by S. Bennett
Oh boy, did I ever. I want an up-close smell.
I approach little by little, tail wagging and head ducked down so as not to intimidate the little thing. He smiles and waves his arms. When I’m within striking distance, his little hands go into the fur on top of my head. They fist and grab tight, but it doesn’t hurt.
Still, Liz says, “Easy, Benji. Don’t want to hurt the puppy.”
“Puh-puh,” Benji says, and I think we’re going to be good friends.
A soft clinking sound resonates, and my head swings that way.
Hazel stands up from the long dining table, tapping a spoon to her wineglass. She surveys the people around the table with such fullness in her heart I can feel it.
Turning away from the little human who is certainly fascinating but in no way compares to Hazel, I pad over to her and sit my rump down by her feet.
She grins at me before clearing her throat. “I just want to thank everyone for coming to Oley’s for Thanksgiving. I have so much to be thankful for this year, and this is the absolute best time to make sure I’m vocal about it to those I love the most.”
Hazel takes a moment to connect eyes with everyone around the table—our family. Oley on the end, because he’s king of the castle. Next to him is Bernard, then Charmin, then Alicia. On the other end, is Trey, not king of this castle but a cool dude all the same. To his left, Liz with Benji on her lap and then me.
Tyrone is coming later with his wife and kids as they were lucky enough to have a first Thanksgiving dinner somewhere else. I’m excited to see more tiny humans.
“The beginning of this year was extremely difficult for me,” Hazel continues, and I cock my head to watch her. There’s a touch of sadness in her eyes as she remembers the days before me when her life was bad. “I was at my lowest point in my life. I didn’t know the meaning of family or true friendship.”
I glance around the table, seeing everyone stare back at Hazel with such love that it makes me feel gooey inside.
“And then I found this little monster,” she says affectionately as her hand comes to my head to give me a scratch. “He opened up a new life for me. And bit by bit, my life became more enriched. I developed close friendships and reconnected with family. I worked hard to be a better person to others, but mostly to myself. I just want to say I can’t imagine a better life, and I’m so thankful for every last one of you sitting here. So… here’s to all of you. I love you very much.”
Her last words come out sort of choked up, and there are a few misty eyes around the table. Hazel holds her glass of wine up. Everyone else does the same, their own salute back to her that she’s pretty freaking awesome in her own right.
Hazel sits back down in her chair, and conversation flows freely with lots of laughter in between. Reaching to her plate, Hazel picks up a piece of ham and holds it out to me.
My tail thumps involuntarily, and I reach out with my mouth just a tiny bit open to accept the treat.
It’s delicious… salty and sweet.
We should have Thanksgiving every day as far as I’m concerned.
PART III
“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.”
– John Gardner
CHAPTER 39
Hazel
I completed the checkout process for Mr. Tibbles, a Siamese cat that’s mean as hell. He’s a new patient to our clinic, and I assigned him to Dr. Gilroy since she’s a cat person. While Oley is wonderful with all animals, Dr. Gilroy has some kind of magical touch when it comes to hissing, spitting mad cats.
Marsha Gilroy has been a blessing since we added her to the practice last year. She had been working for one of the big veterinary hospitals in town, but had no chance for upward mobility. She wanted to be not only a veterinarian but also a business owner as well.
Oley is on the downswing of his practice and I don’t know how many years he has left in him. Maybe twenty, maybe two. At his age it’s hard to know, so we better be prepared. I talked to him about coming up with a game plan to sell his practice out. He can’t leave it for his kids as they aren’t veterinarians, and I didn’t want to see a profitable clinic go to waste. As his business increased, I suggested we look for another veterinarian to bring on board who would be interested in buying out Oley’s practice when he was ready to fully retire.
Marsha—who just hit the big 4-0 last week—wanders into the reception area, using gauze to dab at a cut on the back of her hand. I smell alcohol wafting from it.
Smirking, I say, “Mr. Tibbles got you, didn’t he?”
She grins back at me. “I must be losing my touch.”
“Your next appointment called to say they would be about ten minutes late. It’s fine since you have some room in your schedule.”
“Thanks Hazel,” Marsha replies. “That gives me a chance to eat my lunch I didn’t get to eat two hours ago.”
She walks behind my desk, then heads into the storage room where Oley has had to buy a bigger table to house the new additions to his practice. In addition to Marsha coming on as the second veterinarian, we’ve hired two vet technicians and a part-time worker to help with the boarders.
Plus, there’s me. Hazel Roundtree, office manager.
The past four years since I met Oley have been amazing, but none more so than helping him to build up a thriving and profitable business that has given the man himself extra life and vitality. Outside of his bum hip, he’s actually doing better health-wise than ever. He’s lost a bit of weight, and he’s far more active around the farm. I credit this with the boost his self-esteem has taken over being able to work again without many limitations. As long as someone can help him with the more unruly patients, Oley’s practically unstoppable in the clinic.
