The Bernie Factor, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Nick strolled across 5th Street to his truck parked on the corner at Conifer Street. His 6’3” frame showed all the signs of a faster than normal metabolism. As childhood and college friends battled the early stages of a mid-life spread, Nick still possessed the lanky, tall body from his early twenties. He did his part and watched what he ate to some degree, but mostly he was genetically blessed. He would probably be one of those guys who never put on the pounds.

  He snatched a flyer stuffed under his windshield wiper and promptly crumpled and tossed the advertisement into a trashcan that sat next to a local newspaper stand. Nick hopped into his truck and momentarily reflected on his relationship with Vincent. Nick never had children and was now a widower. For the past two years, he looked at Vincent as his closest family, at least geographically.

  It had been three years since Nick lost the love of his life, Sandy, to breast cancer. He and Sandy met their senior year in college helping the poor, and it was hate at first sight, at least for Sandy. After a few short months, however, they couldn’t stand to be apart. Nick used to joke that Sandy initially found him so repugnant that he compared it to her staring at a grotesque car accident on the side of the road. Nick theorized that curiosity just got the better of her, and eventually she could no longer deny her pagan desires. Sandy explained it as an intense sadness for Nick, which led to an overwhelming desire to help him. This evolved into what she later likened to missionary work. This kind of humor fueled their relationship, especially in the early days. It became a competition of who could make the other laugh the hardest.

  Sandy grew up in the church with a fiery evangelical father. She walked the straight and narrow through high school, honing her wry humor and satirical nature as a means to combat the disparities between her home life and the outside world. By the time Sandy entered college, she decided to test the waters of this outside world. At the other end of the spectrum, Nick went to college to continue his beer guzzling career and swim in the pool of available, attractive female imbibers. Sandy’s parents strictly admonished her of the evils that loitered just outside their heavenly doors, waiting to tempt her at every opportunity. Sandy couldn’t wait. Nick’s parents trusted his judgment and encouraged Nick to experience what higher education and campus life had to offer. Nick couldn’t wait, either.

  Sandy recalled her freshman year at the University of Colorado as an epic blur. A few sips of alcohol during her high school senior year represented her party life experience up until that point. During the first weekend on campus, her wild roommate introduced Sandy to her first keg party at the Chi Epsilon Omega fraternity house. The frat boys dubbed the get together as the school year’s inaugural welcoming for the incoming freshman class. Ironically, the invite only went out to the girl’s dormitories, and the party doormen redirected any uninvited male guests citing “non-sausage party regulations”. In spite of her lack of experience, Sandy understood the host’s intentions. She simply tired of the tight restrictions her parents imposed upon her. She longed to see just what this world offered, readily willing to abandon her upbringing and figure out what she truly felt and believed.

  After this initial soiree, she learned the world offered the intimacy of tightly hugging an unclean toilet bowl while retching up Coors, the official banquet beer of the West. Not as glamorous as she first thought, but it did not dampen her flame to experience the world on her own terms. The liberal college environment in Boulder, CO encouraged her experimentation as she replaced her sensible shoes with Birkenstock sandals. Her favorite color changed from pink to anything tye-dye. Her palette evolved from beef to tofu. She grocery shopped at Alfalfa’s, a locally owned, organic supermarket. Strings of beads made more sense than doors inside the house she rented with friends on the edge of campus. Although the Greeks intrigued, Sandy fell into a tight knit, comfortable circle of friends that shared a large, renovated 8 bedroom house. Sorority life never appealed to her.

  She hid nothing from her parents, not at all bothered by unexpected visits. Sandy anticipated strong protests from her folks, but none came. Their message never changed. Their beliefs remained firmly cast, but they declined to pass judgment on Sandy’s lifestyle alterations which she unabashedly displayed. She openly spoke about multiple boyfriends, wild, drunken parties, and her lack of respect for any and all campus authority. She protested with the liberal student body, non-violently opposing such injustices as the expansion of athletic department facilities and ROTC recruitment.

  During her junior year, she pushed the envelope by leaving unopened condoms in plain view on a first floor coffee table in the house. Her mother covered it with a copy of Good Housekeeping. Somewhat discouraged by this response and still hoping to instigate a clash with her parents, she placed a box of condoms on her nightstand. Sandy’s mouth fell open when she saw her dad casually pick up the box and place it in his coat pocket, never saying a word. What was he going to do with them? Eeew! As it so happened, this was same day that Nick came into her life.

