Sunshine Cottage

by Barbara Cool Lee

  "Now we have to figure out what to do with him," Logan said. "I've got a cat who will never accept a big dog on his turf. I hate to think of taking the old dog to an animal shelter."

  "I'll take him," Teresa said. "I'll have to talk to my landlady about it, but I'll find a way. He's not going to an animal shelter."

  "You're so honest," Logan said as he started the car. "I would've just snuck him past the landlord and hoped no one would notice."

  "Yeah," Teresa said as she looked out the window at the receding homeless camp. "That's me. Honest to a fault."

  Robin was lovely about it, of course.

  The funny thing was, Teresa wasn't surprised. She was beginning to get used to these strange people who were kind and good.

  After seeing the appalling dog, Robin had told her own story about her spoiled cat, Chausette, who had been an orphaned kitten found under a log near her cottage. "Of course you have to take care of the dog for that poor boy. I hope he will be able to get out of the hospital soon."

  "Me, too," Teresa said. "But do you think the apartment owners will be cool with it?"

  Robin laughed. "It's owned by the Santos family. Now don't tell anyone, but they've been known to feed stray animals in that alley below your back window. I'm sure they'll be fine with it."

  After leaving Robin's Nest, Teresa walked past the Surfing Puggle. She felt herself smile as she remembered their fundraiser prize of a full makeover with nail polish.

  Alastor could use a makeover. It wasn't in her budget, unfortunately.

  The dog pulled toward the big bush at the end of the alley, and she let him go. He did his business there.

  A curvaceous woman with vibrant purple hair and rose tattoos spiraling up each arm handed her a bag. Mutt Mitt was printed on it. "He knows to use the bushes and not the street," she commented. "Good housebreaking."

  While Teresa picked up the dog's mess and put it in a trash can, the woman knelt to greet Alastor. "Oh, aren't you a wonderful fellow," she said to the ugly dog, hugging him and smothering him with kisses.

  Alastor took it like a champ.

  When the woman stood up, she said, "Hi. I'm Jazz. Want to come in?" She gestured to the pet shop.

  "I—" Teresa stuttered, then confessed. "I can't afford it, I don't think."

  "Nonsense," Jazz said. "You're a hero. You saved the boy at the community center this morning, didn't you?"

  She nodded. "And this is his dog. I just found him. How did you know about that?"

  The woman laughed. "Pajaro Bay grapevine. Don't plan on having any secrets if you're going to live here."

  "Great," Teresa muttered. She followed Jazz inside.

  The inside of the shop was as ridiculous as she expected. There were lots of clothes, and leashes, and bowls, and beds, and strollers….

  "Strollers?" she asked.

  "He's too big," Jazz said, looking at Alastor. "Which is too bad, since he has a bad limp." She handed Teresa a card for the local vet. "You'd better get him looked at right away."

  The stroller didn't sound so ridiculous when she thought of the old dog's limp. "So it's for old dogs," she said, looking at the contraptions.

  "For all ages. The little ones particularly like to stroll."

  "They don't walk?" she asked.

  "They get tired pretty quickly if they have short legs. And it's great for cats, too."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously. I sell a lot of the all-terrain strollers for pet parents who want to take their babies to the beach."

  "Okay," she said doubtfully.

  Jazz laughed again, a big, hearty laugh that said she knew how silly it was, but enjoyed it anyway. "I started this shop five years ago with a few dog collars, and I am still amazed at the new products that show up each season. But people love their pets and want the best for them. What's wrong with that?"

  "Not a thing," Teresa admitted.

  "Now," Jazz said, looking over Alastor with a critical eye. "What does this boy need today? What's his name, by the way?"

  "Alastor Moody," she said.

  "Like in Harry Potter?"

  "Yup. The boy in the hospital—his name is Austin—loves Harry Potter."

  Jazz went over to the collar and leash section. She pulled out several selections, and held them up against Alastor's neck.

  "Wait," Teresa said. "I can't afford anything like that."

