But he wanted to be sure she understood. “My teacher friends . . . I don’t know how I’d have made it through these last weeks without them. They’re the best.”
“You’re really lucky, Garrett.”
“I’m blessed is what I am.”
She frowned. “How can you say that . . . after what happened?”
“What happened doesn’t change the fact that God has blessed me with some very dear friends.”
She sighed. “Jenna—Zach’s wife—and I were friends.”
“Were?”
Sadness shadowed her features. “Except for a couple of emails, I’ve only talked to her once since the funeral.”
“How come?”
Bryn stared up at a painting on the wall above the windows. “I don’t know. I know part of it is that she’s been staying with her in-laws, and the two of them went to visit Zach’s sister somewhere on the West Coast for a while. But even before then, she seemed to be avoiding me. Maybe I remind her too much of everything that happened. I just—” She shrugged. “I don’t think things will ever be the same.”
“She’ll come around. Give her time.”
She looked skeptical, and he shut up. He suddenly felt too weary for this conversation. They’d all lost so much.
“Do you . . .” Bryn seemed to consider something, then started again. “Do you think Lucas is okay?”
“Vermontez? Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Tonight he seemed awfully . . . quiet. A little slow, even. Did you notice?”
“Slow, as in brain damaged?”
“I’m not sure. Not that I knew him that well before, but he was always so outgoing. Always smiling, pulling pranks.”
He nodded. “Oh yeah, Molly was always coming home still laughing about some crazy thing Lucas had done. You don’t think it . . . messed him up in the head or something, do you?”
“Oh . . . I don’t think so. I think he’s just—” Again, a shadow crossed her face. “I’m sure it’s hard for him to accept that his dad is gone. Manny was everybody’s hero. I’m sure he was all the more that for Lucas.”
“I hope that’s all it is.”
“Grief looks different on everybody. And Lucas didn’t just lose his dad. He lost his career . . . at least for a while.”
“I wonder if they think he’ll ever walk again?”
That faraway look she wore so often clouded her eyes again, as if she hadn’t thought about that possibility before. “Dear God, I hope so . . .”
Right now
she missed Adam
so much she ached.
10
Thanks for the hot chocolate.” Bryn hitched her purse up on her shoulder and reached for the door, feeling self-conscious, almost like she was on a date and wondering if the guy would try to kiss her good night . . . or more.
She avoided Garrett’s eyes as he held the door for her. Being with him made her realize how much she’d missed a masculine voice, a man’s touch. It had been almost a month since anyone had kissed her, and right now she missed Adam so much she ached.
Despite the frigid night air, heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought. The parking lot was almost empty, and the door closed on the mellow jazz and opened on the sounds of late-night traffic. She looked at her watch. 10:15. They’d been here for almost two hours. The minutes had flown, and she’d enjoyed the time with Garrett immensely. For the first time in a long time, she’d felt halfway normal. Sure, they’d talked about the fire and about Adam—and Molly—but it wasn’t what she’d come to think of as “grief talk” so much as just sharing their thoughts and experiences. It was a relief to be with someone she didn’t have to explain everything to.
More than anything it was nice to laugh again. She liked that about being with Garrett. With him, she could laugh without feeling guilty. She had a feeling he felt the same about her.
“Thanks again for the drink—” She stopped short, realizing she was repeating herself.
Garrett seemed not to notice. “Good luck with the job search.”
“Thanks.”
He backed away to his car, waving and watching, she knew, to be sure she got safely in her car. Like Adam would have done. She fumbled with her keys, opened the door, and hurried to climb behind the wheel.
But she didn’t want to go home. It was bedtime, but she knew sleep wouldn’t come. Especially after the caffeine she’d consumed. Sparky would probably want to go out. But she’d let him out before she left for Susan’s, and he’d never had an accident in the house. He could wait a while.
Watching the blinker on Garrett’s truck in her rearview mirror, she turned the opposite direction and meandered through the mostly empty streets of town. Almost without thinking about where she was going, she realized she was tracing the route to the homeless shelter—or at least the site where it had been. Since the night of the fire, she’d rearranged her route to avoid the scene of the tragedy. Between the television and newspapers, she’d seen enough images of the ruins to last a lifetime.
She considered turning around in a driveway and hightailing it out of there, but now seemed as good a time as any to get it over with. Maybe under the cloak of night, it would be easier than in stark daylight.
Slowing the car, she peered through the windshield, watching for the boxy building that had always been her landmark. A strange sense of disorientation overtook her when she realized she was directly in front of the lot where the shelter used to be. The sky gaped empty in front of her like the space a missing tooth used to fill. The skeleton of steel beams was gone.
She started to turn into what had once been the parking lot, but police tape stretched across the driveway between two iron rods staked on either side, blocking her way. She pulled forward and eased her car along the curb.
According to the papers, after the fire inspectors had finished their work, the city had dozed the site, hauling off what debris hadn’t been burned up or buried in the crater the explosion had forged.
Bryn turned off the engine and sat, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure. If she thought too hard—about how this was the last place she’d seen Adam alive, about how many heroes had lost their lives on this hallowed ground, about the last hours she’d spent inside that building . . .
