which means I’m stuck out here until I can get my car out of the mud. My lungs won’t inflate. I can’t breathe. I think I’m having a panic attack, but there’s no one around to confirm or deny that for me. I’m by myself, lost without Mouse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ADAM
Madeleine won’t answer her phone, and it’s starting
I dial again, and get nothing but voicemail.
It’s an hour after the training class ended. Olivia is back at my mom’s house, packing for her flight in the morning. She’s leaving, and I’m not sad about it. In fact, I’m relieved to have her out of Texas. She came here under the guise of closure, but in reality, she came crawling on her hands and knees, trying to pick up right where we left off. After a few glasses of wine at dinner two days ago, she revealed that her life has taken a nosedive in the last few months. Ryan, my old best friend, left her a few weeks ago. Turns out starting a relationship with an affair isn’t a great predictor of long-term stability. Evidently he was cheating on her—and she tried to spin it as God letting her know how I felt when it happened to me. As if her getting fucked over was going to be some bonding experience for us. It took everything in me not to laugh. I apologized and wished her well.
She didn’t take me seriously at first. For so many years, Olivia had me wrapped around her finger. She said jump and I asked how high. I think she assumed she could fly down here and I would leap right back into her arms.
Her showing up to the training class was a last-ditch effort to convince me she was serious about wanting to get back together. Unfortunately, she went too far. Telling the class she was my fiancée was an underhanded way to stick it to Madeleine, the “friend” I told her about over dinner.
I’m serious about her, I said.
Olivia didn’t believe me. In fact, she laughed at the possibility.
You think you’re going to settle down with some Texas girl you met a few weeks ago? Can’t you see it’s just a phase, Adam? You’re meant for so much more than this shitty town.
I smiled, asked for the check, and told her to book a flight back to Chicago.
We’re done.
I stare down at my phone now, wondering how many calls I can make to Madeleine before I verge on stalker territory. Then I do one better—I grab my keys and head for my car. It’s still raining as I head to her apartment. I could wait until the morning to see her, but there’s no reason to continue on like this. She’s assumed the worst, I know it. She thinks that because we’ve only been together a few weeks, I’m going to go right back to Olivia. That’s on me, and I have to fix it. She might not want to take my phone calls, but she’ll have to answer her door.
I park in my usual spot and head up the path. A bark snaps me out of my reverie and I glance up to spot Mouse sitting outside Madeleine’s apartment. His fur is soaked and covered in mud; it looks like he’s been rolling in puddles for the last hour.
“What are you doing out here, boy?”
He hops up as I approach and wags his tail. Most dogs hate thunderstorms, but he doesn’t even seem to notice the rain pouring down beyond the covered walkway.
I turn and pound on Madeleine’s door.
No one answers. I notice muddy paw streaks on the door.
“Madeleine, come on. Mouse is out here. What were you thinking letting him out in a storm like this?”
I knock again and wait a few minutes. There’s nothing but silence on the other side of the door, and a sense of dread starts to fill my gut. Why would Mouse be outside alone? And where’s Madeleine?
“Madeleine?” I call, pounding on the door harder than before. The flimsy thing rattles on its hinges, and I know if I hit it just little harder, the whole damn door would come loose.
“Young man, she’s not home.”
I spin around and spot an old man across the pathway, peering out at me from the sliver of space between his door and its frame.
“What do you mean she’s not home?”
“She left a little while ago to find her dog.”
I frown, confused. “Her dog’s right here.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why it’s strange that she’s looking for him.”
“Did you see where she went?”
He shrugs and steps back, closing his door just a bit. “The dog’s here so she’ll be back soon.”
“There’s a flash flood warning in effect until the morning.”
He shrugs. “Well you found the dog. I guess now you need to go find the girl.”
With that, he shuts his door and leaves me out on the walkway to fend for myself. Mouse lies down at my feet, wholly unaffected by the fact that his owner is searching for him in the middle of a thunderstorm. I try to think fast. Madeleine isn’t in danger. She’s out in her car, looking for Mouse. She’ll likely be back any minute, so I lean back against her door and wait. Mouse falls asleep. I check my watch. Another fifteen minutes roll by. I try calling her again, and her cell phone chimes in her apartment. Well that explains why she hasn’t answered any of my calls.
