Mama put the car in park, turned off the engine, and unbuckled her seat belt. “Come on. We’re going to talk.”
I stared out the windshield and clenched my teeth. “I don’t want to.”
“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to. Let’s go.”
“No,” I said stubbornly.
“Miller,” she said in that tone she used when she wanted me to be reasonable. “I know you’re hurt. I want to explain what’s going on. I’d like it to be just between us. You and me.”
That stung and I swung my head around to face her. “We’re not a team. You lied to me. I don’t want to talk to you.” I turned away, slumped deeper in the seat, and dug my fists in my pocket.
“Look, Miller,” my mother said with heat. “I’m about at the end of my rope. Everyone’s treating me like I’m the villain. All I’m trying to do is make y’all happy!” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “And you now what? I’m tired! I’m tired of always trying and you always shutting me out. And your brother shutting me out.”
“You got him a dog!” I cried out accusingly.
“No, I didn’t,” she shouted back.
I don’t know who was more surprised that she shouted. Me or her.
Mama took a breath and said in a calmer voice, “This is important, Miller. So stop being a baby, unbuckle your seat belt, and get yourself into that restaurant. We need to talk, hear?”
She’d used her no-nonsense tone and I knew she was really getting mad. Begrudgingly I unbuckled my seat belt and pushed open the car door. I slammed the door for good measure, then walked with my hands in my pockets and my collar up to the entrance of the restaurant. The door swung open and Mr. and Mrs. Thorvalson came out. Mrs. Thorvalson recognized me and smiled, her blue eyes bright.
“Well, hey there, Miller! What a surprise. How are you? Excited for Christmas?”
“I guess,” I lied, looking at my feet. She was always real nice to me and let me visit the sea-turtle hospital at the SC Aquarium where she worked. “I’m here with my mama.”
My mother walked up at just that moment, and she and Mrs. Thorvalson kissed in welcome. They talked a few minutes about Christmas plans, then Mama gave me a nudge to enter the restaurant.
Usually I liked coming to T.W. Graham’s. It was real cozy, with the wood booths and square tables. But mostly I liked all the stuff on the walls—paintings, surfboards, fishing nets and equipment, funny signs. It was old-timey. My daddy said it was the only game in town. Mama called it a shrine. We came here a lot to eat crabs and fish. Daddy sometimes came to hang out with the Old Captains, a group of former shrimp boat captains who reminisced about days gone by. It wasn’t crowded now. A few of the Old Captains sat in one of the booths.
“Pick a booth,” Mama said.
I did and slid into it, still scowling.
Miss Claudia came up to the table wearing an apron with a big, showy Christmas pin. She was the owner’s wife and made the best pies anywhere. “Hey, Jenny,” she called out as she approached. Her smile shifted to me. “Miller, nice to see you. Are you getting excited for Christmas?”
“Yes’m.”
“What brings you in today? Christmas shopping, eh?”
“Just came for a chat,” Mama replied in a cheery voice. “And maybe some of your pie. What do you want, Miller?” Mama’s face was smiling but her eyes weren’t.
“Nothing.”
“I’ll have the key lime pie and coffee,” Mama said. When Miss Claudia left, Mama folded her hands on the table and leaned far forward to catch my eye. “You’re just hurting yourself by not getting pie.” When I didn’t reply, she gave an exasperated sigh. “Miller, I know you think Taylor got a dog for Christmas. It might seem like that. Yes, he got a dog. Yes, it’s Christmas. But, no, it’s not a gift or something he got for Christmas.”
Yeah, right, I thought to myself. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.
Her coffee came so she stopped talking and smiled at Miss Claudia while the mug and cream were set before her. Mama moved the plate of key lime pie to the center of the table and passed me a fork. I didn’t want to eat it but I couldn’t resist. It was my favorite. I took a bite with a scowl. Across from me, Mama sipped her coffee, her eyes never leaving my face.
