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Even though they could still sniff out bombs, they couldn’t pass the overall physical test, so it was time for them to retire. She was required to attend an indoctrination seminar to become acquainted with their special needs as well as commands, so there wouldn’t be any miscommunication between woman and doggies. They were only five years old, so they had plenty of spunk in them. Secretly, Melanie was overjoyed she was taking command of the pups. She’d missed them after their mission was complete.
* * *
Finally, the first week of November, her house was habitable, and she moved her possessions in. Over the years, she hadn’t accumulated much. She was always on the move and either lived at home or in furnished or semi-furnished rentals.
Melanie had a few favorite things. There was the turquoise Fiestaware she’d bought at a pottery outlet, and the Tramon-tina stainless cookware she’d bought on a whim. She rationalized that if she had good cookware, she might actually cook. Not a chance. Not until now.
Her brother and a couple of his buddies retrieved the dining table and chairs, and the sofa from their parents’ garage. The sofa was about ten years old. Deep blue with traditional rolled arms. She’d spruce it up with some colorful throw pillows. The dining table was a light ash with white vinyl seats that she reupholstered in a smoky tweed. All it took was few yards of fabric and a staple gun. Another talent she could add to her personal toolbox.
* * *
Thanksgiving was only a week away, and the students were engrossed in Thanksgiving decorating, stories, and the school play. There was only one more soccer practice left. During the fall, her school didn’t play against other teams. It was a time to learn the rules and the basic techniques. Real games against other schools would start in the spring; and the girls would start practicing again indoors after the Christmas holiday break. Melanie conceded that coaching wasn’t as grueling or boring as she’d feared. A few of the girls quit after the first couple of weeks, leaving her with eleven. Thankfully, it was the better players that stayed, which made her job easier. The others had gotten discouraged or just didn’t want to get dirty.
It was during the last soccer practice that Melanie spotted a man several hundred yards away. He had a familiar gait. The closer he got, the more she thought it might be her old boss, Rich Patterson. Then he waved, confirming her guess.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” She waved back and gave him a big grin.
He smiled, but it wasn’t as robust as her greeting. Something was up. “Is everything alright? Family? Work? What?”
“Everything is fine.” He gave her a quick hug. “Got a minute?”
“I will as soon as practice is done. Five minutes. Tops. Take a seat.” She pointed to the bench on the side of the field. She blew her whistle. “Throw-in!” A player from one team kicked the ball outside the sideline, giving the other team the opportunity to throw it back in. Preferably to a teammate.
Melanie’s stopwatch beeped, signaling it was game over. She blew her whistle again. “Okay, everybody! Get cleaned up.” The girls hustled past her, all of them speaking or giggling at the same time. She turned to Patterson. “Don’t go away. I have to make sure they don’t pull each other’s hair out. I’ll be right back.”
Rich got up and wandered toward the bleachers. He was leaning against the side when Melanie came back outside.
“So what brings you to my little corner of the world?”
“We need you back,” he said without batting an eye.
“You what?” Melanie was shocked and just this side of horrified. “I can’t do that. I have a job. Responsibility. I just bought a house, and tomorrow I’m picking up my new fur family.”
“I know. Gilmour told me.”
“Gilmour? He knows about this?” Melanie furrowed her brow. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Patterson gave her a look that said, Do I really need to explain it to you?
“Come on, boss, I can’t go back to that life. It almost killed me.”
“This is something completely different.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, it doesn’t require your full-time employment. It would only be one or two assignments a month. At night, after work.”
Melanie exhaled the words, “Okay. Clarify please.”
Patterson looked around to be sure no one was within earshot. “Let’s sit down.”
Melanie had an uneasy feeling about this conversation. It was dredging up a lot of bad memories.
“Now before you get all PTSD on me—”
She interrupted him. “Wait a second. I was never diagnosed with PTSD.”
“True, but you cannot think that situation with Howell didn’t affect you in some way.”