Minutes slip past. Something doesn’t feel right.
I run to my car and find a stray receipt in my cup holder.
Mouse is safe. I have him. Call me. - Adam
I pound on the neighbor’s door until he answers and then I ask for some tape so I can put the note on her door.
“She’s going to be back any time now,” he says, shaking his head at me as he wanders off into his apartment. A second later, he comes back with a couple of pieces of tape that he ripped off the roll. Stingy.
I use every piece of tape to secure the paper to her door right at eye level so there’s no chance she’ll miss it, and then I load Mouse up in my car. With a pang, I remember the day of the barbecue when Madeleine insisted we take her car to avoid the scene before me now: a big dog making a mess of my interior. Right now, I could not care less.
A bolt of lightning shatters the sky a few yards ahead, followed by a booming clap of thunder. I pat Mouse—less to calm him, and more to soothe myself.
“We’re going to find her,” I assure him as we pull out onto the road.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MADELEINE
My three seconds of despair turn into minutes. I don’t know how long I sit there, frozen in panic. Thunder rumbles a few miles away, and I’m reminded that I have to act. I can’t sit here while Mouse is out there alone, and I’m not naive enough to try to walk home alone, at night, with no phone, no shoes, and no purse.
My only option is to get my car out of the mud. I’ve seen my dad do it a couple times over the years. I need to find some wood and wedge it beneath my tire so there’s enough traction for them to move. To do that, I have to get out of my car. I look out and wonder how long it’s going to rain like this. Surely it can’t keep up forever, but I don’t have time to wait it out. I fling my door open and rush out, heading for the dense woods a few yards away. My hair is still wet from my shower, and the rain soaks everything else within a few seconds. I wipe the water from my eyes and search the ground. There are some sticks lying around in the mud, but nothing that will really give me traction.
I don’t look for long. Truthfully, I doubt I’ll find anything worth using. I need a massive piece of plywood, and I won’t find that on the edge of the woods near a dog park. I gather together as many sticks as I can find and run back to my car, wincing when sharp rocks jab into my bare feet with each step.
Both of my back tires are stuck in the mud. The right one is worse than the left, so I start there, my feet sinking into the wet mud as I step closer. I drop my sticks on the ground and try to remember what my dad used to do. I need to get the sticks beneath the tire, right? But how can I do that if the tire is stuck in mud? I bend down and use my hands to haul away some of the mud, but it’s like quicksand, filling right back into the hole as quickly as I can move it.
I’m so close to giving up. The rain is relentless, and now my hands are too muddy to wipe my eyes. I blink and try to clear them, but my vision is still cloudy. Maybe that isn’t rain; maybe I’m crying now.
As I bend down, digging and digging, trying to haul away enough mud to make a difference, more fills in, making it impossible to get ahead of the problem. I
I understand that while other people slip into jobs they love and marriages that seem more like fairytales, I, Madeleine Thatcher, am destined for a tougher life. Nothing has come easy for me, and with every pile of mud that I move, I feel better. Most people would have given up already, but not me. I’m tough. I can do this. I dig and I dig, wedging the sticks beneath my car’s wheels until I think there’s enough to make a difference.
Before I step back into my car, I shake out my hands and feet, flinging off as much mud as I can manage. There are a few napkins stuffed in the driver’s side door and I use them to wipe my hands. It’s not enough, but it’s something.
I start my car, shift it into reverse, and the tires spin and spin, spewing mud and sticks.
The clock on the dashboard reads 10:45 PM; I’ve been stuck here for an hour, and I’m no closer to getting myself free.
The rain continues on, relentless and unyielding.
I let my head fall against the steering wheel and I close my eyes against the tears.
I’m sorry, Mouse.
I’m so sorry.
…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Raindrops drip down lazily on my window, barely pulling me out of a deep sleep.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
The sound is growing louder.
I groan and try to steal another minute or two of sleep. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s too early to be awake. Mouse hasn’t nudged me with his nose, which means it must still be the middle of the night. He’s more dependable than an alarm clock.
Mouse…
MOUSE!