No matter what Max the janitor had said.
Bo was going to be okay. By the time Alex wheeled his Dodge into the parking lot of the veterinarian hospital, he had convinced himself. Dogs bled out much faster than people, so if the bullet had gotten him in one of his major organs or an artery, he would’ve died long before they reached the ambulance. As he drove, Alex thought about calling for an update, but he didn’t have Holly’s number, and there was no time to grab his phone and call information.
Better just to drive and get there.
Alex parked and ran from his car up a few steps to the front door. The place wasn’t very big, and the waiting room was empty except for Holly and …
He stopped and stared at the scene taking place before his eyes. Holly was crying, her fingers covering her face, and the doctor had his hand on her shoulder. No, God … he took a step back, because this couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t the end. He could run back out to his truck, drive home, and there would be Bo, sleeping near the front door waiting for his return. The whole thing was a mistake, right? It had to be.
Holly must’ve heard him, because she turned and looked at him, her eyes red and swollen, her face twisted in sorrow.
“No …” he shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and shook his head as he looked from her to the doctor. “Not Bo … don’t tell me.” He briefly noticed the workers behind the front desk discreetly leave for some back part of the building. They were giving him privacy so that … so that …
“Alex.” Holly’s arms were crossed and she was gripping her elbows, her whole body shaking.
“Mr. Brady,” the doctor was walking toward him.
Alex shook his head again and turned toward the door. He wasn’t here, not in a vet hospital with Bo on the other side of the waiting room. He squeezed his eyes closed and grabbed a fistful of his own hair. He wasn’t here. He was at headquarters, and his sergeant was ushering him into a small room where a striking young German shepherd was standing at attention, his ears forward, and the sergeant was saying, “Alex, I’d like you to meet your new partner.” He blinked and shook his head, refusing to hear anything from anyone, and there he and Bo were at the far end of a grassy field at the training center, seven hundred and ten hours into training. A dozen officers were giving hand signs to their respective K9 partners, and every dog was messing up. Every dog but Bo. Then he was at home a few months later, looking for the TV remote so he could watch the Dodgers game before he went to bed, and there was Bo trotting into the room from the back of the condo, the remote in his mouth, and he was cocking his head, looking at Alex as if to say, “I’m here for you, friend. Anything you need, I’m here.”
“Mr. Brady?”
Alex dropped his hands to his side and shook his head one last time. He could feel Bo beside him still, his dog’s coat brushing against his legs as they jogged the hills at Pierce College a few weeks ago. He wasn’t sure how, but he found the strength to turn around. “I’m sorry …” he looked into the doctor’s eyes. “Tell me.”
The doctor frowned and his eyes shifted to the floor. When he looked up, there was no question what he was going to say. “We tried everything we could. The bullet pierced one of Bo’s lungs and perforated his liver. By the time he got here, he’d lost a lot of blood, but even if we’d operated on him at the scene he wouldn’t have made it. Just too much damage. We’ve been in surgery since he got here, but — “ The doctor pressed his lips together, as if he understood that no explanation was needed. No words would help now. He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Holly was still standing where she had been when Alex walked into the hospital, tears streaming down her cheeks, and quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. She dropped back down to the sofa and put her face in her hands. Alex couldn’t think about her, about the conversation he needed to have with her. Right now he had to take care of the matter at hand.
Bo was dead. “Can I …,” he swallowed, struggling. “Can I see him?”
“Yes.” The doctor moved somberly, the way people moved around in a funeral home, and again the moment didn’t feel like it matched the reality. Bo wasn’t dead … not his Bo. He was riding in the backseat, barking at the fire and ready for action, and he was heeling at his side, his partner. His friend.
“This way.” The doctor walked through a set of double doors to a room at the end of a short hallway. He opened the door and allowed Alex to step inside by himself. “Take as long as you need.”
Alex nodded, but already his eyes were on Bo, lying on the table. He heard the door shut behind him, and Alex stayed in that spot, not moving. Because from here, Bo was only sleeping, the familiar blacks and browns and tans that made up his back spread out just the way they’d been a few hours ago at the foot of his bed when Alex first heard the call.
He was probably cold and lonely up there on the sterile examination table. Alex went to him and put his hand on Bo’s side. A gathered sheet was pressed against his chest, covering the area where he’d been shot, but otherwise he looked fine and whole, his expression the familiar one of loyalty and trust.
Alex put his hand on the dog’s side and patted him, slowly and steadily. He was still warm, still full of the life that had driven him to do whatever Alex asked of him. “Bo … you’re a good dog, boy. Good dog.” He moved his hand up to Bo’s head and ran his fingers through the softer hair beneath the dog’s ear. “Good boy.”
A flood of sorrow was rising in his heart, and Alex didn’t try to stop it. Alex had been driven to get the REA guys at any cost, and Bo had paid the price. More than that, he had done it willingly, rushing at the suspect with the gun even before Alex had seen him. Bo’s heart had beat with one singular concern — the safety and well-being of his partner.