  "He's only got a rope around his neck. That's not good for his skin."

  "I suppose not." She looked at the collars. "What do you have that's cheap?"

  "Nope," Jazz said. "When Austin comes home, I want his dog to be looking like a prince for him." She chose a dark red leather with a soft suede backing. "This is good against his black fur," she mused. "And he needs a bit of bling."

  Teresa looked at the scarred old animal. "Bling?"

  "Yes," Jazz said firmly. "Bling." She took some rhinestone letters and spelled out A-L-A-S-T-O-R with them, then slid them onto the collar.

  "And a matching leash," she muttered, choosing a red plaid one. Then she went over to the bowls and picked out a pair of red ones. Then a bag of gourmet dog food, and some treats, and a soft brush for grooming his rough old skin, and—

  "Really, you have to stop," Teresa said. "I can't afford any of that."

  "No charge," Jazz said. "You saved Austin's life. And Alastor's too, from the looks of it."

  "But—"

  "This is Pajaro Bay," she said firmly. "This is how it is here. Get used to it."

  Dr. Trujillo examined Alastor from stem to stern. "He's a very old dog," she said doubtfully. "And he's had a pretty rough time, haven't you, old fellow?"

  She listened to his heart, looked in his mouth, and then watched him walk.

  "Arthritis," she said. "We can do x-rays to confirm, and there may be surgical options if there's hip dysplasia as well, but I would recommend we start him on an anti-inflammatory and see how that goes before we get too fancy."

  Teresa tried to do a quick calculation of how all this would come out of her witness relocation stipend and her tutoring job income. So much for winning the best breakfast game. She'd have to switch to pop-tarts for the rest of the month to stay on budget.

  Dr. Trujillo seemed to see her mental calculation, because she said, "we can take installment payments if you need to do it that way."

  Teresa sighed. "That would help."

  The vet smiled. "No problem. We'll figure it out."

  As they walked to the front desk, the vet said, "it's nice of you to take in this stray. Where did you find him?"

  "He's not a stray. He belongs to a friend who's in the hospital."

  "Do you mean the boy who OD'd?"

  She nodded.

  "Are you the one who saved him? The tutor, right?"

  Teresa shrugged. "Yes. That's me."

  Dr. Trujillo paused, her pen poised over the chart. "I tell you what: I'll donate my fee, and we'll just charge you for the medicine itself. Will that help?"

  Teresa walked back to her apartment, loaded down with her bag of Surfing Puggle loot and her little bottle of medicine from the vet. Alastor walked alongside her, his blinged-out new collar sparkling in the sun.

  She had always known good people existed. Theoretically.

  She had heard stories of neighbors who held block parties to get a sick friend's rent paid. Stories of parents who worked like dogs to get their kids into a better school. Stories of strangers returning lost purses to their owners without demanding a reward. Stories of all kinds of good people doing good things.

  But to see it in reality? That was new. She laughed out loud, right there on Calle Principal.

  And the three old men sitting on the bench in front of Santos' Market laughed back with her, giving her big thumbs up signs.

  She waved to them, then took the dog over to the long stairway that led up to her apartment.

  How was she going to get this old, limping dog up the stairs?

  But the shot of painkiller the vet had g
iven him must have taken effect, because the dog headed up without any hesitation. Good thing, because he'd been eating too many community center doughnuts for her to carry him.

  When they got inside, he took over her bed without asking. He pawed at the old bedspread, circled three times, then lay down with a big sigh.

  Teresa laughed. "making yourself right at home, are you?"

  She patted him on the shoulder. "I hope your boy is doing just as well, Alastor."

  She noticed her row of books on the window sill. The little alarm clock she'd bought at the market was perched next to the books. It was still early afternoon. She had over two hours until her last student of the day.

  She quickly got a bowl of water and a dish of food for the dog, prayed he was as housebroken as Jazz seemed to think he was, and then grabbed the first Harry Potter book from her box set.

