by Traci Hall
“Professor Collard, how are you?”
“Come in, come in.” He lifted a coffee mug in the deep purple university color, a W in gold. “Needed to refuel.” He gestured to the upholstered chair for guests on the other side of his desk for her, while he went around to his black leather seat. “Did you want coffee or tea?”
“I’m fine.” The sooner she was finished here, the sooner she could return to her job at the shelter.
He swiveled toward her and set his mug on the desktop. “Emma.” Professor Collard stared at her intently.
She had the first inkling that this might not be about the paper she’d turned in. Yes, it had been slightly rushed, but her facts were correct and… “Yes?”
“You have been working on your thesis for over a year now.”
Her cheeks heated.
“We have had students take longer, but my concern is that this program is for students who are serious about getting their doctorate.”
She squirmed beneath the weight of his scrutiny. “I am serious, Professor.”
He pulled her printed assignment from a folder on the corner of his desk with her name on it and handed it to her. “I am used to receiving pristine reports. Occasionally, one will come in with a coffee stain.” He flipped over her work and she cringed, wishing she could sink into the floor.
“Yours is the first I’ve ever gotten with a paw print on the back.”
“I am so sorry,” she began, remembering when she’d dropped the pages beneath her desk. It was small, so possibly Sweetie or Cinnamon.
He cut her off with a disappointed head shake. “If you can’t get the rough draft of your thesis to me, minus paw prints or stains of any kind, by September first, then I will consider your withdrawal from the program.”
Stunned, Emma bit the inside of her cheek to keep from shedding the tears burning her eyes.
“You have an empathetic gift, Emma, that I find remarkable. I think you will be a wonderful doctor. But what is this about?” He jabbed his finger against her paper. “It is not professional and suggests that you are not taking this seriously.”
“I have a kennel where I train emotional support therapy dogs. It started small, with my work on anxiety, and dogs, and the next thing I knew, I had eight.” She shrugged.
He sat back and rubbed his chin, blue eyes searching her mind as if to discover her doubts.
“I didn’t mean to start an ESD business, but I love it. I’m not the only person to work while finishing their schooling, right?”
“Correct.” He studied her then leaned forward, his elbows scattering papers. “Do you want to be a doctor, Emma, or a dog trainer?” He held up his hand without waiting for her to answer. “You think about it, because I have people on a waiting list for this doctorate program. I would hate for you not to finish your studies here.” He fiddled with a button on his vest. “Rough draft to me by the first of September.” He gave her a nod of dismissal, and she blinked, getting to her feet.
“Uh, I’ll be in touch.”
“I hope so, Emma. The world needs doctors who care.”
She left, not bothering to look at the beauty around her as she drove onto the ferry from Seattle to Kingston, shaken to her core. The rest of the day she spent putting together all of her published articles. How close was she to finishing?
Wednesday morning, Emma was outside with the dogs in the yard by nine. She had a mug of dark roast coffee in one hand and a giant chewy bone in the other. King, part wolfhound, all the way huge, weighed in at a hundred pounds and needed encouragement to take part in the exercises. “Fetch!”
Bandit was the smartest of the lot. Part German shepherd and part golden retriever, he was a puzzle solver who liked the mind games. Romeo needed some finesse with his skills, but his innate kindness—as proved two days ago, with Matthew—showed that he was a good fit.
Emma was all about the heart, hence the name of her kennel.
The rumble of a motorcycle sounded along the gravel driveway, and the dogs all stood at attention. And then, in some doggy code she’d never understand, they decided that the newcomer was a friend. Their ferocious barks turned into welcoming growls as Jackson and Matthew came into view.
They parked and, thanks to her aunt and her dreams of him, her gaze dropped to Jackson’s butt. She immediately lifted her eyes and hoped her cheeks weren’t flushed. If he noticed her blush, she’d blame it on being outside and exercising, though she hadn’t done anything more strenuous than lift her coffee mug and throw a dog bone.
