by Sarah Adams
Miss Jones smiles, but I don’t feel patronized by it. More like, I feel as if she sees me and understands something. Something that I don’t even know yet. She leans forward again, and I resist the urge to lean closer too.
Nope. I’m gluing my butt to this seat.
“You’re not doing anything wrong, and everything about your daughter’s actions is normal.” Her words help me breathe for the first time in six months. “Samantha has just had life as she knew it ripped out from under her. Her freedom is gone. Her friendships are gone. The small amount of independence she had probably gained from growing older is gone.”
Her mom is gone.
“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” she continues. “I am a perfect example. Charlie has given me the ability to live alone with confidence that if I have a seizure, I’m going to be taken care of. And I know that thought sounds daunting to you right now, and you’d probably like to shrink your daughter and put her in your pocket so you can always watch over her, but believe me, you won’t be doing her any favors. She needs freedom. She’s not broken, and she can live a full, independent life just like her peers with the help of a dog just like Charlie. Help give your daughter her independence back, and I guarantee you will see your old Samantha again.”
Shoot. Just like that, Miss Jones moves to Evie in my mind.
Chapter Six
EVIE
I’ve only seen Jacob and Samantha twice since the day, three weeks ago, that he filled out an application to purchase one of our service dogs. And both times were to introduce Samantha to one of our dogs and see if they were a good fit.
The first dog, Max, I could tell straight away was not right for Sam. He’s an amazing dog and very gentle, but he was more interested in watching me than Sam. She was excited and engaging with Max, but he looked as if he had a show recording on his DVR that he couldn’t wait to get home to.
I think Sam and Jacob both started to get a little nervous at that point that a service dog wouldn’t work out for her like they had hoped. But I assured them it was normal to not match with a dog right away and that choosing the right service dog is a lot like choosing your soulmate. You don’t always find Mr. Forever on the first date.
Or in my case, the second, third, or eighteenth. But I’m getting off topic.
The next option was Daisy. She’s basically Charlie’s twin, just a little smaller. When I brought her to visit Sam, it was an instant connection. I let Daisy off the leash, and she went straight to Sam and laid her head in her lap. It was that magical moment when I saw both human and animal sigh with relief that they had found each other.
It’s hard for people who don’t need the hope that a service dog can provide for them to understand the bond that forms between a dog and a person. But as someone who knows firsthand what that sigh of relief feels like, it brings tears to my eyes every time.
Today is the official start of what we call “training camp.” It’s a week-long program where I help Sam and Daisy bond and show Sam exactly how to work with and utilize her dog.
I’ve instructed at least twenty of these training camps over the past three years, but never have I been as nervous as I am now, standing outside of Jacob Broaden’s front door.
He and I have not interacted at all outside of updates concerning Sam’s application and scheduling days to meet the dogs. No texts. No phone calls. And he’s been all business when we correspond through email.
I thought that he had been flirting with me that night he texted (and a few times over our coffee meeting), but I guess I was wrong about whatever I thought I was picking up on. My antenna must be busted. And now, I’m staring down the black front door of his gorgeous house, and I can see just how wrong I was.
I knew from Jacob asking me to meet him and Sam at his office for the last two visits that he is an architect. But this home is the physical representation of just how out of my league this man is. Like, he’s playing for the major leagues, and I’m not even on the farm team. I’m eating a box of candy that I snuck into the game up in the very last row of the nosebleeds, just happy to have scored a free ticket from one of my friends.
I may come from a prestigious family with a fortune that could solve the nation's debt deficiency, but I’m always acutely aware that it is not my money or the future I want to have. I’m just Evie. A girl floating from cereal box to cereal box, trying to figure out exactly what it is I want out of life (and also trying to collect all of the prizes in those cereal boxes to get that free MP3 download).
I wipe my sweaty palms on the side of my dress and then ring the doorbell. I’m armed with a service dog on either side of me (Charlie and Daisy), and I’m eager to get going on this day of training. I’m also interested to see if Jacob purchased any pastries for our day of training. My stomach rumbled loudly on the way over, making my Uber driver look even more uncomfortable than he did when I first got in his car with not one, but two service dogs.
Why does this woman need two of them?! Is she going to drop dead in my car or something???
While I wait, I assess the large modern swing on the front porch. My mind takes a speedy nosedive, and suddenly, I’m making out with Jacob on that swing as the sun is setting behind us.
The door opens, and I jump as if Jacob might have just caught me kissing him in my imagination.
Dang it. He looks good. Too good. He’s wearing a black t-shirt (it fits him so well I’m skeptical that he didn’t pay $50 to have a $10 shirt tailored), brown chinos, and a leather watch around his wrist. How does this man manage to make wrists look sexy? It’s not fair, and I’m worried that I might be drooling.
Nothing about Jacob Broaden screams money. At least not in the way Tyler’s ridiculous suits do. But he has this air of confidence that says he should be taken seriously, and it leaves me feeling a little shaky legged.
“Morning, Evie. Come on in.”
