Bound For Home Page 3

  “But I’ll do my best to make you feel at home here. It’s not your fault that your first family was a dud.” She frowned. “Giving you up because they were afraid you were going to bite, without you doing anything wrong, makes me so mad. It wasn’t right for them to judge you like that.”

  Listening to the girl’s voice made Max feel a little better. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, but she was talking to him in a soft voice, and the murder she had in her eyes earlier was completely gone.

  “My first foster family was kind of a dud, too,” the girl said. “They decided after just three months that having a kid running around was too stressful. Then my second foster family moved across the country and didn’t take me. But my third placement, the one before this one—well, I kind of got myself kicked out of it.” She bit her lip. “I’m not sorry about it, though.”

  The girl shook her head quickly, as if trying to brush off the memory. She glanced at the clock. “Anyway, it’s bedtime.” She lifted the hinges on the cage and opened the door. Max tried to come out, but she pushed him back gently.

  “This is your bed,” she told him. “You’re going to sleep here tonight. But I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

  Max pushed against the girl’s hand one more time, but when it didn’t budge, he sighed and settled into the soft fabric. The girl stroked his head, each pat calming his nervous heartbeat a little bit more, until the whines faded from his throat and he was able to close his eyes and think about sleeping.

  He did not drift off until much later, but when he did, he knew that the girl was still with him, her hand on his side, her head half-tucked inside the cage as she curled up next to him, keeping him company while he slept.

  THREE WEEKS LATER, Emi woke to a front paw stepping on her cheek.

  “What the—” was all she got out before a back paw landed, by some horrible miracle, inside her mouth.

  Emi sat up, spitting dog-foot taste off her tongue and rubbing her neck. She had spent the last twenty-one days on the floor trying to comfort Max, and for the last twenty-one days, he had rewarded her by getting up at the crack of dawn while she was still asleep to pee by her door. This morning, however, he had been kind enough to step on her face, waking her up before his usual routine. As Emi watched, Max’s hind leg began to lift up.

  “No. No, no, no!” Emi sprang to her feet, already knowing the front door was too far away. She yanked open her window. Frigid air poured into the room as she hooked Max up to the leash she grabbed from her nightstand. She hauled Max up to the window and looked below. There was an icy snowbank just a foot down, made from dripping icicles along the eaves of the house.

  Emi dumped Max over the windowsill, where he landed on all fours. A yellow hole immediately formed beneath him, growing deeper and deeper as he relieved himself. When he was done, Emi tugged on his leash, and he jumped back through the window, tracking wet snow all across her bed.

  At least it wasn’t pee. Emi rubbed her eyes and brushed off the soft white clumps from her blanket. She got dressed and met Jim and Meili in the kitchen. As he did every Saturday, Jim had made scrambled eggs and toast, and after feeding Max his scoop of dog food, which he finished almost as soon as she was done pouring it into his bowl, Emi settled into her chair to eat.

  “So,” said Jim as he sat next to her and Meili, who was pouring out glasses of orange juice. “Did Max go inside your room again?”

  “Not this morning, for once,” Emi said, gulping down half of her OJ. She coughed. “But I don’t know how he’s going to do today around the house. And we’re almost out of carpet cleaner.”

  “I’ll go pick some up today.” Jim forked up his eggs and chewed.

  Meili touched Emi gently on the shoulder. “Sounds like Max has made some progress on the house-training. How would you feel about teaching him a few tricks?”

  “Tricks?” Emi loaded her toast with eggs. She wasn’t too big of a fan of how they smelled when they were cooking, but she loved the way they tasted—salty and soft and full of flavor.

  “You could teach him how to sit. Stay. Roll over. Play dead.” Meili sat down and began to load her own plate of eggs. “Though I’m not a fan of shaking hands. Feels too much like the dog’s begging for something.”

  Emi opened her mouth to tell Meili that shaking hands was exactly what she was going to teach Max, but she was too tired to be snippy. She just wanted to finish breakfast and go back to bed and try to catch up on some sleep.

