Lost and Found

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“I found Barley today.” Flynn spoke into his phone, pacing the length of his studio apartment in Wallingford. He had called his best friend, Clara, as soon as he got home from the park. Flynn jokingly referred to Clara as his “Grace,” referring, of course, to the old TV show Will and Grace, but also for the fact that the woman had about her a kind of grace—in the way she moved, the way she spoke, and most especially, her kindness. He’d been drawn to her since his first day at work at Curtain Up, a publicity firm downtown catering to entertainment entities but specializing in the local theater scene. Flynn was a publicist and Clara was an administrative assistant, but everyone knew she pretty much ran the place.

“That’s great!” Clara cried into the phone. “Tell me! Tell me all about it.”

Flynn was tempted to make up a story about a joyous reunion so as not to burst his friend’s bubble. She was so excited for him—her happiness radiated right through the phone.

“Wait. Wait. It’s not good.”

“What?” Clara asked, and then, as if something had dawned on her, she said very sadly, “Oh.”

“He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s alive and well and doing the Green Lake loop, or at least he was this morning when I went there for my run.”

“I don’t understand. You said you found him and that he’s okay. What’s the problem?”

Flynn blew out a big sigh. “The problem is, after I lost him last fall, someone else found him. And that someone else apparently believes in the concept of finders keepers. You know—’finders keepers, losers weepers.’ And I’ve been weeping off and on all day. So Barley was with this guy, his keeper, I guess you could say.”

“Wait. Are you absolutely sure it was Barley? I don’t mean to rain on your parade, sweetie, but this could be a bit of wishful thinking, wanting something so bad you rearrange facts to suit the story you want to believe.”

“All of that occurred to me, Clara. But he recognized me, swear to God. Not only that, you know that cute black thumbprint he had on the top of his head? He had that. I know it’s not a fingerprint or a paw print, but that combined with the recognition and his distinctive, raspy bark and I couldn’t doubt it. This was my Barley.”

“So I’m assuming the guy didn’t just hand him over and he’s sitting at your feet right now, looking up at you and begging for his supper.”

Flynn didn’t know how to tell her. The simple image Clara mentioned made Flynn gasp and wince. He felt a kind of guilt, and maybe it was unjustified, but it was there nonetheless. Ever since he left the park, he’d been kicking himself for not being more confrontational. No matter what that ginger-headed liar said, he knew that dog was his. Why hadn’t he insisted on it? This was Barley he was talking about here, the love of Flynn’s life. At least Barley was more faithful and loyal than any boyfriend he’d ever had—better at cuddling in bed too.

“Flynn? You’re not telling me something.”

“I tried, Clara, I really did.”

“And?”

“He insisted the dog, whom he called Hamburger, if you can believe that, was his. Said he had him since he was a puppy, but he mixed up the town where he got him when he mentioned it a second time, which does not bode well for the truth. I could tell he was lying through his teeth too. He didn’t exactly have the best poker face, if you know what I mean.”

“And you allowed him to go on his way.” Clara sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to blame you, not at all. I’d be a really shitty friend if I did that. Did you at least get his name?”

“He said it was Mike. I didn’t get a last name.” Flynn practically whispered the last part, he was so embarrassed and felt so, well, dumb.

“Well, how many Mikes can there be in Seattle? Wait! Don’t answer that.”

“If it was even his real name, which I doubt. He looked cagey when he told me that too. But you have to understand, there really was nothing I could do. I mean, whether he was lying or not, he did claim Hamburger was his. What was I supposed to do? Knock him down and abduct the dog?” Flynn laughed bitterly. “I thought about it! And I would even be justified because, damn it, I am Barley’s rightful owner. But I’d have looked like a lunatic. And for the less than one percent chance I’m wrong, I suppose I could be arrested.” Flynn thought for a moment and then asked, “Is dognapping a crime?”

Clara laughed. “I don’t know. But it’s probably not a good idea. Listen, sweetheart, I don’t know how, but you have to find this Mike person. You need to talk to him, reasonably and without being confrontational. Tell him how much you love that dog and that his place is with you. Appeal to his good side—and I like to believe that everyone has a good side.”

“You’re right,” Flynn said, feeling dejected. “If only I could find him. I hate myself for letting him get away.”

“Maybe the walks around Green Lake are a regular thing for this guy and his dog? He might live in the neighborhood,” Clara said. “If I were you, one thing I’d make sure of is that you continue to run at the lake and make sure it’s around the same time. You know, to increase your odds…”

“Yeah,” Flynn said dejectedly. “And this Mike person might be thinking along the same lines, but he’s thinking not to show up at Green Lake, and if he does, never around the same time.”

Clara sighed. “I was just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry. I know. It’s just that it seems so hopeless. Seattle has what? A billion people?”

Clara laughed. “I think it’s closer to a little over half a million, Flynn.”

“Right. Finding this guy again just seems like searching for a needle in a haystack. I feel like I came so close, and because of my cowardice or stupidity or sense of propriety, I let him go. The punishment for that is that I won’t cross paths with Mike and ‘Hamburger’ again.”

