“You miss-eeng that leetle dog again, sí?”
Tina nodded and went back to sorting. Lupe’s English had been pretty bad when she’d come in here, but she’d been trying to improve. She said she might as well learn something worthwhile in here.
That’s the way Tina looked at the PBB program—learning something useful while she was in prison. The fact she took such pride in caring for her dogs made her think she might try to open a dog-sitting or grooming business when she got out. Not that people would trust an ex-con to dog-sit in their homes, not that she’d ever be able to afford a shop of her own, but surely someone would hire her. Her dream was to own a van and go house to house, working right in the van—dog groomer on call.
Tina sighed. Could she make enough doing that to support her kids, make things up to them? Could—
She looked up and saw Ellen enter the laundry-room door and head straight for her. Tina twisted the towel she held, feeling as edgy as if she’d been caught shoplifting.
“Tina, some good news,” the officer told her, glancing down at the note book she carried. “The warden would have told you herself, she said, but she’s in a parole board hearing and thought you should know this right away. Your little girl’s been taken by a foster family, people who live in the country and have two other kids and a dog for her to play with. Bet that cheers you up!”
“But—not my boy? Larry’s not with her?”
Ellen frowned down at her notebook. “No—I—nothing about him, just your girl.”
“I was hoping, praying they wouldn’t be pulled apart. They need each other—that’s all they have left right now.”
Oh, damn, Tina thought, she was going to cry again. And Corky wasn’t here to help.
Blair Ryan waited until two days after Alexis said she’d be home before calling her. He didn’t want her to think he was overanxious to see her—which he was. Then too, he’d been working a tough domestic-violence case where the husband, despite a restraining order, had returned to the home and assaulted his estranged wife really badly. They’d caught and arrested the guy. The situation wasn’t that close to Alexis’s, and yet her case returned to haunt him again.
He leaned back in his desk chair and reached over piles of files and reports for the phone. The buzz of business could be heard outside his cubicle.
He punched in redial. Again, Alexis’s home phone rang. For the second time today—and it was only midmorning—his own voice came on with, “If you wish to leave a message…” The day she’d moved into her new place, he’d suggested that he record the answering machine message for her so that a caller who didn’t know her—or was looking for her—would think a man was on the premises. It had gone unspoken between them that, even though the number would be unlisted, someone as devious as Dortman could find it.
Not wanting her to worry about a call where the person just hung up—that had been one of Dortman’s tricks before things escalated—Blair said, “Alexis, Blair again. I’ll bet you’re out with your new guide dog. Call me if you get a chance, because I’d like to meet him or her. I’m at my work number, but I told you that you can always phone me at home, and my cell number’s the same. Hope to see you—hear from you.”
He hung up, wishing he hadn’t sounded so forlorn. But he missed her. Man, get a life, he told himself as he hunched back over his desk and fingered through the folder he kept on Len Dortman. Blair was overburdened with work and should have filed it by now. In a way, he was hoping it would turn into a cold case that would never be needed again. But the guy’s psychological workup indicated his single-mindedness, and that scared Blair.
He skimmed Dortman’s psychological profile. The perp’s mother had deserted him as a child, and he’d evidently had violent reactions to rejection or separation from women because of major self-esteem issues. The guy wasn’t that bad-looking, and came off as Mr. Nice-and-Helpful at first, so it could be possible he’d find a victim who needed him—though she’d be in real danger if she acted even slightly independent, let alone tried to get rid of him.
As she and Sterling walked from the apartment to a small, neighborhood grocery store, Alexis was thrilled to realize what a difference this dog had made in her life already. Holding on to the harness and trusting the dog, she was no longer afraid of taking a walk or going on an errand.
Besides, a guide dog was a real attraction. People she didn’t know talked to her and Sterling, though if they edged too close and she thought they might pet Sterling, she explained that it was best not to touch a guide dog when she was working. “She’s gentle as can be,” she’d tell people, “but when she’s in the harness, she leaves her pet status behind to become my guide and protector.”
Even strangers said things like, “Wow, I can tell your dog’s real smart!”
“She sure is,” Alexis would tell them. “Sterling is smart and well trained—she totally impresses me!”
But when they were walking, Alexis had to concentrate. No strolling along just daydreaming. She had her cell phone with her in case she needed to make a call, but she didn’t turn it on because she didn’t want that distraction either. Alexis had to make key decisions about where they were going and when they’d arrived. It was indeed a working partnership, and she cherished Sterling for giving her some semblance of the independence she’d had before disaster struck.
When Sterling was out of harness, she became a lively, loving pet, and Alexis knew the dog’s big, warm body well now from playing and hugging: the distinctive tail, thick at the base and tapering toward the tip; the short, dense coat and powerful jaws, which were so gentle. She lavished affection on Sterling—even scratching the dog’s belly when she rolled on her back.
Alexis knew she’d never responded to an independent, sometimes aloof cat this way. It didn’t even startle her now when Sterling licked her face, and she talked to her so much more than she did to Chaucer. The cat got along with the dog quite well, since Sterling stuck to the floor and stayed off the sofa and window ledges where Chaucer perched among the potted plants.