Alex’s tears came then, and he was hit by the certain reality that he had failed. He hadn’t stopped evil — not in the city of Los Angeles, and not at the Oak Canyon Estates, and not in his own life. Evil had found him, anyway, and now his dog was dead. He wanted to yell, rail at the collective bad in the world that would allow a dog as good and true as Bo to take a bullet. But he couldn’t yell here, because the sound would frighten Bo. The dog hated when Alex was angry for any reason, and there was no need to upset him now.
He patted Bo’s head again, and once more a host of yesterdays came over him. He was at the beach watching the surf, trying to find himself and failing, but grateful because Bo was his friend anyway, Bo right beside him, his ears back, eyes alert to any danger that might come Alex’s way. Bo was there in the middle of every good memory he’d had over the last three years, Bo dashing out along a suspect trail and knocking to the ground one bad guy after another. Bo riding in the backseat behind him for what felt like a lifetime of calls and adventures.
He should’ve left him home tonight. “Bo,” he held the dog’s head, cradled it against his chest. “I’m sorry, boy … I’m so sorry.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. He and Bo had years of calls ahead of them, and when Bo grew too old to be the aggressive, intelligent K9 deputy, he was supposed to retire into Alex’s care. Relaxed and doing nothing more demanding than jogging or running hills. They should’ve had so many years ahead of them.
Alex buried his face against Bo’s fur and wept. Of course he couldn’t have left his dog at home, because Bo wanted to take the call. He lived for the chance to protect Alex, and if he hadn’t jumped at the gunman, if he hadn’t taken the bullet, the guy would’ve shot Alex point-blank in the head. Alex never would’ve seen it coming.
He pictured Bo’s eyes, the way he had looked on the ride down the mountain to the ambulance, the loyal eyes and trusting heart, the look of apology deep within his expression — as if he had known this was good-bye. He hugged his dog once more and then straightened, his eyes too blurred with tears to see clearly.
“Bo … you can’t be gone.” The words came out with his tears. “I can’t let you go, boy.” He hated that Bo wasn’t moving, t
hat he wasn’t lifting his head. Until now there had never been a time when he would talk to Bo and Bo wouldn’t look at him. “God … please get me through this, please.” He stroked his dog’s side one last time. “I hope heaven has dogs, because … because I just want one more chance to run with you, Bo. One more chance.”
He couldn’t stay. There was no getting Bo back, no turning the hands of the clock the other direction so he could’ve been standing on the front yard of that house and noticed the suspect himself, so things might’ve turned out differently. It was too late for any of that. Bo was gone. His partner — his friend — was dead.
One more time he patted Bo’s head, the soft place beneath his ears. For all their years together, Bo had desired Alex’s praise more than food or water or air. This one last time, Alex took the moment to give his dog what he would’ve wanted most. He leaned close to Bo’s head and whispered, “No better friend ever, Bo … you saved my life. You did good.” He patted his side. “You were a good dog, Bo … the best. You did everything right.”
He couldn’t bear to step away, because when he did he would have to believe it was over, and he wouldn’t have this chance again. Suddenly, he was mad at himself because he hadn’t taken enough pictures. Hardly any over the years, so there would be nothing much to remember Bo by.
As soon as the thought hit his heart, he knew there wasn’t an ounce of truth in it. He didn’t need photographs. He would remember Bo every time he climbed into his Dodge or whenever he sped off down the streets of Los Angeles after the next crook. He would feel him sitting in the seat behind him and remember the look in his eyes as surely as he knew his own reflection. He stepped back, his fingers still spread deep into Bo’s furry side. He needed to say it, because his dog deserved that much.
“Good-bye, Bo … You were a good friend.”
Then, with the weight of the world full against his shoulders, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Out in the hallway, he placed his forearm against the wall and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. The tears came harder, because already he felt lonely and cold and defeated. Bo was dead. How could that be? Couldn’t God have spared his dog, when Bo was so full of good?
For a few seconds, the old pain and anger crept back in around the edges of his soul, but then just as quickly he could hear his father’s words as they’d been spoken to Jake Bryan. So far, my family has had very little trouble. Life is good, love is sweet, and time seems like it’ll last forever … We all know that isn’t true. Especially working for the FDNY.
Or working as a K9 officer for the sheriff’s department.
He dragged his face against his arm and turned so his back was against the wall. Once more he reminded himself of what Clay had said, that God never intended for man to rid the world of evil, but through God’s strength, that man might look at the evil within himself. Bo was gone; there was nothing he could do about the fact. But there was one way he could offset the evil that had taken place over the last five hours.
He could offset it with love.
For a long minute, he examined himself, the heart and soul that had grown cold and hard within him, and he studied the person he had allowed himself to become. His love for Holly Brooks had never wavered. He knew that now. She had been his best friend, the girl who took his breath away every time he saw her. The way he’d treated her these past seven years was, itself, a form of evil.
He opened his eyes and straightened, refusing to give in to the exhaustion and grief that were spinning his head in circles and making his breathing fast and unsteady. He walked down the hall, and he could almost feel Bo there beside him, looking up at him as if to say, “This is the right thing … let’s do this.”