Now that is one thing that has changed. After our heart-to-heart at the coffee shop, Jacob has stopped calling me by the formal Miss Jones that makes me feel way too much like my mama. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still polished and business-like, but I like to imagine that maybe he sees me as a friend now. Not sure why that gives me hope, because remember, I’m up in the nosebleeds just lucky if my binoculars reach as far as the field.
“Good mornin’!” I step inside the house, and a choir of angels starts singing around me.
This place is…glorious. That’s the only word I could possibly use to describe it. It’s a big, open floor plan with high, vaulted ceilings lined with dark wood beams, and from where I stand at the doorway, I can see everything from the living room, to the dining room, to the cabana outside. I can see it through the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the wall of the living room. Oh, and there’s a pool out there too.
I grew up in a mansion with a maid staff, and yet it never gave me the urge to dive onto the plush living room rug and make snow angels the way this house is.
Everything is white and light-colored wood with contrasting black-steel trimming on the massive windows. It’s sophisticated yet homey, and it smells like vanilla and teakwood and something else that I’m realizing is Jacob Broaden’s natural man musk.
I’m really trying to control myself to not go run and dive onto that big gray couch. I had no idea that architects make this kind of money.
And, oops, I apparently said that out loud, because Jacob replies with a shy grin, “Not all of us do. But I own my own firm, so I make a little more than the average.”
I like that he’s not the kind of guy to be in your face about how much money he has in his bank account.
There’s a small awkward pause while I continue running my eyes over every inch of the house that I can see.
“I designed the house. Do you like it?”
Do I like it? I have to scoop my jaw up off of the floor just to respond. “I love it. I think I could fit twenty of my apartment inside it.” I probably didn’t need to say that. In fact, I wish I hadn’t.
It’s only going to prove to him what a small fry I am compared to him.
I’m resisting the urge to open my arms wide and turn a full circle in slow motion. That’s what living in a 500 sq ft apartment will do to a person. I’m a madwoman, escaped from my cell, and there’s no telling what I’ll do next.
I turn just in time to catch Jacob’s eyes dart up to mine as if he had just been checking out my legs.
That gives me a nice little boost of confidence until he says, “Your shoes…”
I look down at my scuffed up, white tennis shoes, and now I’m a ripe strawberry. “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you a shoes-off house?”
I’m frantically trying to toe out of my sneakers when Jacob’s calloused hand lands on my forearm, but then he pulls it away quickly like I burned him. “No, I wasn’t insinuating you had to take them off. I was just wondering if you always wear tennis shoes with your dresses. I remember you were wearing them that first day at the coffee shop too.”
He remembered that? I force my skin to cool and meet his gaze. “Not just with dresses. I wear them all the time. Because of my seizures, I’m not able to drive. I live close to downtown, so I usually walk most places. Helps to wear tennis shoes.” I lift my foot and wiggle my shoe back and forth like a dumbo.
He looks thoughtful after my comment. My wiggling foot isn’t making him smile. He runs a heavy hand through his perfectly mussed hair and puffs out a heavy breath. “That’s something I hadn’t even thought of yet. Driving. Sam won’t be able to drive, will she?”
I shrug, ignoring my urge to wrap my arms around his middle and tell him everything is going to be okay. It will be okay. They will find a new normal, and life will go on—just in a new direction.
But for now, it’s important for me to be honest. “Depends. If her medication helps and she makes it the state’s specified number of months without a seizure, she’ll be able to. But if she’s like me…then no.”
I can see his mind processing that information, and it immediately triggers my memories of being sixteen and angry at my life too. But you know what? I got through it, and I learned to love my new life. Hopefully, Sam and her daddy will too.
I turn around and face the main living area of the house again. Everything looks so clean. Surely, a single dad doesn’t have time to keep a house this clean all the time. Unless he isn’t single. There is absolutely no reason why that thought should crush me as much as it does, but I feel as if I’ve been stuffed inside a trash compactor and it’s turning me into a tight little square.
Wanting to escape my feelings of dejection, I invite myself and the dogs farther into the immaculate house.
Seriously?! Where’s he hiding the little knick-knacks and doo-dads that prove they really live here?
I briefly consider lifting up the couch cushions to see if I find any crumbs or loose change living underneath. Would he think it’s weird if I open that hall closet and have a little look around? I wonder if his room is on this floor or up the stairs? Does he sleep on a king bed? I think he would have to, otherwise those long legs of his would dangle off the end.
“Evie!” Sam’s voice breaks from the top of the stairs, and she comes barreling down, all teeth and sparkling brown eyes. She really is adorable. Her face looks open and excited today. I remember that feeling well.
“Hey there, darlin’!”
For a brief moment, I think Sam is going to run right up and hug me, but in the end, she doesn’t. She looks like she lost the courage to do it.
I glance back at Jacob, and he looks puzzled—as if he were wondering the same thing. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks more than uncomfortable—like he has no intention of ungluing himself from the front door. He’s re-enacting an 1800’s BBC movie where the gentleman is afraid of being caught alone in the room with the lady.
Don’t worry, Jacob. You won’t be forced to marry me.
Sam looks up at me. “Can—can I pet her?” She glances down at Daisy—whose tail is wagging and looks as if the only thing she wants out of life is for Sam to wrap her up in a hug—and then back up at me.