The only thing that still bothered Alexis was crossing busy streets, and there were plenty of those around here. Not being able to tell if the traffic light was in their favor or not, the dog stopped at the curb. It was up to Alexis to listen for vehicular and pedestrian traffic before giving Sterling the forward command. But the dog then looked to be sure it was safe. If Sterling saw something Alexis hadn’t discerned, she might refuse to cross or even pull her firmly back from danger. If only she’d had a protector like this when her life had turned into such a nightmare.
This time Sterling didn’t budge when Alexis gave the forward command. “Good girl, Sterling,” Alexis told her as a cyclist turned a corner so close she could hear the pedals moving the chain and feel the push of wind as the rider sped by. “Forward, Sterling.” When it was all clear, the dog took her across the street.
Some observers were certain Sterling was reading the traffic lights. A man had said to them yesterday, “Hey, lady, I thought dogs were color-blind. Do they teach them that the one on top is the green light?”
Alexis had to bite her lip not to laugh at that one. Yes, both she and Sterling had to make decisions, but they got around, farther and better each of the days she was back home. She couldn’t wait to show her mother what a change this had made in her life. And she wanted Blair to see. That way if he still kept coming around, she’d be sure it wasn’t out of guilt or pity.
The next day, Blair sat at a table outside the Tapitias, a café-restaurant about six blocks from Alexis’s place, waiting for her. “I’ll be the one with a dog,” she’d told him with a little laugh when she’d returned his call. She’d sounded lighthearted and confident. No tremor in her voice, no hesitation. His hopes soared.
And now, here she came, striding along at a good clip, her hair blowing, her lips moving. Evidently she was talking to the dog. Sterling was a brown beauty, and Blair’s eyes stung with unshed tears. He and Kate had owned a Labrador like tha
t, only black instead of this chocolate color.
He stood at the table he’d taken for them. He wasn’t sure whether to call to her or approach her. There was a low, plastic barrier around these tables, but she’d chosen the place, so she must know it well. As she came closer, he saw the dog hesitate a moment at the barrier, which reached its nose.
“Forward,” he heard Alexis say. Then she must have felt the barrier, because she added, “Find the way, Sterling, find the way.” At that, the dog took her around to the entry.
Alexis could feel Blair’s presence before she heard him say, “Alexis! I’m over here, coming your way.”
She smiled in the direction of his voice. He must have been watching for her. Strange how she was developing a sort of sixth sense when someone was studying her, not just passing by. She wasn’t sure if it was because she’d spent three weeks being watched by her instructor, or whether she just knew that more people were watching her now, the blind woman and her smart dog. Despite the warm day, she shivered. If someone stalked her now, would she sense his presence, separate from those who had no intention of harming her?
She prayed she wasn’t slipping back into the paranoia and trauma of the days when Dortman stalked her. No, it couldn’t be that. She’d been so oblivious to him at first, but once she’d spotted him, he seemed to be everywhere, following her on the street, in his car, watching her front door, skulking behind every darn tree!
“Blair!” she said, recognizing his familiar quick stride. She heard him stop right in front of her. “As you can see I’ve got my hands full or I’d shake your hand,” she added with a smile. “Let’s sit down.”
“Sure, I have a table—right over here. This way,” he added.
But she just said, “Forward, Sterling,” and moved in his direction with the dog.
The minute she dropped the leash and harness, the Lab lay down under their table, quiet and patient, while Blair helped to seat her. “That’s one beautiful animal,” he said. “I’ll bet she enjoys roughhousing.”
“She’s beautifully behaved indoors and out, but yes, she loves to play.”
A moment’s silence hung between them while life bustled all around—voices, car horns, even the song of a robin as the city edged from winter into spring.
“It’s working out great, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Better than I could have hoped. She’s given me back my legs and my life, at least this version of it. It’s taken some getting used to, being so responsible for her well-being, too, but I owe her so much.”
Their server came. They ordered fajitas and sangria. The dog didn’t budge.
“Nothing for Sterling while she’s working, right?” Blair asked.
“If it’s a hot day, I take water along, but that’s it. Would you believe it—a dog that doesn’t stop to sniff at things or beg for food when she’s out? You could put a piece of prime rib in front of her, and she wouldn’t take it when she’s in harness. She’s my gentle giant.”
“That reminds me—I checked and learned that the same program Sterling came from has supplied several of our police department’s bomb-sniffing dogs. Those EDC dogs need to be calm and obedient and want to please their owners—handlers, in this case. The love and care they’re given as puppies also prepares them to handle the later extensive scent-association training. They’re far different from the attack-on-command police dogs, though people sometimes get that confused.”
After they ate, they walked together toward a small park behind the local elementary school. A jumble of kids’ voices filled the air. Blair told her that Latino kids were playing soccer in a field next to a baseball diamond where Indian students were enjoying a game of cricket. This park was an arm of the big city park where Alexis had been jogging the night Dortman attacked her, the night she fell—or was thrown—down the concrete steps by the old amphitheater.
She took Sterling’s harness off and let her run a bit. She and Blair took turns throwing a small, foam football, which the dog retrieved, faithfully dropping it at Alexis’s feet, even when Blair had heaved it.