She was still on the sofa, where she’d been sitting before, but her head was no longer in her hands. She looked at him, and in her eyes he saw fear, like maybe he would walk past without talking to her, the way he’d done so many ridiculous times that first year after the terrorist attacks. The terrorists who had pulled off 9/11 hadn’t only killed his father and the other thousands of people. They’d killed him too.
But God had brought his heart and soul back to life again.
He never stopped, never broke his slow and steady stride as he made his way to her. At first she didn’t want to look at him, because the grief was too raw for both of them. But then she must’ve seen something different in his face, because when he was halfway to her she met his eyes and didn’t break contact again. When he reached her, he stopped and held out his arms.
He had so much to say, seven years’ worth of words and apologies and questions about how she’d been and why she was still here. He didn’t know if she was involved with someone, but it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that he loved her the way she deserved to be loved. Not the romantic love that might’ve come if he’d done things differently, but the love of days gone by, a love that cared for her still — would care for her forever.
But no matter how much he wanted to talk, he couldn’t say a word. His sorrow and grief stuck in his throat and stopped him from speaking. So he did the only thing he could. He took her in his arms, slowly, with the greatest care, and he wrapped his arms around her. Alone in the waiting room, buried beneath his sorrow and hers, they stayed that way, clinging to each other until they were both crying again, silently weeping for all they’d lost in the wake of his unrelenting quest to right his father’s death.
Please, God … I can’t talk … please let her know what I’m feeling.
Her hands pressed into his back and his into hers, and still they stayed in each other’s arms, neither of them willing for the moment to end. And it wouldn’t end, either. Everything bitter and angry and full of hurt dissolved in wave after wave of love washing over him and leaving him intoxicated by her presence. His Holly, here … impossibly here, where she would stay. Because whatever was happening in her personal life, now that he’d found her, now that he’d found himself, Alex wasn’t letting her go. If she was in love with someone else, fine. Alex would be her friend, but he wasn’t walking away again.
Not now and not ever.
THIRTY
Holly wore dark sunglasses and sat at the end of a middle row in the sea of folding chairs that were lined across the grassy field at the sheriff’s headquarters. Jamie Michaels was to her right, and Jamie’s kids and in-laws filled out the row. Alex was in front with the other K9 officers. Tissue packets had been handed out as the hundreds of people arrived, and Holly was grateful. It was Alex’s friend Clay’s turn at the microphone. His arm was in a sling because of the bullet he’d taken to the shoulder, but he was okay. The whole city knew the story by now.
Three days had passed since that awful night, and the fires set by the arsonists were almost completely contained. Oak Canyon Estates was a complete loss, but everyone agreed the damage could’ve been much worse. The newspapers and local television stations had all remarked that only a miracle could’ve caused the shift in winds that saved every house at the bottom of the hill below where the fires had been set. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say we saw the hand of God at work tonight,” one reporter stated. Alex didn’t have to wonder. Of course the miracle of the wind shift was the hand of God. Alex had witnessed it firsthand.
No more winds were expected, so the worst of the firestorm was behind them. At least for this season. As Clay made his way up, Holly stared at the picture of Alex and Bo, the one that had run in the newspaper. Someone had enlarged it and framed it on an easel near the platform. Already they’d heard from a dozen K9 and SWAT deputies about Bo’s bravery and innate ability to get the crooks. But Jamie had told her before the service that none of them knew Alex and Bo the way Clay did.
Clay took his spot and looked out at the crowd. “This is hard.” His voice rang with transparent grief. “Bo was a good dog.” He looked down for a few seconds, and when he had composed himself, he continued. “Most of you know … a very unique friendship exists between a K9 office
r and his service dog. In the case of Bo and Alex, that dog knew every emotion, every nuance and move his partner made. Everyone who saw them together understood that even among police dogs, Bo was a rare treasure. A dog whose loyalty and commitment to getting the bad guys knew no limits.” Clay spoke clearly, and his voice carried across the field. “The same way it was for Alex.” He launched into a story, something funny about Bo being lost during a chase, and Alex finding him on the hood of the squad car, waiting and watching for his partner. The story was long, and it gave Holly a chance to fade out for a few minutes. She let her eyes find the back of Alex’s head, his dark blond hair and strong shoulders. He had filled out since high school, and he was more handsome than before. More chiseled. But in the days since their hug, he had barely spoken to her.
She’d been busy, of course. There had been the trip back to the site of the fire and the surprise arrival of a dozen contractors with earthmoving equipment. Each of them had taken part in one of Dave Jacobs’ charity home-building projects, and now that Dave was in need, they all showed up to help — not expecting anything in return. The story offered beauty amidst the ashes and was picked up by the Los Angeles Times.
The next day Holly had a lengthy meeting with Dave and Ron Jacobs, so that she could share every detail about what had happened that fateful night. A debriefing, Ron called it. At the end, Dave came to her and hugged her the way her father used to hug her. “You were very brave, Holly.” He pulled back, his eyes shining. “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
Tuesday Morning Collection, The: One Tuesday Morning, Beyond Tuesday Morning, Remember Tuesday Morning Page 93
