Shelter of Hope

by Lyn Cote

  Luke spoke up, “The bowling alley is just a few blocks away. I thought that would be best. We can just walk there.”

  “That meets with my approval.” Tom leaned over and kissed his daughter’s forehead. “Have a nice evening, honey.” And then he waved and departed.

  “I’m sorry,” Jill said. “My dad is kind of protective of me. There’s only been the two of us since Mom passed away a year ago.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Rosa said, truly touched. “My mother passed away three years ago.” And I never knew my father.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Jill sent Rosa an understanding look.

  Rosa nodded, wondering if Jill knew how lucky she was to have a dad who cared enough to protect her.

  “Well, shouldn’t we go in?” Luke suggested, gesturing toward the inner door.

  Jill nodded. And Rosa was grateful. She didn’t want to discuss losing mothers. Or fathers.

  Luke ushered Jill into the restaurant while Rosa preceded Marc inside. The diner was filled with happy people eating good food. The group mood lightened as they slipped into the high dark wood booth the hostess showed them to. They sat as two couples. Rosa was more sensitive than ever of Marc sitting so close to her. Waves of awareness washed over her.

  Rosa only glanced at the menu, already knowing that she would order her favorites. She noticed that Jill had also barely glanced at the menu.

  “We come here a lot of Sundays after church,” Jill explained in reply to Rosa’s unasked question.

  “Really?” Luke asked. “That sounds like something I’d like to do. I mean go to…church with you and then come here,” Luke stuttered.

  Jill beamed at him. “I’ll tell Dad. He’ll like that.”

  “Thanks for doing this,” Marc murmured close to Rosa’s ear.

  His warm breath on her sensitive flesh made her tingle. She smiled in response and sat back against the booth, ready to enjoy this carefree evening. She hadn’t dated since high school—too busy and too cautious. This wasn’t a real date, she reminded herself.

  But she liked sitting next to Marc Chambers in this booth, having him near soothed some inner rawness she had barely been aware of before this moment. I could get used to this very easily. Inner warnings bells rang. She ignored them.

  I’m just going to enjoy this evening as a double date. That’s all. I’m entitled to a date once every five years. That thought nearly ruined her mood, but she pasted a smile on her face and gave her order to the waitress. “Fried chicken dinner please, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and a salad with French dressing.” Good food, good company—what more could she ask for?

  One glance at Marc’s profile and her mouth went dry. And even though this wasn’t a real date, it suddenly felt like one. And Rosa couldn’t find the strength to stop her pleasure at sitting next to a man like Marc Chambers. More than one appreciative glance had come his way. Just tonight—with Luke and Jill—that’s all this is about.

  The bowling alley was noisy in a cheerful “let’s have fun” spirit that Rosa found contagious. It had worked on Jill and Luke, loosening them into talking more and acting more natural. Rosa sat at their booth and watched Luke show Jill how to get a better hold on the bowling ball. Bursts of laughter and falling pins punctuated her good mood.

  Marc leaned over and murmured into her ear, “From Jill’s score, I don’t think for a moment that she needs any instruction.”

  Rosa chuckled and nodded. Wonderfully relaxed, she noticed that Marc had become more at ease, too. Maybe the bowling alley had done its magic on them, too. Then she chuckled to herself thinking of the phrase, “bowling alley magic.”

  “What’s so funny?” Marc asked.

  She shook her head, holding in the glee of the moment. Then she realized that this was not helping her intention of keeping her distance from Marc. That being near Marc could be a big part of her high spirits. Recklessly she studied his profile—the curve of his ear, the tan that gave his face a healthy glow, the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

  Jill made a strike and Luke gave her a high five. Then the two came back to the booth. “It’s time we started back to the restaurant.” Jill looked at her watch. “The Diner will be closing soon.”

  Rosa and Marc rose and the four of them went through the ritual of turning in shoes and heading out into the dark summer night. There was a hint of rain in the air. Rosa sniffed it in deeply and hoped that they would get a shower—after she got home.

  They reached the Diner and met Jill’s father at the entrance. “Well,” Jill said, holding out her hand to Luke, “I had a lovely time tonight. And it was so good meeting you, too, Marc and Rosa.”

