CARSON
Fucking reshoots. We wrapped filming on this movie months ago, but thanks to some jackass joining the wrong side of the MeToo movement, we get to reshoot with an entirely new actor. I’m one hundred percent behind the decision, but I’d kill to be back home.
Instead, I’m stuck filming in the swampy Georgia heat, left to wonder how Bubbles is doing with Aria. Wondering how Aria is doing…whatshe’s doing… Then it hits me, and I grab my phone off the nightstand, opening my home security app. Flipping through the external feeds, I find them.
Aria’s lithe form is unmistakable as she chucks a tennis ball out over the yard time and time again. It’s late here, but the sun is just setting back in Cali. She’s suntanned and makeup free, every inch of her glowing in the golden light. Bubbles prances by her side, waiting for each throw and taking off at a dead sprint the second the ball releases. There’s no audio, but Aria is laughing, tugging at the ball when Bubbles brings it back.
Without thinking it through, I’ve opened her contact and pressed ‘call.’ And then I stare at the phone like a complete idiot. Why did I do that? It rings twice, and I watch as Aria pulls her phone from a back pocket, looking at the caller ID and answering. I can hear Bubbles bark in the background, but I’m more focused on her voice. “Hello, Mr. Jones. What can I do for you?”Christ, I could give her a few ideas.
“Just checking in. I was giving the security feeds a quick check and saw you were out back. I thought now might be a good time to make sure you have everything you need.”It’s not at all because I wanted to hear your voice…
“Oh, hi!” She spins around looking for cameras.
“To your right, on the big white pole.” My security system isn’t subtle. I wanted it to be crystal clear that I expect my privacy to be respected.
“I seriously don’t know how I missed that,” she laughs, waving at me via the screen.
“How’s it going with Bubbles?”
“Awesome, as long as she’s never alone.”
I chuckle. “That sounds about right.”
“Listen, I know you’re busy, but we really didn’t have a chance to talk, and I’d like to go over her history to see if we can figure out what’s triggering that anxiety.”
I hesitate, clearing my throat, a futile attempt to swallow the knot that forms every time I think about my sister. “Yeah, I have a pretty good idea, it’s just not an easy fix…”
Bubbles wags, jumping at the phone. “Hang on—can we video chat? Bubbles can hear you, and she’s excited.”
“Yeah, of course,” I reply, trying not to sound like an excited teenager with a cracking voice. We switch over, and for a second, all I can see is sandy blonde fur and a pink tongue. Aria is cackling, and once the commotion settles down and she gets Bubbles to sit, I get a better view of them sitting side-by-side on the lawn.
“Who’s a good girl?” I say to Bubbles, who grins into the camera. The angle makes her nose look extra wide and goofy. Aria’s lips pull into the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen on God’s green earth.
“So here’s the thing…”I start. “Bubbles is a rescue. My sister’s rescue. Sara was passionate about dogs. She worked with local shelters, helping with fundraisers and volunteering with the new dogs. She was there the day Bubbles was brought in, severely malnourished. They didn’t think she’d make it, but my sister took her home; made tiny batches of puppy formula, dripping it into her mouth until she could get her to suckle from the bottle.”
I still remember that tiny puppy. My sister used to hold her in the palm of her hand while she fed her. “Sara always joked that if anything ever happened to her, Bubbles was my problem. It was a joke, but—" I swallow hard, the knot refusing to release its stranglehold on my trachea.
“Oh…” Aria’s voice is sad. “I remember reading about her. I’m so sorry.”
“The one comfort I have is that she didn’t feel anything. The aneurysm was so fast—and then I had Bubbles.”
“Bubbles is lucky to have you, Mr. Jones. I’m taking good care of her, I promise.” My heart feels like it could rip in two all over again, but Aria’s voice soothes the pain like an invisible balm. She just sits with me for a minute, turning the camera out to follow Bubbles. It’s impossible not to feel better watching her sprint around the yard with that tongue lolling out.
“Can you do me a favor, Aria?” I break the silence, and she turns the camera back to look at me.
“Of course, anything you need.”
“Call me Carson.”
“Everyone else calls you Mr. Jones,” she argues.
“True. I’d still like you to call me Carson.”
“Carson,” she repeats. “I’ll try to remember.”Carson.My name sounds different on her lips, and I like it more than I should.
“I’ll check in tomorrow. Goodnight, Aria.”
“Goodnight, Carson.” She ends the video chat, but her face is momentarily frozen on my screen; glowing and happy. It sticks with me long after my phone goes dark.