Blair didn’t want to talk about his latest case, and all she wanted to talk about was Sterling, but their conversation eventually spun off to everyday topics like the weather and local politics, their favorite CDs and TV shows. He was amazed she was familiar with a popular new dance competition on TV.
“What?” she said, taking a little swipe at his shoulder and landing the blow. “There’s a police department rule that blind people have to stick to radio or CDs instead of TV? I just listen to the music on the show and imagine what they’re doing, then listen to the judges’ evaluations. Sometimes I dance around myself, just for fun,” she admitted. “Sterling watched every move I made the other night and thought I did really well. I believe she gave me a ten.”
Alexis hadn’t meant to say all that. It sounded like a come-on to get him to ask her to go dancing again.
She was about to change the subject when Blair blurted, “How about just for fun, I take you dancing? You said no before, but things are different now that you’ve cleared a big hurdle. Of course, Sterling would come, too, and sit like a guardian angel under the table.”
Blair sounded breathless—just the way Alexis felt. He’d asked her to go to some retro place called Casablanca before, which played 1940s music and was really popular. She’d wondered if the place was decorated with blowup photos of Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart from the old black-and-white movie. What was that famous line the two endangered lovers said? Oh, yeah, “We’ll always have Paris.” But if she didn’t at least accept his invitation this time, she’d never have memories of dancing—even in the dark.
“All right,” she said, and thought she heard him exhale in relief. “If you and Sterling are game, so am I.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It turned out that the Club Casablanca was just on the other side of the big park from Alexis’s neighborhood. The evening was so lovely and mild that she and Blair decided to walk. Alexis had to smile, and not just from happiness: it had been years since she’d had a chaperone when she went out on a date, and never one so welcome as Sterling.
And she’d never cared for anyone she’d been with as much as she cared for Blair Ryan. She’d admitted it to herself now, though the possibility of being more than friends still seemed as distant as sight and light.
“I know it’s dark, but here I am picturing this walk as if it were daytime,” she told Blair. He walked easily along on Sterling’s other side, content to let the dog lead, satisfied not to talk too much so she could concentrate. Of course, with Blair, she could have left Sterling home, but after all, he’d invited the dog, too, and being in an atmosphere of music and movement would be good practice for her canine companion as well as for herself.
“The streetlights are on and, better yet, there’s a moon,” Blair told her. “It’s almost full.”
When they stopped at an intersection with a light, she asked, “Can you see the mountains and plains on the moon clearly tonight?”
“Pretty clear,” he said.
“Remember Neil Armstrong’s words when he first set foot on the moon? Something like ‘One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind’? Well, working with Sterling has been one small step for this woman and yet one giant leap, too. Thank God for Puppies Behind Bars and that great guide dog school—and you, Blair.”
“I hope you’ll whisper something like that in my ear when we’re dancing and not when we have Sterling walking between us—and the light just turned green.”
“Sterling, forward.”
The club was noisy with chatter and music. A live band—Blair said six men—accompanied a male and a female singer and played golden oldies, great dance tunes from the 1930s and ’40s. While Sterling lay quiet and content under their table, they danced to a tune made famous by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, “I Won’t Dance.” But they were dancing, cheek to cheek, their arms around each other, moving closer together with each spin around t
he dance floor.
“I agonized about whether to keep calling you,” he whispered as the live band switched to “In the Mood.” “I didn’t want to seem unprofessional, and I didn’t want you to think that I was just upset I hadn’t found Dortman.”
“Don’t say that name,” she said, touching her forehead to his strong, square jaw. “I just want to forget about him.”
He sighed so hard that his chest shifted up, then down, against her breasts. She felt that little touch clear down to the pit of her belly.
“I know, Alexis, but I’ve tried that with a personal tragedy, and it doesn’t work. We lost my younger sister, Kate, to cancer when she was nine. When I try to forget about it, bury it, it comes out in nightmares and depression. I’ve hated hospitals ever since and tried to keep from really caring deeply for someone so I wouldn’t be hurt again—that’s nuts, I know.”
“But I understand,” she reassured him. “I didn’t know about that—and you were so good to keep visiting me when I was in the hospital. Blair, I know it’s far too late, and I didn’t even know Kate, but I’m so sorry. When I was in the hospital, I got to know some people who’ve been blind since birth. I had so many sighted years and I’m still healthy—and alive, no thanks to Dortman. That makes me realize how blessed I am, especially now that I have Sterling. But I’ll take your advice about not trying to shut the bad things out.”
“That doesn’t mean you let the bad past get in the way of the good future,” he murmured and gave her waist a little squeeze as he spun her again.
“Blair, forward,” she said with a little laugh. “Find the way.”
“Yes, ma’am. But just remember, cops are very—well, dogged—about following commands. I would like for us to find the way.”
She smiled and clasped his neck and hand just a bit harder as they slowed again, standing almost in place, swaying with the music. Dancing with Blair, she could just close her eyes and move, feeling his lead, his strength—even his deep concern. And if that was love, could she trust it would be enough? Earlier, he’d said all good things were worth the risk.
More Than Words: Stories of Strength Page 16
