by K. A. Tucker
I keep the tears from spilling until I’ve tucked his gate key into his mailbox and climbed back into my truck, and then I don’t hold them back any longer. The sooner I let myself break, the sooner I can start putting myself back together again.
I’m halfway home when my phone rings. I intend to ignore it, but my parents’ home number appears, and I can never ignore that. “Hi.” I hope whoever’s calling can’t hear my misery through the receiver.
“Oh, hi, Marie, I wasn’t sure if you’d be finished with your appointment.” My mom’s voice sounds off.
My unease swells. “What’s up?”
“I’m at the hospital with Vicki.” There’s a long pause. “She lost the baby.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You get more than she does because you’re bigger.” Liz emphasizes her point with another scoop of carrots on Tillie’s plate.
I pass the bowl of mashed potatoes past my squabbling nieces and across to Vicki. “How much longer until you’re done?”
“A few weeks, and then I’m starting at the salon full-time—Ollie, stop that! This is why she won’t take food from anyone else now!” Vicki scolds.
Next to her, Oliver mimics a plane landing as he brings a spoonful of food in toward Molly, complete with hyperbolic sound effects. “But we can’t help having so much fun, can we?” He makes a silly face at his daughter, and she squeals with glee.
“It’s not fun when you’re at work and I’m trying to feed her.” Vicki glares his way before setting the potatoes in the open space in front of Liz.
“Good thing the season’s over and I’ll be here to feed her every night, then, huh?” He leans in to peck his wife’s cheek while deftly snatching three slices of beef from the platter.
The week after the miscarriage was difficult around here. We all took turns helping with Molly while Vicki recovered, both physically and emotionally. Even Liz came by, bringing a collection of vegetable-laced cakes and, for once, none of her harsh opinions.
Vicki has mostly recovered, embracing the philosophy that it wasn’t meant to be, but I don’t miss her solemn expression whenever her blue eyes touch Liz’s growing belly. Unplanned or not, she wanted that baby, had imagined an entire life with it already.
“That’s right. Oliver will be feeding babies and cutting firewood all winter long, right?” my dad says around a swallow, and I catch the hint of annoyance in his tone.
“Oliver with an ax. That sounds like a great idea.” I wink at my brother-in-law. The first snowfall blanketed the valley on the fall equinox, a thin layer that lasted just long enough to shrivel the late-blooming flowers. Since then, it’s been falling steadily and staying, the temperatures hovering at freezing, answering many winter adventurists’ prayers.
It’s also enticed Oliver to keep the woodstove stoked far more than necessary. I had to peel off a layer when I came in today, and the dogs have been scratching at the door every hour on the hour to get out so they can cool off. “You know, you and Terry, one of the trail vets, would get along well.”
“Speaking of the race …” Dad waves his empty fork. “Bonnie Hatchett called me. Harry’s in the market for a new vet.”
“What’s wrong, Frank didn’t agree to cut his fees in half?” I say dryly.
“There definitely was some squabble about money. So then Harry went to Don Childs, but Don’s heard what a royal pain in the ass he is, so he said no. Plus, he said he’s too busy with Tyler’s kennel now.”
I feel everyone watching me, looking for my reaction to the mention of that name. I wash my food down with drink. Much like Vicki, I’ve used the “it just wasn’t meant to be” line more than once. And much like Vicki, no one is fooled by my brush-off.
“So then, she started fishin’ around to see if you’d consider taking the kennel on again. Didn’t come right out and say it, but I’ve known that woman long enough to read her.”
“If Harry wants me back for his dogs, he can come ask me himself.” What my answer will be, I can’t say. But I do miss the dogs.
“That’s basically what I told her. Oh! And Bill was askin’ if you’re still gonna jump in for that interview with Tyler. He’s been trying to nail him down, but he doesn’t seem so willing anymore—”
“Dad!” Liz spears him with a bewildered look.
I’m equal parts stunned and appreciative that she would come to my aid like that.
He winces, as if just clueing in.
“So, how has working at Wade’s hospital been, Marie?” Mom deftly steers the conversation to safe territory.
“Feels like being back in my residency. Except I’m getting paid. And Wade’s been very accommodating.” After leaving Tyler’s that day, knowing the clinic would take another financial hit, I called my old mentor and asked if he would be interested in having me in his operating room once a week. He jumped at the chance. It means closing the clinic on Mondays and a long, exhausting day, but the income is good and the scenic commute to Anchorage—the snowcapped mountains towering over a kaleidoscope of autumn-tinged trees—reminds me how much I love this valley.
“Well, that’s positive. Do you think you’ll do more days there?”
“It’s an option.”
I catch the fleeting look she gives my father, and I sense this is more than just casual interest. No one has mentioned real estate agents or land value lately, but Oliver has strapped a plow to the front of their truck and is clearing driveways for the winter, banking as much money as he can so they can move out of our parents’ attic by spring. That must sadden my parents, given how happy they’ve seemed these past few months, having children in the house. And I overheard Liz mentioning the contractor they hired to update a few things in their basement apartment. If Liz and Vicki could stand to be around each other for more than an hour, it’d be a perfect arrangement for them.
