You Make Me Tremble Page 9

  “I enjoy being creative,” she said slowly, trying to think about the cards she had written today and not the poem she’d just finished. “I can write something funny or something serious, depending on my mood. And they’re so short I can fit them around my schedule here in the kennels, which is good because they pay for this place.”

  “Can I see one of them?” Casey asked, gesturing at the notepad.

  Iris hesitated. She usually was happy to let others read her work, often asking Leo or Agatha to look through them before she sent her submissions, but the sketchpad felt tainted by the raw emotions from the longer poem. She had no good reason to hide Easter eggs from Casey, though, so she flipped to one of the earlier cards and handed her the pad. “I have to send them in months before the actual holidays, and I’m doing spring cards now.”

  Casey read the poem and smiled. “You draw really well,” she said. “I’ve learned the basics of drawing for my job, but I don’t have a natural talent for it like you do. Aw, cute bunny!”

  Before Iris could stop her, Casey turned another page and got to the poem she’d just written. Casey’s expression grew more serious and she sat on the ground. Iris could see her scan the words quickly, and then reread the poem more slowly. What should she say? That she was experimenting with a more serious line of cards? That the words of regret and inadequacy and loneliness were for a Halloween card because they were the scariest ones she could imagine?

  She remained silent, hoping Casey would just read it and forget about it.

  No such luck.

  “Wow,” Casey said. The simple word melted into an audible exhale. Iris was embarrassed because she felt exposed by the poem, but a small part of her was thrilled to have touched Casey.

  “This is…wow. You’re amazing, Iris. I mean, the cards are good, but this is special. Do you publish your poems, too?”

  “Goodness, no,” Iris said, although the statement was only true in the present, not the past. She had been required to publish two chapbooks during grad school at the Pacific Lutheran University, and she had won several contests only because her professors had entered her poems in them. “I specialized in poetry when I got my MFA from PLU in Tacoma, but I just write those occasionally for fun. I’m only interested in publishing my cards.”

  “Can’t you do both?” Casey finally looked away from the poem and at her, and Iris took the opportunity to take her notepad back. She tried to make her movement casual, and not snatch the pad like she was grabbing her soul away from Casey.

  “Why bother? Greeting cards sell better, and I earn a steady income. Serious poetry won’t put dog food in the bowls.”

  Iris was trying to make a joke, but she felt a coil of tension in her shoulders. She stretched her neck unobtrusively, forcing her muscles to relax. She wasn’t a stranger to the feeling that she was falling short somehow, in her life and career choices. In fact, the poem had been about that very issue. But she wasn’t going to let Casey know how personal the poem actually was, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Casey add her endorsement to the similar opinions expressed by Iris’s former girlfriends. She hadn’t changed who she was for them, and she wouldn’t change for Casey. Of course, none of them had encouraged Iris to write more poetry, but still…

  “Why can’t you do both?” Casey repeated. “Keep doing the cards, because you’re obviously good at writing them, but send some of these other poems to magazines or book publishers or wherever poets send their stuff.”

  “I’m happy with the way I’m living my life right now,” Iris said, hearing her voice rise in volume even though she wasn’t getting louder on purpose. She needed to convince someone—either Casey or herself, she didn’t know which—that she was satisfied with the way things were. “I’m not the type who keeps wanting more. Those kinds of people either are disappointed when life doesn’t go the way they expect it to, or they just keep wanting more and are never happy with what they have.”

  Casey watched her with a frown. “You missed the third option, Iris. Sometimes people who want more make their dreams come true.”

  Iris shook her head, not because she didn’t believe what Casey was saying but because she wasn’t convinced Casey believed it. She had only told Iris about a small part of her childhood, but she had been able to fill in some gaps. She imagined Casey felt lonely and sad as a child, after losing her mother when she was very young, and then going to live with a father and grandparents who sounded cold and uninviting. Even now, watching the way she was tentative around the animals even though they responded well to her, Iris had the feeling that Casey wasn’t accustomed to expecting unconditional love. But she really didn’t know Casey well at all. Maybe she had found some sort of fulfillment that Iris wasn’t seeing.

