Alison McBain, Between North & Prior
excerpt
Between North & Prior Publisher: Fairfield Scribes Date: 2026 Length: 100 pp. ISBN: 978-1-949122-28-2 Website: Amazon.com |
Summary:
Having already lost her daughter once, has Isla lost the most important piece of her identity as well?
Cancer is an ugly word. Even though several years have passed, Isla’s never gotten over the death of her eleven-year-old daughter, Rory. The resulting grief killed her marriage and her teaching career at the same time, and for a while she thought the pain would kill her also.
But Isla has found a new hope to keep her going. She’s no longer alone. Because Rory has returned.
Despite wanting to be grateful for her daughter’s ghostly presence, Isla still feels a heavy weight of grief. Time can never reverse, but maybe returning to their roots is the only way to move forward again. Isla packs up the contents of their NYC apartment and drives across the Canadian border with her daughter riding shotgun. Their destination: Alberta, the province where she was born. Starting over in Harmony Lake feels like the first important step to facing what the future can hold-for both of them.
Chapter 7
When I get home, Rory and I celebrate with our evolved version of a dance party-we each get a song, and we have to do what the other person does when it’s their turn. Before we get to the last lyrics of “Shape of You,” we’re both laughing too breathlessly to continue. Or, at least, I am.
This is fun. Rory lies on her back on my sleeping bag, and I’m sitting cross-legged next to her. Days are boring.
Normally, Rory would read while I was working from home. I’d turn the pages for her when she prompted me. But without me there, books aren’t much entertainment for her. I’ve left my laptop home each day, plugged in and set to stream some shows she likes to watch, but this isn’t what I really want for my daughter. Watching TV all day isn’t a way to exist.
I want to do something for her. Maybe a surprise. Her birthday is coming up soon, and the usual stuff is off the table-birthday party, cake, etc.
Until I remember a store I saw when I was driving around that weekend and I suddenly grin at her.
Rory eyes me suspiciously. What?
“Nothing,” I say, but there’s a bubble of happiness in my voice, and even I don’t believe I’m not up to something.
After work the next day, I pull up in front of Happy Paws. The store is empty, since it’s about half an hour until closing time. An older man is sweeping the floor in the back.
When the bell over the door dings, he looks up. “Hello, hello!” His smile is pleasant and grandfatherly, and I assume he must be the owner. The nametag pinned to his shirt says David. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking to buy a pet for my-” I cut myself off. There’s no way I can mention my daughter. Instead, I finish, “Buy a pet for myself.”
“Well, you’re in the right place,” he says cheerfully, coming forward and leaning his broom against the wall. “What are you looking for?”
I’d been thinking something small, like a fish, and tell him so. He leads me behind the shelves to the back wall, where there are several aquariums set up. “Anything strike your fancy?”
There are the usual feeder fish, the pretty and metallic fighter fish, small guppies, and a few others I didn’t know the names to. I figure a fish will be easy to take care of and doesn’t really miss a person, since I’m gone all day.
But I’m strangely disappointed by the choices. Fish are so... cold. What do you do with them after you feed them and look at them for a bit? Not really interesting at all.
“What other animals do you have?” I ask.
“Usually, we have a litter of kittens, but the last one was just brought home by several families a couple days ago. Guinea pigs, hamsters, mice... no birds or snakes right now.” He suddenly brightens up. “But there is one other addition... hold on.”
He disappears through the swinging door in the back, and I wait. When he emerges, I’m taken by surprise. I was expecting something small, not this mountain of a dog rumbling toward us.
“I had to get him from the yard out back,” the store owner tells me. “I normally don’t take on grown dogs, but his owner was a friend of mine. He’s barely a year old, and I don’t really know what to do with him.”
I’m already in love. Dropping to my knees, I reach out a hand. The black dog reaches forward with his nose and delicately sniffs my offering. When he licks my hand, it’s joyful, and he’s wiggling against the pull of the leash to get closer. “What kind of dog is this?”
“Newfie.” I don’t know much about canine breeds, and when I raise my eyebrows, David elaborates, “Newfoundland. Working dogs bred to go out with the fishing trawlers. They’re fine in the frigid waters off the East Coast.” He dips his fingers into the dog’s coat and holds the fur apart for me to look. “See that undercoat? Helps keep the water away from their skin.”
“You said you were friends with the owners. Did they move?” I fill my hands with the dog’s thick, soft fur and gently brush it from side to side. In response, the dog tries to slurp on my face, and I half-fall back, laughing. “Oy, your breath,” I say in mock disgust.
When the shop owner doesn’t answer right away, I look up. The wrinkles around his face seem more pronounced, and I realize it’s because his smile has disappeared. “No, my friend passed away,” he finally says gently. “It was sudden.”
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” And I am. I can feel myself tearing up in sympathy, but I know suddenly that this dog is meant for us. For Rory. The connection is too strong, and the previous owner’s death... well, it’s a coincidence that’s hard to avoid.
He smiles briefly. “Thanks. The only problem I have right now is this guy.” He affectionally ruffles the dog’s ears, and the beast woofs gently in reply. “I have two cats, so it’s not been a great situation at my house the past few weeks. But he needs a good home.”