She set down her cup. “The dog’s name is Thor,” she began. “He’s not a pet. He’s a service dog. There’s a big difference.” She paused to make sure I was listening. When I looked up from my pie, she continued, “Taylor applied for this dog months ago, when he got out of the hospital. Thor is specially trained to help your brother with his PTSD. I’ve been reading about it and I’ve learned a lot. It’s called post-traumatic stress disorder because it happens after a trauma. That means he got it from something terrible that happened to him in the war. Probably the IED explosion. He survived the blast, but his brain got hurt. Can you understand that? His injured brain makes him do these things we don’t understand. Like how he’s been staying in his room and doesn’t go out. And how he gets angry all the time. And his bad nightmares?”
I nodded, listening now.
“Thor is trained to wake him up if he has those nightmares.”
I looked at her with doubt; I didn’t know whether to believe her. “Like, how?”
“When he has a nightmare, Thor will lick his hand and his face to wake him up before Taylor gets too deep into the dream. He can sense when it’s happening. The same for when he starts to get angry or anxious.”
I shrugged.
“Do you remember how you said Taylor wasn’t the same person? How you didn’t like who he was now?”
I looked away. “Yeah.”
“Me, too. I’m ashamed I thought that. Are you?”
I felt choked up and nodded.
Mama reached out to pat my hand. “It’s okay. Here’s the thing. A service dog is a kind of therapy for Taylor. I hope . . . I pray . . . that Thor will help Taylor get back to being the guy we love. Taylor only got the phone call the other day that his dog was ready. He’d been waiting for months. Honey, he didn’t get a dog as a Christmas gift. It was a coincidence that it was today so close to Christmas. Try to understand, Thor isn’t a pet. Taylor needs this dog.”
“Well, I need Sandy, too!” I cried back. “Why is it that what Taylor needs is more important than what I need? Who is going to feed Taylor’s new dog, huh? He doesn’t get up in the morning. And how can we afford to feed him and not Sandy?” I sniffed and wiped my nose with my sleeve. “It doesn’t matter now, Sandy is sold and I can never have him. And that’s not fair.”
I shoved the plate of pie away and climbed from the booth. “I’m going home.”
“Wait, I have to pay.”
“I don’t want to go with you. I’m walking.”
As I opened the door, the bells chimed and Miss Claudia called out, “Merry Christmas!”
Yeah, right, I thought, blinking tears from my eyes. Walking home, when I saw the red ribbons and bows on the windows and doors, it made me feel sadder. All I could think of was the red “sold” ribbon around Sandy’s neck.
The sight of these poor revelers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker’s doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearer’s passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch.
—A Christmas Carol
Chapter 16
Jenny
Once again the doors were shut upstairs. I swear, all I wanted for Christmas was a normal, happy home without closed doors! Where was the season of brotherly love? I wondered. Those two brothers were not even talking. I was beginning to side with Team Scrooge.
I stood in the front hall still in my winter coat. It was after five but it felt like midnight. I was tired and drained. As I took my coat off, I realized the last thing I wanted to do was prepare a dinner for this crew. All I wanted to do was climb into bed and cry.
But of course I couldn’t do that. I was the mother. At times like these, when I was at my wit’s end,
I brought to mind what Mother had told me the day I first held in my arms my newborn baby:
“Motherhood is your greatest joy and also your greatest challenge. From this day forward your life is no longer just your own. Mothers give, give, give, and when they think they have nothing left, they dig deep and give some more. Because a mother is the heart of a family. A family is only as happy as the mother.”
Christmas was a week away. If I gave up now, what hope would my children have for any joy this holiday? I wouldn’t be happy this Christmas if they were not. So I did as my mother advised and dug deep. I found my strength in remembering Christmases past when the boys were young. The excitement in their eyes when they helped make holiday cookies or went out to find a tree. Helping put out the nativity scene at our church. Hanging up stockings and leaving cookies for Santa. Visualizing their smiles, I felt a renewed energy.