  Luke took her hand and stammered, “I really enjoyed seeing you. I’ll call you, all right?”

  Jill waved as she walked away.

  Rosa watched the young, obviously shy, couple with a sense of sadness. She realized that Jill was not much younger than herself. Yet, she, a single mom, felt a thousand years older. Rosa walked between the two brothers to the truck.

  No one said anything till they reached New Friends Street. Luke was walking to his truck when he said, “Thanks a lot, both of you. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Rosa called in return. To Marc, she said, “Thanks for a fun evening.” She found she couldn’t say more without revealing more about her feelings for him. So she just smiled and walked toward her car.

  “I owe you. Thanks.” Of course, he began escorting her to her sedan.

  Rosa stopped and looked around. What had she heard? She strained and heard it again—a whimper. Something was in pain and was imploring her for help. She gripped Marc’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

  It came again. The heartrending sound was coming from her partially built house.

  “I hear it,” Marc whispered, looking into the lengthening shadows of deep dusk.

  “I’m going to find out what it is.” She nodded toward the shell of her house, toward the sound.

  “Walk slow,” Marc said. “I’ll get my flashlight.”

  The whimpering increased as she approached the shell. She looked down into the foundation and saw the outline of a dog, lying under the crude open stairway into the basement. When the animal saw her above, it whimpered louder still, begging for help. The sound stabbed her heart. She hurried carefully down the open stairs to the basement.

  “If he’s hurt, don’t get too close,” Marc cautioned, arriving just behind Rosa and switching on a large lantern flashlight.

  She knew what he said was true, but then the poor dog inched toward her, whimpering, asking for help. “He’s hurt and he isn’t behaving snappish. I think he wants us to help him.”

  “Does he have a collar?” Marc asked.

  “No.” Rosa studied the animal by the light Marc provided. “I wonder if he was the stray Johnny ran after into the street.”

  “Might be.”

  She stooped near the dog. “I think his front paw is swollen.”

  “That looks right,” he agreed.

  “We need to help him,” Rosa said. “Marc, will you pick him up?”

  Marc hesitated. A wounded stray might bite. But then three things happened. It began to sprinkle on the subfloor above them. Rosa looked up to him with a pleading look in her eyes. And the dog licked her hand. The final act made his decision. Marc stooped beside Rosa. “Tell him it’s okay and pet his head. Tell him to let me pick him up.”

  She stroked the dog’s head and murmured, “Marc is a good guy. He’s going to lift you up and we’re going to help you.”

  Finally, Marc put down the lantern flashlight, moved forward, and slid both arms under the dog. He lifted the dog up slowly. The animal closed its eyes as if releasing his troubles to them. “He’s really light, undernourished. I think he must be a stray.”

  “Poor thing,” Rosa murmured and picked up the lantern.

  The injured dog was so pathetic, so helpless, Marc choked up. He knew what that felt like. He, too, had lain, injured, in pai
n and dependent upon the help of strangers.

  “Do you know a vet who works this late?” she asked.

  Marc considered the options. The dog moaned as if urging Marc to make up his mind already. “Let’s take him to my grandmother. We usually have her look at our animals before we call the vet. In her day, farmers tended their own animals unless it was something serious. She’ll tell us if we can take care of it tonight or need to wake the vet for an emergency.”

  Rosa nodded. Under the light sprinkling, she led the way, shining the lantern on the ground so they wouldn’t stumble over anything. Soon they were at Marc’s truck. He laid the dog gently on the seat and then turned to say goodbye. “Thanks again, Rosa, for tonight.”

  “Will you let me know how he does?” she asked.

  “Will do.” He turned to get out of the light rain.

  But as soon as Rosa began to walk away, the stray began a combination of pitiful barking and moaning. It was such a pathetic mournful sound that Mark couldn’t ignore it.

  And evidently not Rosa, either. She came back. “You’ll be all right, amigo. Marc will take good care of you.”