“And who’s punishing you for that, Flynn?”

“I don’t know. God?”

Clara chuckled. “I don’t think God comes down that far, honey. I’m sorry to disappoint you. But listen, you do have a choice here. You can choose to think in a negative way—and give yourself all sorts of reasons to support that—and decide that it’s impossible to find your little guy again, that it just won’t happen. And that’s where you’ll be concentrating your mental energy.”

Flynn nodded, feeling tears well up in his eyes. How could it be any other way?

Clara went on, “Or…you can choose to think positive. Feed the hope in you. You can choose to think that if you crossed paths with this fella who has Barley once, you’ll cross paths again. You can stay positive, hopeful, and focused.” Clara let out a little sigh. “I know you’re a pragmatist and you think I’m a little New Agey, but here’s the thing, Flynn—you can draw positive energy to yourself and your situation or you can draw negative. Me? I always choose to try to have faith in the positive. I try to believe that, in any situation, what’s going to come about is always the best outcome, if I just let it.”

“Kind of like faith,” Flynn said.

“Exactly like faith,” Clara replied. “I’ll save our conversation on the power of attraction for later.”

“Okay.” Since the New Year, Clara had been attending services at the Center for Spiritual Living out on Sandpoint Road and was always telling him about how their New Thought philosophy had changed her life. She was never pushy but had made it clear she’d be delighted if he’d come with her some Sunday morning, if only to do brunch afterward. Yet what she said did make sense. Flynn honestly didn’t know if thinking positive and believing the right thing would happen could make a difference in the outcome, but why not think that way? The alternative was dark and hopeless. “Thanks,” Flynn said softly.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Clara asks in her best cheerleader voice.” Flynn laughed.

“C’mon, Flynn…”

“I’m gonna think positive.”

“Right. And you’re still going to do everything possible to find Barley again. Thinking positive is planting a seed, but in order for the seed to grow, you have to keep things watered and free of weeds.”

“Oh God,” Flynn sighed. And grimaced.

“Hey! Don’t mock me. Just listen. So maybe you need to start by doing what I said, going to Green Lake as often as you can. But you’re not just gonna go there. You know what you’re gonna do?”

“What?”

“You’re gonna make up some flyers with Barley’s picture, and you’re gonna get yourself a staple gun, and you’re going to tack that sucker up anyplace there’s space, especially along the lakefront trail. You’re going to increase your odds for the best possible outcome.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Flynn said. “Will you help me?”

“Sure. If you promise to not be negative and instead focus your energy on the good.”

Flynn wasn’t sure he could do that. He’d always, for better or worse, thought of himself as a glass-half-empty kind of guy. “Yes, I promise.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“I’ll try.” Flynn blew out a big sigh.

“That’s all any of us can do. Sometimes when we try, we can make it real.”

“Fake it ‘til you make it?”

“Something like that. So you wanna start tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was Sunday, and with Clara’s invitation, he wondered if she’d try to rope him into going to her church with her. He could probably wriggle out of that part of things, but starting ASAP seemed like a good plan. To circumvent the whole church thing—Flynn had been raised Catholic, and that particular church’s views on people like him had soured him to all organized religion—Flynn “thought positive” and offered up a plan that wouldn’t allow for church attendance.

“I can run into the office today and print up some flyers. I already have one on my computer. I just need to update it a bit.” An idea occurred to Flynn. “I can change that ‘last seen at Discovery Park’ to ‘last seen at Green Lake.’ We can meet up at the lakefront tomorrow morning.” Flynn then added, casually, “What time is your Center for Spiritual Living thing over?”

Clara made a slight tsk sound. She wasn’t stupid. “I go to the nine o’clock service. We’re usually done by a little after ten. Hey, I have an idea—”

Flynn cut her off quickly. “So let’s say we meet up at Green Lake about elevenish? I’ll find you in the parking lot across from the Aqua Theater.”

“I know what you’re doing, you,” Clara said accusingly but with good humor.

Flynn ignored her last remark. “And then we can go to brunch after we’re finished. I was just reading on Yelp about this new place on Latona? We can walk there from the lake.”

Clara said nothing for a moment. Maybe she was disappointed.

“Okay.”

She went quiet again, for a longer space this time. Flynn started to wonder if he should just be a good friend and go to church with her. But then she said, “Remember—think positive. And I’ll do the same. I’ll even offer up a prayer.”

For all the good that will do, Flynn thought and then caught himself. You can choose to think positively or negatively. So he just said, “Thanks, Clara.”

“You’re going to find him tomorrow,” Clara said.

“Is this the power of positive thinking?” Flynn asked.

“It is. And I believe it.”

Flynn wasn’t so sure. But what was the harm in believing things would work out for the best? He supposed, begrudgingly, the chances of them working out that way were just as good as them working out for the worst.

As he concluded his call with Clara, he wondered if it was possible to draw both positive and negative energy at the same time. And after he put down his phone, it occurred to him that maybe it was possible he could be wrong about what the best possible outcome might be.

What would Clara say to that? He would ask her tomorrow.