She rolled the car window down, hoping the brisk air would force the thoughts away. Instead the acrid scent of charred wood stung her nostrils and carried her back to that night. She closed her eyes, but the images played on. The crack of the flames, the roar of the explosion, the shouts of the rescue crews were as clear in her ears as if it were happening all over again. She squeezed her eyes tighter, but the images wouldn’t leave. One by one, she saw the bodies being carried from the building and lined up in the parking lot.
For one panicked moment, she was paralyzed. By force of will, she moved her hands to her face and forced her eyes open with her fingertips. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in uneven gasps. She never should have come here. She had to get away from this place. Now. She fumbled for the keys, but her hands were shaking too hard.
A sound from the direction of the ruins made her look up.
A streetlamp half a block away provided the only light, but a shape moved amid the canted shadows on the ground. Her heart stuttered, and she quickly rolled up her window and started the car. But reason won out and instead of driving off, she put the car in reverse and backed up a few feet, aiming her headlights at the lot.
A short-legged, squatty dog stared back at her, its eyes glowing in the reflection from the headlamps. She gave a short blast of the horn, but the animal just stood there, hunkered down like it was challenging her.
She backed around to the entrance of the parking lot and considered driving through the tape. But, afraid the debris from the building might puncture a tire, she stopped at the edge of the drive, angling her headlights for a better look.
The dog stood like a soldier guarding his post. It had a broad chest and a low-to-the-ground build, like a bulldog breed,
but its face looked skinny and its eyes were hollow. This dog was hungry, maybe starving. She glanced around the interior of her car, wishing she had some food to toss the animal.
She tooted the horn again. The dog trotted forward, stopped ten feet in front of her car, and cocked its head at her.
She knew this dog! It was Boss, the little bulldog Zeke Downing had kept at the shelter. In spite of his starved appearance, the pup had grown since she’d seen him last, but she was almost positive it was Boss. His brindled coloring was the same, and something about the way he looked at her made her think he recognized her, too. Surely he hadn’t been hanging around here since the fire.
Bryn peered through the windshield. There were a few lights on in the houses of a neighborhood to the south, and she could see the faint glow of neon from downtown to the west. But across the street in the office parking lot where they’d huddled the night of the fire, not even a streetlamp illuminated the night.
She opened the car door and climbed out, keeping the door as a shield between her and the dog. “Boss? Is that you? What are you doing out here, boy? Are you hungry?”
He gave a little whine and took a tentative step toward her, his head down in submission. All fear vanished, and Bryn closed the car door and approached the dog. She spoke his name softly. “Come here, Boss. It’s okay. You know me, don’t you, boy?”
When she was close enough, she held her hand out, palm down, and let the dog make the first contact. He pushed hard against her hand with his muzzle, whimpering excitedly now.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you? Poor baby . . .”
The stubby tail started to wag, and Bryn dropped to one knee to take the pup’s face between her hands. She felt around his neck. No collar. Susan had made Zeke get Boss’s shots up to date, and buy a collar for his tags. Still, she was almost positive this was the same dog.
Scratching behind his ears, she talked to him the way she talked to Sparky.
Sparky. Oh, brother. What had she gotten herself into? No way could she take Boss home. Besides the fact that she was already pushing it to have one dog in the development, Boss and Sparky had a history. She was worried enough about how she’d work out the schedule with Sparky once she found a full-time job. But maybe two dogs would be better than one. They could keep each other company.
An image of Charlie and Zeke Downing trying to break up the fight between their two dogs outside the shelter made her toss out that idea. Maybe her dad would take Boss. At least until they could find another home for the pup.
She smoothed a hand down his back and cringed, feeling the greasy, clumped fur—and worse, the jagged crenellations of his spine beneath her palm. She had to get some food into this little guy.
The pup didn’t resist as she wrestled him into her arms. She carried him to the car and put him on the floor mat in the backseat. When she got behind the wheel, he pushed his nose between the front seats and nuzzled her elbow.
As she started out of town to her father’s house in the country, she checked the clock on the dashboard. It would be after ten thirty by the time she got there. Dad was probably already in bed. Besides, the more she thought about it, the more she realized it was a bad idea to ask him to take the dog. He was in a constant battle to keep his blood pressure down, and that had caused other health issues. Though Dad rarely talked about his condition or complained about his pain, she’d snooped in his medicine cabinet and knew that besides his blood pressure medicine and nitroglycerin tablets, he was taking a prescription for his heart. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Dad because of trying to take care of Boss.
But she didn’t dare try to take the dog to her place. Maybe she could leave him in the car overnight while she decided what to do. She looked over her shoulder at Boss, who now rested his saggy jowls on the backseat. A dark stain of drool spread out underneath him. No way. She wouldn’t have a car by morning if she left Boss inside it.
Garrett? She wasn’t even sure where he lived. She and Adam had been to a Super Bowl party at Garrett and Molly’s apartment a couple of years ago, and she thought he still lived in the same complex, but she couldn’t remember which building. She dialed 4-1-1 and asked for his information.
