Harvey Holds His Own

by Colleen Nelson

Harvey has been in a standoff with a squirrel for the last fifteen minutes. The squirrel came down the fence and had the audacity to race across Harvey’s yard. Harvey gave chase and cornered him in a tree. He’s been sitting under it, waiting for the squirrel to make its next move.

  When he hears Maggie’s voice, he is conflicted. He doesn’t want to abandon his post under the tree. The squirrel could escape. His concentration is broken by Maggie’s voice and a tantalizing offer. “Harvey! Want a treat?”

  Possibly the only thing that could pry him away from his post is the promise of a treat. Or maybe a walk. With a final warning bark at the squirrel, Harvey runs to the door. As soon as he takes the treat out of Maggie’s hand, he knows something is different. Maggie has a nervous energy about her; it radiates through her fingers. He watches as she puts his treats and a favorite toy into a bag. He’s been groomed recently and his undercoat swishes pleasingly as he follows her to the back door.

  “We’re going somewhere!” she says, and clips his red leash to his matching harness. Harvey jumps up on Maggie’s legs. Seeing his leash usually means it is time for a walk. Maggie’s mother’s shoes tap across the tile floor.

  “Car ride, Harvs,” Maggie says, leading him to the garage. She opens the door to the car and motions for Harvey to jump in. Harvey hesitates. “Come on,” she coaxes. “It’s going to be fun.”

  He obeys because his Maggie has asked him to do it, but he’s reluctant. He thought they were going for a walk. She coils the leash on the seat next to him and goes around to the front seat. Once both she and her mother are in front of him, there are clicks and rumbles and the car moves backward. Harvey lies down. All he can see outside the window is sky, and then, as they head downtown, not even that.

  Harvey has been this way before, although he doesn’t remember exactly when, and the circumstances were very different. Last time, he’d wandered here by himself, lost and afraid. This time, he’s got his Maggie with him. The journey that took him days last time takes Maggie’s mother only twenty minutes through light Saturday traffic.

  But as soon as the car comes to a stop and Maggie opens the door, a burst of scents hits Harvey. They race up through his nose to his brain. He has been here before. This place is familiar.

  Chapter 12

  Austin

  Maggie looks older. Different. I was kind of scared of her when she found Harvey, but that was because I knew I’d been wrong to keep him. I should have tried to find her. A year later, I’m not sure what I’m feeling when I look at her.

  She’s wearing a uniform and her hair is glossy. I’m in an even grungier outfit than usual because Grandpa said that if I was going to Brayside, I may as well rake the leaves in the courtyard because he didn’t get to it on Friday and it’s supposed to rain.

  Maggie opens the car door and Harvey jumps out. He starts sniffing and it’s all I can do not to run over and crouch down with open arms. He’s not your dog, I remind myself. But man, am I glad to see him.

  The nurses at the front desk crowd around me. “He doesn’t look any bigger,” Mary Rose says.

  “Remember how you had to give him a bath?” Artie asks. “He looked like a dirty little rat when you found him.”

  I remember.

  “What’s all the commotion?” Mrs. Fradette has only been here a few days and she’s become the talk of Brayside. The other residents don’t seem to know what to make of her. Don’t get me wrong; everyone is friendly to her. Mrs. O’Brien baked her muffins and Mr. Singh made a place for her at his dinner table.

  But she doesn’t seem like the other old people. In fact, I don’t think she wants to be like them. She doesn’t care if she’s doing things differently. I mean, she drives a 1958 Bel Air. To the other residents, this gives her rock star status. Mr. Singh even stopped bragging about his Cobra GT4 around her.

  She’s still waiting for an answer about why we’re all standing around staring outside. “That’s Harvey,” I say. “He lived here for a while last year and he’s come back to visit with his owner, Maggie. He’s a therapy dog.” Therapy dog is a bit of a stretch. Harvey has no special training, but everyone feels good being around him. I mean, look at Mr. Pickering. It was because of Harvey that he told me all his stories.

  I don’t have a chance to explain anything else before a ball of white fur runs straight at me.

