by Grace Greene
She glanced down again. A T-shirt, but she could see that’s what Colton and Aaron were wearing. Her jeans weren’t too wrinkled. She was wearing sandals.
“Thanks. Let me get my purse and the posters, and I’ll be right back out.” She was moving before the period hit the end of the sentence. She stopped and looked back. “This is very nice of you two. I appreciate it.”
She grabbed her purse, phone, and umbrella, and then dashed back out to the truck.
Colton drove slowly down Shoemaker Road. Sandra and Aaron kept a sharp watch, looking back and forth along the road for any sign of Honey. When they passed the schoolhouse on the right, Sandra caught her breath. The memories were so fresh she couldn’t help herself. But once they were on the state road, she sat back and tried to relax.
“We’ll head to the county line first,” Colton said. “The Goochland shelter is right there. Animals picked up in the area, regardless of county, often end up there.”
He smiled, and suddenly the proximity, the unwarranted friendliness, made her anxious. He was pleasant and attractive, but he was a stranger. She felt uncomfortable with him in the truck. Or rather, she didn’t.
That was the problem. She was uncomfortable because she wasn’t. Or maybe, she thought as they drove along and Aaron rivaled Aunt Barbara’s ability to chatter, it’s because of the boy. She and Aaron had absolutely nothing in common, aside from their humanity, and yet she saw herself in him. In his smile? In his eagerness to be liked? What exactly she saw, she didn’t know. It certainly wasn’t the talkative part of him. But she felt an affinity nonetheless.
Aaron had printed out a map of Louisa County, Goochland County, and the surrounding areas. Obviously, it couldn’t be detailed at that level, but he had carefully marked the locations of the various shelters. He leaned forward between the seats and tried to hold the paper so Sandra could see it.
“See here.” He tapped the paper then pushed it at her to take it.
“What am I looking at, Aaron?”
“Are you wearing your seat belt?” Colton asked.
Aaron disappeared, and a quick click was audible. “I am. I wanted to show Miss Hurst where the shelters are.”
“I’m driving, Aaron. I’ve got the navigation covered. Besides, we can’t get to all of them today. We’ll visit the closest ones.”
There were county-run facilities in both Goochland and Louisa, as well as specialized rescue shelters in the regional area. Aaron was right. There were a number of them, but they were spread across central Virginia, so Colton was right, too, and they couldn’t visit them all this afternoon. She was happy to have Colton and Aaron chart the itinerary, but as they drew closer to the first shelter, the feeling of not getting enough air in her lungs, a feeling of suffocation, kept trying to roll over her. If it had been only Colton, she might’ve told him she was feeling ill and to turn around and take her back to the house. But for Aaron . . . His belief and determination kept her trying to relax past the point where it was practical to return without it looking too odd.
She lowered the window a bit and tried to discreetly point her nose toward the air rushing in. She didn’t miss the irony. Apparently she shared that need with every dog ever born during the age of the automobile.
If she’d driven herself, she would’ve been engaged and distracted. More likely, if she’d had to rely on herself, she would’ve found reasons not to go. Had Aaron suspected that?
“Are you OK?” Aaron asked.
She twisted in her seat to see him. “I am. I’m fine. Just . . .”
“Worried about Honey?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Me, too. I was worried about Sammy. After she came home yesterday, we kept her in the house and on the leash. She’s still in the run, but she wants out. Dad said she’s probably missing Honey. They hang out together a lot.”
“Probably so.” Small talk. She could do this if she tried. “Sammy. Is that short for Samantha?”
He nodded. “How’d you know?”
She smiled. “A good guess.”
“Almost there,” Colton announced.
“Miss Hurst,” Aaron said, “would you like a bottle of water? We have some in the cooler.”
“Thank you. That would be lovely.” Holding the bottle helped. Not really cold, but cool. She wrapped her hands around it. “Why don’t you call me Sandra? We’re friends, right?”