  The pitiful barking and moaning increased in volume and appeal. Marc realized that he had only one course. He took a deep breath. “Okay, evidently he has bonded with you. How about I put him on your front seat and you follow me home? I know it’s late but it won’t take Gram long—”

  “Okay, let’s get going,” she interrupted, glancing at her watch and holding her purse over her head to shield herself from the quickening rain.

  Within moments, Marc was in his truck, driving toward home, Rosa’s aging car in his rearview mirror. Soon he and Rosa drove up to the white garage. From the dog run, his grandmother’s golden retrievers came out of their houses to bark at him, welcome him. Marc stared at his grandmother’s house unhappily. He hadn’t expected this.

  He got out of his truck, light lukewarm rain falling on him. The high yard light illumined the scene. His grandmother’s first-floor apartment was uncustomarily dark. It was too early for her to have gone to bed. Where could she be?

  “What is it, Marc?” Rosa called from her open car door.

  The fact that he was keeping Rosa here when she should be home in bed resting tightened his jaw. A single mom needed her sleep. “Gram must be out tonight.” And then he remembered. “Square-dancing night,” he said. Annoyed, he glanced at his watch. “Out later than usual.”

  “What do we do with our furry friend then?” From behind Rosa, the dog whimpered, moaned loud and long.

  The agonizing sound knit Marc’s neck muscles into tight knots. “Let’s get him inside. Gram should be along any time now.” Then the rain began to fall faster and harder. He hurried to Rosa’s car, lifted the dog and then loped toward his Gram’s back door.

  Rosa jogged just behind him, holding a bright pink umbrella over the stray. They reached the locked door, rain splattering around their feet on the patch of concrete.

  “The keys are in my right pocket,” Marc said, nodding down toward his right side.

  Rosa pulled out the key ring. He told her which key to use. The umbrella tilted and rain streamed down the back of his neck. The lock turned; they burst into the large combination mudroom and back stairwell of the farmhouse. Rosa switched on the overhead light near the door.

  Blinking in the sudden brightness, he looked around for a place to lay the dog. “Rosa,” he said, nodding toward a white metal cabinet, held shut by a wooden clothespin, “please look in there for vinyl picnic tablecloths.”

  Rosa quickly followed his instructions. She laid the rumpled red-and-white-checked vinyl cloth over the top large chest-style freezer. Marc gently laid the dog onto it. “Okay, boy, let’s see if there’s more than your paw that needs help.” He looked to Rosa, appealing silently.

  She nodded her understanding and moved to the dog’s head, hovering there, crooning soft words, soothing the animal’s fears. Marc’s examination didn’t take long. The dog was malnourished, slightly feverish and had an injured paw. Marc hadn’t touched the paw. Nonetheless he had seen easily that it was lacerated and swollen with infection.

  Outside the gentle shower intensified to a pounding downpour. Worse and worse. Marc stood back and propped his hands on his hips. “This looks fairly straightforward. We need to clean him up and then use an antiseptic on the paw. I’ll have to take him to the vet tomorrow for a tetanus shot and maybe an antibiotic. But with some first aid, this can wait till morning.”

  The rain outside gushed from the downspouts, distracting him as he tried to think how to proceed. The filthy dog needed a bath first. Yet he didn’t want to take the dog to his gram’s bathtub without her permission or try to drag the stray upstairs.

  As if reading his mind, Rosa suggested, “Why don’t we just shampoo him outside? Warm rainwater is the best rinse.”

  Marc stared at her. “You’ll get all wet.”

  “I’m already wet. Denim won’t be ruined by rain. And this will actually be easier on our stray amigo here.”

  The rain hammered outdoors. “Okay. I’ll carry him outside. If you look on the top shelf in the cabinet, there’s some canine flea shampoo.” He was already shoving the door open with his foot and shoulder. “Let’s get this done. Fast.”

  Rosa watched Marc step out into the tropical-feeling deluge. He looked tired yet determined. She followed him out with the bottle of flea shampoo in her hand. Tepid, not cooling rain poured down on her head. She was instantly wet to the skin. With every step, water squished up around her feet. She pushed her wet hair back from her face, glad her mascara was waterproof.

