Lindsey loved him. He had to believe that. But he also realized that the stereotypes surrounding disability must affect the way she perceived him. To her, Brenden was handicapped, and Lindsey was about perfection. Over the past week, he had heard too many excuses about her busy schedule not to realize that Lindsey put Lindsey first.

Although Brenden had grown in empathy and compassion while-learning to deal with his blindness, he had no idea how self-centered his own attitude was toward her. It didn't occur to him to consider what beautiful Lindsey might be taking on in committing her life to a blind man. It never crossed his mind that perhaps in the interest of her happiness, he might at least offer her a choice in the matter. He only wanted to confirm that she loved him enough to accept his blindness, and he needed to find out now.

After dropping Brenden's mother at home, Charlie drove him downtown to Lindsey's Larimer Square apartment.

"Listen, Charlie," Brenden said, "I want you to leave Nelson and me a block away from Lindsey's door. It's important that we arrive at her apartment on our own. It's part of what she has to see."

"I get it, pal," Charlie said. "Do you want me to wait?"

"Not unless you intend to stay outside all night."

The other man laughed, slapping Brenden on the shoulder. "Okay, dude, forget it. Good luck."

During the walk to Lindsey's apartment, Brenden took slow, deep breaths, trying to settle his nerves, trying to put himself in a place where he would exude confidence, a place where Lindsey would feel that she was seeing the old Brenden—a guy with a can-do attitude, a person imbued with enthusiasm, someone who could handle anything. Most particularly, he wanted her to see a man who could love her and whom she could love unconditionally.

Lindsey knew that Brenden was coming home today. She figured that meant she'd have until tomorrow before she had to face him. Surely he would spend the day with his mother, getting settled in again at home.

Last night she had gone to a party where she drank way too much, and now she was not only hungover, but some guy named Danny or Eddy was in bed with her. He was a little man with little manhood in comparison to Brenden, but there he was, and she had slept with him, because she needed to hate herself enough to end her relationship with Brenden.

In some odd, backhanded way, she could better handle blaming herself for failing morally than for being unwilling to face his blindness. I'd rather be a loose woman than a cruel and selfish one. At least that's what she thought as she lay there in bed beside what's-his-name.

Her doorbell rang.

She glanced at the clock. Four in the afternoon, and they were still in bed. She was wearing only a T-shirt.

"Who the heck is that?" the guy asked, as if he had any right to be there.

"I don't know," Lindsey said. "Let me find out."

Crossing the living room, she pushed the intercom. "Yes?" she said, still groggy and half-asleep.

"Hey," Brenden said, his voice full of enthusiasm, "that doesn't sound like my Lindsey. That sounds like a girl who has been studying too much or is hungover."

Lindsey started to shake. "Oh no, Brenden, oh my—"

"That's right, baby," the voice said through the intercom. "It's your Brenden with a new friend for you to meet. Open up, sesame."

Brenden heard muffled voices through the intercom.

"Lindsey?" he said. "Lindsey?"

"Just a minute, Brenden."

More muffled voices, and his heart went cold.

Now he could hear water running and the sounds of—what was it—another set of feet on the floor? Wow, he was getting too good at this blind stuff. He was getting to where he could hear everything.

Thirty seconds later the buzzer signaled that he could open the door. The man and the dog climbed up the one flight to the girl's apartment, where she met him on the landing, trying to put up a good front. Her arms went around him, and she attempted to kiss him, but there was a smell—of what? Of nighttime. Of lovemaking. Of someone else. Brenden knew it in an instant, and he felt the big dog tense in the harness, suggesting he saw something or someone through the still-open door.

He pulled away from the girl's embrace, appealing to her with his blind eyes. Brenden's voce was incredulous. "Lindsey, what is this? I love you."

The young woman was desperate, understanding that Brenden knew she wasn't alone. "I love you, Brenden. I love you very much." Her voice rose. "No. Please. This doesn't mean anything. He doesn't mean anything."

Being caught out, Danny or Eddy, or whoever he was, slunk back into the apartment, trying to find his clothes, and Brenden heard everything.

"Couldn't you have waited, Lindsey?" he said. "Couldn't you at least have waited until I put some of the pieces of my life together? Did you have to shatter my life and then step on the broken glass?"

"Brenden, wait," the girl entreated. "Please wait. Let's talk about this. I just wasn't ready to—"

Brenden cut her off. "To what? To deal with a blind man? Someone whose eyes can't see how beautiful you are, Lindsey? Well, maybe that's just as well. You may look great on the outside, but on the inside ... on the inside, Lindsey, you're ugly as a corpse in a cesspool."

The girl tried to hold him again, but he pushed her violently away with his free hand as he gave the dog the command. "Nelson, downstairs. Find the stairs."

The dog did exactly what he had been trained to do, turning 180 degrees and placing his master's feet squarely on the edge of the staircase.

