It’s now official. Soña is part of the team. But anything she does for Barking Out Loud is temporary, only until she goes back to the ballet company.
Each day, Soña joined Justice to meet the next Customer and their not always eager dog. Soña limping along. Justice helping with the equipment. They never talked much, only about the job that needed doing. Soña seemed to be passing time, on her way to recovery, and Justice, well, he always seemed to be weighing each word, like he had a limit for the day.
When they needed to wait, Justice read from a tattered little book he kept in his messenger bag. Peter called it a purse. He’d find a spot under one of the shelters, and read The Tao of Pooh.
Of course Soña remembered Pooh, and Piglet, and all the other residents of the Hundred Acre Wood from the stories her mother read at bedtime in Fernandina Beach. She couldn’t understand why a lanky, silent dog-trainer, with a Yankee’s hat, cared so much about children’s stories.
As for Soña, well, she spent those quiet times between Customers thinking about the ambulance ride to the ER and the splint the young doctor put on when she broke her leg. She remembered the unbearable pain the first night, and then the deep sadness she felt as the older doctor wrapped the fiberglass cast around her right lower leg, from below her knee, down over her foot.
She wore that blasted thing for five weeks, four days, and three hours.
The memories were never far away. It wasn’t the physical pain of the injury troubling her, but worries about how the damage had changed all her plans. If she wasn’t a ballerina, what (or who) was she? Dance had been her life since she was barely three. Soña’s mother had fashioned a tutu for the little girl from some Tulle she had saved (hoping to use it as a bridal veil for her own wedding, if Soña’s father ever got around to asking).
The three-year-old ballerina would wear the tutu, along with her pink slippers, while waving a wand constructed from soda straws sprinkled with glitter; twirling all the while to music from any TV commercial until the outfit became so worn and dirty her mother needed to hide it.
While Justice read his tattered book, Soña stood by a bench, doing some slow pliés to strengthen her thighs, making sure her feet and legs were placed just so. Then added some single leg pliés on her right leg, along with slow relevés to add muscle to her atrophied right calf.
She was getting stronger each day, praying she wouldn’t need surgery, with all the expensive nuts and bolts the older doctor said might be necessary.
Soña looked down at the recovering leg, and noticed her shoes. The right one was okay, but the left was showing wear. Character shoes were all she had worn since that day Ms. Sandvi told her how comfortable the split-sole shoe was, and how they made a dancer’s legs and ankles look better without interfering with movement. “I’ll use my first Barking Out Loud paycheck to order a new pair from Capezio.” Soña felt better.
With Justice and Soña doing so much, Brooke was now free to meet with new Customers, spend time in the community, visit pet shops, mobile groomers, and veterinarians; anyone who could talk up Barking Out Loud. Her short presentations were becoming the hit of the ladies lunch circuit. Business groups liked the creative startup idea. Someone suggested a TED talk, but she felt too self-conscious to speak on a stage, in a room full of strangers, without notecards to keep her from wandering.
One Sunday, Brooke slept later than usual, had breakfast, then dressed for church. It had been a long time since she had gone to church or seen her parents. She was looking forward to reconnecting with them.
After church, came the usual lunch at the country club. Nothing changed in her parent’s lives, you could set your watch by their patterns. The food at the club hadn’t gotten any better; at least it wasn’t worse. The same could be said for church, Brooke thought.
Her parents were still worried, asking over and over, “How can there be any money in putting pictures of someone’s dog on the internet?”
Maybe it had been a bad idea. Not the business, but church and the club. Still, Brooke wanted them to share the excitement, to learn what their youngest was doing, and see how happy she was. It was only normal. Or was she the one who wasn’t normal?
When they said goodbye, Brooke glanced at the club’s flag, lowered to half staff. She knew it meant a member had passed and she should have asked who, but today she didn’t. Instead, she focused on the children frolicking in the warm January sun. They were still in church clothes. She knew they wouldn’t stay tidy long, as they ran around on the dormant zoysia lawn in the circle.
Part of Brooke would have loved to join the children, but instead she started walking toward her car. She noticed how shiny and clean the club members kept their cars. Was the Range Rover her dad got her supposed to look like these? Normally, she wouldn’t worry about it much. She knew appearances were important, especially to her parent’s and their friends.
She wanted to get in a run on this beautiful day, but thought a carwash would also be good. “If I hurry, maybe I can do both.”
The line at the carwash near The Clover was usually long, especially on Sunday, so she drove to the one by the mall.
Brooke recognized the boy who swiped her card for the full-service wash, tire gloss, and tip. Edward had been in a running program like the one Coach started, but for boys. Brooke ran with them when her dad was a coach. She liked being with her father, being part of his group, and fitting in with the middle school boys.
“Thanks ma’am. Pull on up and make it a good day.”
Edward didn’t recognize her, so she didn’t say anything.
When the conveyor belt took hold of the dirty Range Rover, Brooke walked through and waited outside in the sun. She watched the cars pull around, then waited for one of the boys in a red t-shirt to begin work. She saw how the red shirted boys (never girls) did the work and the blue shirts just walked around.
Brooke knelt down to let a dog sniff her hand and say hello, a twelve-week-old chihuahua. The mother introduced the puppy as Jusepe, then the daughter added, “But we call him Pepe.”
Brooke thought, but didn’t give the women her business card.
One by one people claimed their cars. Brooke knew she was next, so she started that way. Before the red shirted boy handed over the keys, he spotted more dog fur in the back. “How many dogs you got, lady?” he asked, adding, “Let me work on this some more.”
When he finished, she gave him another five bucks. That, plus the three dollar tip on the original charge was plenty Brooke thought, hearing Mel’s voice say, “Tips are the gravy in life.”
She stepped up in her now shiny Range Rover and waited for the Camaro with New Jersey plates to pull out. She’d take Park Road home.
Getting closer to her historic neighborhood she wondered why the boy from the running program could only find work at the carwash. Why people were always looking at their phones when they waited, why workers and managers needed different color shirts? Why? Why? Why?
But mostly, Brooke wondered why she hadn’t given the mother and daughter with Jusepe a card. Had she reached the point of satisfaction where the effort stops? Yet she knew any pipeline feeding a business would not always stay full if she wasn’t bringing new Customers in.
“Snap out of it, girl. Go for your run and think about what’s next. Barking Out Loud has only begun,” Brooke said as she bent to tie her shoes.