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Chapter Twenty-three

Thursday August 14, 2008

9:58am

The last month had ripped apart everything Tyson had ever known, and by summer's end, his life would become entirely unrecognizable. He considered the looming changes underneath the feeble spray of a motel showerhead while short claws cut through his black saddle and tan anterior and his tail brushed a black-furred and slender waist.

"You're sure about this?" yawned the voice behind him.

Tyson nodded grimly.

Fuck it, he thought. Let it all come apart.

And having smothered the signatures of cigarettes and sex, Tyson made his departure from the black shepherd, reemerged into the bright and sunny world of Sandy for a slow drive through town, touring the homes of long-ago memories--the baseball diamonds, Sandy Varsity High, the road which wound past Jenner in the park.

At the house, Tyson boxed up the essentials of dormitory life, stowing them underneath the newly-fashioned shelf in his bedroom. Afterwards, there was nothing to do but wait. Over and over, the young shepherd glanced to his phone, counting down the time 'til his next move had to be made.

After several hours the stairs shook the house, swaying Tyson's impassive gaze from the television, his mind from its stagnant state. He breathed to himself, cold and deep, and constructed himself a more gentle mask to turn upon his youngest sister before she vaulted into the room.

"Where's Mom!" Anessa demanded at once, whirling wide, restive eyes upon the sofa. Her pink tongue flicked up at her nose whilst her paws tightened on the straps of a bag which had leapt upon her back up the stairs. She appeared on the verge of conniptions.

"No clue."

Tyson frowned, an effect of sympathy for Anessa's distress. How would she deal with that which lay ahead?

"Yeah, right," snorted Bella, entering the room in her apathetic gait, a key ring rolling round her index finger. "Mom runs off last night, and neither of you come home." She snorted again, and her dark eyes cast doubt towards her brother as she crossed the room. "What a coincidence."

Tyson disregarded the bait, keeping his face neutral and his attention upon Anessa who held neither suspicion nor grudge, who only wanted her mother to return home.

"Hopefully she stays gone," concluded Bella, carrying on to her room.

Tyson smiled to himself. At least one person in the family would be happy that night. He glanced to the clock on his phone, raised his eyes back to Anessa and casually suggested that she get her homework done. "Then we can go out and do something fun--get your mind off all this."

"Like what?" asked Anessa, sounding dubious.

"Whatever you want. It doesn't matter to me."

His sister only whimpered, folding her ears. "I just want Mom to come back."

* * *

5:45pm

Nineteen years.

Nineteen years had passed since they had stood at the altar, exchanged their vows and given their ceremonial kiss, all before a congregation of German shepherds and close friends--a monumental day, for it had marked the start of a marriage not only to Roger but to the thrill of being with anybody else, and so, as they had grown apart and indifferent towards one another, Patricia had never once considered the words which left her mouth at the crest of the stairs on a mild August afternoon.

"I want a divorce."

They left her loud and clear. She had something better now, something far beyond the fleeting fizz of deceit, something for which Roger wasn't needed.

Her husband clung to his chair unflinchingly. He only scratched at his neck while the proposal settled in. It seemed that all the previous night's fire was gone, meaning he would handle the matter in his normal, tired complacency. How simple, how dull.

"You don't want to try and talk this out?"

"No."

"What about the kids?"

"Keep them."

"Patty," sighed Roger, "don't you think this is a bit sudden for them?"

"Sudden?" laughed Patricia, voice climbing indignantly. "Roger, I don't _give_a shit!"

"Thanks, Mom."

Patricia and Roger both turned to the black, sneering muzzle at the mouth of the bedroom hall, the hall which Bella advanced from to square herself up before her mother. The black shepherds' eyes locked in contest, mirrored in their darkness and their animosity, and the air about them thickened. Roger mouthed accords lost upon the belligerents and receded into his bystander role.

"Wonderful timing," grinned Patricia, gazing upon her third-born child--Bella, the insolent pup, the brat.

"You guys were talking about getting a divorce, right?"

The word divorce left Bella's black lips with a hopeful twist, and Patricia laughed. At least someone from the family would give her a little entertainment on the way out.

"That's right."

"I hope Tyson isn't going to go into marriage counseling."

Impressed, Patricia let out another laugh. For Bella's many flaws, she was a shrewd bitch, but Patricia couldn't afford to acknowledge her daughter in the moment.

"What is that even supposed to mean?" laughed Patricia.

But Bella, having said what she had wanted to say, sang a sardonic au revoir and started for the stairs, smirking triumphantly whilst her family dissolved.

"Patty--" sighed Roger, "have you really thought this through?"

"Yes."

She would leave Sandy, start someplace anew. A new home, a new city, a new job--a lot to do on top of a divorce, but the more Patricia had thought about it, the more the prospects excited her. They really would be starting a whole new life.