But I’m no fool, and Liz will soon have a house with three grandchildren to watch. That has to be more exciting than seeing the lights still on in the clinic, forty years later.
My father is wearing a walking cast to get around, and progress with physical therapy has proved far slower than the doctor hoped. Each day, my mother makes a comment about the ache in her arthritic bones, and how this place is getting to be too much work. With every year that passes, their aging bodies will only rebel more.
Maybe the clinic is tying them down from experiencing new, better things.
Vicki clears her throat and then casts a look at Oliver, her elbow not so subtly jabbing into his ribs.
His eyes widen with understanding. “So, Marie, Steve called me today about something. Remember? My boss? Anyway, he asked if you were still single. Now that the season is basically done and he’s not working so much, he was wondering if—”
“Sure. Give him my number.”
Oliver falters. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not?” I shrug. “It’s just a date, right?”
But more importantly, it’s closing a chapter and moving on.
* * *
The brown-and-white puppy bounds toward Mabel, stumbling several times in its unbalanced rush. Her giggles border on hysterical as she watches it. It’s an unbridled sound that hints at the little girl I used to know who chased chickens and rambled nonsense.
“They’re all so cute.” Her face pinches. “I can’t pick!”
I smile. “You have another hour to decide before your mom comes back.” It’s Sunday afternoon, and we’ve parked ourselves on the floor in the clinic lobby, each leaning against a wall as Mrs. Perkins’s three Husky Jack puppies run in circles. She surrendered them to me on Friday—a week earlier than I’d prefer to take puppies from their mother, but they were taxing the old woman. Having spent the past two nights with them, I understand why.
“Which one do you think she should take, Roy?” I ask.
He holds his level against the shelving unit he spent the morning installing. “The least annoying one.”
At the sound of his voice, the all-white fem
ale puppy, smaller than the other two and with shaggier fur, darts to him, tripping over his boot in her attempt to sniff his pant leg. Roy pauses in his tinkering to watch her tug at his bootlace, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Maybe that one?”
Roy realizes I’m watching him, and he sets back to his task, ignoring the pup. “How’d you get roped into this, anyway?”
“One of my older clients needed help.” And when Jonah mentioned that Agnes was thinking about getting a dog, inspiration struck. “How’d you get roped into that?” I nod toward the unit he’s been securing to the wall studs. It’s different from his usual craftsmanship—an industrial feel, with rustic pine boards and black pipes—but it looks far nicer than the gray metal shelves that used to line that wall for dry food goods.
“Trust me, I’m still askin’ myself that same question.”
“How much am I going to owe you?”
His chuckle is deep, grating sound. “That’s between you and Calla. I’m just the jackass pullin’ the cart.”
I can already guess the answer. She’ll tell me the wood was going to be burned and the pipe was salvaged from the dump, or something along those lines. The girl is so resourceful, sometimes I don’t know whether to believe her.
But she was right. I take in my neglected little lobby’s face-lift. It’s like her website design breathed air and came to life. The bright splashes of yellow mixed with earthy greens and crisp whites have completely transformed the space and the mood. It didn’t take much. A weekend of painting and wallpapering, and another to change out the light figures and move in small details that add personality and charm, including several fake plants to add texture, and sleek new chairs in forest green.
But I think my favorite change is the full gallery wall of ornate, golden-yellow frames, showcasing the history of our little clinic in the woods, along with fresh pictures of Cory and me, and even my father.
None of the alterations are earth-shattering—to do that, we’d have to tear down this building and replace it with a new one—and yet the change was good. I feel a bit more pride as clients walk in and remark on the improvements.
“Here.” I toss a ball to Mabel, who tosses it back. All three puppies give chase. Back and forth we go, playing a game of keep-away, the gray one faster than the other two. Even Roy struggles to hold his scowl, but I can’t tell if it’s because of the puppies or the jarring way that Mabel’s face takes on Agnes’s mannerisms when she laughs.
He shakes his head, as if catching himself watching her. “Muriel and Teddy are havin’ their annual big wing night next week.”
“I swear, is there any food group they don’t throw a party or a competition for?” The annual fish fry, the annual chili cook-off, the annual rib “rub-off” that has me chuckling and Toby’s face turning red every time his mother mentions it.
“Right?” Roy snorts. “You gonna be there for that?”
“Depends on what the guy I’m seeing wants to do.” Steve loves microbreweries and hates my taste in beer and is determined to expand my horizons. Since he called, we’ve been on four dates, all of them landing in local breweries. He doesn’t mind driving, and I don’t mind his company. He’s kind and handsome and doesn’t pressure me to do anything beyond trying his favorite lagers. He’s kissed me good-night a few times, and I haven’t minded that, either.
It’s been easy.
It’s been … nice.
I frown. “Why are you asking? Are you going?”
“Maybe.”
“I thought you hated people.” I smile to soften the jeer. I think I’ve figured out how to talk to Roy, but with a man like him, whose mood for the day dictates whether he laughs or bites, you never can be too sure.
“I do, but I love chicken wings more.”
A knock sounds on the door a moment before it swings open.