  “Have you made your dreams come true, Casey?”

  Casey leaned away from Iris’s chair and averted her eyes. She looked toward the office, at the goats, toward the sky that was obscured by a solid blanket of gray—avoiding Iris’s gaze, but not focusing on anything in particular. “I have a great new job. I wouldn’t have gotten it if I had been complacent and settled into my old one. The lab at UW is spectacular, and I’m making new friends in the city. So yes, I’ve reached some career and personal goals, and I’ll keep striving toward new ones.” She looked at Iris, and her eyes were the color of the clouds and just as unfathomable. “But I don’t have your gift with words. Poems like this one should be shared, not hidden away in notepads.”

  “Maybe I write them for myself,” Iris said. Casey’s compliments should make her proud, not make her want to run away. “Maybe I don’t want anyone else to read them.”

  Casey opened her mouth as if to say something, but she closed it again. After a few moments of silence, she spoke. “Do those goats have names? I’ve only heard them called the Twins.”

  Iris had been busily erecting emotional walls between herself and Casey, but the abrupt shift in topic made her smile. “Are you subtly changing the subject?”

  “How you choose to either use or hide your talent is none of my business,” Casey said. “I was making you uncomfortable and I’m sorry.”

  “Holmes and Watson,” Iris said. “The goats. Because they examine everything they find lying around like they’re searching for clues to solve an important case. They’re very thorough.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed,” Casey said with a shake of her head. “Every job I do around here takes twice as long as it should because they keep grabbing tools and running off with them.”

  Iris laughed, surprised as always by Casey’s ability to make her shift her emotions in a heartbeat. The move from upset to laughter was a welcome one. “Apology accepted, by the way. I guess my poetry is too personal to share and I’m protective of it.”

  Casey nodded as if satisfied with the explanation, but Iris wasn’t. Why hadn’t she tried to publish some of her poems after grad school? Her professors had been encouraging, and she had a thick folder of poetry she thought was pretty good hidden in the back of her file cabinet. She had faced rejection before, especially when she had first started writing greeting cards, and although she didn’t like the feeling, it hadn’t immobilized her. She hadn’t been lying when she said she was happy with the way her life was going, for the most part.

  Why start chasing dreams of tomorrows and losing all of her todays?

  She was tempted to reopen the subject with Casey and maybe figure out what was holding her back, but Leo came through the office’s back door.

  “Iris, there are some people here who have lost a dog. A little girl and her parents. They’re in the parking lot.”

  Iris jumped to her feet, always thrilled with the possibility of finding one of her animals a home. “Want to come?” she asked Casey. “You might get to witness a wonderful reunion.”

  Casey had gotten to her feet as well, but more slowly than Iris. Iris felt her enthusiasm fade a little and she felt Casey’s sudden tension as acutely as she had felt her own earlier in their conversation. Sh
e put her hand on Casey’s forearm and slid her palm down Casey’s cotton sweatshirt until their fingers were entwined. The kennels, Leo, and her own struggles with her poetry disappeared, and all she felt was Casey’s skin against her own. Her hand was warm and rough from drying autumn weather and her work on the dog run. Her fingers gripped Iris’s tightly, and Iris felt Casey’s need to be close, if only for this brief moment.

  “I have a lot of dogs here, and there are even more at other shelters. The chance of it being Chert’s owners…But if they are…”

  Casey nodded with a jerky movement. “I know. I’m all right.”

  And in a flash, she was. Iris wasn’t sure what went on in Casey’s mind, but she went from panic to serene without any in-between. Casey gave Iris’s hand a squeeze, as if Iris was the one who needed comforting.

  “Let’s go. I’m looking forward to seeing this side of your job.”

  Iris missed the physical contact with Casey as soon as their hands separated, but the sudden emotional distance was even more heartbreaking. She felt loneliness wash over her, and she wasn’t sure if it was her own or Casey’s.