With resolve bubbling inside my heart I turned on the radio to the Christmas station. The children made fun of me for playing the carols all throughout the holiday, but I believed it lifted the spirits—at least mine. Appropriately, the crooning of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” filled the room. I indulged myself and poured a glass of sherry. Sipping its sweetness, I went to the kitchen and scrounged my fridge to see what I had. I pulled out butter, bread, and cheddar cheese and began to make grilled-cheese sandwiches. It was comfort food in my book and perfect for a wintry night when the larder was low. As the cheese melted, I made up a few trays, decorating them with a holiday placemat and napkin. When the bread was golden and oozing cheese, I put the warm sandwiches on plates with chips, crisp carrots, and a few almond cookies. It wasn’t a grand dinner but it made for a tasty supper.
First I carried a tray to Miller’s room. I knocked and entered, finding Miller sitting on his bed sullenly reading Dickens.
“I’m not hungry,” he said when he saw the tray.
“Uh-huh,” I replied in good cheer. “It’s here in case you change your mind.” I left without another word, closing the door behind me. If I knew my son, that tray would be clean in an hour.
The second tray I carried to Taylor’s room. I knocked and opened the door, not waiting for his usual “Go away.” Unlike before, there was obviously some attempt at tidying the room. The dirty dishes and clothes were gone, as was the bottle of bourbon on the bedside table. I knew he’d cleaned up for Clarissa’s inspection and hoped he’d keep it up. Taylor had always been a neat young man.
Taylor was sitting on the floor with Thor’s head in his lap reading a book. My heart melted at the sight. A boy and his dog, I thought. Yet I knew something more important was going on. I could see Taylor was pensive.
“I thought Thor left with Clarissa?”
“Why would you think that? Thor’s my dog now. He stays here. Clarissa comes back only to train.”
“Oh.” I was glad to hear it. Already I could see the dog was having a positive effect on Taylor. “I thought we could all use some quiet time tonight.” I swept into the room, carrying the tray to his desk. My prying eyes noticed the pamphlets and books on dog training scattered.
“What are you reading?”
“A Christmas Carol.”
“Oh, really? Miller is reading that for his book report.”
“I know. I thought I might be able to help him.” Taylor closed the book abruptly and moved it aside, seemingly embarrassed. “Or not.” He stroked Thor’s long neck in thought. “How’s Miller?”
I set down the tray and turned to face Taylor. “As you’d expect,” I replied honestly. “Hurt.”
“I can understand those feelings.” Then in a lower tone he added, “I feel terrible about this.”
“You shouldn’t.”
He let his arm drop from Thor. “How can I not? I got a dog and he didn’t. That’s a kick in the teeth for anyone, much less a kid only ten years old.” He paused. “You know”—Taylor rubbed his forehead with his fingers—“he told me how much he wanted that dog. I wanted to get it for him. Real bad. I walked to Mrs. Davidson’s house that same day to buy it. But she told me the dog was already sold. All the puppies were all sold.”
I was stunned that he’d walked all the way across town to the Davidsons’ house. Taylor, who never left the house. “You should tell Miller that.”
“Why? What good would it do? It’d only rub salt in the wound. Too little, too late. Damn, this is such a mess.”
Thor heard Taylor’s tension, and I was mightily impressed to see the dog immediately rise and turn to bring his face to Taylor’s and begin licking it. Taylor had to stop talking and began petting Thor, murmuring, “It’s all right. Good dog.”
I watched, for the first time understanding the remarkable sensitivity of the service dog. Thor really could sense Taylor’s anxiety levels and calm him before they went out of control. Taylor wasn’t even fully aware that he’d stopped to focus on petting the dog.
“Taylor, you can’t take blame for the fact you got a dog,” I told him. “Just like you can’t take blame for what’s happened in Afghanistan.”
“Daddy thinks I deserve the blame.”
“What? How can you say that?”
“He hasn’t spoken a word to me since, since . . .” Taylor paused and looked away. He didn’t need to mention the incident with the gun. We were both thinking of it. “He can’t stand to even look at me.”