“May I, Dad?” He was a genuinely courteous young man. “Is that like a nickname? Like Sammy for Samantha? When Miss Barbara talks about you, sometimes she calls you Cassandra.”
“She talks about me? All good, I hope?”
“She was looking forward to seeing you again. It had been a while, she said.”
“It’s been a long while. I’ve been away, lived other places over the years.” She was speaking to Aaron while keeping a discreet eye on Colton. What had Aunt Barbara actually said? How much did he know about her?
“No one calls me Cassandra anymore, except maybe my father, and that’s only because . . . only occasionally. My aunt has been calling me Sandra for years, so I’m surprised to hear she said Cassandra.” She shrugged. “It was my grandmother’s name. Old-fashioned. When I was a kid I felt different, you know? A little teasing, nothing much, but one of my teachers suggested I try Sandra, and I did.”
Aaron nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s not good to stand out or be different.”
“Everyone is different. Only fools want to spring from a cookie cutter,” Colton said.
“I’d like a cookie.” Aaron laughed. “Chocolate chip, please.”
“Smart aleck.” Colton grinned. “We’re here.”
The building was trim and neat on the outside. She needed to go inside and speak with whomever was running the show and ask if she could hang a poster. It was simple enough.
She climbed out of the truck. Colton hovered near Aaron, but not obviously, as the boy exited the truck. Aaron favored the leg with the limp, but he managed.
The interior looked a lot like a vet’s office, but no animals were waiting to be seen by a doctor and there were no anxious owners hugging dog leashes or cats in carriers waiting their turn.
Sandra explained her mission. The woman smiled at Aaron. Having him along was a bonus. She smiled more than once at Colton, too.
“Mrs. Hurst,” the woman said as she noted Sandra’s information and added to the contact info she already had. “Mr. Hurst, did you want to leave your cell number, too?”
They all exchanged looks, and Aaron laughed.
Sandra smiled. “They’re my neighbors.”
“Oh, you look like you belong together. You’re lucky to have such nice neighbors.”
As they left, Sandra asked, “Should we have looked in the kennels?”
Colton opened the truck door for her. “She said they didn’t have a dog like that, and she’d know. I think we can trust her, and now they have the picture and both our phone numbers, so we’re covered.”
They climbed into his pickup.
In Mineral, they made a quick stop at the vet’s office.
Colton said, “It’s worth a check.”
They went inside and asked if anyone had brought in a border collie for treatment.
Sandra said, “I’ve lost a dog. Black and white. Her name is Honey.”
The woman at the counter said no one had brought in a “found” dog recently or a border collie. They left names and phone numbers and continued on.
The county operation in Mineral was busier and noisier than the other. There were a couple of doors from the reception area to the kennels. The door on the left had been propped open a few inches. From what she could see, kennels lined the corridor. Some of the dogs were barking. Had they heard the voices in the reception area? She had trouble turning away. Colton and Aaron were speaking to the woman at the desk. Sandra caught bits and pieces of their conversation as if from a distance.
“No, I haven’t seen this animal. I came on duty this morning. I can check t
he log.”
While the woman skimmed through the records, she continued speaking to the guys, and snippets lodged in Sandra’s brain.
“We’re always full, and there are always more coming. Old hunting dogs, new puppies someone found in a barn, animals that get dropped off in the country because someone in the city can’t keep them . . . No, I don’t see that anyone logged in a border collie. I hope she’s wearing a collar or has a chip. We always look.”
“How long do you keep them?” Colton asked.
“Not as long as we’d like. As I said, they keep coming. Fostering is a huge help, and volunteers are welcome. If you want a pet or are interested in fostering some animals, let us know.”
Sandra opened the door wider and moved past it into the kennel area.
Concrete and fence wire. Cages. No, not cages. These were called kennels, and they were clean. She kept repeating under her breath, “It’s clean. There’s food and water. Safety. Never mind anything else.”
But the acrid smell of bleach and antiseptic mixed with the earthier smell of the animals and, as she walked, the dark eyes followed her. The hopeful, the scared, the trapped, the abused. Every wounded animal . . .