  Nick always saw himself as a fairly straight-laced kind of guy, but definitely not a nerd. He didn’t want the gambling life his father chose, but he longed to live on his own terms and test the boundaries in his own specific way. By his sophomore year, the fraternity shaped his extracurricular activities and started to shape his college experience. He lived in the frat house and fully enjoyed the camaraderie that accompanied his membership. Parties and competitions between rival frats houses, along with the little sisters from the sororities, added to the college experience. As fate would have it, his fraternity sponsored a community event that brought Sandy and him and a box of condoms together, forever sealing their combined future.

  On that day, a local shelter promoted a food drive, which Nick’s fraternity spearheaded by soliciting door knockers to go house to house in search of food or money donations. Nick enjoyed walking the campus and its neighboring streets. His natural inclinations teetered on the edge of the extrovert even though he thought of himself as somewhat introverted. He enjoyed meeting new people, but was not one for large crowds, which ironically, included fraternity keg parties. Nick was more likely to sequester himself with newly met partiers in an out of the way room or back patio, weather permitting. Walking the streets and meeting new people invigorated him, and he look forward to this assignment. Another fraternity brother followed him in a beat up pickup truck, hauling the collected canned, boxed, and bottled donations.

  Nick vaulted his lanky 6’3” frame up the steps that led to a wraparound porch which seemed to hug the turn-of-the-century mansion. The house’s size and intricate architectural detail mesmerized him. Large wooden shutters encased floor length front windows, surrounded by thick tongue and groove hand carved wood siding. The front door almost seemed gothic, dwarfing Nick with its weathered poplar wood and wrought iron knocker, which more resembled an anvil than a means of summoning occupants. However, beer stickers, CU banners, peace signs, and a neon light in an upper bedroom window now defined the house as a college dwelling rather than a stately mansion housing an affluent family.

  It appeared larger than Nick’s frat house, and he felt a twinge of jealousy at the space the renters most likely possessed in comparison to his crowded domicile. Nick rapped the front door with the weighty iron knocker that felt cold and heavy in his bare hand. The hunk of iron collided with its matching plate attached to the door and reverberated in his ears. Nick realized the knocker must have made a booming sound for anyone inside. Undaunted by his social faux pas, Nick put on his best charm when a young blonde woman opened the front door. He explained his fraternity’s community service involvement and how any contribution for the less fortunate would be greatly appreciated. With the sale’s pitch delivered convincingly enough, she invited Nick inside the front hallway and disappeared into the kitchen.

  His eyes followed the blonde girl into the kitchen and did not immediately obs
erve the older gentleman walking down the stairs with the curly haired brunette. Nick’s attention drew away from the kitchen as he heard the stairs creak under weighted footsteps. The round faced curly haired brunette seemed somewhat preoccupied, wringing her hands as she and the older man made their way downstairs and into the foyer. Regardless of her nervous behavior, her beauty was undeniable to Nick. She was every bit Nick’s height, but carried herself with a clear-cut femininity he could sense as easily as he could observe. However, as obvious as her outer beauty appeared, Nick instantly sensed an inner grace and attractiveness that far surpassed what he registered with his eyes. Nick remained frozen in a love at first sight moment unlike any other he’d known as the blonde girl returned from the kitchen with a handful of refried bean cans.

  “This is Nick. He’s collecting can goods, cash, or whatever we can spare for the community shelter over on Fordham. I’m eliminating future embarrassing gas.”

  The blonde girl dumped the refried bean cans in a canvass sack Nick held open with both hands. The older gentleman walked up to the bag, pulled out a box of condoms, silently dropped them in the bag, and walked out the door. Nick stared at the box, not really believing what he saw. He stared back at the brunette who only seconds ago captured his heart. Her face bore a crimson hue that inched up her forehead and vanished into her rich, dark curls. Nick had no idea what was going on, but somehow he knew no matter how many faults this tall dark haired beauty might possess, all of them would melt away whenever she looked into his eyes.

  “We’ll call you when we get home, Sandy,” the man said. He strode down the steps, and Nick remained fixated on the brunette who now had a name.