“I can dial that number for you,” the operator said.
She hesitated. Did she really want to drag Garrett into this? Would he be willing to consider taking in a stray? But before she could talk herself out of it, she told the operator, “Yes, please.”
She worked up
her most winsome
pleading voice,
knowing she needed to tell
him the truth
about Boss.
11
Hello?” His voice warmed Bryn somehow.
“Garrett? Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you. It’s Bryn,” she added quickly.
“No, just doing laundry. What’s up?”
“I have a . . . huge favor to ask.”
“Okay . . .”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but is there any way you’d consider taking in a cute little puppy?”
“Excuse me?” The smile she heard in his voice gave her hope.
“I, um . . . sort of adopted a stray on my way home.”
“What?” He sounded bemused.
“I picked up a stray dog, a little bulldog pup. He’s really adorable, but um . . .” She worked up her most winsome pleading voice, knowing she needed to tell him the truth about Boss. But she’d let them meet first, let Garrett warm up to the pup before she sprang the history on him. She cleared her throat. “The thing is, he and Sparky have a history, and I don’t think there’s any way I can bring him home. I can take him to the pound tomorrow . . . if you don’t want to keep him. Long-term, I mean. But the Humane Society shelter’s not open now, and I don’t dare leave him in the car all night. But he’s starving, and I just can’t leave him here without—”
Garrett’s laughter interrupted her desperate prattle. “You said he’s little, right? And cute?”
“He’s still a puppy.”
“But a bulldog?”
“Well, a mutt probably, but he looks like a bulldog. Mostly.”
His tone became guarded. “Not a pit bull, I hope?”
“No . . . no, of course not. Just a regular bulldog. A really cute one.”
“So you said.” Silence, then a sigh. “Bring him over. He can stay—”
“Thank you, Garrett. I owe you one.”
“Wait a minute. Let me finish.” She heard the grin in his voice. “He can stay the night. But I’m not making any promises. And I don’t have anything to feed him . . . except maybe some leftover chili.”
“No! Good grief, no. Not chili.” Now it was her turn to laugh. “That would not be a good idea. I’ll stop by the grocery store on my way and pick up some dog food. Thanks, Garrett. You’re the best.”
He gave her his address, and fifteen minutes later he met her at the door of his apartment barefoot, with a stainless-steel mixing bowl in hand. “This work?”
“Perfect.” She tucked the bulky pup closer to her body, trying to make him look as small and cute as possible. “Garrett, meet Boss.”
“You named him already?” He set the bowl down on the floor and scratched the pup under the chin. “He looks a little ragged.”
She ignored his question—and the guilt it made her feel. “I don’t think he’s eaten in a long time. He’s in desperate need of a bath, too. Sorry.” She thrust the bag of supplies she’d bought at him. “There’s food in there . . . and a dog brush . . . I’m not saying you have to— I mean, I can clean him up.”
He peered into the bag and looked up. She was relieved to see humor behind the suspicious look he cast her.
“First things first. He’s starving. Here . . .” He ripped open the bag of dog food and filled the bowl.
Boss wriggled in her arms, drooling on her sleeve. Somewhere in the apartment a TV commercial jingle played. They watched while the pup noisily devoured the contents
of the bowl.
“Poor little guy.” Garrett rolled the top of the bag closed. “If you’ll help, we can give him a bath as soon as he finishes eating. Molly’ll have a cow if I let him on the furni—” He clapped a hand over his mouth and his face went red. “I don’t know where that came from. I—” He shook his head.
Bryn grasped for something to say to dilute his distress but came up empty.
“Man! Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair. “That was weird.”
“Hey,” she said softly. “I do it all the time. It’s hard to . . . remember. To let go.”
“Yeah.” He looked at the floor.
She knelt to pat Boss’s head. “I’ll help you give him a bath. But if it’s anything like Sparky’s first bath, it’ll be more like a shower.”
“I’ll go run the tub. Come on in.” He led the way through the entry into the apartment’s combination living-dining room. He motioned toward a pit group arranged around the big-screen TV. The evening news droned softly from surround-sound speakers. “Have a seat.”
Bryn sat on the edge of the cushion, looking around the room while Garrett went down the hall. She heard the sound of the bathtub filling and cabinets opening and closing.
Everywhere she looked she saw Molly’s touch on the apartment. From the basket of artfully arranged sea glass on the end table beside her, to a collection of hand-painted pitchers lined up on a shelf over the antique pine dining table, it was obvious a woman had decorated the apartment, and lived in it. It was also obvious, by the overflowing laundry basket on one end of the table and the stack of dirty dishes—several days’ worth—on the coffee table, that a woman’s touch had been missing for a while. She wondered what Garrett would have thought of the touches of Adam in her home.
She heard a familiar click behind her and turned to see Boss. His toenails made the same sound on the hardwood floor as Sparky’s. She jumped up and scooped him into her arms. “Hey, boy. You can’t be in here until you’ve had a bath.”
“What’s that?” Garrett’s voice drifted down the hall over the running water.
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