She put her hand to her chest. Her lungs were tight. Light-headed, she leaned against one of the kennels. She closed her eyes and kept them shut, and tried to concentrate on her breathing.
Among the other dogs barking, one barked close to her. She opened her eyes. A dog was near her feet. A small white dog. His eyes were wary but with a glint of willingness to accept . . . whatever . . . to be wanted and loved.
Abandoned. Unwanted. Fear and grief had a smell, and it swirled in the air around her. She held her breath rather than breathe it in.
Half-blind, she felt the wire of the kennel cages pass beneath her fingers as she headed for the door at the far end. As she fell against it, it opened. Outside, she leaned against the exterior wall, slowly sliding down the wall until she was crouched, her arms resting on her knees, her face in her hands. She concentrated on herself, shutting out the rest.
Abandoned. Unwanted. The fringe.
She and Uncle Cliff were the fringe. The outcasts. As were these animals.
Don’t think about the animals. Don’t think about Uncle Cliff.
But Honey. Where was Honey?
“Are you sick?”
It was Colton’s voice.
“Aaron, you wait inside. Miss Sandra and I will be in in a minute.”
Colton touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Raising her face from her arms, she said, “I’m OK. I need a minute.”
Aaron, still there with them, said, “I guess this made you more worried about Honey. I know it feels sad here sometimes.” He too put his hand on her shoulder.
She was already struggling to breathe, and now his kindness nearly reduced her to tears. The truth was, this wasn’t about Honey. This was about her and how she felt. But she couldn’t say that aloud.
She wheezed. Heaven knew they’d think she had asthma. The last ragged breath made it all the way into her lungs. She put her head back. The block wall was hard and bumpy behind her head, but the contact steadied her.
Her voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry for falling apart.” She put a hand to her forehead. “They are so needy. I can’t help them. I can’t help anyone.”
“Can you breathe now?” Colton asked.
His tone had changed. She looked at him. He was frowning. She couldn’t read the change beyond that frown.
She nodded. “Better.”
He grasped her arm. “Let me help you up.”
“I don’t want to go back inside.”
“Well, that’s good, because we’re already in the parking lot, and the door locked behind us.”
She looked. Really looked. They had exited into the parking area and were near Colton’s truck. She shook her head and touched his arm. “I’m sorry for the drama.”
“No problem,” he said.
But to Sandra, it didn’t feel like “no problem,” and she wished she’d never come.
When they reached the truck, Aaron was holding a fresh water bottle out to her. She accepted it and twisted the cap off and drank a good bit of it.
“Thanks for the water, Aaron. That helped a lot.”
Colton was staring at her.
“I’m fine now, really.” She put a hand on her chest and coughed lightly. “A touch of asthma.” It wasn’t, she knew that, but it sounded good for the moment, certainly better than saying she was a coward and had had a panic attack.
“Maybe we’ll skip the other shelters today,” Colton said. She didn’t object, and he added, “They’re pretty far away anyway. Honey isn’t likely to have gone that far.”
She nodded. It was silent in the truck as they drove, retracing the miles back to the house, until Aaron spoke up. “There”—he pointed—“for a poster.”
After a quick glance at Sandra, Colton slowed, then pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a convenience store–gas station combo. The building was modern, all metal and plastic, and the pumps were operational.
“We’ll be right back,” Colton said.
He meant she could wait in the car, but Sandra eased out of the seat and held onto the door until she was safely on her feet. She followed Colton inside, and Aaron was right beside her.
Aaron took the lead. He spoke to the man at the register. Such an earnest child. So serious. One of those who was born old, Sandra thought. The store was small but neatly stocked. The tall man behind the counter waved at a bulletin board on the wall. He was old and thin, making his hands seem overlarge. Sandra looked down at her sandals and the floor tile.
“Thank you, sir,” Aaron said.
Colton added, “If anybody mentions seeing a dog . . .”