  Chapter 13

  Maggie

  When Harvey gets out of the car, Maggie realizes there’s no point trying to hold on to his leash. She drops it and he tears off through the front doors straight to Austin, who is crouched on the floor. Harvey jumps and licks and Austin has to catch himself before he topples over. What’s he doing here? Maggie wonders. On a Sunday?

  “He’s sure glad to see you,” Artie says, leaning down to scratch between Harvey’s ears.

  A few residents sit on the nearby couches and watch the ruckus. Their faces brighten at the sight of her little Westie. Maggie reaches down to unclip Harvey’s leash and stands to the side. Harvey makes his rounds, greeting each person. It’s like he knows not to leave anyone out and wants to say hello to all of them. Austin stands up and wipes his eyes. Is he crying? She looks away quickly so she doesn’t embarrass him, but she hears the telltale throat clearing and a sniffle.

  After Harvey has said hello to everyone sitting, Mrs. O’ Brien pats the space beside her on the couch. “Harvey,” she calls. “Come here.” Harvey runs over and puts his two front paws on the cushion so Mrs. O’Brien can rub his back. She smiles at him like her heart is melting.

  “I don’t know who’s happier—Harvey, or all of us,” Mary Rose says with a laugh. From the corner of her eye, Maggie watches Austin. He’s not calling for Harvey, or doing anything to draw him away from the old people, but the look on his face makes Maggie’s stomach twist. She hadn’t considered that seeing Harvey might be hard for Austin.

  When she’d first got Harvey back, Maggie had been furious that Austin hadn’t tried looking for her. Maggie’s mom had reminded her that she was lucky a boy like Austin had found Harvey. He’d been well looked after for two weeks and in the end, it had all worked out.

  But now, seeing his reaction to Harvey’s return, Maggie feels herself softening. “Harvey’s excited to be back,” she says. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Austin watching Harvey as he sniffs Mr. Singh’s scooter. She knows the look on his face because she gets it every time she comes home to Harvey. “I’m going to spend my volunteer hours organizing the library,” Maggie tells Austin. It was what Mary Rose and Maggie had decided after her visit last week. Even though Maggie had enjoyed her time playing cribbage with the ladies, she thought she’d rather spend her eighteen remaining hours doing a productive, quiet job. Organizing the library is right up her alley. “Can I leave him with you?”

  Austin blinks at her. “You sure?” he asks.

  Maggie nods and looks at Harvey. He’s now tugging on Mr. Singh’s shoelace. Maggie holds the leash out. Austin takes it and opens his mouth, probably to say thank you, but Maggie shrugs his gratitude away. She hesitates before adding, “I think he’s missed you.”

  Chapter 14

  Harvey

  Harvey doesn’t even notice when Maggie leaves the room.He’s too excited by the scents that zip up his nose as he explores. The odor of the furniture, the floor, even the rubber wheels of Mr. Singh’s scooter are all familiar.

  Mr. Kowalski wears slippers and as soon as Harvey catches a whiff of the salty, musky smell of them, another memory comes to him: a place of comfort and protection. The warmth of a gnarled hand on his back.

  “Harvey!” Austin says with a laugh. “Where are you going?”

  Harvey has a singular purpose in mind. He needs to find that space. The scents that will lead him to it are faint, almost undetectable, covered with layers of other scents and buried by time.

  With his nose flat to the floor, Harvey take
s short, quick inhalations. His black nose quivers. He doesn’t notice Austin behind him, or the curious chatter of the old people. All he is focused on is finding his way to the place that is a feeling as much as a location.

  There! This door, rife with new smells and a perfume that stings his nose, is the one. He paws at it. His tail is poker straight and his ears are pricked.

  “He remembers Walt’s room,” Mrs. O’Brien says quietly, although she doesn’t need to. Everyone knows who used to live here.

  Austin bends down and puts his face in front of Harvey’s. “He’s gone, Harvey. He doesn’t live here anymore.”