  Iris put the episode out of her mind as they walked out to the waiting family. She would think about it again later, but for now she had a job to do.

  “I’m Iris,” she said, shaking hands with the two adults. “I understand you’re missing a dog?”

  “Do you have my Petey?” the little girl asked before they could answer.

  Her dad put his hands on her shoulders. “We hope so, Kyla. But if he’s not here, I promise you we’ll keep looking for him.” He turned back to Iris. “I’m Al, and this is Linda and Kyla. We were visiting Linda’s parents in Mount Vernon when the earthquake hit. Her mom fell and had to go to the hospital, and we couldn’t get back here until yesterday. We had a neighbor go over to feed Petey, but the play set in the backyard knocked over the fence, and he must have gotten out. Our neighbor searched for him, and we’ve been looking since we got back.”

  “Where do you live?” Iris asked. Even though she wanted to place every single dog, she couldn’t help but hope that Chert wasn’t their Petey. “And can you describe your dog?”

  “Our house is near Roche Harbor,” Linda said. “Petey is a three-year-old border collie mix. I have some pictures of him.”

  Iris sighed with relief at the description. She had been thinking about the dogs she’d brought in since the quake, narrowing the options down in her mind as the family talked. Male dog—twelve. Four of them had come from the Roche Harbor area. Only one was a border collie. She knew exactly which dog belonged to them before she looked at the photos Linda showed her.

  “I drew one, too,” Kyla said.

  She handed Iris a piece of construction paper with a drawing of three stick figures and a dog standing next to a square house with a triangle roof. Iris knelt beside her and examined the sketch.

  “I have a dog here that looks like the one in your picture, Kyla. Can you wait here and I’ll bring him out? I hope he’s your Petey.”

  She got up and saw Casey watching her with an intense gaze. Chert obviously was going to remain at the shelter for the time being, and Iris felt a mixture of relief and sadness that she seemed to see reflected in Casey’s expression.

  “Roche Harbor Two?” Casey asked in a low voice.

  Iris nodded. “Want to bring him out?”

  “Sure,” Casey said in a carefully casual voice. She walked toward the kennel while Iris chatted with the family and returned in a few minutes with the small border collie. As soon as he saw his people, he bounded across the parking lot with Casey running behind.

  “Petey!” Kyla shouted as she and her parents hurried to meet the dog halfway. Iris felt Casey’s hand rest on her shoulder as she watched the four of them huddle close, sharing tears, tail wags, and doggy licks.

  “You do a good thing here, Iris,” Casey whispered in her ear, making the skin on her neck shiver in response. She leaned into Casey’s touch, not certain which of them needed the comfort of closeness the most. Iris loved these reunions, but they always made her realize how many other dogs were lonely and waiting for the same good luck.

  And Casey must be thinking of Chert. She seemed to be enjoying her time with him, but hopefully he would soon have his own reunion. Casey would be sad when it happened, but she had to let go. She would be leaving the island once her fieldwork was done after all, and life on San Juan would go on without her.

  Iris smiled at Casey and moved away from her touch. Casey wasn’t the only one who had to be prepared to let go.

  Chapter Eleven

  Casey woke up the next morning and pulled on a pair of sweats before sleepwalking to the coffee machine. She inhaled deeply as she stretched, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The scent of last night’s dinner lingered in the air, perfuming the room with a blend of spices Iris had rubbed on a skirt steak. Her reheating instructions had been a bit more complex for this dish, but Casey had managed to follow them, and she and Chert enjoyed a tasty meal even though the ends were a tad charred. Chert stayed close to her heels until she gave him a scoop of kibble to keep him occupied while she went to check on the pregnant cat.

  She stepped over the baby gate and lay down on her stomach next to the bed. The gray cat still hid when she walked into the room, but she purred loudly whenever Casey peered at her. In the evenings, she came into the living room and perched on the counter, watching Casey and Chert from a distance. The dog didn’t make any moves toward her, and the cat hadn’t shown any signs of going into labor, so Casey had started to relax around them.

