This was supposed to be a simple summer for Billy: one more lazy expanse of time before college began. He'd fill the hours playing with Jimmy—his canine best buddy—going camping and doing all the things he promised Jimmy they'd do before Billy left. But that was before the accident that shook the entire town. It was before the summer job that turned into something so much more than a way to get a paycheck. And it was before Vicki. This summer was destined to be many things to Billy, things he didn't truly understand until now. But it was definitely not going to be simple.
An enormously touching, richly textured, deeply moving novel of new adulthood, The Changing Season is an experience to savor—with special appeal to dog lover’s.
PreOrder a kindle copy HERE {Releases 2/22}
The
beach was nearly deserted. After erecting their tent and establishing a cozy
campsite, Jimmy trotted to the water. As Billy looked on, the silver-faced mutt
walked in slowly—like an old man easing himself into a warm bath—the reckless
abandon he’d once been known for completely gone.
Jimmy swam for a bit before sitting in the shallows with the water
line at his chest.
Billy waded in and took a seat beside him where they sat for a
long while, looking out onto the horizon. While the tide gently lapped at their
chests, Billy wrapped his arm around Jimmy’s shoulder. “This is the life,” he
whispered.
A seagull landed on the sand a few feet from them. Jimmy just sat
there, watching the squawking bird with mild interest. “You must be tired, Jimmy. Back in the day,
you would have chased that vulture until you collapsed.”
Jimmy stood and took chase, but it was a haphazard effort.
“Half-stepper,” Billy teased the dog and stood to go for a walk
and dry off.
As they strolled along the coastline, Jimmy shook the salt water
from his coat. He also took breaks, long breaks, acting like he was exploring.
“I know you’re stalling,” Billy told him, “and it’s okay.” At least your spirit’s still willing,
Billy thought, getting choked up.
When Jimmy slowed even more, Billy headed for the campsite. The
sea grasses had lost their summer hue and were now brittle, snapping in half as
Billy and Jimmy walked through the abandoned dunes.
They reached camp and sat together again where Billy discovered that
the pads on Jimmy’s paws were dry and cracked. One was even bleeding, which
Jimmy licked for some time. Billy pulled the big moose into his lap. “Too many
miles on those old tires, huh?” he whispered, before noticing the patch of
missing fur on the mutt’s hind quarter—a souvenir from a vicious fight he’d won
in his glory days. A mean stray had swaggered into the backyard looking for
trouble. Unwilling to let it go, Jimmy gave the growling stranger all the
trouble he could handle. That one battle scar had been rubbed and patted
thousands of times throughout the years, the family being forever grateful for
Jimmy’s sacrificial love and fearless devotion. As they sat side-by-side, Billy
rubbed it again.
Resting his head in Billy’s lap, Jimmy’s eyes squinted while he
enjoyed the heavy scratching.
Billy worked his hand up the old dog’s body, stroking Jimmy’s head
and kneading the scruff of his neck. “I love you, buddy,” he said. “You know
that, right?”
Jimmy licked Billy’s hand.
“And I need to go away pretty soon…to college.”
Jimmy licked him again.
“The last thing in the world I want is to leave you, but I…” Billy
stopped from going any further. A wave of tears was waiting to break on the
shore just behind his eyes.
As though Jimmy understood, he nestled deeper into Billy’s lap and
began giving Billy’s hand a thorough bath.
With his free hand, Billy rubbed Jimmy’s chest up and down—fast
and hard—exactly the way the old mutt liked it. As he did, he looked up and
noticed a bank of even darker clouds had gathered above. “Looks like rain,” he
told Jimmy. “Hopefully, there’s no thunder.”
