by Jenna Gunn
“Glad you see some sense,” he snaps, starting to tug on Spike’s leash. The dog gets to his feet, tail wagging faster.
“Here’s the deal, Dave.” I put my hands in the baggy pockets of my scrubs. “You’re over an hour late to your appointment. Policy is right there by your head.” I nod at the poster Hannah made up over a year ago.
“I’ve been coming here since you opened!” he practically shouts.
“Now I think you might want to sit down to do your paperwork so I can do Spike’s checkup today, or you can make a new appointment and actually show up on time for that one.”
I walk up and pet Spike’s huge head. “Good boy, Spike.”
Dave presses his lips together but doesn’t reply. I head toward the back, but I pause at the door, glancing back at Dave. I slip into the back with a shake of my head. Some days...
3
“Apple,” I say, sitting up. “Water.”
I don’t hear anything - no ticking paws, no panting, no jingling of the tag on her collar. I grunt and swing my legs - well, leg and a half - over the side of the bed, groping for my prosthetic. “Apple?” I call again. Still no response.
I fumble until I find the disparate parts of my prosthetic leg. I hate getting ready in the morning, looking at the stump of my knee, sliding a little sleeve over it so that I can jam it into a piece of plastic to hobble around on. It doesn’t help that this is my second prosthetic, and completely different from my first one. I’d sort of gotten used to the last one.
I manage to get my new limb strapped on and stand up, hearing the loud click of the pin entering the socket. “Apple?” I call out, leaving my bedroom.
In the living room, Derek is still asleep out on the couch. When he hears my prosthetic clicking as I walk, he starts awake, yawns, and groans.
“Man, can you, like - not?”
“I can’t find Apple.”
He turns over on the couch and falls back to sleep. I limp my way to the back door, which is slightly ajar. She must have got out; she’s great at turning door handles, which isn’t something I taught her. I make a mental note to get the exterior doors’ handles replaced with knobs.
I pull open the back door onto the tiny deck on the back of the house and see a flash of red out of the corner of my eye.
It’s her collar.
My heart thumps in my chest. She’s gone. She’s gone, and once Derek leaves she was supposed to be my only company, and she’s been a huge help since it’s hard for me to move around. I can’t lose her.
“Apple!” I yell, thumping my way across the deck. “Apple, here girl!” I waddle down the steps and start jogging across the backyard. Maybe she got into the woods? Maybe a neighbor saw her? I glance around; the nearest neighbor is at least a mile down the road. That’s why I picked this place. I wanted quiet. I wanted calm.
“Apple!” I’m almost screaming now. This isn’t how I pictured my calm, quiet life in a backwoods town. I start heading in the direction of the nearest neighbor. Apple loves people; maybe she saw somebody outside?
I haven’t been in the backyard much - I just moved here yesterday - so I don’t realize the ground is uneven until my prosthetic catches on a bump. I go tumbling through the wet grass, managing to twist so that I don’t land flat on my chest, but I knock my shoulder against the ground pretty hard. For a moment, the whole world is a blur of green, brown, and smudges of dark grey; my hands grasp for anything I can find, touching only air and mud.
I lay on the ground for a moment, panting, staring up at the cloudy sky. My legs are littered with little blades of grass.
“Perry?” Derek calls from my back porch. I hear thuds as he rushes with his two good legs down the stairs and runs over toward me. “Dude, I heard - are you all right?”
He appears in my field of vision, looking concerned and startled. I blink up at him. Things are still blurry - I don’t understand why until a tear rolls down the side of my face. I sit up and hurriedly brush it away. “Apple’s gone,” I croak out.
Derek offers me a hand and pulls me laboriously to my feet. I have to strain to stand. “You should go back inside,” he says. “I’ll go look for her.”
“I can’t believe I’ve only been here a day and I’ve already lost her.” I sound pathetic. I limp next to Derek. He supports me with one arm. Is this who I’ve become? A helpless old man?
“It’s all right, man,” he says soothingly.
