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I clear my throat and chirp, “Breakfast was wonderful. I appreciate you feeding me, but I don’t want to be late!”
If Karen and I reminisce about Ellis now, we won’t stop. Or she won’t. I mostly let her talk out her grief and answer any questions she asks as frequently as she asks the same ones, albeit in slightly different manner. I refuse to hold things back from my best friend’s mom and dad that they’re entitled to know about their son. All the same, Karen and Mac own the dog training facility that I work at and she deserves an employee who doesn’t shirk their responsibilities.
“It will only take a minute to get my keys?” She presses.
“It only takes a few minutes to walk that mile. The fresh air will do me good.”
“The November cold has your cheeks permanently pink, sweetheart.”
“Some people call that healthy.”
She releases a wry laugh. “Promise me you’ll be safe. Call if you need a ride.”
“I promise to be safe.” We both know I won’t call.
Outside, I put my earbuds in my ears, letting the music play softly so I remain aware of my surroundings. I tuck my hands inside my pockets and am down the driveway, passing the house when Karen finally goes back inside. My lips move to the lyrics and my feet fall rhythmically, landing on the wet pavement. It rained last night. I avoid the craggy puddles where the worn road dips and water fills the potholes. The weatherman says it will be sunny and thirty degrees warmer tomorrow afternoon. North Carolina’s early winter weather has a serious case of ADD.
The wind whips with an icy chill as I get to the rise where the four-foot white estate fence for the training facility comes into view. A car is traveling the rutted dirt and gravel road from the building’s entrance. I recognize the man in the toque who salutes me as drives past at a snail’s pace. Returning his greeting with a stiff wave, I appreciate Byron’s friend kept the wheels of his SUV from splashing through the nearest puddle, dousing my jeans.
There isn’t much glamor in scrubbing kennel floors, but I’d hate having to explain my appearance to Byron. He’s a decent guy, but even the nicest man could read between the lines and hear, “your jerk face buddy nailed me with a wall of water.”
Sighing, my stomach muscles release the corded tension that builds whenever I think about the possibility of having to defend myself to him. When it comes down to it, I rarely know what to say to anyone. So, I do what I learned to do when the judge sentenced me to six years at the women’s penitentiary after my best friend and I didn’t make it to our high school graduation. I put my head down and hope others see it as me respecting their privacy.
But the truth is, it’s really that people in general haven’t stopped making what sent me to prison in the first place their business.
________________
Week after week, Tallulah is becoming increasingly attached to Trig. I’m thrilled the Plott Hound puppy has gotten the point that he’s her person the way I’m Jovie’s. However, I have to keep the dogs outside a bit longer than I expected, hoping the extra playtime provides a good distraction while Trig disappears in his car.
“Good girls!” I call, clapping as Jovie mouths the ball toward Tallulah.
They’re great at sharing. Tallulah takes off running with Jovie hot on her tail. I have a decent amount of concern about how my animal will react to being alone.
It won’t be much longer until Trig puts a lead around Tallulah and they drive off into the sunset together. Her training is going well—and it’s a heck of a lot more education than she needs as an emotional support animal—but since I started training service dogs for vets, I’ve become a little finicky about animal behavior. I won’t let Tallulah go until she’s as dependable as Jovie became after we’d dug into her drills.
Jovie’s come a long way from the starving roadside mutt I rescued and then petitioned the government to let me return with from my final tour of duty. Even before Mac offered me this job, she wasn’t misbehaved. Yet once you see what these dogs are capable of, it’s easy to fall into the mindset of expecting more from them. The more you love them, the more they live up to those expectations. All my dogs want in return for a job well done is praise and maybe a treat now and then.
I toss a final ball across the wide expanse of lawn. The girls go barreling after it, unaware the three of us have been the only ones playing for a good ten minutes.
My cheek sucks in on one side. My old Army buddy’s stealth reminds me he has a toddler at home and he’s used to leaving unnoticed. For as great as Tallulah is, any animal is unpredictable. That’s another reason why she needs to be near perfect. Trig’s got a family who depends on him. His wife, Kimber, agreed that a dog would go a long way to helping Trig with the PTSD he suffers from. I won’t let Kimber down by expecting her to accept a dog I wouldn’t consider safe enough to be around my kids. If I had any.
I whistle sharply. Jovie and Tallulah plop their behinds on the stoop at the back entrance. As soon as I open the door, they are through it. Tallulah stops to look around. She’s finally figured out that Trig is missing. Her nose hits the tile floor, and she’s searching for his scent. All I smell is a strong odor of disinfectant. A mop and sudsy bucket are in the hall, which means Greer is on-site.
I should correct Tallulah and the both of us should follow Jovie into my office. I’d planned on making use of my time by filing paperwork while I was here. Instead, I trail Tallulah through the hall. The pup won’t find the person she’s after. But I always make a point of bumping into Greer.
Greer is quiet and mindful. Impeccable at her job. Not that custodial work is hard, but it is labor intensive. I’ve never heard her grumble. Hell, I haven’t heard a single complaint about the cleanliness of the facility since she started working here two years ago. Greer is the sort of employee that takes care of things before Mac has a chance to ask her to do it. At moments so efficient that there have been instances I’ve wondered if she’s the ghost and not the son Mac and Karen lost ten years ago.
Any flippant remarks are best kept to myself. The three of them, Karen, Mac, and Greer, deserve to heal in peace without a big mouth butting in. It’s probably why Greer’s hours are odd; Early mornings. Late nights, after the vets and their service dogs have long since hunkered down to rest.
I’m about to bark at Tallulah when she crosses into the staff’s break room, but become entranced by the quiet way the pup approaches Greer. The dog licks Greer’s fingertips for attention. Greer turns from whatever has had her attention outside the window.
“You aren’t supposed to be in here,” Greer coos as she kneels down. She rubs Tallulah’s ear and head and then brushes her nose against the dogs. “We need to get you out before Byron finds you.”
Tallulah offers a paw.
Trust. Comfort. Whatever Tallulah sensed Greer needed, she’s providing it. I’m proud of the pup. She’s so close to having a loving family.
“Oh, thank you.” Greer shakes it. “But I don’t have any cookies to share.”