They napped in the tent, Jimmy appearing much less worried about
his nails on the air mattress than Billy. They curled up together, the rain
pitter-pattering on the light canvas above. “It’s just a shower,” Billy told
him. As good a guess as any meteorologist
would make, Billy thought, though it
doesn’t matter either way. As they began to nod off in each other’s arms,
Jimmy snored peacefully. Billy stared at his best friend’s face, studying every
nook and cranny—memorizing every crease and line. But it was silly. He knew
Jimmy’s face better than his own. And I’m
going to miss it something awful, he thought, swallowing back the lump in
his throat. While the rain picked up and began thumping on the tent’s roof,
Billy closed his eyes.
When
they awoke from their afternoon siesta, Jimmy stood on the wobbly air mattress
and yipped in pain. Once the sound of playful banter, Billy knew it was from
pain now. “You okay?” he asked, massaging the dog’s haunches and working out
the knots as he’d watched Arlene do many times. “Feel better now?” he asked,
stopping.
Jimmy reached up with his right paw and scratched Billy’s hand,
gesturing that he continue.
After a few more minutes, Billy stopped again. “Better?” he asked.
Jimmy licked Billy’s face once before slowly stepping off the
jelly-like mattress.
Billy hurried to throw two baby aspirin into a glob of peanut
butter and fed it to the mutt.
When they came out of hibernation, the air was cool and fresh. The
trees glistened from the rain. Billy looked up. The clouds had dispersed,
leaving behind the last of the day’s light.
The sunset was a palate of coral pinks and greens, with swirls of
purple brushed in. The light softened—like the ambiance of an expensive
romantic dinner, before fading into the distance and becoming twilight. There
was a giant pause, as if the world collectively exhaled after filing another
day into the history books. Billy and Jimmy sat together on a sturdy fold-out
chair, silently sharing the magic. Billy took a deep breath and sighed.
Jimmy did the same.
Billy laughed. “Copycat,” he whispered.
The beach had always been the place where Jimmy
was free to romp and roam—to explore. And each year he did just that. But not
this year. Jimmy nuzzled into Billy’s lap again,
where he awaited the attention Billy had always showered on him.
“You’re a good boy,” Billy whispered, as he scratched the gentle
canine under his chin. He shook his head. “Although you haven’t been a boy for a long time.”
In what seemed like minutes, a million flickering stars covered
the dark sky. Billy and Jimmy got up to take another stroll. They walked a few
feet when they happened upon a giant puddle. Moonlight was trapped in the
puddle, along with Billy and Jimmy’s reflections—the two of them standing knee
to shoulder. While Billy smiled, Jimmy bent at the water’s edge and began to
drink, sending ripples through the portrait. “Don’t drink that, Jimmy,” Billy
scolded him. “You have fresh water back in the tent.”
Jimmy paid him no mind and kept lapping loudly, slobbering all
over himself and depositing an equal amount of back wash.
Billy shook his head. “Whatever, it’s your stomach.”
They made it down to the water’s edge again and stood together in
the silence for a long, long while. It was as though neither of them wanted the
night to end, as though both of them needed more time together. Billy
closed his eyes and listened to the tide. The ebb and flow was constant but random,
like surround sound lapping the shore on the left, right and center.
The
night grew cold, real cold for the time of year. Billy was surprised he and
Jimmy couldn’t see their breath. The drop in temperature was significant,
reminding Billy once again that summer was quickly coming to an end. It was a
cold slap to the face—literally. I’m
moving away in just a week, he thought. One
week! He looked down at Jimmy, glad that his furry friend had no concept or
fear of time.
Billy built a campfire, which wasn’t easy
considering that everything was still damp from the rain shower. But sitting by
a campfire had always been his and Jimmy’s thing, the perfect atmosphere to spend
quality time together, so he worked hard to get the fire going.
They
sat together in silence for a long time, hypnotized by the swaying flames and
the rhythm of the rolling tide. When it was time to turn in for the night, Jimmy licked his paw, running it across his face for the
day’s final bath. They both stood and stretched, leaving behind a handful of
glowing embers and heading for the tent.