“What would the cost be?” I ask carefully. Most of my savings went into buying our house outright with the cheaper property prices up here, and I took a significant pay cut for my new job. My expenses are generally low, and living in Canada will cut one major one out altogether: health insurance. It’s a huge change from the US, where I was forking over nine hundred dollars a month just for regular coverage. While I’m sure a dog this size eats a mountain of food, it’s probably not nine hundred dollars’ worth of kibble.
“You’ll have to pay his registration to the town. I can also tell you what to feed him and what other supplies would be helpful.” He starts rattling off points of care-bathing, brushing, exercise, diet, the whole shebang.
He pauses, then adds, “There’s a decent vet in town. Not another one close by at all-the next nearest one is High Prairie.” I’m not exactly sure where that is, but I feel the local vet should be fine. The way towns are spread out here, I’m guessing that it would be at least an hour’s drive away, maybe more, to get to the next one.
This is an impulse pet-picking, I know. I only wanted a goldfish. But we were never able to have a dog in the city-it seemed cruel to coop one up in an apartment day after day. Out here, we have a fenced-in yard and plenty of places to walk him. And this guy... he has a droopy face that looks so sad and sorrowful that it makes you just want to give him whatever he’s begging for.
“What’s his name?”
“Romeo.”
Okay, that decides it. I’ve not felt the need to date after my divorce, and I have no plans to start now. I feel like I’m too old and too tired to start over. But this guy can be my Romeo, and then I won’t need another guy in my life. And if I’m going to be waking up to the stinky breath of a hairy individual each morning, it might as well be a dog, right?
“Whatever he needs,” I tell David, getting back to my feet and trying to discretely wipe off Romeo’s drool on my pants legs. “Let’s ring it up.”
I’ve made the shop owner’s day. He thanks me profusely, both for taking Romeo off his hands and for my purchases. He helps me load everything into my car, and then waves me out of the parking lot. “Have a great day!” he calls after me as I drive away, and I stick my arm out the window to wave back.
Romeo doesn’t seem to know what to do in the car. He turns around in circles on the small passenger side seat as if settling down to sleep, but with a lot more excitement. Well, the seat’s not really so small, but he’s a lot of dog. I roll the window down for him a bit, and he sticks out his shaggy head. Streams of drool whip away behind my car, and I drive slowly.
Rory comes running from some other part of the house when I walk through the door with Romeo. And then, the most unusual thing happens-Romeo starts barking hysterically in her direction.
I can’t grasp onto the dog’s leash firmly enough as he pulls against it, and he goes tearing across the room. Rory holds out her hands to stop him. Mom! she yells, and my heart screams in my chest at the fear in her voice. I never wanted to hear that fear from her again-once in a lifetime is enough. I drop the bag I’m carrying without thought and start running toward my daughter.
But both of us didn’t have to worry. Romeo barks his way up to Rory-and then right through her and out the other side. He stops, shakes his head, then turns around. There she is, looking no longer afraid, just slightly perturbed.
Not more than the dog, though. He cocks his head to the side and looks at this new toy he’s discovered-my daughter, who he can’t smell but he can see. This time, when he looks at her, he doesn’t charge. He draws back his lips as if he wants to growl, but no sound comes out.
Crap, that’s definitely not something I expected. This will be a very short pet ownership if Romeo can’t get along with my daughter.
I’m at a loss, though-how do I make him play nice?
“Maybe stick out your hand?” I suggest to Rory. She gives me a dark look. “Don’t worry, sweetie. He can’t hurt you.”
Tentatively, she does as I’ve told her, only reaching out halfway, her fingers pointed to the ground. Romeo eases off on the fierce expression and perks up, his whole body standing to attention. Then he edges forward, his nose in the air.
He reaches Rory’s hand and actually puts his nose through it, trying to sniff. Then he tries to sniff her torso, but with similar results. As he keeps working on getting a smell from this person that’s so obviously there but not there, Rory starts to giggle. Romeo’s frantic sniffing is actually pretty funny.
I smile as I see Rory bend down so her face is close to the dog’s and then dance to the side. It takes a second for him to catch on, but then Romeo jumps after her, tongue lolling. He crouches down, Rory jumps, and then he follows her with the doggy equivalent of a grin.
They’re playing. Rory’s laughter rings out in the empty house, and my eyes are suddenly moist again. I blink, refusing to let the tears fall. Such a simple joy brought back to my daughter. For this moment, she can be a kid again.
It hits me then. Not that I ever needed proof, but there were definitely times when I wondered about Rory and why-and how-she’s here.
Mostly, though, I wondered about myself and my own state of mind. Especially after Tom left, the impact of his words struck me over and over, leaving invisible scars that were excruciating. It’s hard not to take it personally when you’re told your daughter’s death was either because you’re a bad mother or because you’re a terrible person for making the wrong choices. Since then, I’ve been trying to see if there’s another option besides those two.
Perhaps there is a better explanation for why Rory has returned. I don’t need to know why. But if there’s another reason out there about the purpose of Rory being here with me, perhaps this is it.
Copyright © 2026 by Alison McBain