  Harvey doesn’t understand the words, but he hears the pain in Austin’s voice. The strain of the words in his throat. He tilts his head at the boy. Behind him there are murmurs. A parade of old people have come with him and now they watch as Harvey yips and sits down to wait patiently for the door to open. For the old man to appear.

  And then the door does open, but the person who appears is not the old man with the salty slippers.

  Chapter 15

  Austin

  Mrs. Fradette’s eyes are magnified by her glasses. She looks at me first, then down at Harvey.

  “Do I look like I need a therapy dog?” she asks, blinking. There’s a moment of awkwardness from the group of old people standing behind me, but then Mrs. Fradette smiles and it’s gone.

  “Harvey was quite familiar with Walt, who used to live in this suite,” Mrs. O’Brien explains. “I think he wanted to see if he was still here.” Harvey picks that moment to stand up and trot past Mrs. Fradette into her suite. He sniffs around her room, checking it out. His leash dangles uselessly in my hand.

  “Yep. A regular dog. No manners.” But she’s grinning when she says it. The cluster of old people in the hallway laugh a little. I don’t know if they’re laughing at her comment or at Harvey’s boldness.

  I grab Harvey’s harness just before he nudges the door to Mrs. Fradette’s bedroom open. I try to guide him away, but he’s stubborn and sits back on his legs, refusing to budge. He looks at me like there’s been a mistake. Where’s the recliner? I imagine him thinking. Or the couch? I let go of his harness and look him right in the eye. “He’s gone, Harvey. He doesn’t live here anymore.”

  Harvey tilts his head at me. He doesn’t understand. “Come on, Harvey,” I say, and walk toward the hallway, hoping he follows. He starts to, then takes a detour to sniff the legs of the kitchen table. It’s in the same place as Mr. Pickering’s was, but Mrs. Fradette’s is round and has four chairs, instead of only two; spread across it are photos. I guess my eyes linger a moment too long because she comes over and says, “I’m working on my collage. It’s harder than I thought.”

  All the residents at Brayside have collages of photos hanging on the wall outside their suites. It helps us see who they were before they got old. It’s a conversation starter too, at least it was with Mr. Pickering. But I’ve never seen an old person with as many photos to choose from as Mrs. Fradette. There are hundreds, maybe more. Some are in color and some are black-and-white.

  “Hard to pick the pictures you want to use?” I ask.

  Mrs. Fradette nods. “A whole life can’t be contained in one frame. I’d need ten.”

  “It doesn’t have to be your whole life,” I say. “Just the most important parts.”

  She fixes me with a look through those big black-framed glasses. “It’s all important.”

  Harvey decides he’s seen and smelled enough and trots back to the hallway. Mrs. O’Brien is still waiting there, but the others have gone to the courtyard. “We’re playing bridge at two o’clock today,” she says to Mrs. Fradette. “We need a fourth. Do you play?”

  Mrs. Fradette winks at her. “Only poker for me.”

  Like I said, Mrs. Fradette isn’t like the other old people. The look on Mrs. O’Brien’s face as we go to the courtyard confirms it.

  Chapter 16

  Maggie

  Maggie lugs a box of donated books to a table in the library. She pulls at the flaps and stands back as a burst of musty air hits her. She’s been working for almost an hour and hasn’t made a dent in the stack of boxes along one wall. But instead of feeling overwhelmed by the momentous task ahead of her, she is invigorated. She doesn’t like leaving jobs half done and wants to finish this one before her remaining seventeen hours of volunteer time are up.

  This library isn’t organized like the one at school. There is no Dewey decimal system. Instead, there are labels on the shelves for BIOGRAPHY, HISTORY, and ROMANCE, and the books are shelved within each section alphabetically by author. So, as Maggie opens the boxes, she reads the back cover of each book and decides which pile she can add it to.

  “How’s it going in here?” Mary Rose asks. She’s got a clipboard in her hands.

  “Pretty good,” Maggie says. “I’m sorting first, then I’ll shelve.”

  Mary Rose looks at the mess and shakes her head. This is not up her alley at all. She’s surprised Maggie was up for the challenge. “Harvey’s in the courtyard. If you open the blinds, you can watch him.”