“You got it. I’ll call the number on the paper.” He looked beyond Colton to Sandra. “That the lady missing the dog?”
Sandra looked up and nodded. She tried to appear normal. She was grateful. After all, each of these people, including the old man, was willing to help.
Colton cast a quick back and forth. “That’s Barbara Shoemaker’s niece. She’s the one looking.”
“Oh, yeah? Miss Barbara said she was going out of town.” He looked at Sandra again as if he couldn’t see her right. “Cliff and I were buddies. I asked Miss Barbara out on a date long, long time ago. Turned me down, she did.” He laughed. “The Shoemakers set themselves apart. And Miss . . . Sandra? You have that look.”
“What look?” She tried to sound pleasant. He was a friend of the family, or so it seemed. Courtesy was called for.
“The eyes. You got the Shoemaker eyes.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She had eyes. Two of them. Both brown. She stammered, “I-I don’t know much about the Shoemakers. Aunt Barbara, of course. And Uncle Cliff. As to any other Shoemakers, I don’t know. My mom and dad lived in the city.”
“Sure, I remember. Your mama was Miss Meg. I recall her. Not your daddy, though. Didn’t know him.” He smiled. A nice smile, though he was missing a tooth or two. “Well, you stay in these parts long enough, you’ll run into some.” He laughed again. “Mostly, they’re harmless. The Shoemakers, I mean.” After another laugh, he added, “That’s a joke, Miss.”
He cleared his throat. “So you lost Miss Barbara’s dog, did you?” He shrugged. “Happens. Dogs run away and come back as they see fit. Lots of room to run around at the old Shoemaker place anyway, as I recall it. I haven’t been out that way in a long time. Not since Cliff was buried, for sure.” He stopped and faced the window. “That was real sad about your uncle. Sorry for your loss. I was honored to be there for his burial.” He nodded toward Sandra. “Don’t you worry too much. If the dog ain’t been hit by a vehicle on the highway, she’ll turn up.”
The thought of Honey as roadkill caused fire to race from her gut straight up along her esophagus. She thought she was on fire inside.
A hand found hers. She looked down. A
aron.
“Thanks, Mr. George,” he said. “I’m sure Honey’s fine, but we do want to help her find her way home.” He gave Sandra’s hand an extra squeeze.
Inside, she whimpered. She hoped the sound hadn’t made its way through to the outside.
When they settled back into the truck, Colton said, “I’ll hang some other posters around. I drive around the area a lot anyway. I think maybe we’ve done enough today.”
Sandra nodded wordlessly.
Aaron was pale. Her fault. He was still pale when they returned to the house. A real person would’ve invited them to stay for iced tea or lemonade as a thank-you for their help and kindness. Sandra slid out of the cab of the truck and walked away. She did turn back and wave, but a heavy cloud had settled over her, and simple niceties were beyond her.
It was more than the loss of Honey and those animals that no one had bothered to claim. It was all capped by that last moment—the understanding that that man, Mr. George, had been at her uncle’s funeral. The one that was family only, and where she hadn’t been needed.
Her feelings were hurt all over again, and yet there was a tiny spot in her heart that was glad. It might have been a small, quiet gathering, but she was glad her uncle had had a friend to see him off.
She tried to eat an early supper, but she wasn’t hungry. She stood at the French doors. There it was, the overgrown garden and the broken-down fencing, and her imagination populated it with the eyes of those hungry dogs. Not hungry for food. Hungry to forget they’d been forgotten and unwanted. Hungry to live in a new present where they were cherished and appreciated.
Aunt Barbara had stashed a pair of yellow rubber gloves and a gardening spade under the sink. Sandra donned the gloves to pull a few weeds. She could do that much without having to dig through the shed.
The frequent rain had kept the wet manure odor ripe and pungent. The weeds and grasses were itchy. If nothing else, this dirt was heavily fertilized. As she was digging at a clump of weeds, a gnat repeatedly tried to use her face as a landing pad. It was impossible to deal with a gnat while wearing thick rubber gloves.