  It had been harder than she had thought to have a dog. Max no longer cried at night, but Emi had lost eight pairs of socks and one sneaker to his chewing habits, as well as every single one of her shoelace tips.

  And then there were all the things she had to do when no one was going to be home to limit Max’s destruction. Bathroom doors had to be closed to protect the toilet paper rolls. Shoes had to be stowed. Any food item left on the counter was always at risk of being unexpectedly disappeared.

  At the very least, she was becoming more familiar with the house. She knew where to find extra toilet paper now and which cleaning supplies went where.

  And, despite having thought that by this time she would have had one big outburst or one mad moment that would have sent her back whirling into the foster care system, she had been too busy taking care of Max to even think about acting out. Emi had thought that she was the one with the task of causing havoc and disruption inside a house—turns out, Max had her beat by a mile.

  Whenever Emi came home to a mess or a missing thing, she wanted to be mad at Max. But there was something about him that she couldn’t blame him for his actions. Despite his accidents and his chewing, there was a clumsy helplessness to him that made her more sad than angry when she found herself cleaning up after him.

  What’s more, she found herself worrying about Max when she was at school, knowing that he would be fine in Jim’s and Meili’s hands (they had had three dogs before Max, all of which had lived long, full lives) but wondering if he was bored or lonely or gnawing away at a forbidden object. Books, boots, hidden Starburst packages—at some point he had chewed through all of them.

  When the school bus dropped her off and she went up the driveway to the house, her steps always got a little faster when she would see Max’s big head peering out the living room window, his mouth frantically barking as he pawed at the glass.

  Emi had been through so many school systems she had given up on needing to fit in. She simply ignored the rare offer to hang out and chose to sit alone at lunch in the big cafeteria.

  But here, she was unconsciously beginning to make a routine that felt almost comfortable. After school was milk and cookies at four o’clock and one—only one, no matter how cute his cock-eared begging face looked—Milk-Bone treat for Max, followed by running around the house trying to get Max’s energy out with playtime.

  Jim and Meili had gotten a few toys for Max. The plushes only lasted a few days before inevitably being torn apart by Max’s chewing-machine mouth. But there was a blue-and-yellow braided tug toy that had become part of an everyday ritual between Emi and Max, where she would throw it to him and he would race, full speed, then leap up with his front paws and pounce on it.

  Sometimes Max brought it back to Emi; most times he just gnawed at it happily until she went over and wrestled it out of his mouth so she could throw it again.

  And then, after playtime, there was homework at the kitchen table next to the soapstone stove, with Max curled around her feet to keep her warm.

  And when the grandfather clock in the living room chimed six, Emi would scoop a cup of kibble out and Max would have his dinner. Emi always made sure she wasn’t too early or too late. Then, by six thirty, she was at the table with Jim and Meili. She still didn’t have much to say to them, but dinners had gotten less awkward every time they talked about Max.

  Now Meili was asking Emi if she wanted to teach Max some commands, and although the tip of her tongue was begging her to say that Max deserves to be the w
ild, untamed beast that he was meant to be, she thought about the strange niceness of rules and boundaries and nodded as she finished her breakfast.

  Meili smiled. “I’ll pick up some training treats in town today.”

  “Be sure they’re small, and that there are a lot of them,” Emi said. “I don’t think Max is going to be an easy learner.”

  When Meili returned with a bag of mini training treats she had picked up from Rite Aid, Emi took it from her and tore it open. The treats were shaped like tiny bones, each one made of peanut butter and oats.

  “Want help training him?” Meili asked.

  Emi shook her head. “I’ve watched a bunch of YouTube videos. I know what I’m doing.”

  “All right.” Meili nodded and left the room.

  Emi was glad her foster mom hadn’t insisted. She wanted to be the only person responsible for Max’s education. For as long as she was here, he was her dog. That way, maybe he would always remember her, even if she moved on. Even when she moved on, she reminded herself.