“Is Agnes back al—” The air feels like it’s been sucked out of my lungs as Tyler steps through, stomping his boots on the doormat to shed the snow.
He can’t seem to decide where to look first—at the puppies rushing for him, at Mabel and me sitting on the floor, our legs splayed in a badly formed corral, or at the old man installing shelves.
In the end, the puppies win. He crouches to greet them, his deep chuckle soft and genuine as they paw at his knees.
Finally, he shifts his focus to me. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I hadn’t forgotten how pretty his eyes are but seeing them now reminds me what it’s like when they’re on me. Like nothing else in the world matters.
It feels like just yesterday and yet forever ago that I saw him last. He looks much the same, except with a short and tidy ash-brown beard that coats his jaw, giving a more rugged look.
Because he wasn’t attractive enough.
I shutter the memories of that night before they can escape the box that I sealed them in and remind myself that Tyler is a mess of unresolved feelings for another woman.
That helps douse the simmering flames, but only a touch.
He scratches behind the brown-and-white one’s ears. “What are you doing with these guys?”
“Looking for homes for them. Mabel’s going to take one. She’s not sure which one yet.”
“This is Mabel?” Tyler looks to her. “The one working for that Ale House lady?”
Mabel lets out a low groan of despair, which makes Roy bark with laughter and me chuckle.
“Mabel, this is Tyler. He won the Iditarod this year. He was looking at hiring another person to help out at his kennel in the summer, and I mentioned you.” But that was before our relationship fell apart.
“To do what?” she asks curiously.
“Play with dogs?” He smirks. “Basically, what you’re doing now, except with big dogs, too. I’m there for the season now, but we could still use an extra hand, keeping them cared for and entertained. If you’re interested, let Marie know.”
“I don’t know anything about mushing, though,” she says warily.
“Yeah, that’s okay. My brother-in-law, Reed, is pretty patient when it comes to anything involving dogs.”
Her gaze darts to me, and I can’t get a read on whether there’s interest or reluctance there.
Tyler collects the gray puppy in his other hand. “What mix are these?”
“Husky Jacks.”
“High energy.” He holds it up to study its face.
“He’s way faster than the other two,” Mabel says.
“Yeah?” He smiles at her. “Bet this one could run in a team?”
She giggles. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
This all feels too normal, too casual. “What are you doing here, Tyler?”
He sets the puppy down and it bounds away, its attention on the ball again. “Was in the area. Thought I’d come and see you.”
“Why?” It’s only one word—one vague question—and yet it seems to thicken the air in the room.
“You know, Mabel, why don’t we take these things outside before they piss all over the floor?” Roy sets his drill on the shelf, collects his winter coat off the chair where he haphazardly threw it and his trapper hat, and scoops up two of the puppies, leaving Mabel to chase after the last and follow him out.
Tyler ventures farther in. “Looks good in here.”
I contemplate staying where I am, sprawled on the floor, my back propped against the wall, but drag myself up. “It was time for a change.”
He slows on the new picture of me, perched on the picnic table my father and I sometimes lunch at, Bentley, Yukon, and Aurora sitting prim at my feet. Vicki even did my hair. “How’s your family?”
“They’re fine.” I hesitate. “Except Vicki lost the baby.”
His frown is deep. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Well … between Molly and finishing up school, she’s keeping busy.”
Silence lingers as I watch him appraise the new details. Or maybe it’s so he can choose his words. God, I miss him. Seeing him now soothes a relentless ache i
n my chest, and it shouldn’t.
“I know you aren’t treating my team anymore,” he begins slowly, “but I was hoping you would come out and see them run, like you said you did for Hatchett. I’m trying something different this year.” He bites his bottom lip. “A different matchup. Dryland training went well, but now that we have snow on the ground and I’m starting to build up their endurance, I was hoping you’d come out.”
“I don’t know good matchups. I’m not a musher.”
“But you know dogs. And I trust you.”
“You’ve got Don—”
“Not for this. I don’t want Don for this. I want you.”
This is all feeling too personal. Even having him in the room with me now, the pull that sunk me in the first place tugs at me once again. “Tyler, I—”
“Please?” He peers at me earnestly. “There’s no one’s opinion I value more on this, and I just … I need your opinion. I don’t want to make a mistake that any of these dogs pay for.”
He knows what to say to wear me down.
My gaze ventures outside to where Mabel packs snow into balls and tosses them for the puppies to chase while Roy watches, chuckling. “When?”
“Next Saturday, if that works for you. It’s actually Reed’s twenty-first birthday. He was saying how much he’d love to see you.”
I laugh, despite my tension. “Reed did not say that.”
Tyler grins. “He was definitely thinking it, though.”
I shake my head. How am I back here again? “Fine. What time?”
“Eight a.m.?”
Déjà vu hits me. “With or without your shirt on?” My tone is dry.
He laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be fully clothed this time. I swear. It’s too cold for chin-ups in the barn, anyway.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule and let you know. But I’m sure I can make something work.”
His shoulders sink with relief. “Great. Thanks.” He opens his mouth to say something else but then hesitates, as if thinking better of it. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”