  She gave the dog a final rub on the head. "I'm going to tell your boy all about you," she whispered into the old ear. "Wish me luck."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Austin was in a cheery room in the clinic. The window overlooked the parking lot, and a faint whiff of antiseptic lingered in the air, but there was a bright yellow blanket on the bed, and the wall the bed faced was painted with a mural of Pajaro Bay.

  The lighthouse was there, and the amusement park, and there were cartoonish little seashells and starfish forming a frame around the central image. In the center was the inevitable sun, and the ocean blues and the golden, sunny yellows seemed to jump out of the picture and bring some sunshine into the room itself.

  Austin didn't notice any of this. "He's still unconscious," Dr. Nico said. "We were concerned about brain swelling at first, so we sedated him. He's stable now, so we will wean him off the sedative tomorrow, and hope that he wakes up on his own."

  Teresa didn't dare ask what would happen if he didn't wake up on his own. She knew the answer, and it wasn't good.

  "Can I stay with him a few minutes?" she asked.

  The doctor nodded. "Of course." He left.

  So she pulled the metal chair up close to the bed and sat down.

  The boy was so thin. So pale. So lost. It was a bit like looking into a mirror to see this young person who had given up and no longer saw a reason to keep trying.

  She felt a shock when she realized that she had been on the verge of giving up only a few months ago. How far she'd come. She glanced at the silly mural with its cartoonish images. This was her world now. Sunshine and fresh air and the future stretching out in front of her like a promise.

  She opened the book she'd brought from home. She held it open on her lap with one hand, while reaching out the other to clasp Austin's pale fingers.

  "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," she began. "Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived…."

  After reading aloud for a while about the orphan boy who struggled to find himself and make his way in a world he didn't understand, she let go of Austin's hand and closed the book. The boy hadn't moved, but she hoped on some level it had reached him that someone was here, rooting for him, hoping that he, too, could find himself and where he was supposed to be.

  She heard a sigh behind her and turned in her seat.

  It was Mena, still in her schoolgirl uniform, still with the same longing in her eyes as she looked at the sleeping boy.

  Teresa motioned to her to come closer.

  She stood up, stretching, then gestured for Mena to sit in the chair she'd vacated. "I was just reading to him for a while," she said.

  "Austin? You awake?" Mena whispered. She slid into the chair and took Austin's hand.

  Teresa shook her head. "He's not awake yet. But maybe he'll hear us and know we're here with him."

  Mena glanced at her warily. "You were reading to him? Why do you care?"

  "Of course I care about him. Everybody should have people who care about them, don't you think?"

  The girl shrugged, her eyes still on the boy. "He should. But why do you even care? He's not your blood relation."

  "Does that matter? He's a human being. And he deserves a chance. Don't you think everyone deserves a chance?"

  Mena leaned forward in the chair and smoothed the hair back from his face. "He does. But why do you think he did it?"

  "You don't take drugs?"

  She shook her head. "My family would kill me if I did."

  "You're lucky to have people looking out for you. Austin didn't. I think that's why he felt like giving up. He felt very alone, I think."

  "But why? He's so talented. He's so…."

  "Cute?"

  "Nice," she said. Then she smiled wistfully at the sleeping boy, the first smile Teresa had seen from her. "And yeah, he's cute, too."

  "Yeah. He is."

  "He told me he couldn't love me back." Her voice cracked with grief, the rejection still stinging her.

  "I don't think he felt safe loving anyone. Did he tell you why?"

  "He said he'd done things. Bad things."

  Teresa nodded. "He told me about it, too. And he felt ashamed of the mistakes he made." She balled her hands into fists. "But nothing is unforgivable."

  "Nothing?" Mena whispered. "You don't believe that."

  "Yes. I really do. I have to. I've done things I'm ashamed of. We all have. And we have to find a way to make peace with it."

  "How?" she said in a strangled voice, choked with tears. She only saw the boy, as if Teresa wasn't even in the room.

  "I don't know how. But I don't believe there's anything so awful it makes you beyond redemption."