I know why she’s nervous. Everyone is at first. They see the big, scary Do Not Pet patch on the bright-blue vest and worry that they are going to be doing something wrong.
“Of course you can. Daisy is your dog. I want you to pet, snuggle, and play with her as much as you can.”
“Really? That’s not against the rules?”
I shake my head, trying not to smile too big and make her feel silly for asking. “No. Not against the rules at all. The more you and Daisy bond, the better care she will take of you.”
“Okay, cool.”
Sam drops down to her knees in front of Daisy and reaches out to pet her. She’s cautious at first, running her hand over Daisy’s head and neck, and then something snaps in Sam, and her restraint flies out the window. She wraps her tiny little girl arms around Daisy’s neck and shuts her eyes with a peaceful smile. The sight tugs somewhere deep inside me.
I know this feeling.
Suddenly, my back feels hot, and I’m aware of a new presence. Jacob has peeled himself away from the door, and he is now standing right behind me, looking over my shoulder at his daughter. I don’t want to look at him. Honestly, I’m too attracted to him. I’m afraid that if I look into his eyes at this close proximity, I might burst into flames.
Out of my league.
“She looks happy,” he whispers close to my ear, doing nothing to help my buzzing nerves.
I turn my head ever so slightly and see that he is looking down at Sam, and to be honest, he looks like he could cry. Training camp weeks are always emotional for everyone involved—including me—but this…this feels different. I feel what he’s feeling, and I want to cry too.
I now understand what it’s like to be those weird blue people in Avatar that touch tails. I so misjudged them.
“Can my daddy pet her too?” Sam’s voice feels like a bucket of water.
I shake myself from my emotional connection with Jacob and focus on the real reason I’m here. “Yep. He sure can. Seizure-assist dogs have to be working 24/7, and because of that, we want Daisy to be able to be a dog sometimes too. It’s best to not let other people pet her while you’re in public because we want her to stay focused on taking care of you. But when you’re home, she can definitely enjoy some TLC from your daddy and friends.”
We spend the next few minutes going over what we will work on that day, and Sam looks like she could combust from excitement. Before we move into the living room, Jacob speaks and makes me fall in love with him in a single statement.
“Oh, by the way, there are chocolate-chip muffins in the kitchen.”
Chapter Seven
EVIE
I’m running behind. Great. Mama’s going to love when I show up to this swanky restaurant in my tennis shoes and a whole (gasp) five minutes late.
I can picture her now, sitting at the table, tapping her French-manicured nails on the table, apologizing to the waiter for her inconsiderate daughter causing such an inconvenience to him and his fine establishment. As if he really cares that I’ve delayed their ordering by five minutes. She’s also probably given him at least one other instance in which I’ve let her down during my lifetime.
As Charlie and I spring from the Uber and dash into the restaurant, I’m almost willing to bet all twenty-six dollars in my bank account that our waiter knows I turned down THE Tyler Murray’s hand in marriage.
I approach the table just in time to see my mama finishing up a monologue. The waiter looks at me with pity swimming in his eyes. I smile at the poor man who will have to wait on us this evening, because I know that no amount of money will be enough to erase the backhanded compliments my mama will offer our lowly servant tonight.
“Well?” I ask him. “Do you think I should have accepted his proposal or not?”
He presses his lips together in an apologetic smile. Listen, lady, I just want a good tip tonight.
“Oh, for
heaven’s sake, Evelyn Grace, don’t be so dramatic.”
I turn my eyes to the woman I’m forced to call mother and suppress my overwhelming desire to laugh. I’m dramatic? The very lady who has probably alerted the whole serving staff of this restaurant to the fact that I’m five minutes late is calling me dramatic?
“Hi, Mama. Daddy.” I pull out my chair and sit down, and Charlie takes his rightful place at my feet.
Daddy gives me a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and grunts, going right back to perusing the menu he has held in front of his face like it’s Captain America’s shield. He’s been to enough of these “family” dinners. He knows how it’s going to go down, and he is not excited about it. That makes two of us, buddy. I wish I could check out like he has since I was sixteen years old.
Charlie senses my tension. He lays over my feet and keeps glancing up at me.
“I assume you have a good reason for being late to our dinner?” says Mama, not even waiting for my butt to warm in the seat before she begins her berating.
“Yep. I sure do.” I lift my menu and begin reading. Goodness, I hope they are paying for dinner tonight; otherwise, I’ll have to ask for a nice crisp water and a side of free cherries from the bar.
“Do you care to explain what that reason might be?” She’s blinking at me so rapidly I consider suggesting some eye drops.
Setting down my menu, I say, “Honestly, Mama, I don’t think any reason I give you will be good enough in your eyes for my disgraceful tardiness. So, let’s just pretend that I had to save a child from a burning building and leave it at that.”
That does NOT make Melony happy. Her bright-pink lips are pressing into a line. “Must you always act as if I’m the devil? Is it really so horrible of me to wish for my daughter to be punctual to an event one of these days?” Got it. We’ve started the manipulative portion of the evening. That was quick.