Kneeling
beside the air mattress, Billy said his prayers. As he crawled in beside Jimmy,
he left on the battery-operated lantern for his timid, four-legged friend,
knowing that two D cell batteries would be killed in the process.
While
Jimmy snored, Billy watched as their silhouettes moved randomly on the ceiling
of the tent. He locked onto them, hypnotized by the shadows dancing above. His
eyes grew heavy and he yawned. Within seconds, the shadows grew smaller until
they disappeared.
Billy
watched Jimmy—as a puppy—crying because the bedspread was covering his
eyes. Jimmy’s claustrophobic, he
realized. “It’s play time,” he told the dog, tricking Jimmy
into thinking they were going to horse around. The garden hose and bottle of
dog shampoo, however, made the smart dog whimper. Billy laughed. When he
looked back, Jimmy was stretched out flat on his
belly, all four legs pin straight like he’d been strapped to the torturer’s
rack. Billy did a double-take and Jimmy was wearing the cone of shame so he
didn’t bite at his stitches after being neutered. Poor guy, Billy thought, and then yelled at the dog after he’d torn
a pillow to shreds. In the next scene, an older Jimmy chomped on ice cubes, spraying them
everywhere like a broken snow cone machine. And then they were fishing,
both of them young again. Jimmy whined as he watched the small perch swim in
circles in the bucket. He placed his paw on the lip of the pail, pulling it to
him and dumping the flopping fish into the grass—in some sad attempt at freeing
the prisoners. Billy laughed again and a moment later, he was watching on in
horror as Sophie dressed the poor dog in some ridiculous outfit for one of her
lively tea parties. Sophie played with Jimmy’s ears, his paws, his tail; the
mutt just lay there, as if he understood it was the price he had to pay for
free meals. Jimmy’s the ultimate pilot fish.
Billy shook his head, while a water sprinkler soaked the summer grass and Jimmy
exhibited another example of his terrible drinking habits. Billy could see
himself falling out the tree in the backyard and grabbing his arm; the pain was
mind numbing. While he healed, Jimmy never left his side. Billy then looked
down to find that his cast was gone. He looked up again and Jimmy was smiling
at him, his teeth covered in tartar build-up. “Have
you been kissing a skunk?” he teased the dog. “You have a bad case of
gingivitis, buddy…or is it halitosis?” Billy passed the groomer’s window
and noticed that he’d grown tall. Jimmy was beyond ecstatic to see him; his nails
had been clipped, his fur trimmed but his eyes were as wide as two chocolate pies.
“What did she do to you, boy?” Billy teased the frightened dog.
Billy
awoke, panting like a dog himself. He looked over at his tent mate, who was
still snoring peacefully on the air mattress. “Oh Jimmy,” he muttered and wrapped
his arm around the drooling heap.
Billy shook the cobwebs from his head and tried to make sense of
it all. It was just a dream, he
realized. Fragmented and confused in time and context, he’d dreamed about
Jimmy. There were glimpses of the past and present merged together, as though
Jimmy’s life had been thrown into a blender and Billy was enjoying each
experience with him a second time. He pushed himself closer to Jimmy until he
could feel the rise and fall of the dog’s breathing. “I love you so much,
buddy,” he whispered, before falling back to sleep.
Steven Manchester is the author of four #1 bestsellers: Twelve Months, The Rockin' Chair, Pressed Pennies and Gooseberry Island. His long-anticipated novel, The Changing Season, is currently available for pre-order. Steve is also the author of the award-winning novel, Goodnight, Brian. He has written A Christmas Wish (Kindle exclusive), Wilbur Avenue (novelette), Just in Time (novelette) and The Thursday Night Club (novella), while his work has appeared on NBC's Today Show, CBS's The Early Show, CNN's American Morning and BET's Nightly News. Three of Steven's short stories were selected "101 Best" for Chicken Soup for the Soul series and he is the produced playwright of Three Shoeboxes. When not spending time with his beautiful wife, Paula, or their four children, this Massachusetts author is promoting his works or writing.
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