  She switched on her YouTube video and settled into the living room with Max, who lay on a rug nearby, curled up in a sleepy ball.

  “Show the treat to your dog,” the YouTube girl with the confident voice instructed. She was holding a treat in front of a fancy-looking, fluffy-faced dog that definitely did not come from the pound and definitely did not have any pit bull in him. “Then move it close to his nose so he can sniff it. Once he does, you move your hand from his nose to his forehead. He’ll try to follow your hand with his nose, which will make him lower his rear to the floor. As soon as he does that, give him the treat while saying, ‘Sit.’ Then repeat until he sits. Simple!”

  Five days and 138 treats later, the bag was empty, and Emi was no closer to being able to get Max to sit than when she started. “You’re hopeless,” she told Max, throwing the bag in the trash. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a Kit Kat. She broke off two of the wafery, chocolaty sticks and sat munching while she shook her head at Max. “You’re never going to learn.”

  Max woofed happily and rolled on his back. His front paws swayed in the air as his back legs splayed onto the carpet.

  Emi smiled and finished the rest of the Kit Kat. She knelt down and began to rub Max’s tummy. As she did, the front door opened and Meili came into the house, stamping the snow off her boots.

  “Hi, Emi. Hi, Max,” she said as she took her jacket off and hung it on a wooden coatrack.

  “Hey, Meili,” Emi said. She bit her lip and swallowed her stubbornness. “On second thought, I thought I might let you help me train Max how to sit.”

  “Of course!” Meili went to the kitchen and ran her hands under steaming water to warm them. When she was done, she turned off the water and dried her hands on a towel draped across the oven-door handle. “Teaching a dog to sit is kind of like riding a bike. You fail and fail and fail … and then one day you get it, and it feels like the beginning of the world. Do you remember how you learned to ride a bicycle?” she asked Emi.

  Ride a bicycle. The words poured into Emi’s ears, and for a moment, she felt like she was drowning. She knew Meili had asked a straight question, but she still felt memories flooding back to her in a wash of longing and grief.

  SHE HAD BEEN six. The bike had been a Huffy, with silver tassels, pink spokes, pink handlebars, and an ocean of pink hearts on the frame.

  It was the best, brightest memory of her mom she had. Before her mom got sick. Before the foster homes.

  Emi remembered wheeling the Huffy along the cracked sidewalk outside their rented mobile home. She remembered trying not to run over the dandelions poking through the cement, because dandelions were her mom’s favorite flower. Now, aren’t they the most cheerful yellow, her mom had told her just the day before, when they had gathered a bundle and placed them in an old soda bottle that they had painted using the six colors they had from the Disney princess paint box activity book they had gotten from the dollar bin at Walmart. Even though the soda bottle had long been recycled, in Emi’s mind it had been the most beautiful vase in the world.

  She had gotten on the bike and it had immediately tipped, the pedal scraping against her shin and the chain leaving a smear of grease along her calf. Undeterred, she had gotten right back up, only to fall over and over again as she tried to learn to ride that Huffy. Her knees were crisscrossed with bruises and cuts, and the palms of her hands were almost as bad, but she kept getting up and kept on trying because her mom was watching her and she didn’t want to let her mom down.

  Finally, when Emi had taken a massive spill that left a gash along her elbow the size of a half-used pencil, her mom had helped her up, cleaned her wounds, and then brought her back outside.

  Emi had climbed on the bike again, and this time, her mom’s hands were on her own, warm and firm, guiding her down the street. That time, Emi had held steady. That time, she had not ridden but flown down the street on her bicycle, her mom’s hands like angel wings keeping her aloft.

  Now her mom was gone and Meili was asking her to remember. Emi shook her head, clearing the past that had swum across her mind. She was here with Meili and her dog, and she was going to teach her dog how to sit.

  “I remember,” Emi told Meili. “It’s just like that, huh? Simple.”

  Meili went to the cupboard and took out a new bag of training treats. She tore the plastic strip off the top to open it and picked out a single treat. She handed it to Emi. “Hold this to his nose, but don’t let him take it from you,” she instructed.

