Promises of the Heart

by Nan Rossiter

  She half smiled. “Okay, but I’m paying you back.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Ben said, handing the bill to the receptionist.

  “Great,” she said. “Now, I just need a signature here . . . and here,” she said, marking the form. Macey looked it over, and with a slightly shaking hand, signed her name. As she did, the gray tiger cat got up, stretched, and strolled along the counter. “Hey, there, Big Mac,” the receptionist said, stroking his soft fur.

  “He looks like a Mac,” Macey said, smiling. “How long has he been here?”

  The receptionist frowned, trying to remember. “He’s been here a while, but I’m fairly new.” She looked over the forms and reached for a bag on her desk. “These are Keeper’s things—his favorite toys and a vest he used to wear—they said he was a therapy dog. Anyway, he’s all ready. You can follow me back.” She motioned for them to follow her, and as they walked down the hall, she looked over her shoulder. “He just had a bath, so he smells really good.” She held the door open at the end of the hall and then led them past a long line of kennels filled with dogs of all shapes and sizes who were barking excitedly, hoping it was their big day. Macey pressed her lips together, feeling sad—there were so many dogs in need of homes, she wished she could take them all. The receptionist stopped in front of the second-to-last kennel.

  “Here he is,” she announced. “Hey, Keep! Guess what? Your mom and dad are here to take you home!”

  The big golden was lying quietly on an old blanket, wearing a new bandanna with pumpkins on it, but as soon as the receptionist started to unlatch his gate, he sat up, his eyes bright and his tail swishing tentatively. She opened the gate and stepped back. “You can go in,” she said, smiling.

  Macey’s heart pounded. “Hey, ole pie,” she said softly, kneeling in front of him. “Do you want to come home with us?”

  Keeper stood up, his tail wagging, and nuzzled his head into her chest. “I guess that’s a yes,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears and her heart swelling with a boundless love for a dog she hardly knew but who needed a home. A forever home.

  24

  “WANT TO RIDE BIKES?” HARPER ASKED, DRAGGING THE TIPS OF HER sneakers in the sand under the swing. She and Rudy had already played hopscotch, which, as usual, Rudy had won.

  “Sure,” Rudy said, hopping off. “You can ride my bike. I’ll ride Joe’s—all he does is play stupid video games anyway.”

  Harper dropped off her swing and tripped after her. “I can ride Joe’s. You don’t have to.”

  “I don’t mind,” Rudy said, moving several lawn chairs and tugging a rolled-up hose from under the makeshift storage area her mom had made—using a length of perforated green aluminum for a roof—between the low brick buildings.

  Harper watched Rudy struggling to free her brother’s bike and realized it was caught on a rake. “Let me help.”

  “No,” Rudy said, tugging harder. “You’re supposed to take it easy, remember?”

  “I’m fine,” Harper insisted, reaching down to pull the rake’s tines out of the wheel’s spokes.

  “Hold on,” she instructed, slipping her hand between the spokes.

  Rudy waited as Harper untangled the long metal tines.

  “Okay,” Harper said, holding the rake to one side.

  Rudy pulled back on the bike. “Thanks!” she exclaimed breathlessly.

  Harper grinned. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Rudy hopped on her brother’s bike and rolled toward the parking lot. “Want to ride to the big playground?”

  “Sure.” Harper climbed onto Rudy’s bike, knowing she meant the playground down the street. “Shouldn’t we tell your mom?”

  “She’s not back from the store.”

  “Should we tell Frank?” Harper asked, pushing down on her pedal.

  “He’ll just say no,” Rudy said, bumping off the curb. “Besides, we’ll be right back.”

  Harper shrugged and bumped off the curb, too.

  They rode through the parking lot and saw a man helping his daughter get into her car seat. “Hi, Mr. Jefferson,” Rudy called, waving.

  The man looked up and waved back. “Hi, Rudy!”

  Harper pulled alongside her. “Do you ever hear from your dad?”

  “No,” Rudy said, shaking her head. “My mom said he moved to California.”

  “That stinks.”