  Without really thinking, Nick blurted out, “He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?” trying to be funny. Sandy was not amused.

  “You’re an idiot,” Sandy said to Nick as she turned and stormed into the kitchen. Caught in the middle, the blonde girl peered into the bag and saw the condoms.

  “Oh, man,” she giggled. “I suppose if the shelter can’t use them, you’ll find someone who will.”

  “If, uh, Sandy is it?” Nick asked loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. “If you need them, you can have them back.”

  “Just please leave,” Sandy shouted from the kitchen.

  “You better quit while you’re behind,” the roommate said, still giggling. She opened the front door, and Nick walked back outside and down the Victorian house’s front steps. He looked for the older gentleman, but did not see him. Who was he, and did a food bank really need condoms? These two questions plagued a young Nick for the following two hours until they returned to the food bank to offload the collections. They ran a human chain, handing canned food, boxes, and bottles from the pickup parked in the alley all the way into the storage room. Not completely sure where they belonged, Nick left the condoms on the truck’s dashboard. Right now, the only connection he had to this girl was a box of condoms. How collegiate, he thought.

  “Wanna hit the Tank?” his frat brother, Mickey, asked. The Tank was a typical, edge of campus bar that catered to college students with twenty-five cents draft nights, crappy live bands, free shelled peanuts, and a permanently sticky floor.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They arrived extremely early by college standards, walking through the mostly empty bar area shortly before 8pm. For some reason, Nick shoved the condoms into his coat pocket, reasoning better safe than sorry. Mickey went to the pay phone and called the frat house to let them know a stake had been claimed by the jukebox at the Tank and reinforcements would be necessary. To compete with a new bar across the street, the Tank owners offered ten cent 16 ounce beers all night. Nick shelled peanuts and wondered how long he’d last with this being the only meal he’d had since the Waffle House at 10am this morning.

  As the evening rolled on, patrons came, but few left. Despite a new bar opening its doors across the street, the Tank’s economical draw proved too hard for the masses to resist. By 10:30 a line formed outside the Tank’s entrance. Moving a few feet became tedious and a trip to the bathroom was a 20 minute adventure of elbows, butts, and beer spillage. Nick did his best to avoid “breaking the seal”, knowing that once a bladder opened the flood gates, the tide could not be reversed. Each urinary trip’s interval shrank and seemed more urgent than the last one.

  On pee break number three, the crowd thickened to a nearly impassable horde of drinking and drunk undergraduates. As Nick contorted himself through the maze of bodies, raising his beer above the crowd to avoid it getting knocked from his hand, he received a shot to his gut that made him tilt the protected brew in mid-air. He watched the top third of his drink splash down a girl’s back as she arched her shoulders in response the chill of the beer.

  “I’m sorry,” Nick said, trying to catch his breath as he regained his composure. He felt equal grief for spilling the beer on the girl and the waste of approximately 3 cents worth of a Tank libation. The girl turned to see the source of her unwelcomed beer shower. Sandy stared him square in the eyes.

  “Wow, I’m probably not doing much to impress you today,” Nick said with a slight slur. “Sandy, right?” Nick stuck out his free hand. Sandy rolled her eyes. “Hey, at least let me buy you a beer, ok?”

  “Ten cents? Don’t pull a muscle reaching for your wallet.”

  Thinking fast and drunk Nick said, “Hey, I’ve got your condoms.” This exchange garnered the attention of fellow undergraduates standing within earshot. “I mean, your boyfriend’s condoms,” he continued, elevating his inebriated voice above the din of the bar.

  Sandy stood with her arms folded across her chest, and her eyes narrowed. “He’s not my boyfriend, you moron. He’s my father.” If people close by were not already paying attention to this conversation, they were now. Sandy’s shoulders dropped, and she looked from side to side to see if those last words registered with anybody. The immediate crowd’s raised eyebrows and irrepressible grins told Sandy that her last utterance meant something entirely different to those standing nearby than it did to her. Nick wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it himself.

  “Aughh,” she exclaimed, grabbing her head with both hands and staring at the floor. She dropped her hands and began pushing her way through the crowd toward the front door. Her snail’s speed through the crowd further escalated her embarrassment and anger. Nick followed and kept trying to apologize.

  “Sandy, I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget about the other stuff. I feel bad.”

