Chapter One
Saturday, October 18th
Jess Bennett stared at the light tan dog leaning against her leg, drawing strength from his warm and comforting presence. She’d rather take in every detail of how his black ears and muzzle contrasted against the light tan—almost a pale golden yellow—color of his fur, or how his ears were mismatched because one stood up like a German Shepherd’s ears should while the other folded down near the base, or how his almond shaped brown eyes, rimmed in black, gazed up at her as if to say “this will be over soon”.
The church was packed with people crammed together in one big sea of somber colors and Jess couldn’t bear to look at them any longer. Some cast disapproving glances at Odin, but most replaced the look with one of pity when Jess caught them. She didn’t care what most of those people thought about her bringing her dog to church.
The cloying scent of incense mixed with the varied scents of perfumes and colognes and hung in the motionless air of the stone building. She tried to pay attention as the long line of speakers took their turns at the podium to talk about the man they were all there to mourn, but she couldn’t. Her husband was gone after a yearlong battle with a cancer the doctors thought they caught in time. The man that was supposed to be by her side for so much longer than the thirteen years they’d had together was ripped away from her cruelly and senselessly by a disease the specialists said they could treat. Hearing so many people give heartfelt eulogies only served as poignant reminders of how well liked Jason was and of what she’d lost. It should be a comforting thought, but it wasn’t. Jason was well liked because he was a good man who was always happy to help wherever he could. He was the kind of man that would give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it, and not think anything of it. The world needed more people like that living life to the fullest, not dying from awful diseases way too young.
Jason’s father, Ted Bennett, was at the podium trying to get through the speech he’d written for his son. The sound of his voice breaking made Jess look up at the older, grayer version of her husband. Standing six feet tall, Ted, like Jason, was a big and broad man. Today, however, Ted’s slumped shoulders and bent back marred his usual stout appearance. Deep frown lines etched his typically smiling face and his eyes lacked their usual twinkle of humor. The weight of his son’s death had physically changed him and Jess wondered if the same could be said about her.
A quick glance at Jason’s mother, seated in the pew across the aisle from her, showed she wasn’t any better off than her husband. Her chestnut hair threaded with white appeared duller than usual. Or maybe it was Jess’s imagination. Betty clutched her handkerchief in her fist and dabbed her eyes every few seconds. Jess lowered her head and looked to Odin. Jason’s parents flew in from Florida yesterday for the funeral and Jess couldn’t wait for them to fly back out later tonight. It was a harsh thing to think, and it wasn’t a thought Jess normally harbored when it came to her in-laws, but life was hardly normal for her now. They’d used up all of their vacation time during Jason’s last few weeks and couldn’t stay any longer. Betty was disappointed they couldn’t spend more time with Jess, but Jess didn’t mind. All she wanted to do was to go home and be alone. She didn’t want to force a smile, sad as that smile may be, at the countless people offering their condolences. She couldn’t look at her in-laws. Not when their pained expressions twisted the knife of grief deeper into Jess’s heart. Jason’s parents were wonderful and fun-loving people, and Jason had all of their best traits. Seeing them only served to make Jess more keenly aware of his passing.
Tears fell into Jess’s lap, creating darker spots that spread out on her black skirt. The falling drops and expanding circles drew her eye away from her dog. She watched, transfixed, as the circles grew. Her brother, Scott, was now at the podium telling some story about Jason Jess couldn’t listen to. Many loved Jason and the outpouring of grief and sympathy was more than she could handle. Funerals were supposed to be a means of saying goodbye to loved ones, but Jess didn’t want to say goodbye. She wasn’t ready. Scott’s voice faded into the background as Jess’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She bit her lip to keep from dissolving into a blubbering mess and eyed the dark spots on her dress with an intensity ordinary situations wouldn’t warrant. Something as simple as tears dampening the fabric they landed on wasn’t interesting in and of itself, but at that moment, their expanding edges symbolized the expanding abyss of loneliness that stretched out around her.
Her life would never be the same. How many thirty five year olds lose their spouses to lymphocytic leukemia? Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the only one, but still. At that moment, through the haze of her grief, she doubted anyone could understand the depth of her despair. All of the plans, hopes, and dreams she and Jason shared were whisked away in a blur of beeps, hastily barked orders from doctors, and scurrying nurses. And that was after a year of Jason deteriorating into a gaunt caricature of his former self. Three days ago, Jess stood by Jason’s bedside and yelled at him when he told her he was dying. She refused to hear it—there was no way she was willing to entertain the idea, despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary. She choked on a sob as the image of Jason’s face, clearly hurt by her sharp tone, rose in her mind. She hated herself for that because there were so many other ways she could have handled it. She could have patted his hand and told him not to worry, that things would turn around. She could have told him how much she loved him and couldn’t handle hearing that sort of thing at that time. She could have begged him not to give in. She could have cycled through an endless list of platitudes to offer as alternatives. She didn’t have to yell at him to stop him from talking like that.
She should have just listened to him. Maybe then, she wouldn’t have the black stain of yelling at a dying man—the man she loved—on her soul. Jason, being the wonderful man he was, accepted her apology, and changed the subject. Whatever the subject was, Jess couldn’t recall it because it was interrupted when Jason fell asleep mid-sentence—something he did often—and then his heart monitor changed to a single flat tone. Even now, that sound echoed in Jess’s head. She’d never forget that sound because it signaled the end of any chance for Jason to recover. It marked the beginning of her life without her husband.
