Page 149 of Camp Bliss
Miraculously, Russell stays right by me. We slip out. I close the door behind me.
“Stay,” I whisper again.
Russell’s paws stay planted, but he looks over his shoulder in Josh’s direction.
Stay, you little weasel,I mentally scold him, slipping the key into the latch. I turn the lock and withdraw the key. Now we just have to make it down the steps, and this will all go away.
“Heel,” I mutter to Russell and turn around, again averting my eyes. Like the coolest model to ever cross a catwalk, I strut the width of the porch, head held high. Canine feet keep pace beside me.
We’re descending the last step when a sob wrenches the night air. Russell’s head whips around.
No!
“I fffucked up, Greta. I’m ssso, ssso sorry.” My ex breaks down, and with him so does Russell’s very fragile obedience.
In a streak of orange and white, he’s standing on Josh’s thigh, licking the crying man’s face.
Fuck.
It’s then I remember that the last thing Russell licked was vomit, and now he’s sharing it with Josh, so at least I take comfort in that.
“C’mon, Russell,” I say, my voice low.
I’m trying to focus only on the dog, but my eyes take in Josh’s shuddering silhouette. His hair and beard are shaggy. His clothes are dirty.
What the fuck has he been doing?
I shake off the question. Because I don’t care. Maybe he blew all of the money he stole on hookers and coke. It doesn’t matter because he’s no longer in my life.
I turn on my heel and infuse my voice with impatience. “Russell, come!”
The scramble of his claws on the steps lets me know he’s obeying, finally, so I set off away from the lodge.
“G-Greta… pllllease… I need help.” And it’s the plea in his voice, the desperate, hopeless plea that makes me stop.
Shit.
The motion-activated porch light goes out, plunging everything in darkness. The sound of his weeping seems to grow louder.
I shut my eyes, keeping my back to the lodge. Josh’s sobs behind me compete with the cricket chirp and crackle of wind through fall leaves, wrecking any sense of peace in this night. I grit my teeth, telling myself to walk away. Telling myself he doesn’t deserve even a second of my attention. Not even a drop of my compassion.
“Hhhhelp me. Please.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, turning around.
The light pops on again, shining on the pathetic man I used to love. The man I would have done anything for a year ago.
The man who fucked me over without so much as a break-up text.
I grip my fists, a civil war breaking out beneath my skin.
“W-What the fuck, Josh?” I demand, voice shaking. “What the fuck are you doing here? After what you did? To me? To Zach?”
He cries harder, as if this moment of reckoning is more than he can bear.
And saying Zach’s name? I suddenly want to cry for my own reasons. Because, damn, I really wish he were here.
But I thank God that if he can’t be here, at least we don’t have any Airbnb guests. How would I ever explain this drunken, soiled, and sorry man crying on my porch steps?
