The Four Legs of Fate

Chapter 2: Erin

Chapter 2: Erin“Come on, Max! Let’s go!”

Not that he needed the invitation as he was sitting by the door already, right beneath where his leash hung. His head c****d to one side, he watched her every move. Erin double-tied her sneakers and slipped her bicycle gloves on, and together they went out onto the porch where her mountain bike stood under the lean-to. It had scared her at first, leading a seventy-five-pound German shepherd with one hand while steadying the bike with the other, but Max was such a champ that she barely thought about it anymore.

The air was crisp and clear this morning as Erin pedaled along the still quiet streets, cutting through her neighborhood of townhouses and single-family homes until she reached the green belt. Max, who’d been trotting next to her obediently, his nose never further ahead than her front wheel, paused when she did and gave a little woof.

“I know. Just give me one second!”

It never failed to astound Erin that even once she unclipped his leash from his collar, Max never moved from her side.

“Voraus!” she commanded, and Max shot forward, a brown and black arrow darting across the narrow expanse of green toward the bushes hiding the river that, at this time of year, was nothing more than a trickle.

Leaning her bike against a tree, Erin watched him as he nosed around stalks of weeds until he found the perfect spot to relieve himself. Unlike any other dog Erin had owned, Max never pooped in her backyard. He marked it all right but held his other needs until they either came back here or went to the more civilized park on the other side of her neighborhood. Once finished, he found some scent to follow and Erin smiled when he zigzagged and doubled back, then zigzagged some more.

It was hard to believe now that she’d been against getting him in the beginning, arguing that a dog his size wasn’t right for the city, the small townhouse yard not enough for him. But Cici hadn’t given up. And now here they were, she and Max, whereas Cici…

Erin’s throat went dry as she recalled what happened a mere five weeks ago on a boulevard in Paris.

Cici, an art professor at the college where Erin was teaching undergrad biology, had been overjoyed when the opportunity of a guest semester in Paris arose only a few months after they got Max.

“It’s a once in a lifetime chance!” Cici’d gushed, and good sport that Erin was, she’d agreed with her. Had agreed to not only put their relationship on hold but also to watch Max while Cici taught her French students about American painters. Hour upon hour she’d listened to Cici expound on the wonders of Paris, how amazing it was, how provocatively alive despite all its old-fashioned grandeur and traditions. While she sat on the couch grading papers on cell structure, Cici explored the art galleries of Paris and undertook excursions to places with unpronounceable names like Boulogne-Billancourt and Auvers-sur-Oise.

But then the summer came and with it the end of Cici’s work vacation. The plan had been for Erin to fly over, and they would enjoy several weeks in Paris together before packing up Cici’s things and heading home.

And it had been great at first. With Max boarded at a facility that cost as much per day as the average motel room, Erin had started her transatlantic adventure happily enough. Unlike Cici, whose mother was French and had taken her on numerous trips abroad, Erin had never been outside the US. Didn’t even have a passport. Now hers bore several stamps, but none of them as everlasting as those on her heart.

Red-eyed from lack of sleep, Erin had been shocked at how Spartan Cici’s accommodations were. Located in a back alley, the three-bedroom apartment Cici shared with two other tenants was cramped and dingy. But all that was forgotten once Erin was in Cici’s arms. They made glorious love, and Erin woke refreshed the next morning and ready to enjoy her vacation.

Not wanting to make a fuss, she didn’t balk when Cici insisted they eat breakfast out, even though she would have preferred to unpack first. And the café Cici chose was very French. Kind of shabby-cute with its round tables and mismatched chairs right in the middle of the sidewalk. Hearing Cici speak rapid French to the waiter shouldn’t have surprised Erin, but for some reason it felt strange sitting there watching the woman she loved smile and gesture and her not understanding a single syllable. Soon the coffee and the croissants came that everyone, including Erin, associated with France. They’d barely taken their first bites when a young guy sat down at their table.

“Salut, Celine!” Or that’s what Erin thought he said, and she understood nothing of the barrage of French that came after either. A few minutes later another young man joined the first, and Erin realized that these two men must be the gay couple Cici had befriended and had told Erin about in at least a dozen chats.