  "Not anything?" She was still looking at Austin, and the tears were streaming down her face.

  Teresa looked at the boy, watched his chest rise and fall under the thin institutional blanket. "I believe that," she said. "I have to believe it."

  Logan popped his head in to the tower room. "How's it going?" he asked Teresa.

  She looked up from the notes she was writing. "Pretty well so far. I have two new students added for tomorrow, and my reluctant girl told me that she looked up the The Maze Runner books online and is excited."

  "Great." He stood there, a bit awkwardly, wondering how to keep her talking. "How's the dog?" he asked, and she explained about the Surfing Puggle and the veterinarian.

  "Are we good?" he asked. "I mean, I know I really messed up with Austin, but I don't want to lose your respect."

  She gestured to the chair opposite hers and he sat down.

  "I visited him at the clinic," she said.

  "I thought he was unconscious," Logan said. "Do you think I can talk to him about what happened?"

  She shook her head. "He was sleeping when I was there. He's still pretty much out of it. But they think he has a good chance to be okay."

  "Graças a Deus," he said, crossing himself. What had he done to the boy?

  "It isn't your fault," she said, seeing his face. "Honestly, it isn't. I told you, my mother is an addict." He could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. "Do you know how many times she's gotten sick, and I've thought it was my fault—that I'd said the wrong thing or done the wrong thing?"

  "But I—"

  "—You made him feel ashamed without meaning to. You reinforced the rejection he already felt inside." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it. You did that. And it hurt him. But you didn't make him the way he is. He was an addict long before you ever met him."

  "But it's literally my job to help him, to help all these kids. And I hurt him."

  "Yeah," she said softly. "It hurts to feel shame inside, and then have someone else confirm it." He wondered more about her past, about whether she had ever shamed her own addicted mother, but she suddenly stood up.

  "How about dinner?" she said.

  He stood up, too. "Dinner?"

  "You promised me a gourmet dinner, remember?"

  How long ago that seemed. Less than twenty-four hours.

  "Let's try again," she said, and put out her hand to him.

  He took it, and instead of sha
king it, like she had the first time they'd met, she put her two hands around his, cradling it. "You're okay, Logan. Not perfect, but you're pretty okay." She let go of him and picked up her notebook again.

  He felt like he'd been crowned prince of the realm. "Thanks," he said, grinning like a fool. Then, "Oh! I forgot. I can't do dinner tonight."

  She looked disappointed, which was a nice ego boost after the day he'd had. "Oh," she said. "That's okay."

  "I promised my mom I'd eat with the family tonight." He hesitated, then said, "would you like to come?"

  "Sure," she said.

  "It won't be fancy. Sopa de peixe with those same rolls you had at the library fundraiser, probably."

  "Sounds lovely," she said. She pondered for a moment. "Peixe. Fish, right?"

  "You speak Portuguese?"

  "No. Sopa de pescado is fish stew in Spanish, so I guessed."

  "Good guess."

  "I just like language—figuring out words, expanding my vocabulary, all that." Then she frowned. "Oh, wait. I've got Alastor."

  "The dog?" He looked around.

  "Not here. He's at my apartment. But I don't think I should leave him alone that long."

  "No problem. Bring him with you. My brothers will love it."

  "Yeah," she said. "But will your mother?"

  He grinned. "You're right. I'd better check on that."

  As he made his way slowly downstairs he couldn't stop smiling. On the last three steps, he lifted his bad leg and hopped down on the other foot like he was a little kid playing hopscotch.

  Jack Payson was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  "Testing the stairs for sturdiness?" he asked, totally deadpan.

  "Something like that," Logan said, not even trying to stifle his grin.

  He went into his office to call his mom and tell her was bringing over a cute girl and an ugly dog for supper.

  Logan knocked on the door to her apartment. When she opened it, he was there, like in a book. Not parking at the curb and honking and shouting. He had come all the way up the stairs and knocked. Then when she came to the door, he smiled and said, "you look so pretty," and stood aside to let her and Alastor the dog go first down the stairs.