The one opportunity I passed on was Oley’s offer to go to school to become a veterinary technician. I did take my GED—passing on the first try without any review course—and then promptly got my associates in business at the local community college. While I like working with the animals, I really have a passion for helping Oley in the operations, marketing, and human resources. I’m very close to finishing an online bachelor’s degree, and then I’ll consider whether to do an MBA. Whatever I do, it has to be done online because I’m too instrumental to the clinic and Oley to go to school full time somewhere else.
To this day, I’m still not sure why Oley gave me so much free rein to help build his veterinary clinic up. He didn’t have much of a practice at all when I first met him but then again, he hadn’t needed it. Over his decades of work, he had been very wise with his money and could now easily retire if he wanted to without a monetary care in the world.
I suppose his being able to work more has been giving him a sense of renewed life. It seems to have made him healthier and happier to keep working. Granted, the bum hip lets him work only about thirty hours max a week, which means Marsha does most of the heavy hitting these days.
“Hey,” Marsha says just before she opens the door to the storage room. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving early today?”
My eyes drop down to the clock on my computer screen, and I grimace when I see how late it has gotten. I keep tapping away on my keyboard while I answer. “Yeah… But I have to finish the payroll.”
“Anything I can do to help?” she asks.
“Not today,” I answer with a quick glance over my shoulder at her. “But we really need to sit down so I can show you the payroll program soon.”
Oley has no plans to retire anytime soon, but given his age, we have decided we need to train Marsha on as many of the business aspects of the practice we can, so she could step in if—God forbid—something happened to Oley.
“Then I’ll leave you alone so you can finish that since you have important business to attend to,” Marsha says with a laugh.
I throw my hand up over my shoulder to give a short wave in acknowledgment, because I do indeed have important things to do today. As soon as I finish the payroll, I’m heading out of here to grab Atticus.
It’s an important day today.
The most important holiday I celebrate.
It’s Atticus’s fourth Gotcha Day.
Four years ago today, on March 28th, I found him in a ditch on death’s door. I may not have been as physically beat up as he was, but my emotional psyche was comparative to his dire situation. From the start, we needed each other.
Four years later, we are still a dynamic duo. I’m pretty sure everything that is great in my life is due to this one very important day.
Granted, there have been other enrichments in my life. Oley, Bernard and his family, Liz and my mom, and let’s not forget a wonderful new career.
But none of that would’ve ever been set into motion had I not pulled that muddy, slimy, bleeding puppy out of that culvert.
On Atti’s second Gotcha Day, I decided it needed to be a solo and personal event between the two of us. We always had his birthday party on the Fourth of July where I would throw a big party and make a big deal over my little boy. But today is just for me and him.
♦
After leaving the clinic, I race out to the farm so I can change and get my dog. I still live in the apartment above Oley’s garage even though I could afford to get a bigger, nicer place on my own. I still only pay him two hundred dollars a month, though I’ve tried to get him to take more. To assuage my guilt over such a great deal, I’ve made a lot of upgrades to the apartment over the last four years, including new carpet, paint, and some appliances. The real reason I stay here is because I want to keep a close eye on Oley. He’s almost seventy-six, and I feel much better being close just in case something was to happen.
I pull a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt out of my closet. It’s one of those early spring days where the weather is chilly in the morning, warm in the afternoon, and will be chilly by the time early evening hits. Since I’m taking Atticus to the beach, I want to be prepared for it to be even cooler with the ocean winds.
I think Atti senses my excitement and knows today is very special. I told him it was his Gotcha Day when we woke up this morning, but I don’t pretend to think my dog understands English. Rather, he is an excellent reader of emotions and he picks up on mine very easily. He prances in place while I throw on my clothes, then we race down the stairs with his leash and harness in my hand. We take just a moment for him to get potties, and then he’s jumping in the backseat of my Jeep.
My slightly used, but completely awesome rag-top Jeep Wrangler in an electric blue color. It’s the first vehicle I’ve ever owned all by myself that I paid for all by myself. I make a lot more than twelve dollars an hour these days working as Oley’s office manager.
Atticus loves riding in the back when the top is off, but it’s going to be just a little too cold for me heading to the beach. “Sorry, buddy. Top stays on today.”
Atticus just grins from the backseat with that tongue hanging out the side. I do crank down the windows for him, though, and he periodically puts his face out. I watch him in my side mirror with his jowls and ears flapping all around. His eyes are halfway closed against the rush of air. He looks wild and free and happy.
It’s how I feel right now.
We stop for vanilla frozen yogurt before we hit the high-rise bridge that connects the mainland over the intercoastal waterway to Topsail Island.
I take the first left and head north up the island, pulling into the first public access parking lot I come to. It’s only about half full, and I bet most of the people are fishing.
After attaching Atticus to his chest harness and lead, I let him jump out of my Jeep. I lock it up, carrying only my keys and phone down onto the beach.
It’s funny that I bring Atticus to the beach to celebrate his Gotcha Day as it’s not his favorite place in the world. He’s not a big fan of the waves crashing in, which intimidate him a little, but he certainly likes to take long walks on the hard-packed sand. I’m not necessarily a beach girl either, preferring the mountains as a getaway destination. But I like being able to walk a long straight path with my dog for as long as we want just so we can spend some quality time together.
