I hit the button on my phone screen to return the call.
“Little Creek Animal Shelter, how may I help you?”
“Hey, Janice, it’s Hayley.”
“Oh, Hayley.” Her voice drips with relief. “I’m so glad you called. When do you think you’re going to be able to get here, sugar? The vet is running a little late, so we have some time, but we want the dogs clean and ready for her by the time she arrives.”
Janice doesn’t even bother to askifI can make it or not,ifI’m willing to help or not. She just assumes that I’ll say yes andimmediately come running. Because when have I ever said no? Not to the animal shelter or the church or the food bank or the senior center or anywhere else where I regularly volunteer.
My gaze swings over to my notebook, still lying on the passenger seat where I left it this morning before going into work.
I’m so tired. Physically, yes, because it’s been a long day, but I’m feeling more soul tired than anything, and for the first time in maybe forever, I’m admitting it. Nothing I do will ever be enough. I know that. I’ve known that all along.
But I have to try, don’t I? I can’t just receive this amazing gift of life and not do anything to prove it wasn’t wasted on me, prove that I was worth the sacrifice. Even if a million check marks in my notebooks can never make the scale tip toward an equal balance, at least I’m trying. That has to count for something. Doesn’t it?
I pull my gaze away from the Moleskine. “I’m leaving the library now. I should be there in about five minutes.”
“You’re such a godsend, Hayley,” Janice says before hanging up.
Her words soothe the raw edges of my emotions. A godsend. How can anything like a godsend be even a little bit wrong?
It only takes a few minutes to drive to the shelter. I step out of the car and wince as I look down and realize I should’ve swung by my house and changed first. Kitten heels and a three-quarter-sleeve, loose-weaved cable sweater aren’t exactly the best choices for grooming duties. At least I have a pair of dress slacks on instead of a skirt.
Too late now. I pull my purse higher up on my shoulder and trudge toward the front door. The immediate smell of wet dog mixed with dry kibble greets me as well as a few woofs from farther back in the building where the kennels are.
Janice swivels around from behind the front desk at the sound of the door. When she spots me, her face lights up andshe clasps her hands under her chin, beaming at me. “Anyone ever tell you what a blessing you are, Hayley dear?”
I smile at her, soaking in her words of praise like a balm. “I’m glad I can help.”
“I already got all the supplies ready for you. Shampoo, washcloth, towels, that sort of thing. There’s a pair of scissors there too. A couple of the dogs look like they have some poodle in them, and their hair is a bit matted. What they really need is a good shave, but since that’s not possible right now, maybe you can just cut out some of the matted clumps. I’ll look into getting a professional groomer to come in at a later date.” Janice walks around and opens the locked door that leads to the back of the facility. “The new arrivals are in crates in the intake room. Dr. West should be here by the time you finish with the first dog, so just bring him or her back, and then the doc will look them over.”
The phone at the front desk rings, and Janice bustles over to answer, leaving me on my own. I’ve put in enough volunteer hours that I’m familiar with the layout of the facility, so I go ahead and make my way to the intake room. Bright lights flood the four walls and shine off the stainless-steel exam table and veterinary equipment. Whimpers and yips sound from the five black wire crates settled along the far wall.
“Hello there, cutie pies,” I croon, hoping my friendly tone of voice will put the most nervous at ease. I crouch down in front of the first crate. A midsized dog with overgrown fur tangled and matted with mud stares back at me with soulful sad eyes. “Oh, you poor baby. Let’s get you cleaned up a bit, shall we?”
I lead the dog to the wash station in the next room and get him set up in the shower area. He blinks at me long and slow, and my heart breaks to see the shape he’s in. The sound of the water turning on ignites a spark of fear in him, and he tries to lunge away from the spray. I’m as gentle and patient as possible, but I hadn’t been exaggerating when I’d comparedbathing shelter dogs to shower wrestling. By the time I finish rinsing out the last of the conditioner, I’m soaked with water and coated in a layer of fur so thick that I could IKEA-build a whole other dog if I wanted. I’m also utterly exhausted. And I still have four more dogs to go.
I quickly towel-dry the now-white fluffball in front of me and lead him back into the intake room. Dr. West looks up at my entrance and gives me a knowing grin.
“This one not a fan of baths, I take it?”
I push back a sodden string of hair that’s adhered itself to my temple. “Not even a little. I’ll make sure Janice notes it on his behavior checklist.”
Dr. West takes the leash from me and lifts the dog up onto the exam table while I head toward crate number two.
A couple of hours later, with all the dogs bathed, examined, and processed, I slog my way out of the shelter, the straps of my heels hanging limply from my fingers. I groan as I open my car door and look down at the fabric seat covering. There’s no help for it now. It’s just going to have to get as damp and hairy as I am. I’ll swing by the car wash and vacuum the seat tomorrow.
“This is Me” fromThe Greatest Showmanbelts through my speakers as soon as I start my car. I sing the lyrics with abandon and zip along the country roads that wind their way through the outskirts of town. I’m two houses away from my own when I notice a big truck parked in my driveway.
Levi?
As soon as I make the turn to pull in, he steps out of the truck and watches me drive the rest of the way forward and park beside him. My pulse is tripping in my chest, making my movements jerky as I stuff my notebook into my purse.
What’s he doing here? My hand reaches to my hair on instinct, but no amount of primping or rearranging can make me look like anything but a drowned rat.
Oh well. Our relationship has always had its own timetable.I guess we’re fast-forwarding past theI’m looking my best for youstage and jumping headfirst into thewhat you see iswhat you getreality.
My door opens, and Levi’s large palm comes into view. I remember the first time he offered me his hand to help me into his oversized vehicle. His long fingers were strong and warm and callused and swallowed mine whole. Of course, that impression had been quickly wiped away the second he’d let go of my hand and immediately scrubbed his palm roughly across his coveralls.