I licked my lips, unsure of what to say. I’d noticed Alistair’s avoidance, too. “He’s just so worried about getting his job done,” I said lamely.
“Whatever.” Taylor shook his head.
My heart broke for him and I resolved to talk to Alistair when he returned home.
“Here’s the thing,” Taylor said. “I can’t keep the dog.”
“What?” I asked with alarm.
“At least not while I’m here. It’d be too hard for Miller. He’s the one we have to worry about. Not me.”
“I’ll be the judge of who I worry about, thank you very much.”
Taylor furrowed his brows, intent on saying his piece. “I can call Clarissa,” he said, pushing forward with his thoughts. “I’ll ask if she’ll take Thor back, just until after Christmas. Then I can find a new place.”
I didn’t like where these plans were heading. Give back the dog? Leave home after Christmas? “A new place?” I asked. “Taylor, where will you go?”
“I’m not going back to Quantico. I left that hellhole of an apartment. It was only temporary. I want to find someplace that’s good for Thor. And for me.”
“You know you can stay here for as long as you want. We want you to. This is your home.”
He bowed his head. “I know. Thanks.” He looked back up. “But I can’t keep Thor and live here under these circumstances. The last thing I want to do is hurt Miller.”
I saw the decision forming in his mind and feared it. This was the Taylor I knew and loved. He put others before himself. Self-sacrifice and a strong sense of duty were some of the reasons he’d joined the Marines. I could already see the calming effect the dog was having on my son. I couldn’t let him make this mistake.
“I almost lost you and I won’t do it again.” Emotion made my voice wobble. “I know you’re having a hard time. I want to help in any way I can, to help you deal with your condition now that I understand it better. . . . Yeah,” I said self-consciously when he appeared surprised. “I studied up on PTSD. There’s so much information out there. Academic and lay. Even I could understand it,” I added with a self-deprecating laugh. “And I know now that you need that service dog.”
Taylor looked at the dog, then reached out to scratch behind Thor’s ears.
I knew he was listening so I pressed on. “But we can do better as a family, I know we can. Even if it just means bringing you a grilled cheese sandwich in your room instead of having you join us at the table.” I met his gaze and smiled. “I know it’s going to take time. I want to help you get your life back, and I know that includes your relationship with your brother and
father. Give us time, Taylor. We will get through this and be a family again.”
Taylor looked at his hands.
I saw his struggle and sighed. One of the things I’d learned was to be patient. Not to pressure him into talking. And to stay positive. “Don’t make any decisions tonight. The dog is here. You’ve already begun to bond. If you give him back now, what message are you giving to him? Rejection? He might not trust you again.”
Taylor didn’t respond, but his brows furrowed, and he looked at Thor, petting his fur. I admired how the dog stayed right by his side, sensing Taylor needed him.
“I have a suggestion. Tonight, keep your door open. That way, when Miller goes to the bathroom, he won’t be able to help himself but take a peek at the dog. There’s never been a dog he didn’t love. Once he accepts Thor . . .”
“If.”
I shrugged. “If . . . Maybe that will break the ice between you and then you can talk. Help him to understand why you got Thor. This is going to be touchy any way you look at it, for both of you. Let’s try and take each day as it comes.”
Taylor nodded in agreement. “Okay. I’ll try anything. He’s my kid brother.” Taylor’s voice broke. “I haven’t been very nice to him lately. I know that.” He looked up at me from the floor and our eyes met. I was stunned to see his were watery. “But I love him.”
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk—that anything—could give him so much happiness.
—A Christmas Carol
Chapter 17
Taylor
The following morning I awoke feeling a little disoriented. Oddly rested. I blinked hard to pull myself from my sleepy stupor and turned my head toward the window. The curtains were drawn but shafts of bright white light broke through the borders, telling me the sun was already rising. I shifted my gaze to the bedside table and grabbed my phone. I couldn’t believe it was almost 8:00 a.m. I’d slept for six hours! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so long. I ran my hand over my head. It had to be Thor. The dog was the reason I could sleep for the first time in months—because I felt safe.
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