He heard her sniveling and could tell she was in tears, but he didn't wait. "Forward, Nelson," he said. "Outside."

Brenden didn't even reach for the banister as the team descended the stairs with elegance and confidence. Lindsey watched them, amazed in spite of her distress.

On reaching the street, Brenden became an automaton. He was lost in his pain, unable to connect to his present, unable to gain support from his past, unable to consider something as simple as an immediate future that would take him—where? Home? Some bar? Another woman? He didn't know, and he didn't care.

Life, fate, God had dealt him another blow. He had prayed for help, prayed for a small miracle, prayed for love. And now, now there was nothing, only the emptiness that arises from a broken heart and a shattered spirit.

Over the next few hours, Nelson became educated on another side of life as Brenden found three bars along the way. Irish whisky with a beer chaser. He didn't know how many he drank. He only knew that by the time darkness settled over Denver, he and the dog were still walking, and the animal still performed perfectly. Walk a straight line, come to a curb, cross a street. Walk a straight line, come to a curb, cross a street. Don't bother to listen for the traffic. The animal would take care of him. That's what Smitty said.

As for Nelson, he found that it was more difficult to keep his master going in a straight line. Brenden was tired, very tired. Tired of everything. Tired of struggling. Tired of fighting for a life that now had no meaning. Tired of feeling less than a whole person. So tired of being blind.

Why not take a rest? Why not just find a quiet place to sit down and rest? Why not do it in the middle of the street? See what would happen. Just sit in the middle of the street and see what would happen.

The dog moved him forward to another curb, and for the first time Brenden listened for traffic. None. It must be a side street, he thought, someplace off the beaten path where a man could just sit or lie down and rest.

"Forward, Nelson," he told the big dog.

They stepped out into the street, but halfway across, Brenden dropped the leash and let himself sink to the pavement.

For a moment, the dog stood next to him, confused. What was going on? Why was his master sitting down? This wasn't right. He had to get Master out of the street. The dog raced to the other side, jumping up on the curb and turning to face Brenden, his eyes imploring his young friend. Come on, come on, he tried to say. Come with me. Get out of the street.

The man dropped his chin to his chest and sat motionless. The dog raced back to the middle of the street, grabbing the man's jacket and pulling hard, trying to drag Brenden to safety.

The man lashed out with his free hand, striking the dog hard on the side of the shoulder and causing the animal to yelp with pain. Jumping back, the dog tried again, pulling even harder on the man's jacket, ripping the sleeve. This time the blow caught the animal squarely on the jaw, hard enough to loosen a couple of teeth.

Now adrenaline drove danger signals through the big dog's body, and when he grabbed Brenden's arm, he locked his teeth deep into his master's flesh, pulling with all his strength.

Brenden cried out as blood spurted from the wound. "No, Nelson. No!" Flailing out with his free hand, he missed the dog's face by mere inches. "No. Leave me alone. Go away."

The man's cry of pain caused the dog to release his hold and stand, panting over his broken master. What to do? Every instinct told Nelson that this was wrong. His training said it, and his capacity for survival said it, but he could not leave his master, and so he did the only thing left. He lay down next to Brenden, placing his head on the man's knee.

Out of some fundamental need for love and intimacy, Brenden reached out to pat his friend's head, and the dog responded, licking the man's hand, then trying to lick away the blood from the wound.

Brenden was crying now. Somewhere in the back of his mind another picture formed. There would be a car coming down the street any second, and he would be dead. Fine. But so would Nelson.

No. That can't happen, he thought. Something this good can't die. Something with this much love to give can't end.

"Nelson," he said, his voice croaking out the name. "I love you, Nelson." And with that statement, the man knew he had to stand up, get out of the street, get to safety, find his way home, try again.

If an animal could love you enough to lay down his own life for your survival, then you had to love yourself enough to keep on living.

Brenden leaned on Nelson and pushed himself off the ground. The dog was immediately at heel, his eyes looking up at his master, pleading for the man to pick up his harness and get out of the street.

In seconds they walked to safety, and in a few minutes they found a friendly passerby who called them a cab and sent Brenden home to a shaky but new beginning.

chapter seventeen

The introductory meeting between Nelson and Gus was a psychological study in contrasts. Initially, Nelson's view of the aggressive West Highland terrier was that nothing that small should be making so much noise and asserting so much aggression. Gus ran around the big dog, growling and barking, making it clear that this was his house, his territory, his family. Brenden managed to take off Nelson's harness and leash, then stumbled off to bed, leaving the animals to get acquainted on their own. Without Brenden to back him up, Gus gave one of those feet, don't fail me now reactions as he backed off while still trying to posture his ownership of the house and everyone within it.

During the first three days, the new acquaintances argued over the possession of toys, food, and space on Brenden's bed.