According to Cici, Jacques was a French professor—French language, that is—who worked at the same university as Cici, and Andre was his long-term lover. At least French guy number two—Erin didn’t know who was Andre and who Jacques and neither of them had introduced himself—had the courtesy to acknowledge Erin’s mumbled “Bonjour” before showering her with his own barrage of presumably well-intentioned French.

Cici said something that included Erin’s name and possibly the word l’amour, because the man paused momentarily and smiled and nodded in her direction. Erin smiled back gratefully but soon felt like an i***t again while all around her the conversation ebbed and flowed.

Determined to enjoy herself, she drank her coffee and nibbled at her croissant. But mostly she observed Cici, who looked adorable and, more important to Cici, tres chic in her cut-off linen pants and smart black top, as she flirted with both men in that offhand irresistible way of hers. The two men were quite obviously an item but still humored Cici, or so it seemed to Erin, and Frenchy number two even went as far as to brush Cici’s bare arm lovingly, which irked Erin to no end, especially when he winked in Erin’s direction.

“Can we go now?”

“Sure, just give me a couple of minutes.”

The couple of minutes stretched into forty-five, giving Erin ample time to take in morning life in back-alley Paris. As in any other big city she’d ever been to, everyone seemed in a hurry. But then, it was Tuesday and early morning. Still, when Cici had raved about the café to her, Erin had expected something more picturesque. Not this ugly grey-brown, four-story house with its cracked plaster and graffiti surrounded by other similarly dilapidated houses.

Also, morning traffic was heavy with cars inching past the café in a steady stream, belching exhaust fumes. At least two thirds of the drivers and pedestrians over the age of fifteen seemed to either be smoking or talking on the phone. One thing Cici had told her was true, though. Everyone walking by was both thin and smartly dressed, the women wearing heels so high Erin’s feet hurt from watching them.

Something wet and bulky bumped her leg. Max, who’d taken advantage of her inattention, had apparently decided to take a morning bath in the river.

“Oh, you!”

Wrinkling her nose at the smell of brackish water emanating from him, she clicked his leash onto his collar. At least the run home would dry his coat enough to not soil the throw rug too badly. A good thing it was, too, because she had no time to shampoo him before classes, and most likely none after. The semester had just begun, and everyone was still getting back into their routines. With Cici gone, Erin had agreed to teach ‘Darwin’s theory of evolution’ in addition to her regular classes, and she would have to prepare for the next day’s lecture, which would take up most of her evening.

Pedaling briskly, she worked hard to concentrate on Max happily loping alongside her rather than Cici’s prolonged and still sorely felt absence. Granted, things had improved after that first morning in Paris. Cici had played tourist guide for the rest of the week and taken Erin to all the famous places she’d read about online. But as the days wore on it became more and more apparent to Erin how much Cici loved it there. How she simply ‘fit.’

Two full weeks went by without Cici broaching the subject of their leaving for the US and when she finally did, she did it in public, after they’d just eaten a ridiculously fancy and drawn out horribly expensive meal at this supposedly oh-so-fabulous restaurant. Long story short, the Paris university had offered Cici a five-year contract, and Cici had taken it. It had been a done deal before Erin ever got there. Needless to say, she was crushed that Cici had not bothered to consult her.

“You understand I had to, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Erin stared at her empty plate until the porcelain blurred. As much as she wanted to scream and fight, a part of her realized Cici belonged here. Cici, who’d never fit in at their own college, who’d always been the eccentric, artsy one, accepted but not understood, did not stick out in Paris. Whether it was truly her mother’s blood speaking or whether it was simply that Cici had prepared all her life for this, she had come home.

“You could always take a year off. Live with me, here. Experience European culture.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Erin’s mind was that of a scientist. She had no talent for languages, having only taken the required minimum in school, preferring to focus on chemistry and biology instead. And Paris, while admittedly exhilarating and fun when seen through her tourist eyes, didn’t hold the same charm for her it did for Cici. No, as mundane and boring as it sounded, Erin preferred her own walk-in shower to the dingy plastic cell in the Paris apartment, preferred heating and air conditioning to damp walls with mold in the corners, and most of all, she preferred not having to share any of it with a bunch of strangers.

Erin blinked when Max stopped, realizing they’d arrived outside her town house. A treat for Max and a quick shower for herself and she headed back out, driving her hybrid the seven miles to campus where her busy day awaited her. Busy enough, with any luck, to purge any further thoughts of Cici and Paris.