  “You feel bad?” Sandy queried just inside the Tank’s front door. “The back of my shirt is covered in beer, which is par for the course here. But you start ranting about rubbers, and the next thing I know, I’m making statements trying explain myself to you that make me sound like a molested kid.”

  “You’re not, are you?” Nick wasn’t sure if this mattered or made sense. By the look on Sandy’s face, her opinion of him sank lower than before, if that was possible. She spun around and blew through the door, slamming it against the burley, bald bouncer working the entrance. Nick followed behind her, still holding his beer.

  “Ok, I don’t know why I said that,” he said running after her down the sidewalk. “Hold, up, have you had dinner yet? I’m starving. All I’ve had since this morning is the Tank’s peanuts. What do you…” Nick was jerked backwards by his collar with a sudden, violent yank. In his alcohol induced state, Nick’s balance lacked the ability to shift with rapid, forced movements. He tripped over a metal chair and table sitting in front of the neighboring coffee shop. The metal clanged against the cement, and a glass ashtray shattered on the ground. But the loudest noise came from the crowd standing in line as Nick’s head slammed into the corner of a stone trashcan.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that beer, slim?” the doorman exclaimed. Nick lay with his head cockeyed against the trashcan, his right leg under a metal chair and his other leg resting on the edge of th
e matching metal table that was now on its side. The doorman stood hunched over Nick with his fists clenched. Nick lay still, dumbfounded. He began to feel blood run down his left cheek from where his head met the trashcan.

  “You jackass! What is your problem?” Sandy shouted, slapping the doorman on the upper arm with her open hand. Having no effect on him, she tried pushing him away. She could have sooner budged the Oldsmobile parked on the curb right next to them.

  The doorman turned toward Sandy, fists still clenched and said, “If you don’t want to explain to the cops how you two were causing a disturbance, I’d suggest you pick up your drunk boyfriend and hit the road.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Sandy protested.

  “I don’t care what you call him, just get lost.” The brutish behavior by the doormen seldom escalated into violence, but the occasional display of force kept things in check with the youthful crowd. Apparently the door hitting him on Sandy’s way out provoked him just enough to warrant coming after Nick for bringing alcohol outside of the premises, clearly a liquor license violation for the Tank. The owners were very clear on this matter with their enforcers. Any issues with their liquor license could be a death sentence.

  The crowd remained in a hushed silence as Sandy helped Nick to his feet. She pressed her hand on his left temple, trying to slow the ooze of blood. She shot the doorman a scowl and muttered a few choice obscenities under her breath as she helped Nick steady his feet. The doorman ignored her remarks and shuffled back to the front door with his fists still clenched, but now resting down by his side.

  “Put your arm around my shoulder,” Sandy ordered.

  “I’m fine. You don’t have to do this. It’s all my fault, anyway.”

  “You just be quiet and bleed. My house is just a couple of blocks away. The least I can down is clean you up and make sure you don’t die.” Sandy looked at Nick from the corner of her eye and gave a half-smile. “At least not tonight.”

  Nick gratefully complied, and the two walked intertwined down the sidewalk. Nick wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline rush exiting his body, the beer consumption with little food, or bouncing his head off an immovable object that made him unsteady on his feet. He definitely felt glad and appreciative that Sandy supported his wobbly steps, though. By the time they reached her house, Nick began to regain his wits. He made another half-hearted attempt to deny her help, but Sandy insisted. Nick felt bad about how the evening fared and how they got to this point, but he looked forward to spending some time with this girl.

  Sandy helped him navigate the lengthy stairs up to the front porch and inside to the kitchen. Nick sat in a creaky wooden chair that appeared to have come with the house a hundred years ago. Assorted mail topped the battered wooden table that butted up against the wall across from the sink. It appeared to be an old library desk of some sort, and fit the broke college student, eclectic motif perfectly.

  Sandy wet a clean dishtowel she removed from a drawer below the kitchen counter. She walked into a large pantry, rummaged around inside, and returned with a plastic bag that she filled with ice from a tray in the freezer. She dabbed Nick’s head with gentle motions, watching for any painful reaction from him. As she wiped the dried blood from his temple and cheek, Nick stared at her dark brown eyes as they scanned his injuries. She caught his intent gaze and gave him a quick smile. Nick was relieved to see a softer side. Sandy removed the towel and switched the ice bag and the dishtowel in her hands.