  “He doesn’t care about us, so it doesn’t matter,” Rudy said indifferently as she pedaled slowly down the street. “Do you remember your mom?”

  Harper reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes. “Not really. I have a picture of her in my backpack, though.”

  “How come you never showed me?”

  Harper shrugged and turned onto the street behind Rudy. “It’s wrinkled, so it’s hard to tell what she really looked like. She was pretty, though—she had long brown hair.”

  “You’re such a good artist, you should draw her while you can still make out the picture. Then you won’t forget what she looked like.”

  “I don’t have anything to draw with.”

  “I do! I got a sketch pad and pencils for Christmas, but I can’t draw worth a hill o’ beans. You can use them. In fact, you can have ’em.”

  “Okay,” Harper said thoughtfully. “Thanks!”

  “I wonder,” Rudy mused. “If your mom had brown hair . . . maybe your dad had red hair?”

  “Maybe. I wish I knew who he was,” she added wistfully.

  “Does he know about you?”

  “I don’t know. I asked your mom, but she said they have no record of him.”

  “I bet if he knew about you, he’d come and get you.”

  “Maybe,” Harper said doubtfully. They rode slowly past a man blowing leaves into the street and shielded themselves from the swirl of scarlet and gold projectiles. “What an idiot,” Harper muttered. “Doesn’t he know the leaves are just gonna blow back into his yard? He needs to bag ’em!” She turned around to look back and saw a car careening around the corner. “Rudy, look out!” she shouted, but Rudy had swerved out into the street to avoid the storm of leaves. “Rudy, look out!” she shouted again.

  Rudy turned to see what she was shouting about and, at the very last second, saw the car barreling toward them. Her eyes grew wide in alarm as she instinctively veered away but hit the curb and fell in the opposite direction—right in the path of the car! Harper pedaled harder and skidded to a stop right in front of Rudy and started waving her arms frantically. At the very last second, the driver—a kid wearing a crooked baseball hat—laid on his horn and swerved away, shouting profanities through the open passenger window.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Rudy yelled back, her heart pounding.

  The boy gave her the finger, and tears sprang to Rudy’s eyes.

  “Jerk!” she called after him.

  “You okay?” Harper asked, hopping off her bike to help her up.

  “Yeah,” Rudy said, gripping her handlebars to keep her hands from shaking.

  “What an a-hole,” Harper seethed. “He didn’t even slow down.”

  “He should be arrested and thrown in jail.”

  “Yeah—they should throw away the key!”

  “Yeah,” Rudy agreed. She looked up and smiled weakly at Harper. “Thanks for saving me.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did—he would’ve hit you before he hit me.”

  “No, he wouldn’t’ve.”

  Rudy looked back up the street. “Do you still want to go to the playground?”

  “Not really. You?”

  “Not really,” Rudy said, picking up her bike.

  “I feel a little tired anyway.” They started walking back, rolling their bikes through the swirl of blowing leaves, and when Harper slowed down to catch her breath, she realized the man still didn’t see them.

  “That leaf blower is so freakin’ loud, you can’t hear cars, never mind see them through all these leaves,” Harper said.

 
; Rudy nodded.

  Harper looked over. “You really okay?”

  “Yeah.” She hesitated, wondering if she should ask her friend such a question. “Harp, are you . . . are you scared of dying?”

  Harper kicked through the leaves. “I was scared when I was in the hospital, but your mom came in and said I wasn’t going to die, and she made me promise not to worry.” She paused and looked over. “Are you?”

  Rudy’s eyes glistened and she nodded. “Especially at night. Some nights, it’s all I can think about, and then I’m afraid to fall asleep because I’m afraid I won’t wake up. I know we go to heaven, but I just can’t imagine being without my mom—that’s what scares me most. I’d miss her so much . . . and I know she’d miss me.”

  Harper nodded but didn’t say anything. The only people on earth who would miss her if she died were Rudy and Cora, and maybe Frank and Joe. No one else on the whole earth even knew she was alive, so they certainly wouldn’t notice if she died. “I don’t think either of us are gonna die, Rudy. Your mom says I’m too stubborn, and I’m sure she’d say the same thing about you,” Harper teased reassuringly.

