Fatherhood 101. Mae Nunn
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why not.”
“Can we come visit him whenever we want?”
“Hope, it’s not polite to invite yourself over to somebody else’s home,” Sarah corrected her child.
By now Cullen was probably wishing he’d had his dinner on a TV tray, alone. All three of her girls had become outspoken and unpredictable, and it seemed she was forever apologizing for their words or behaviors.
“Cullen, please excuse my daughter for being so forward. Just because we enjoy having Hope around, she assumes everybody else will instantly welcome her, too.”
“I don’t enjoy her, she’s always poking through my side of the bedroom,” Meg chimed in.
“Yeah, she’s a pest, always into our stuff,” Carrie added. “So if you’ve got a big house, you can take Hope home with you, too.”
“That’s enough, ladies,” Sarah admonished, cringing inwardly that a respected new friend was being put in such an awkward position.
“Actually, you’re all welcome to come see the puppy once I get him settled. I haven’t had a dog since I was a kid and I’m going to need lots of help. Especially teaching him to swim so he’ll be safe around my pool.”
“You have a pool?” Carrie brightened.
For months she’d been complaining that their apartments didn’t offer a swimming pool for the residents. The complex was small and old but it was in a safe neighborhood near the girls’ schools and that was more important to Sarah. It was bad enough that they’d had to sell their family home. Sarah wasn’t going to make them move away from their friends, as well.
“Yes, I do. It’s nothing fancy but it keeps me cool in the summertime.”
“Backyard pools can be dangerous. A person can drown in a thimble of water.”
“Safety is always a priority at my house, Meg. And I promise to teach the puppy to swim right away.”
“Okay, now that we have that all settled,” Sarah’s mother cut in, “I should be getting home to your father before it gets any later.”
“Thanks for everything, Mom.” Sarah leaned into her mother’s hug as best she could while still holding Cullen’s pizza box. “You’re still available to hang out with the girls on Wednesday evening?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Carrie huffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m too old for a babysitter.”
“Well, that’s good because babysitters expect to be paid and I only expect for you to let me win at Crazy Eights. At least occasionally,” Margaret teased.
She kissed each of the girls, handed their shopping bag full of Cullen’s thoughtful gifts over to Carrie, thanked their guest again for the flowers and then headed toward the practical minivan she kept just for transporting her three grandkids.
“Where are you parked, Cullen? We’ll follow you to your car so I can give you the pizza.”
“My Explorer is just over there, but how about if you take the pizza home with you instead? I’m not sure how safe it will be with a hungry puppy on the loose.”
“You should go straight to that pet shop down the street for a doggy seat-belt thingy,” Meg reminded him. “It’s not safe for him in your backseat otherwise. And you’ll want some food, and a collar, too.”
“Meg, lighten up on the lectures, please,” Sarah insisted.
“Actually, that’s an excellent suggestion. Are you ladies in a hurry or could you come with me to pick out a few things?”
Cheers erupted from the younger girls, and though Carrie didn’t officially agree, there was an expression of mild interest on her face.
“Are you sure?” Sarah asked. “Haven’t you had enough of my zoo crew for one evening?”
“Meg’s right, I should get some things for this little guy. We can’t take too long because they’ll be closing soon. I’d appreciate the help since I don’t have the first clue what to get.”
“It’s the least we can do.” Sarah swept her palm for him to lead the way. Hope bobbed up and down as she skipped beside Cullen across the parking spaces to a shiny, clean SUV that probably didn’t have a back seat filled with hair bows, pink sneakers, and empty Yoo-hoo bottles.
* * *
HALF AN HOUR and two hundred dollars later, Cullen was on his way home. The puppy they’d dubbed Rocket was shivering quietly in the backseat, held securely by his pet restraint. Who knew a dog wasn’t supposed to ride with its head hanging out the car window anymore? But according to Meg, Sarah’s little worrywart, allowing pets to do that was dangerous and really should be illegal.
Cullen yawned as he pulled onto the highway for the twenty-minute ride home. It was only a little after 9:00 p.m., but he was pooped from a roller-coaster ride of a Monday. Sleep had eluded him the night before and he’d been anxious all day over his first lecture of Blair’s class.
And rightly so. It had been a disaster.
“Rocket, a very smart man named Einstein once said that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Tomorrow you’ve gotta help me figure out another way to approach Western Civilization. The mere fact that you’re in my car at this moment is proof that I’m capable of change when the situation demands it, so I’m bound to be able to make adjustments.”
Now that he considered it, the past few hours had called for a lot of flexibility and he’d done fairly well. He’d left the classroom without obsessing too much over his dreadful performance, made a whirlwind shopping effort for virtual strangers, bought dinner for a gaggle of girls and rescued a helpless critter from a pack of wolves. Well, maybe that last part was a bit extreme, but if Meg was willing to give him props he’d take them. Not that there had been any danger of him leaving the puppy on the street. He’d taken one look at the orphaned dog and sworn he would give him a secure, loving home.
“Rocket, my little buddy.” Cullen glanced at the weary, wide eyes behind him. “We’ve both had a tough break, losing our parents when we needed them most. Only a couple of people know this about me and now I’m going to tell you and trust that you’ll keep this between us.”
The dog yawned and settled his belly on the leather seat, but kept his eyes trained toward his new master.
“So, here’s the deal. I was diagnosed over a dozen years ago with post traumatic stress disorder. Dr. Dermer said my pounding heart and sweaty, shaky hands were symptoms of anxiety. I just called it the creeps when the attacks came on during my junior year in high school. I hated the hours I spent with my head under the covers praying for that sensation to go away. Whatever you label the condition, it was awful and I never want to revisit those days. So now I do everything I can to avoid getting overstressed. You’ll like our home. It’s a quiet oasis in a noisy world and I’ll do my best to make it a sanctuary for you, too.”
As soon as they got to the house Cullen began to make good on his promise. As he ran a warm, soapy bath for Rocket, he tuned the radio on the bathroom counter to a classic country channel. While the pup soaked and enjoyed the gentle massage, Cullen hummed along with the soft music he found so much more appealing than the hard rock his friends had preferred growing up. His daddy said it was “racket” and Cullen couldn’t disagree. In his college years he’d stayed away from the loud fraternity parties that were sure to set off his anxiety. So he kept the music low and comforting for himself as well as Rocket.
An hour later the puppy was towel-dried and fed and lay snuggled beside Cullen in the big sleigh bed. His nose was poked into his master’s armpit, as if burying his head and hiding his face would stave off night terrors. It was an attempt at self-soothing that Cullen knew well from many, many efforts of his own to sleep away the pain of loss.
Deep into