  “It stopped bleeding, and the blood’s cleaned up, but you’ve got a goose egg on the side of your head,” Sandy said. “You better ice that knot before it gets any bigger.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate this. And I am really sorry for any misunderstanding we had earlier with your dad and your rubbers. I mean his rubbers,” Nick stammered. “Oh, hell I don’t know what I mean.” Nick reached into his coat pocket and threw the condom box on the makeshift kitchen table. “Just get those damn things away from me. After tonight, I’m banning all things rubber from my life. Do they make wooden tires?”

  Sandy laughed and replied, “If they did, Boulder would be the place. Hey, I’m sorry you got hurt. That bouncer was an ass.” Sandy eyed the injured young man seated across from her and decided to confide in him. “O.k., it was my father and technically they were my condoms.” She explained her intended purpose for the condoms and how her dad came to possess the box. She talked about growing up in the church and trying to find her place in the world and decide what she really believed.

  “It doesn’t sound like he’s easily shaken,” Nick said to the story.

  “No, he’s unflappable. He just gives me my space and lets me know that he loves me.”

  “I don’t know much about growing up with a pastor in the house, but your dad sounds pretty cool. Especially with you trying to be the minister’s wild child daughter.”

  “Yeah, well that’s all an act and a bunch of props,” Sandy said. “Not that I’m some uptight poser,” she countered. “The bark is just a little worse than the bite, for effect.”

  “I’m fine with that, being a dog lover and all.” Nick had never owned a dog before in his life, however he used to pet his neighbor’s aged golden retriever when he was younger. He’d have loved to own a dog, but that wasn’t a path he would travel down tonight.

  And that was all it took to start the wheels in motion for Sandy and Nick. They got to know each other and soon discovered the similarities they shared. Both maintained high GPA’s and took their coursework seriously. They indulged themselves with campus antics and parties that really only acted as a thin veneer for their more conservative natures. In all actuality they both possessed adventurous hearts, but possessed enough self-discipline to avoid the self-destructive, sophomoric behavior so many undergraduates choose to exhibit.

  During spring break their senior year, they traveled together through Europe, staying in hostels and touring the countryside by whatever means necessary. While their comrades burned their skin on beaches, they sipped French wine in out of the way, rural villages and hiked though ruins along the Italian west coast. So taken by the beauty of the region and the simplicity of the trip, they returned upon graduation and spent the whole summer touring anything they previously missed.

  Sandy marveled that she loved somebody so deeply that she initially hated so much. Nick simply knew she was the one and could care less about how things began. He just knew he never wanted it to end. With that thought in mind, Nick proposed on the return flight back to the states. He actually hid the ring in a bag of airline pretzels with a little help from the flight attendant. Since they were smack dab in the middle of economy class, Sandy’s euphoric response of screams, tears, laughter, and the obligatory “yes” lead to several bottles of the finest airline champagne getting shared between the happy couple and passengers seated anywhere near seats 34 G and H. The party lasted through the remainder of the flight and didn’t end for the next 12 years.

  Once out of college, Nick began working for the Denver Post. With his Bachelor’s degree in English, he began his career in the newspaper’s mailroom. Not exactly where he planned to start, but it was a big company, and he had a foot in the door. Sandy began teaching elementary school in an east downtown Denver neighborhood. It was baptism by fire for both of them, but they breathed it in. They were living their life on their own terms and supported each other through all of the changes, even when that change was cancer.

  Nick was writing for the newspaper, picking up freelance jobs here and there, and contemplating trying his hand at writing a book when they got the news. Sandy was looking at assistant principal positions when the bottom fell out. To make matters worse, they had recently decided it was time to start a family of their own. Cancer was the last thing on their minds and hit them like a sucker punch from a heavyweight prizefighter. For months Nick likened the feeling to lying on the canvass, wondering where you were and what
just happened. Sandy did her best to stay in the fight, but she heard the 10 second count rapidly clicking by in her head.