Matthew, dressed in jean shorts, a blue T-shirt, and sneakers, waved. He pulled a baseball cap from his back pocket and shoved it over his helmet hair.
Jackson hooked his thumb at Matthew. “Sure you’re ready to spend the day with my criminal in training?”
“Uncle Jackson!” Matthew gave him the stink-eye.
Not unlike Pepita and me.
“I’m ready to get some help around here,” Emma said. “I checked the child labor laws, and so long as I let you drink from the hose every two hours and give you a thirty-minute lunch break, we’re good.”
Matthew’s shoulders slumped. “Great. You think you’re funny, too.”
Emma laughed. “I’m not?” She opened the gate. Jackson stayed on the other side of the fence, indicating he was going to leave but wanted a word.
“I checked you out online.”
“You did?” But he knew her… “And?”
“Masters at the University of Washington?”
She lifted her purple mug with the team logo.
“In the doctorate program for psychology.” He nodded as if impressed. “Project coordinator at Kingston Animal Shelter.”
“Part-time. I find my ESD candidates there. It’s a win-win.”
“You have this kennel?”
“I am applying for grants to enlarge it—too many dogs get lost because there isn’t enough room at the shelter.”
“Your house didn’t pop when I ran the sex offender search,” he said, deadpan.
She hoped he was joking. “You did that?” She shook her head, used to being the good guy.
“Can’t be too careful. My sister is fond of her kid.”
“He is a cutie.” She said a silent prayer for Livvie, that she was healing, and glanced at Matthew, who ran with the bone in his hand, held high. The dogs followed as if he were the Pied Piper.
“You were supposed to leave after graduating from Kingston High,” Jackson rumbled low.
Emma froze, surprised that he’d gone there. She’d been willing to start fresh and not bring up their history, because it had been so long ago.
He tugged at his jaw and held her gaze. Seconds passed and she was powerless to look away as he said, “I almost called you.” It was as if he had to pull the whispered words from his mouth.
She gripped her mug tight, having no choice but to witness his reluctant confession. If he hadn’t been forced into seeing her, he wouldn’t have. There would have been no phone call to see how she’d been. No offer of friendship. He’d cut her out of his life. Her words in response were clipped. “Ten years ago, or yesterday?”
He winced. “And many times in between.”
And like that, Emma suddenly knew that her teenaged broken heart had healed. Whether or not he’d wanted to call didn’t matter—what mattered was the present. Seeing Jackson at the school had brought up the past, which is where their love story belonged.
Matty raced by, the dogs on his heels. Emma took a centering breath and let it out slowly. “Ancient history. I hardly remember that time.” She changed the subject before it could get more awkward. “How is Livvie?”
“No change.” He gripped the fence. “That’s supposed to be good news.”
“With head trauma, complete sedation allows rest for healing.” She’d reached out to one of her colleagues who specialized in treating patients with physical injuries to find out what might be done. As frustrating as waiting was, they had to do it.
Emma
touched the top of his hand and offered a supportive smile. “I’ll feed Matty lunch. Give him a real water bottle. Can I bring him home? We should be done by four-ish.”
“I was thinking I’d stop by.”
Concern? Worry? He had so much going on that she offered before thinking of the consequences. “Come around 12:30 for chicken salad sandwiches, and you can catch the glamour of dog training.” She looked down at his boots. “You might need a hose to rinse off afterward. I wasn’t kidding about a pooper scooper. Eight dogs, what can you do?”
He cracked a smile. “I’ll try to get away. I’m helping out a buddy today. Thanks, Emma. Have Matty call me if he needs anything. It’s good to keep him busy.”
He pulled away from the chain link and walked away. She dragged her gaze up from his back pockets. The man was made for denim.
She finished her coffee and set the mug by the gate. “You ready, Matty? Now, this first part of the day isn’t so fun.” She led him inside the garage and handed him a pair of latex gloves and a pooper scooper with a small shovel. She also put on gloves and grabbed a heavy duty black bag. “Let’s go.”