I grit my teeth. I hate that he has to use that tone with me, the one reserved for children and old people - but I’m glad he’s here all the same.
Derek helps me inside and gets me settled on the couch. He brings me a warm cup of coffee and then heads out. I hear his car start up in the driveway, and then I’m alone, leaving it in someone else’s hands to find Apple.
I’m not startled when I hear Derek’s car again. I’ve been poised on my couch, listening intently. I wait, listening to him come up the steps to my front porch and turn the door handle.
“I saw her,” he says immediately as he bursts through the door.
I stand up. “Where?”
“Downtown,” he says. “There’s a vet’s office down there, and I’m pretty sure I saw her there. By the way, I’m using ‘downtown’ very generously here,” he adds, following me down the hallway to my room. “It’s like...four buildings in a row. That’s their downtown.”
“It’s a rural place, Derek,” I grunt, grabbing yesterday’s pants off the floor and yanking them on. I like these pants. They’re just wide enough in the leg to cover up the fact that I have a prosthetic.
“I’ll say. There’s not even a Wal-mart.”
I shove my feet - one real, one fake - into some shoes. “All right, let’s go.”
“I’ll call first, just to make sure.” Derek says as he pulls out his phone to find the vet office number. I see him nodding, then he holds the phone to his ear.
“Hi, I think you might have our lost dog.” He nods to no one. “Yeah, she’s black and tan, and really friendly.” He nods some more. “Okay. I see.., yes. Okay.”
“What’d they say?”
“They have a dog matching that description.”
“And?”
“And you need proof she’s yours to claim her.”
Hmph. Proof? “Like what?”
“A registered chip, or papers of some sort. Have any of that?”
I don’t know about a chip. “Adoption papers. Buried somewhere in a box.”
“Well, guess we best start looking.” Says Derek as he turns to the closest box.
I stumble as I move through the kitchen; the cardboard box almost slips from my arms.
“Whoa!” I hear as the box suddenly becomes lighter. I glance up; across from me, Derek grins as he holds up one side of the box.
“I got it,” I growl.
“I know,” he replies breezily, adjusting his grip. “But let me take it, man. You’re doing too much too fast.”
I give him the box and straighten myself up, fixing my prosthetic, cursing it. It’s like I’m not whole. Everything below my left knee is just...gone.
I’m still not used to it. Sometimes my ankle itches like hell, but there’s nothing I can really do about it, since my ankle just doesn’t exist anymore.
The Army gave me some physical therapy, and a decent prosthetic, and told me to leave; so now here I am, moving into this nowhere town. It’s a half hour drive from my parents’ place in Rockville - close enough to visit, but far enough away to be left alone.
“Proof she’s my dog,“ I grumble as I tear open a different box and dig through its contents. I got Apple from a shelter about a month ago. I don’t know what breed she is, or how old she is, but she looks a lot like a German shepherd, and she acts a lot like a puppy.
“I know,” Derek says, heading to the other side of the room. I rifle through the papers inside, but the adoption papers aren’t here. I move onto the next box marked files. “They’ve got Apple’s best interests at heart,” Derek sa
ys gently, closing the box he’s looking through and setting it aside. “They don’t want to give her to the wrong person.”
“I guess I should be thankful.” I pick through the documents in this box. They’re newer than the others I’ve looked at, so maybe - “Here it is!” I yell triumphantly. “Nice. Let’s go get our girl!”
Derek nods; we walk out toward his car, and I snatch up Apple’s collar and leash on the way.
I’m going to need to build a fence
I’m still grouchy as we get into the car. Derek whistles along to the radio and drums on his fingers on the steering wheel. I stare out of my window. Near my house, a few minutes’ walk if I go through the woods, there seems to be a tiny dive bar, a small square of a building all alone on a plot of land between two fields. Given that it’s probably the only place in town to have a beer it seems worth checking out later - after Apple is safe and home with me, where she belongs.