  They spent the next 16 months fighting the good fight and eventually preparing for the inevitable. Although she didn’t initially feel sick, the stage IV cancer metastasized and spread rapidly throughout her body. The radiation mixed with the chemotherapy cocktails staved off the progression in the beginning, but the disease was more aggressive than modern medicine could combat. Nick felt hopeless as he watched Sandy wither away before his eyes. In keeping with her wishes, the final days were spent at home with hospice workers coming daily to help with the pain compliance and regulation of the medications that kept her comfortable, if not fully coherent. Nick battled through a barrage of feelings, but when Sandy died, all he felt was a tremendous sense of loss, grief, and guilt for thinking he might have accepted some type of solace in her passing.

  His life in downtown Denver was a life designed to be spent with Sandy, and every moment he visited their favorite restaurants, coffee shops, books stores, bars, or parks, he realized the gravity of the loss. He quit the newspaper shortly after Sandy passed, filled with hopes of turning his dream of writing novels into a reality. They had saved money over the years, and he felt financially secure chasing his dream. But Nick suffocated under the weight of his loss and finally decided a geographical change was in order. He loved Colorado, but thought a slower pace was what the so called doctor ordered.

  In the summer of 2011, he packed his bags and headed south from Denver to the sleepy town of Pine Valley. And bags were all he had. He auctioned off, sold online, sold at yard sales, and gave away anything that wouldn’t fit in his truck. This was to be a fresh start. He rented a small bungalow not far from the Pine Valley historic town center. It was here he would reinvent himself and continue his dream of writing novels.

  A few months slipped away before Nick strolled down the neighborhood street to a new coffee shop that was about three blocks from his house. The little caffeine oasis was bursting at the seams, and table space became more and more sparse by the minute as he stood in line. He ordered his coffee and, although, not feeling overly social, he decided to grab a seat at a table with a long haired, goateed older man banging away on a laptop rather than wander the streets or return to his empty house. Nick had no intention of striking up a conversation, but apparently the aged hippie was not as preoccupied as he originally thought.

  “Grounds For Divorce Coffee is pretty out there, huh?” the older man asked without looking up from his computer. It took a second before Nick realized he was talking to him.

  “I’m sorry,” Nick said.

  “You know, who names a place Grounds For Divorce Coffee?”

  “That’s what GFD stands for?” Nick asked. He squinted his eyes at the chalkboard menu that ran the entire length behind the counter. It must have been 15 feet long. “I’ll be damned. There must be a good story behind that one.”

  “There absolutely is.”

  “You know, a guy tries to be creative and write something witty that people will want to buy and read, but at the end of the day the real world provides more than you can usually imagine,” Nick retorted to himself. “I guess that’s why reality TV rules the airwaves.” The older man smiled, nodded in agreement, and extended his free hand to Nick.

  “I’m Vincent.”

  “I’m Nick. Pleased to meet you. Well it looks like a fairly normal crowd. With a name like that I’d be concerned it would be swarming with litigators and people on the rebound.”

  “Everyone’s on the rebound, and you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a lawyer these days,” Vincent replied.

  “Really, you think so? All of my dead cats seem to whiff,” Nick joked.

  “Maybe you need a bigger, dead cat.”

  And so went many of their early conversations. Mindless banter and a wry satirical exchange that only they probably could appreciate defined their scheduled encounters. Every morning around 10am they’d meet for coffee at the GFD. For his part, meeting Vincent helped pull Nick back into the world after losing Sandy. Although he never met her, Nick’s colorful, in-depth details of their life together painted a well-defined picture for Vincent. Vincent often commented on Nick’s eye for detail and encouraged him to keep the writing dream alive. Vincent and Nick worked symbiotically in each other’s lives, pushing and encouraging in certain areas and resisting and cautioning in others. They were two different men at different places in their lives who fit perfectly together, navigating through rough and calm seas, always looking to dock at the GFD.

  Vincent knew that Nick was at a tipping point in his life. His dream of becoming an established author needed to grow roots. Too many distractions and a lack of focus kept him from taking the next step. For whatever reason, Vincent knew completely that Nick getting a dog would somehow help the puzzle pieces fit together. He didn’t know why, but he was certain of it. Pretty bold for a guy with two cats, Hector and Emilio.

  Vincent finished his now luke-warm coffee with a massive, final gulp as he watched Nick pull away from the curb across the street. He nodded toward Miguel and walked outside into the warming Pine Valley sun and hoped Nick’s previous childhood pet disasters did not negatively bias his willingness to get a dog.