  Rudy laughed. “You are pretty stubborn.”

  They turned into the driveway of the apartments, and Harper looked over at the end unit. The curtains were drawn tight, and the yard was empty and overgrown. “Does anyone live there?”

  “Mr. Peterson used to live there. He was really nice. His cat was McMuffin’s brother. We got them from Janelle when her cat had kittens, and after he learned we named ours McMuffin, he named his Big Mac.”

  “No way!” Harper said, laughing.

  “Way! And he had a dog with . . .”

  Just then, Cora pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to them. “Where are you two comin’ from?”

  “Nowhere,” Rudy answered. “We been here.”

  “Where are your bike helmets? You know you’re not supposed to ride without helmets.”

  “Do we look like we’re riding?” Rudy asked.

  “Don’t be fresh with me, Rudy, or you really won’t be riding.”

  “I told you my helmet’s too small, and I don’t know where Joe’s is.”

  “You did not tell me your helmet is too small.”

  “I did so!”

  Cora shook her head and rolled forward. “Come an’ help me with the groceries,” she called.

  “We’re comin’,” Rudy said, pushing her bike forward.

  “So, what happened to Mr. Peterson?”

  “He died,” Rudy said matter-of-factly, “and now his place just sits empty.”

  “How come no one buys it?”

  Rudy shrugged. “I don’t know. His family owns it. Mom was going to offer to take Big Mac, but his family took his pets to a shelter.”

  Harper nodded, glancing back at the abandoned apartment. “You want to play Clue?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Sure,” Rudy agreed, nodding.

  “At least we know we won’t die by candlestick, knife, revolver, lead pipe, or rope,” Harper said, laughing.

  “Ha! You never know,” Rudy replied.

  Harper kicked through a pile of leaves and imagined the gruesome wounds the weapons from Clue would inflict. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  25

  “WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF NOSE-SMUDGED WINDOWS,” BEN SAID, looking in the back seat of Macey’s Outback. “Which is why he’ll always ride in your car.”

  Macey looked in her rearview mirror and saw Keeper pressing his nose against the glass. “Do you want the window open, buddy?” she asked, pushing the button on her door panel. She smiled as she watched him put his head out the window. “I can’t believe he was a therapy dog. I mean I can believe it—the way he nuzzles his head into your chest.” She laughed. “What could be more therapeutic than that?”

  “I nuzzle my head into your chest—is that therapeutic, too?”

  “Well, it’s not quite the same,” Macey said, rolling her eyes and reaching an arm back to rub Keeper’s head.

  Ben looked in back again. “Well, Keep, I can already tell who’s going to be getting the most attention.”

  “Oh, you’ve had your time in the sun,” she teased, laughing. “Isn’t that right, buddy?” She looked back again. Keeper’s barrel chest was pressed against the door, his nose quivering, taking in all the wonderful scents as his jowls flapped in the wind.

  “Never mind window smudges,” she said, laughing, “there’s going to be slobber all down the side.”

  “Which is why, I repeat, he’s always riding in your car.”

  “You’ll take him places.”

  “I doubt it,” Ben said, shaking his head. “This is all you.”

  “We’ll see,” Macey mused, turning into the driveway.

  “Besides, he probably won’t be able to get into the truck.”

  Macey opened the back door. “Hold on, Keep,” she said, reaching for his leash. “Okay.” He hopped out, swishing his tail, and towed Macey toward the grass.

  “He probably doesn’t need to be on that leash,” Ben called. “Where’s he going to go?”

  “They said to keep him on it until he’s familiar with his surroundings,” Macey called back.

  Ben leaned against his truck and watched Keeper pulling Macey toward the nearest tree. The big golden lifted his leg, expertly balancing on two legs. “Hey! There’s no peeing there!” he called, but before Macey could reply, he’d pulled into a squat, too.

  “You’re cleaning that up!” he added.

  Macey looked back. “Get me a shovel.”

  “Oh, no! No, no, no. You’re not using my good shovel to pick up dog poop.”