He wrinkled his nose but didn’t complain, and they walked through the front yard and the acreage out back. She pointed to the property next door, all wild foliage on the other side of her chain link fence. “Someday I want to buy that lot, too.”
“What will you do with it?”
“Make a bigger kennel and training center.”
“Why don’t you do it now?”
“Money.” She rubbed her fingers together.
“Yeah, Mom tells me all the time that she’s not made of money.”
Emma laughed. “How are things going, living with your uncle?”
“He doesn’t make good pancakes like Mom, but he tries his best. We like to watch Spiderman movies,” he told her. “Well,” he grinned, “I like Spiderman. Uncle Jackson doesn’t care.”
“My aunt and I watch romantic comedies. We love laughing.”
“My mom reads romance novels.” He scrunched his nose. “Yuck. Lots of kissing and stuff on the covers. But she bought me comic books at the bookstore in Seattle. That was cool.” He looked over the grass. “Yesterday we went to see Mom in the hospital. Aunt Bonnie was there—she’s not my real aunt, you know, but my fake aunt—and she says that Mom is just the same, which everyone thinks is good, but I don’t get it.”
He sounded very doubtful and very scared. Her heart thumped painfully. She knew how that felt, to have an ill mother. “I remember your mom,” she said. “She was so pretty in high school, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. Like yours. She used to take pictures.”
“She does, still,” Matty said. “She likes the mountains best. Her favorite photos are on the walls in our house.”
Emma kept her voice even-toned. “Did you get to sit with her for a while yesterday?”
He nodded, his face pale. “I have to wash up really good and can stay only a minute.” He glanced up at Emma, sorrow and confusion in his brown eyes. “She doesn’t look like my mom.”
Her emotions squeezed tight, but she remained calm for Matty. “Because of the machines?”
“There’s a tube to make her breathe until her head is better. The doctors had to shave her hair.” He shrugged but kept his eye on her for her reaction.
“Hair grows back,” she said. “Maybe she’ll like it short after this.”
“Maybe.” They took a few more steps in the grass. “Aunt Bonnie says that she will look cute in hats.”
It seemed like hopeful conversation, which was important for everyone. “Well, I am here if you ever want to talk, okay? You’re welcome to play with the dogs, so long as you check with your uncle, and me, first.”
“I wish my mom liked dogs.” He kicked at the bag with the toe of his sneaker. “Do you think one could help her get better? Maybe Cinnamon—she’s small. We could sneak her into the hospital.”
“How about we don’t break any more rules for a while?” She smiled to show she was teasing. “Your mom has you, Matty. I bet you she won’t stop giving you hugs once she’s better.”
He grinned at that. “She used to do it all the time.”
Jackson had been great at hugs, too. Maybe it ran in their family. She hoped to God that Matty never had to experience the loss of his mother the way she had.
She and Matty worked quietly for a time, scanning, scooping, and bagging at a comfortable pace. And then, not unexpectedly, he asked, “So, is it, uh…normal, for Uncle Jackson to not remember his bad dreams?”
“Yes.” She walked a few more paces over the mowed lawn. They’d cleaned up the area well, but she wasn’t ready to go in just yet. She tied the bag. “Oftentimes when we have nightmares, our mind thinks it can protect us from the danger, or bad feelings, brought on from the dream. So, we don’t remember it when we wake up.”
He frowned.
“It’s normal to resist the feelings we get during a nightmare, so the mind and body collaborate—the brain erases the memories, and the body stays awake and fights the idea of sleep…”
“Even if he’s, well, shouting?”
“Yes.” She swatted at a bee that buzzed past her nose. “It’s not unlike sleepwalking. Did you ever do that?”
He pulled his baseball cap from his head and stared at her as if she might be pulling his leg. “Is that for real?”
“Sure is. My mom told me that I used to walk in my sleep. I liked to go to the refrigerator.” She rubbed her stomach.
“Do you still?” He scratched behind his ear before putting his hat back on.
“No. I guess I outgrew it.” She shrugged. “Sometimes things go away over time.” Time helps, but not always.
