Page 5 of I’ll Find You

I tip my head back as I stare up at the darkening sky, not a star in sight, silently asking whatever deity is up there what I did to deserve this giant FU it’s been handing me all day.

That’s when I hear footsteps coming my way and see a woman around my age approaching. She has a little dog in an infant carrier strapped to her, forward-facing of all things. The little mutt has its fur pulled back with two barrettes with orange and black bows. She slows, eyes widening, and gazing at the mess around my feet. She smiles shyly, a look of concern on her face, surrounded by the fallen produce. Without asking, she crouches down and starts gathering my runaway groceries, placing each item into the torn paper bag. I stoop over and help collect the last of the bruised apples as she hands the rest of the groceries to me, standing with her little dog clutched to her chest protectively to calm the animal, which is squirming at the unfamiliar person near her.

“Hi,” she says, with a bright smile and voice to match. She offers the bag first, then extends her hand outward. I stare at it. At her. At the mismatched bows on her dog in the infant carrier. Wait, is the dog wearing a sweater? Finally, I take her hand because not doing so would seem cruel, given that she is just being nice.

“Hi. I’m Callie,” she says, smiling so big that it shows the large dimples in her cheeks. She’s the type of person who beams at elders and little kids, stops to pick up someone’s dropped groceries. The kind that I’m not sure whether to thank or run away from.

“Hi…and thanks.” My voice sounds out of place next to hers. I adjust the grocery bag against my hip, its handles torn, and reach for my backpack again. “I’m Alex," I say, looking around and letting the awkward silence linger. I can't tell if I should invite her in like any decent neighbor would or run inside and shut the door.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye. A man is walking over toward us alongside a dog wearing a giant plastic cone. Callie turns toward them, and her face lights up instantly. Her smile is wide as she waves them over. And just like that, something in my chest eases. Relief. He joins her side without hesitation, stepping in with a familiarity that suggests a shared, happy life. His arm brushes hers, and she naturally leans into him.

“This is my boyfriend, Denver,” she says, looking up at him with obvious fondness.

Denver sizes me up in a quick assessing glance. He’s protective of her, and even though he doesn’t feel threatened by me, he’s curious. I can see it written on his face. Callie jumps in before he can say anything. “He dropped all his groceries, and I just came to help him out.”

“I just moved here,” I say, trying to get through the awkward introductions.

Denver nods, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Us, too. We’re over in the next set of townhomes—the one with the grey SUV out front.”

“Do you guys go to school here?” I ask.

He grins, glancing over at Callie. “Nah,” he says, scratching at the top of the dog’s head. “I work at the medical center, and Callie took a job at the Upper Valley animal shelter.” She adjusts the tiny dog, who is beginning to shiver in the carrier. Up close, she appears older and fragile, with cloudy, unfocused eyes.

“This little girl was surrendered,” Callie says, stroking the Yorkie’s head. “She’s almost completely blind, and her arthritis is awful. The cold makes it worse, so I carry her most places, since she can’t see.” She chuckles softly, but there is a sadness underneath it. “The sweater helps, even though I know it looks ridiculous.”

I nod at the dog with the cone at Denver’s feet. “Are they both from the shelter?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. “We foster a lot. There are so many that need homes.” Her eyes soften, kind, the type of bleeding heart seeking out the good in anything and everything. “We actually need another weekend volunteer. Like…badly.” She winces when her boyfriend nudges her, rolling his eyes, but there is only playfulness there.

I straighten slightly. “Yeah?”

Her face brightens, her eyes hopeful. “Yeah, if you’re interested⁠—”

“I might be interested in helping out,” I say, surprising even myself. “Maybe even fostering or adopting.” I shrug, glancing toward my townhouse. “I live alone, and I think I’d maybe enjoy having a companion.”

Callie beams at me, then reaches into her cross-body bag and pulls out a card. “Here.” She presses it into my hand. “Why don’t you come by this weekend to get an orientation and meet everyone? Say, nine a.m. Saturday? You can meet the dogs there. We also have cats, if you’re a cat person.”

My nose scrunches up involuntarily, and she laughs.

“Me neither.”

I nod. “Okay, I can do that.”

With another final smile, she and Denver turn back toward their building. One dog sits blind in a carrier, and the other bumps its cone into Denver’s leg, as the strange little group disappears around the corner.

I step inside my place. The townhouse is just as I left it, empty except for the echo of my footsteps as I carry my groceries to the counter. I stand there listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant laughter drifting in from the back patio. Maybe a dog would help. Maybe something uncomplicated would make the next year and a half go by more easily. Human company comes with expectations, but a dog? Yeah, that might be exactly what I need.

Chapter

Four

Rose

Four weeks after returning to campus, I am finally moving on to my next rotation—surgery. I’ve been looking forward to this one in particular. It’s the specialty that has mattered the most to me ever since my parents died. The one that became more than a career. It became a promise I made to myself long ago.

Orthopedics, specifically. Rebuilding what is broken. To fix what violence, neglect, or abuse destroyed. Making sure someone else’s life doesn’t break the way mine did. I grab at my arm—the one that has plates and screws in it. I remember how it bent at a weird angle, and the way the medical staff whispered amongst themselves as they prepped me for it. Violence. Neglect. Abuse. The glances, never making eye contact because if they did, I’d see the tears in their eyes, as if I didn’t already notice.

He wants to be an orthopedic surgeon too. On paper, we have that in common. The difference is that Maxwell has always assumed the future belongs to him. His father is one of the most respected orthopedic surgeons in the region, and Maxwell talks as though inheriting that reputation is inevitable, like greatness is woven into his DNA instead of something that has to be earned.