Odin whined softly and laid his head across Jess’s lap, blocking her view of the tearstains on her dress. His ears pricked toward her, his brow wrinkled. His soft chocolate colored eyes watched her with the sadness she was sure mirrored her own eyes. For the past nine years, it had been the three of them, and now it was just him and her. Odin had always been “her” dog, having always shown a preference for Jess over Jason. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jason, because he did, he just bonded to Jess more. It was a point Jason chafed at, though he was good-natured about it. He was the one that rescued Odin from the cruel construction workers on the job site they were all on. Jason shared his sandwiches with the scrawny Shepherd puppy and offered safe haven when others threw rocks at him. He brought him home, without clearing it with Jess first, and Odin wound up attached to Jess. Jason couldn’t even offer to take the dog outside because Odin saw any attempt as a ploy to separate him from Jess. Odin responded by planting himself by Jess’s feet. Before Jason got sick, he’d laugh off Odin’s attachment by making jokes about how he could always find Jess by where the dog was. After he got sick and his cancer rapidly progressed despite aggressive treatment, Jason made passing comments about how he wasn’t leaving Jess completely alone. Jess never took the comments seriously, mostly because she was in denial of how bad his cancer was.
At least she still had Odin. Jason wasn’t wrong about that. She ran a hand over his soft thick fur, hoping to offer him some measure of comfort, but the gesture was more for her. This past year would’ve been impossible to get through without the silent and unwavering support of their dog. The hospital staff was nice enough to let Jess “sneak” Odin in to visit Jason during the many hospital stays Jason had over the last year. Jess smiled sadly at the memory of trying to walk an eighty-pound yellow and black Shepherd through the hospital without drawing too much attention. It never worked, of course. Many of the patients who saw Odin wanted to pet him. Odin may have preferred Jess to anyone else on the planet, but he was a good sport about letting the people in the hospital pet him. Maybe he sensed their love of animals. Many commented about their own pets as they pet him, so maybe he sensed their longing for their own pets. Maybe he understood the healing power animals can have on people. Odin had an uncanny ability to comprehend what went on around him. Jason swore the dog understood English better than some native speakers.
A hand reached across Jess’s lap and petted the dog. She looked up into the bloodshot blue eyes of her mother. Her lips pulled into a strained smile—the fake one Jess hated having to do for people. Did her fake smile look as phony as her mother’s did?
“It’s okay, Odin.” Cheryl Kelly whispered, never taking her eyes from Jess. Her steady gaze conveyed a strength Jess sorely needed. Her mother didn’t want her to bring Odin, but Jess insisted. Thankfully, Cheryl didn’t stand firm on the issue. She probably recognized how important Odin was, or maybe she knew Jess needed him. Maybe she realized Odin was as much a part of Jason’s family as she was, and deserved to be there. Odin’s presence was one of the few things Jason requested for his funeral. Jess suspected he made the request for her benefit more than anything else. That was Jason, always thinking of her needs. Her mother squeezed Jess’s hand before returning her hand to her lap and turning her attention back to Scott.
Jess swallowed hard. Her mother supported her in everything she’s ever done, but over the last year, her mother went above and beyond to help her and Jason. When Jason’s many doctor visits and hospital stays interfered with Jess’s ability to work on her mother’s Arabian horse farm, which was their primary source of income after Jason was no longer able to work, her mother continued to pay her, regardless of if she set foot on her mother’s farm that week or not. She helped with Jason’s many legal forms—his will, his disability paperwork, and even his medical and life insurance paperwork. Jess had no idea how to handle any of that and was so grateful her mother took over for her. If it weren’t for Cheryl, Jess would be buried under a mountain of medical bills with no ability to repay any of them. Tens of thousands of dollars turned into six figures over the course of Jason’s illness, and Jason’s health insurance hardly covered any of it. Between the life insurance policy Cheryl thought to increase when Jason was diagnosed and the disability payments, Jess broke even on Jason’s expenses.
The church grew silent except for the sound of the occasional sniffle, drawing Jess from her thoughts. The priest and altar servers filed down from the altar and took their places for the procession. Jess reached for Odin’s leash—a mere formality at the behest of the priest—and stood to take her place in line with Odin at her side. She gave a final look at the handcrafted cedar box that held the cremains of her husband, sitting on a small table surrounded by a wide array of colorful flowers. How odd that people dress in blacks, grays, and browns for a funeral, but send such colorful flowers. Jason wasn’t much for flowers. Once, she bought him flowers as a joke and he pretended to have the biggest hissy fit over the threat to his manhood such a gesture presented. A laugh bubbled up and Jess clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent it from coming out. She forced a cough. Her mother elbowed her and Jess turned quickly to face the back of the church as the line began to move.
As she made her way to the vestibule, several people she didn’t know looked at Odin with distaste. Did she care? Not one bit. When the funeral was over, she’d likely never see those people ever again, but Odin would still be with her. Jason was her husband, and Odin was their dog. They didn’t have any children of the human variety, but no one would have given her funny looks if they had and she brought them. Why should a beloved—and well behaved— pet be any different?