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“I know. I hate it too. But at least we can save these two.”
Dusty and Zach are friends already. We’ve only been home for an hour, and they’re chasing each other and playing in our backyard.
“Saturday we go see Doc Sheraton,” I say. “Get these two checked out, updated on their shots. And then we casually ask what’s going on with Brittany.”
“Saturday night is the Steel party. Jess and I are playing.”
“So? Doc Sheraton has Saturday morning hours. It’s not going to conflict with your busy performance schedule.”
“We don’t have an appointment, and his Saturday hours probably book up quickly. I’ll call him tomorrow morning to see if he can squeeze us in.”
“That gives him the chance to say no, Rory.”
Already I’m feeling better, though. A dog will do that. Dusty and Zach stop frolicking and come to the deck for a drink of water. Already they seem to know which one of us they belong to, as Dusty comes to me for pets on her soft head and Zach ambles to Rory.
“You’re such a good boy,” she says. “You’re Mama’s good boy.”
Already, Rory is mothering her new dog.
“And you’re a good girl,” I find myself saying.
And I find myself thinking about being a mother.
Will it ever happen? Eventually, most likely. But we have so much crap to deal with before we can think about that. Both Donny and me.
Besides…he hasn’t mentioned marriage or family.
It’s still very early in our relationship. Only a day ago he was telling me to let him go.
The dogs bound back out into the yard, and Mom comes out on the deck.
“Rory,” she says, “Lonnie Jefferson had to cancel Janae’s lesson tomorrow. She’s come down with a virus.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”
“I’ve missed having dogs around here.” Mom’s eyes mist over a bit. “Maybe I should have gone to the shelter with you.”
“Mom, you totally should go,” Rory says. “There are so many other dogs there that need good homes.”
“You’ve convinced me. I’ll go tomorrow.”
Rory and I smile at each other. We just saved another dog.
Life has been caving in on both of us lately, and it helps to see the light in those panting furry faces.
Mom goes back inside, and though I’m still smiling as the dogs frolic, Rory’s countenance goes dark.
“Callie,” she says, “I’m going back to the tree.”
I widen my eyes. “Why?”
“We must have missed something. Some kind of evidence that Lamone was there.”
“For all we know, he could have followed us ten years ago and taken it then.”
She shakes her head. “You’re right. He may have. But I’m going back. And I’m going now.”
“It’s nearly dark.”