  She hadn’t realized how empty her apartment really was until she’d come to Iris’s bungalow. Casey had more knickknacks in her place, mostly rocks, and more clothes filling the closets. Signs of her work were evident on counters and tables, with rock testing kits, old seismometers, and tons of maps strewn across every surface. But the apartment was devoid of sensations. The bland smell of her frozen meals dissipated after a few minutes, and the only sound came from the television that Casey kept on most of the night even though she rarely watched it.

  Everything was different here. Casey had been working so hard that she didn’t need the TV to distract her and help her sleep, and she usually left it turned off. She’d lie bundled on the couch with a book, listening to the intermittent, muted barks from the kennels, Chert’s snores and the cat’s purrs, and the crackling of the fire. The scent of real food seeped into the house and became part of it, and the changing aromas layered together into a welcoming atmosphere. Mostly, though, Casey became hyperaware of how much she had lacked touch in her life. Chert was always near and ready for attention, and Casey loved sleeping with his warm furriness tucked close by her side. She felt other things, too—the fuzzy scratch of Iris’s throw rug and the warmth of a wood fire. The pleasing achiness of muscles that had worked hard all day and the damp feeling in the air right before it started to rain.

  She felt as if she had been living in a sensory-deprivation pod for the past few years. She should be overwhelmed by the assault on her senses, but instead she felt soothed by every new taste and smell.

  She got dressed in several layers of clothing and took Chert with her to the kennels. Even though she had tried to tell Iris she didn’t need to feed her, frozen meals appeared in her fridge every day while she was in the field. She had argued with Iris and had even offered to pay her for the dinners, but Iris just ignored her and kept stocking the refrigerator. To be honest, Casey hadn’t argued too vehemently because she loved the food. Instead, she had added extra hours to her work at the shelter. The kennels were mostly repaired, and now she was working her way outward to the boundaries of the property, getting up extra early to have some daylight time to help Iris before she headed out to her faults. Her next big project would be the exercise yard, and then Iris wouldn’t need her anymore.

  She would be needed back at the lab, though. She had gathered some interesting data here on the island, and she had appreci
ated the chance to explore the crisscrossing lesser faults in person, with her view unfiltered by all but the most basic seismological equipment. The paper she was writing would be publishable, and would likely earn her some speaking opportunities at geology conferences and seminars. Altogether, a positive experience. And all too likely to end very soon.

  Casey rested her hand on Chert’s head as they walked. She had been so scared that the people who had arrived yesterday looking for their dog had been Chert’s owners, and her response was completely unfair to him. She had to hope his people were found soon, giving him a joyful reunion like she had witnessed yesterday. He deserved nothing less, and she was selfish to want to keep him with her until she was ready to leave.

  In the space of seconds, while Iris had held her hand and offered a quiet sort of support Casey had never felt before, Casey had lectured herself on thinking of the dog and not herself. Then she had done a few calculations and mapped out the remaining places she needed to explore while she was on the San Juans. She was certain her inner monologue and refocus on work had cleared her outward expression of any sign that she didn’t want to lose Chert. Inside, she felt like the little girl who had been told she couldn’t have a dog, but she could keep that emotion buried deep.

  She stopped for a moment and concentrated on that childhood memory, but every time she thought she could grasp it, it dissolved into mental images of work and maps and problems to solve. She shook her head. Maybe it would become clearer if she didn’t try so hard. She was out of practice seeking memories on purpose, but she needed to recapture this one for some reason. She had started to share it with Iris, but had lost the thread of it. Maybe she just wanted to finish telling her story.

  Iris would understand. Casey knew that for a fact, especially after reading her poem. She had captured Casey’s questions in a handful of words. Who was she? Why was she lonely? Why couldn’t she figure out the precise formula for falling in love? Casey had been uncomfortable with the questions, and she had turned her attention to Iris and the possibility of her getting published.