  Keeper finished his business, saw Ben watching, and hopped back to him. “Don’t try to be friends after you made a mess in my yard,” he teasingly scolded, but Keeper just wiggled around him, tangling his leash between his legs, and Ben laughed. “What the heck are you doing?”

  “He’s winning you over,” Macey teased, leaning up to kiss him. “Thank you,” she added.

  “You’re welcome,” he said softly, pulling her against him.

  Just as they started to kiss, they heard tires on gravel, looked up, and saw Gage’s truck pulling in. Before they’d even parked, Maeve was hopping out and Keeper was wiggling over to her.

  “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed as he nuzzled her hands. “You’re even sweeter than I remember, and I love your new bandanna.” She held his head in her hands. “You look so handsome.” Her kind words made his hind end wiggle even more.

  “I think he’s happy to be out of the shelter,” Macey said, laughing.

  “I bet he is,” Gage agreed, kneeling down to say hello, too. “Hey, there, big fella, you glad to be home?”

  Just then, an impatient bark came from the back of Gage’s truck, and everyone—including Keeper—looked up and saw Gus with his paws on the edge of the bed, contemplating jumping.

  “Hold on, mister,” Gage said in his soft Southern drawl as he walked around to the back of the truck. “You can say hello, but you have to take it easy. Keeper’s getting used to his new home.” He looked him in the eyes. “If I let you out, you promise not to be crazy?”

  Gus wagged his tail and licked Gage’s cheek in agreement, but as soon as Gage let the tailgate down, Gus leaped through the air like a trapeze artist, landing ten feet out, and then made a beeline for Keeper. Both dogs pranced up to each other, sniffing all quarters until a joyful approval was reached and their tails wagged like flags in the wind. Gus jumped back, front legs flat on the ground with his hind end up in the air, an invitation to play, but Keeper just stood at attention, his nose quivering. Suddenly, Gus jumped up and started racing around, running circles around everyone, including Keeper, who just wagged his tail and watched until Gus came to a screeching halt right beside him. He gently sniffed Keeper’s chest where his leg had been amputated, licked his cheek, trotted off, and looked back to see if he was coming.

  “Let him go,” Gage said,
and Macey unhooked the leash. Keeper hopped after Gus, happily sniffing and peeing everywhere he did. Then he came back and laid on the sunny grass at their feet.

  “You’re such a good boy,” Macey said, kneeling next to him. A moment later, Gus nosed back over to them and laid down beside him.

  “It doesn’t get any better than this, does it?” Ben said, putting his arm around Macey. “I think our boy has found a friend.”

  “Our boy?” Macey teased. “And here I thought he was all mine . . .”

  “Nope, he’s definitely our boy,” Ben said, and Macey laughed.

  “So, Ben,” Gage said, looking at the front porch. “Do you think he needs a ramp?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben answered. “We haven’t found out if he can make it up the steps. At the shelter, they said he can get up a couple of steps without any trouble, and if that’s the case, he could just use the back steps.”

  They walked toward the house with the dogs leading the way. “The house looks great,” Gage said, nodding approvingly.

  “Thanks,” Ben replied. “Lots of things left to do, but we’re getting there.”

  “That’s when things start to fall apart,” Gage teased.

  “Don’t even say it,” Ben said. He looked up on the porch and noticed a box had been left next to the front door. “Looks like your dog bed is here.”

  Macey looked up. “Oh, good! Just in time!”

  “Where’d you get it? L.L.Bean?” Gage asked.

  “How’d you know?” Macey asked.

  “Because that’s where Gus’s bed came from, too.”

  Ben chuckled. “These Northern girls think they know everythin’. Personally, I don’t see why a dog even needs a bed, never mind a mail-order one all the way from Maine, but then again, what do we Southern boys know?” he teased, elbowing Gage.

  “Yeah,” Gage agreed, laughing.

  “Y’all know how to dig yourselves a deep hole,” Maeve teased. “That you know very well!”

  “Sounds like a threat, don’t it, Ben?” Gage asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “Indeed,” Ben agreed.

  Macey rolled her eyes. “You two are like peas in a pod.”

  “Ain’t that the pot callin’ the kettle black?” Ben said, eyeing Gage again.