  Emi closed a hand around the treat and brought it down to Max. His eyes lit up, and he began to sniff furiously. Emi giggled as Max licked her knuckles.

  “What next?” she asked Meili.

  “Slowly bring your hand up. When he raises his head, he should sit,” said Meili.

  Emi drew her hand higher. Max leaped and bonked her hand, causing her to drop the treat. Before she could pick it up, he had ducked his head, and treat 139 was gone.

  Meili gave her another treat to try on Max. This time, Max ran in circles around her hand, but his butt never touched the ground.

  “How would you feel if I tried?” Meili asked.

  Emi thought about it. She wanted to be the one to teach Max, but after so many lost treats, she was willing to try something new. “Sure,” she said.

  Meili took a treat out. “Max, come,” she said as she backed away.

  Max sat.

  “Huh,” said Meili.

  Emi bit back a giggle. “Good boy, I think?” she said.

  Meili smiled. “Sure,” she said, and let Max have the treat. “Your turn,” she told Emi.

  “Why don’t we both try?” Emi asked. She gave Meili a treat and took one for herself. “Maybe we can teach him ‘come’ and ‘sit’ at the same time.”

  She went to one end of the living room while Meili went to the other. Together, they crouched and called to Max as he danced, confused, between the two of them.

  An hour, another empty training-treat package, and a number of laughs later, Max was still no closer to learning any commands. But as Emi stood next to Meili at the kitchen sink, watching her foster mother scrub dog slobber off her hands, her breath caught. In the glinting afternoon light, Meili’s hair shone with beautiful black brilliance, and her smoke-colored eyes sparkled with a familiar kindness and warmth.

  Meili turned from the sink and noticed Emi’s gaze.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I was just … thinking about my mom,” Emi said. She paused, then went on. “I’m glad to be here. With you.”

  Meili nodded. “Me too, Emi.” She turned off the faucet and faced Emi. “Maine’s about as white a state as you can get. So for you and me, it can be tough. I know we talked about it a little when you first arrived—how it feels to look different from everyone around you, and how it can weigh on you.”

  Emi slid a hand towel off the oven handle. “Yeah. Sometimes it feels like everyone’s staring at me in school. Or at the groc
ery store. Or anywhere, really.” She handed the towel to Meili.

  “You feel watched. Like people are expecting you to behave differently because you’re not white. Or that you have to prove that you belong.” Meili dried her hands, then held the towel ready while Emi washed her hands.

  When Emi was done, Meili wove the towel around her hands and clasped them tight. She looked straight into Emi’s eyes. “I know it can be hard sometimes, being judged as an outsider by how you look. I won’t say it’s fair or right. But I am here for you. I know what you’re going through, and if you need to talk anytime, you just let me know. Okay?”

  Emi felt her foster mother’s hands clasping hers, firm and steady. She hesitated, then pressed back once, lightly. “Okay,” she said.

  “Good.” Meili gave Emi’s hands a final squeeze, then unwrapped them and draped the towel across the oven handle. “Now, let’s see about getting Max another bag of training snacks. Though I think he may be faking it, that little treat gobbler.”

  She arched an eyebrow at Emi, and they both started chuckling, and Emi felt a quiet happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  It wasn’t a handful of dandelions in a bottle, but it would have to do.

  Max’s Guide to Getting So Many Treats

  1. Spend days with the girl eating lots and lots of yummy treats that she seems to give you while making the same noise with her mouth over and over.

  2. Halfway through the third week, wonder if the mouth noise the girl makes actually might mean something.

  3. Sit to think about it.

  4. See the girl’s face light up.

  5. Dismiss thought and go back to accepting treat after treat while running around the girl and wagging tail.

  6. See the girl’s face fall.

  7. Get dizzy from running around the girl and sit.

  8. See the girl’s face light up.

  9. Wonder why the girl still makes the same noise whenever you sit.