“It’s getting worse. Uncle Jackson doesn’t sleep very often. When he does, I don’t wanna wake him up, you know? But he might end up having scary dreams. I looked it up on the internet. A person has to have five hours of sleep a night, or they could go crazy.”
She put her hand on his skinny shoulder. “Matthew, what your uncle has gone through is a little different.”
“He wakes up and says he’s fine.”
She’d witnessed Jackson Hardy deny anything was wrong—how to make him understand? “I can try to talk to him later on about it, okay? Because we used to be friends”—she cleared her throat—“he might listen to me.” Or he might tell me to mind my own business.
“I wish I had a cell phone.” Matthew ducked his head, the bill of his baseball cap casting a shadow along the green grass.
“Why?”
“So I could videotape him. Then he’d have to believe me.”
“Oh, that’s probably not a good idea.” It was a great idea, but she’d hate for Matthew to be in trouble. But she would definitely talk to Jackson in private. He probably didn’t realize how scared it made Matthew to see the one person he was counting on out of control.
She doubted Jackson Hardy would ever harm a hair on Matthew’s head, no matter how upset. Still. “Why don’t you give me a call the next time he’s having a nightmare? You shouldn’t wake him, Matty. But if it is bad, then I can be there for you.” She shaded her eyes from the sun. “I don’t live far—call me.”
Matthew exhaled so hard his shoulders bowed forward. “I just want him to get better.”
Matty probably felt like he could help fix some of what was happening with Jackson, whereas his mother was out of his control. “I’m here to help.”
“I’ll call,” he said decisively. “If Uncle Jackson shouts again. Sometimes he stays awake all night, so he doesn’t sleep. Drinks Red Bull. Yuck.”
Yuck was right. “Once I’m there, then I can sit with you and we can talk about all the different options for easing PTSD. It doesn’t have to be with the support dogs. I’m a psychologist, too. Okay?”
Relief eased his stiff spine, and his slight body relaxed. “Thanks, Emma.”
“You are very welcome.” She prayed it would be a good start toward Jackson’s recovery. Matty
was relying on him.
…
Jackson wiped the motor oil from his hands and stared at the shiny black BMW. It had been a heck of a job, but it was done. He turned to Mitch and checked the time. Just after twelve.
“Hey, do you mind if I duck out? I want to see how Matthew’s doing.” Emma had been very cool to invite him to lunch. Seeing her the other day had sparked dormant feelings that, on top of everything else, he had no time for.
“Can’t believe he tried to steal you a dog for your birthday.” Mitch finished washing his hands in the sink and grabbed a paper towel. “A boy needs a pal to hang out with.”
“Well, that’s just it, right?” Jackson paused, thinking of a foggy future where his sister might need even more help once she’d come home from the hospital. “Who’s going to take care of them?”
He remembered the other night when Matthew had woken him, saying he’d had a bad dream. It wasn’t like he was hurting anybody, for Pete’s sake. He just had to make it through the next few weeks until Livvie was better, and then he’d be back with his unit, and things would return to normal—well, Afghanistan normal.
His means of coping with the desert memories was to bury them deeper in the sand. His means of coping with his sister, helpless in a hospital bed? Well, that was new, and he had to figure it out.
“Say hi to Emma for me, will you? I see her now and then around town. She’s as pretty as ever, all that red hair.” Mitch leaned against the counter.
Jackson, hit with a pang of jealousy, was tempted to tell his pal to back off. After his stupidity this morning, saying he’d thought about calling, for the last ten years, well, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Mercer house was on lockdown, with him on the outside. He gritted his teeth. “Sure.”
Jackson waved and left the shop. The bike roared to life beneath him, and he drove toward Heart to Heart Dog Kennel.
If he remembered correctly, Aunt Pepita made amazing chicken salad sandwiches, and he hoped she didn’t add arsenic to his. When would Emma have time to be in the kitchen? Girl was smarter than Einstein and truly kind, and yeah, pretty.