When we get down to the beach, it’s mostly dotted with surf fishermen and a few other walkers. Atti walks at a heel on my left side. We stay away from the tide, so we can avoid getting caught up in fishing lines.
“What do you think I ought to make for dinner tonight?” I ask him, without expecting a response, of course.
One of my most treasured things about Atticus is that he’s been my sounding board over the years. I can talk to him about stupid stuff, funny stuff, or serious stuff. I can try to figure out what’s on the dinner menu, or how I’m going to budget in a pair of expensive running shoes I’ve been wanting to buy, or how I’m worried about Oley if he gets a cold. My dog listens to it all and as weird as it sounds, he manages to give me the appropriate support I need back. This means if I’m talking about something that stirs emotion within me, Atticus is there for me to pet and love upon.
If I’m down in the dumps, he’ll without fail do something silly to make me laugh. If I’m getting too complacent with life, he’ll do something really bad to keep me on my toes.
So we walk along, and I keep talking and he keeps listening as we head further north up the island.
“Benji loves spaghetti so I’ll probably make that, but maybe I’ll grill up a few steaks for you and me. What do you think about that buddy?”
I swear Atticus’ ears perk when I say the word steak. Of course he’s getting steak for dinner. It’s his Gotcha Day.
I’m babysitting Benji tonight so Liz and Trey can go out on a date. They’ve been struggling in their marriage over the last few years, and I think part of it was because Liz devoted one hundred percent of her time and attention to Benji without anything left over for her husband. I know motherhood is extremely difficult and taxing, but I get the sense she was going overboard in her attentions on her son. At least, that’s sort of what she concluded after she and Trey did some heavy-duty counseling. One of the suggestions was they take one night a week and do something together. It didn’t have to be for very long, and it was often only a dinner date. But that meant I got to see my nephew a lot more, who—at almost five years old—was a hell of a lot more fun now than he was as a baby.
My phone rings, and I nab it from my back pocket. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face when I see Charmin’s name on my screen. I connect the call, put the phone to my ear, and say, “And how is my sweet little mama-to-be?”
Charmin laughs, and I can’t help but be amazed by the absolute peace and joy in her voice. “Your sweet little mama has a sore back. Carrying around an extra twenty pounds is no joke.”
Charmin is five months pregnant. She’s also happily married and living in Raleigh. Sometimes it seems like yesterday when we were schlepping beers together at Tipsy’s. Both of us were terribly unlucky in love and always seemed to pick the wrong guys.
Charmin, however, has basically been living an actual real-life fairy tale the last couple of years. She was working one night at Tipsy’s when an incredibly dashing man came into the bar. He was absolutely out of place wearing a three-piece suit and a two-hundred-dollar haircut.
Turns out, he was an attorney from Raleigh who was in Jacksonville on business doing depositions. He had just finished up for the day and wanted a beer. Tipsy’s was the first bar he came to. His name is Shane Nicholson, and he shamelessly flirted with Charmin all night. He gave her a ride home, and didn’t even try kiss her.
After that night, Shane was so taken with Charmin he came back to Jacksonville every Sunday for the next two months to take her out on a date. Within just a few months of that, he had convinced her to stop working at Tipsy’s and move into his over-four-thousand-square-foot house on a golf course in Raleigh. They wed just a year after that, and immediately got started on making a baby.
“When are you and Atticus going to come visit me?” she whines into the phone.
“Why?” I tease
. “Tired of hanging out with all your new country-club friends?”
She snorts. If there’s one area of her new magical fairy tale she’s not quite sold on yet, it’s blending in with Shane’s crowd of peeps. They’re all wealthy, educated, and some are slightly snobbish.
“Maybe weekend after next?” I ask. “I’ll see if Oley wants to ride up with me to see Tara.”
Charmin doesn’t say anything in response to that, but I know what she’s thinking. Fat chance Oley’s daughter will have time for him. Over the years, I’ve come to have a better understanding of his relationship with his kids.
And it’s pretty clear they don’t give many shits about their father.
He provided them a very good life growing up, since he made plenty of money with his successful veterinarian practice. They were kind of spoiled—Oley’s words, not mine—and when they decided to leave the nest, they didn’t really look back. Granted, they had busy, successful lives. But they were also self-absorbed enough to think calling their father once a week was all that was needed at his age.
“That would be perfect with me,” Charmin says. “We’re still working on the nursery, and I was hoping to go shopping for bed linens. You can help me with that.”
I roll my eyes. Shopping is my least favorite thing in the world, but I’ll never balk at doing it with a pregnant Charmin. This is sort of an epic deal for us both since she’s asked me to be godmother.
“So what are you doing to celebrate Atti’s Gotcha Day?” she asks.
I can’t help but smile. She knows what an important day this is for me, and that’s actually why she’s calling. “We’re at the beach right now. I bought him a vanilla frozen yogurt, and I’ll make him steak tonight. I’m babysitting Benji but after he leaves, Atti and I will just chill out and play. Lots of belly rubs for sure.”
“Sounds absolutely perfect,” she says.
And I couldn’t agree more.