Derek heads for downtown. He’s right - calling it “downtown” is generous. It’s a couple buildings stuck together; a hair salon, a Veterinarian, a Dollar General, and a hardware store, with some other things with signs I can’t make out. A restaurant, maybe? Everything else is fields and trees.
“Ready to go in?” Derek asks.
“I’m ready to get my dog back,” I reply, kicking open the car door.
“Easy with my ride,” he says, but he’s smiling.
I test my leg as I slide out of the car to make sure it’s behaving like it’s supposed to. Everything seems to be fine. I’m glad; I don’t want to fall on my face in the vet’s lobby. It still hurts sometimes so I feel myself limping a bit as I make my way into the office. Apple immediately rockets toward me. I can barely get in the door. I grin as I ruffle her fur; she’s my sweet girl..
“Yeah?” says a flat voice. I glance up. The girl at the reception desk is looking at me steadily.
“I’m here for my dog,” I tell her.
“Mhm.” It’s not a sound of disbelief, but of disinterest; her eyes sweep me up and down. I feel a little exposed. Who is this kid?
A woman who might be the Veterinarian comes out of the back. She’s so petite. Her head comes up to my chest, and it’s full of thick red hair, which she’s got pulled up into a frizzy ponytail. I find myself attracted to her instantly. Her face is absolutely covered in freckles which I find adorable. She’s wearing blue scrubs with short sleeves, and I can see wiry muscles flexing along her biceps as she puts her hands on her hips. She looks strong and capable.
“You’re here to get your dog? I think you called in and we told you you’d need proof. We don’t just let anyone pick up a stray dog.” Her voice is a bit too curt.
I scowl and shove the papers into her hands. She glances through them, mumbles something about, “good thing you’ve got records,” and then her face softens.
“Oh,” she says, flipping through the pages. “Says here you’re military. Injured in the line of duty.”
“Where does it say that?” I snap. Did she read the part about my leg? Is that why she’s suddenly acting weird?
She holds up a page; it’s not one of the adoption papers. I must have grabbed it by accident. I snatch it from her hand. “Just focus on the proof that Apple is my dog,” I tell her, reaching down to scratch Apple’s ears.
She scowls at me then goes back to reading. “Apple?” she asks confusedly. She glances back at the papers. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I didn’t know anyone new had moved in, and - well, she doesn’t have a chip. You know, all responsible dog owners have their dogs chipped.”
I glance at Derek, who raises his eyebrows.
“Responsible dog owners…” I echo.
“And she should be wearing a collar.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. “She was.” I hold up her collar in my hand.
“Well you need to figure out how she’s getting out of that.”
I want to say, duh, but I don’t. I think she sees my annoyance plainly enough as I scowl at her.
“And she needs a county tag.”
This woman’s a bossy thing. “Are you done lecturing me?”
She shrugs. “Depends.”
I shake my head, reach down and put the collar on Apple. “We’ll be leaving now.”
As I turn to go she says, “I’ll chip her for free for you.”
I’m caught off guard and I look at Derek. He shrugs. What’s up with all the shrugging?
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
“That way, if she ends up on my front porch again - ”
“Your front porch?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“I live outside town. She was there this morning. Actually woke me up.”
She nods and reaches toward reception; the teenager behind the glass doesn’t look up, but a clipboard appears on the counter for the vet to scoop up. “I’ll get you down for an appointment. What days are good for you?”
“Uh - ”
“Oh, sorry; I’m Trisha, by the way. Trisha Nash.” She holds her pale hand out for me to shake. I do; her palm is rough and calloused. Her hand is small in mine, and warm, and my body definitely acknowledges that she’s very, very female.
“Perry Logan,” I tell her.
“Everyone around here really got a kick out of Apple,” she says with a small smile, scribbling something on her clipboard. “That’s a cute name, by the way. You don’t look like the type to name a dog Apple.”
“She came with the name,” I reply a little defensively.
Trisha smirks. “Next Wednesday at noon work for you?”
“Sounds great.”
“Sign here.” She hands me the clipboard and a pen. “You know you can change a dog’s name, right?”