  In the driving summer rain, Marc wrapped his arms around the middle of the dog. Fortunately because within seconds, the dog made his objection to a bath—loud and forceful. He tried to wriggle free. He moaned. He yipped. He wiggled.

  Nonetheless, Rosa lavishly poured on the medicinal-smelling shampoo and started scrubbing the dog from his nose to his tail. The smell of wet dog filled her head as her fingers dug deep through the matted fur to the hide covering the thin body. “Poor amigo,” she repeated and repeated. Rain streamed down her face, saturating every inch of her hair and clothing.

  She’d just finished the sudsing when the dog made one more valiant or lunatic attempt to break free. He tried to bolt and knocked them both off their feet. Marc landed beside her on the squishy grass, squirting up water. The impact forced the air from her. She turned to him and their noses brushed.

  Everything began to move in slow motion.

  He leaned closer, looking at her lips. Her breath caught in her throat. Shock waves shuddered through her. Marc drew her irresistibly. She leaned forward, unable to take her eyes from his lips, so near, so enticing.

  The animal intervened. He barked indignantly and strained to get away from Marc’s last-ditch hold on his hind leg. Then a car bumped its way up the drive.

  Coming back to her right mind, Rosa rolled away from Marc. Staggering, she rose with the rain still pouring down on them as if she were standing directly under a sky-high faucet.

  His grandmother’s dogs began barking in greeting. And his grandmother got out of a friend’s car and walked toward them. “What’s all this?” Naomi asked, dressed in an embroidered jean dress and beaming at them from under a large black umbrella. “You both look like drowned rats.”

  Rosa stayed away from Marc, still breathing harder than normal. As she began walking beside Naomi under her umbrella to the back door, Rosa explained how they had found the stray. Behind them, she heard Marc scrambling, splashing, the dog barking and yowling. He hurried to catch up to them with the dog, carrying him through the door she held open for him.

  He passed within a fraction of a breathless inch from her. Rosa tried to calm herself. That moment on the ground had been a close call. Had she actually almost let Marc Chambers kiss her?

  Chapter Four

  Feeling the dog nudge him, Marc awoke in his bed to morning light. He lay, letting memories of a few
nights ago play through his mind again. Rosa and he had scrubbed a dog together in drenching rain. Rosa’s thick dark hair had been pasted to her face and forehead as she had scrubbed the dog from stem to stern. She’d ended the evening by naming the stray Amigo, Spanish for friend.

  He closed his eyes, trying—in vain—to blot out pleasant images of Rosa, her lively face, her squeals of laughter as the dog had tried to break away from them. How was he going to stop himself from having these thoughts he’d banned? At the community college, he’d steered clear of her the past two days, but today loomed—

  Impatient, Amigo nudged him in the side and gave a minor bark, asking for breakfast no doubt. In the past two days, Amigo had made himself at home. He ignored the ancient dog bed Naomi had set up for him and insisted on sleeping beside Marc on the bed. An unforeseen blessing.

  Over the past two nights with Amigo by his side, Marc had somehow gotten through each night with only a bare minimum of nightmares. Not perfect, but better. Maybe it would just take time.

  Amigo barked in earnest this time, breakfast clearly on his mind.

  So Marc rolled toward the dog beside the bed. He rubbed his knuckles on top of Amigo’s head and grinned in friendly amusement at the sight of the dog. Around the dog’s neck was a silly but needed contraption that sort of looked like a satellite dish. It was necessary to keep the dog from chewing at the bandage on his one paw. The morning after the memorable doggy bath, Rosa had called to find out what the vet had said. Marc recalled hearing her soft voice on the phone, a pleasure.

  Marc had reported that the vet had established that the dog did not have Lyme’s disease, but was malnourished and needed antibiotic and vitamin pills daily. Amigo had been given both tetanus and anti-rabies shots. The vet bill had been a hefty one for a stray, but Marc realized that Amigo had come to stay. Once more he knuckled the top of the dog’s head vigorously and Amigo looked pleased. “How are you feeling today, you worthless dog?”

  Amigo barked, as if appreciating the dubious compliment. He barked again more insistently.