I scrawl my signature at the bottom of the page. “She’s been Apple her whole life. I’m not about to change that now.” I shove the clipboard back into Trisha’s hands. Our eyes meet. Hers are blue, almost like ice, or the winter sky. Her skin is pale and white between freckles so numerous there’s barely any room for bare skin to peek through.
I’ve always been a sucker for redheads.
“Keep a better eye on her,” Trisha tells me.
I bite my tongue as I clip Apple’s leash on. “Come on, girl,” I sigh. “Let’s go.”
4
“You sure you don’t want to move in with me?” Derek asks as I pick up another box - a smaller one this time. Apple bolts past me toward the house.
“Little too late,” I say, as I walk carefully following him to the front door. “I’m committed now. I bought this place.”
“You’re not renting?” he asks in disbelief. He opens the door for me, even though he’s holding a larger, more unwieldy box than mine.
“No point.” We shuffle inside; Derek drops his box where he stands, right by the door. I take mine into the kitchen.
“You’re going to live...here?” He glances out the door. “For maybe...thirty years?”
Sweat beads across his forehead. It’s awfully hot. Most of boxes are inside now, as well as the big furniture; I don’t have many material possessions.
I figure it’s time for a break since most of the work is done.
“Apple!” I call out.
She comes bounding down the hallway, tail wagging at high speed.
“Water, Apple,” I say to her.
Obediently, she heads to the cooler in the middle of the floor and flips it open with her nose, gently grabbing a plastic water bottle from the ice within. She brings it to me; I toss it to Derek. He catches it one-handed.
“Water,” I tell her again, and she repeats the process before plopping down at my feet, tail wagging. “Good girl.” I rub her ears affectionately.
“You taught her to do that in a month?”
“She’s a smart dog,” I grunt, scratching under her chin.
Derek slides down to sit on the floor, and I clumsily do the same. He gives me a sideways look but doesn’t comment. I know he thinks I’m pushing myself too hard; I’ve had this particular prost
hetic for less time than I’ve had Apple, and I got my injury less than a year ago.
And I was diagnosed with PTSD.
I haven’t explicitly told Derek that, but there’s no way he doesn’t know. Pretty much every soldier has it. Derek probably has it. I was in the military longer than he was - I made a career of it - but I know he did at least one overseas tour.
“Almost done,” Derek says, bringing me back to the present.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “What are you gonna do once everything’s in?”
“Help you unpack, idiot.” He takes a swig of water. “I’m earning that beer and pizza.”
We both jump as something falls over - I instinctively throw myself flat on the carpet. Derek springs up and runs toward the front door. I hear him yelling over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
That’s all it takes. Just one noise, and I’m back. I’m lying in the dirt with my eyes squeezed shut, hoping against hope that it’s not me this time, worrying about my men…
“Perry.”
I feel my face scrunch. Nobody calls me by my first name.
“Perry!” says the voice again. A hand presses to my shoulder.
I feel my usual reply of “That’s Sergeant to you, soldier” bubbling in my throat, but it’s cut off by a wet nose pushing into my face and snuffling. I pry my eyes open.
Apple’s big black eyes bore into mine for a moment - and then she freaks out. She’s a blur of brown and black fur as she wiggles and sniffs my entire face. I sit up; she tumbles into my lap, her tail wagging.
I look up at Derek, who’s frowning down at me with concern. His gaze is tough to meet. I glance away. It’s hard to look dignified when a hyper pup is thrashing around in your lap.
“Apple knocked over a box,” he says. “That was the noise.”
I nod.
“She ran outside.” He holds up her collar, which I only now realize is off.
I put my hands in the fur of Apple’s neck; she wiggles harder and licks at my face. “She slipped her collar? Again?”
Derek nods. He sits down in front of me, cross-legged; Apple turns and bounds into his lap instead, eager for attention. He manages to fasten her collar around her neck. She leaps out of his lap and tears down the hallway, out of sight.