  Maggie hadn’t noticed the window on the far wall. As soon as she pulls open the blinds, sunlight streams in and she realizes what a difference it makes. The library doesn’t look half so dreary. The library at St. Ambrose has displays along the tops of the shelves and Maggie thinks that would be a nice addition to Brayside’s library as well.

  Outside in the courtyard, Austin is tossing a tennis ball to Harvey and the old people are watching and smiling. Maggie can’t help grinning. Her little dog is putting on quite a show for everyone. He takes the ball between his front paws and whether it is accidental or by design, he flings it back and Austin catches it. The old people clap as if he’s a circus performer. Austin tosses the ball again. It bounces off a wall and Harvey leaps into the air. His short legs don’t take him very far off the ground, but he lands with the ball in his mouth to more applause. Austin turns as Harvey races in the other direction after the ball and sees Maggie in the window.

  Their eyes lock and neither of them looks away. It could be an awkward moment—in fact, it should be an awkward moment. No one wants to be caught staring at another person, but Austin grins and Maggie smiles too. And she is still smiling when she goes back to unpacking the boxes a few minutes later.

  It’s not long before Mary Rose comes back and asks for a favor. “Would you mind giving Mrs. Fradette a hand unpacking? I’ll think you’ll get a kick out of her,” Mary Rose adds. “She’s quite a character.”

  Saying someone is quite a character is usually another way to say someone is weird. Mary Rose takes Maggie down to the last suite at the end of the long hallway and raps on the door.

  A moment later, Maggie is staring at an old lady with a dome of black hair and thick glasses. Maggie’s mom would call Mrs. Fradette’s look a fashion faux pas, but it makes Maggie smile. She must really like bright colors, Maggie thinks. Or maybe she’s color-blind.

  Mary Rose bustles into the suite. “Maggie is volunteering today and is going to help you unpack. Where should she start?”

  Mrs. Fradette looks around. “In the kitchen, I guess.” The kitchen is really just one bank of cupboards with a microwave, sink, and fridge. Boxes labeled DISHES and POTS AND PANS are stacked on the counter.

  “Great! I’ll be back in a while.” Maggie imagines Mary Rose putting a check mark next to Help Mrs. Fradette unpack on her to-do list.

  Mrs. Fradette sits down at the kitchen table. Maggie goes straight to the boxes and rips the packing tape off the top. She hopes Mrs. Fradette isn’t one of those chatty old people. But Maggie doesn’t even have the first layer of packing paper out of the box before Mrs. Fradette asks, “Maggie, is it? Short for Margaret?”

  Maggie turns, wincing at the full version of her name. “Yes.”

  “Don’t make that face. Margaret is a good
name.”

  Maggie’s never thought so. “It’s an old lady na—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Mrs. Fradette laughs anyway.

  “My best friend was Margaret Jane. When we were little, it was always Margaret Jane. But by the time we got to St. Ambrose, she went by MJ.”

  “St. Ambrose Academy?” Maggie asks.

  Mrs. Fradette takes in Maggie’s skirt and cardigan. For the first time, she notices the crest over her heart. “Don’t tell me!”

  “I go there! I’m in seventh grade!”

  Mrs. Fradette leans back in her chair. “Seventh grade.” She shakes her head. “I never finished seventh grade.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was 1950. All the schools closed early because of the flood.”

  “All the schools?” Maggie asks doubtfully. “It must have been a bad flood.”

  “It was. The floodwaters went right up to the doors of the school.”

  Maggie’s eyes widen in surprise. The river is across the street and on the other side of a park. She can’t imagine how it could rise up the banks all the way to the school. She wonders if Mrs. Fradette is making this up.

  “The whole city shut down. People lost everything. Thousands of people had to evacuate.”

  “Did you?”

  Mrs. Fradette nods. “We went to stay with my mother’s family in Laurier, up in northern Manitoba.”

  “It must have been scary, if you thought you might lose your home.”

  “I’m sure it was for my parents. For me, going to Laurier was a great adventure. I got to miss school and spend time with my grandpa. We called him Pépère. I didn’t want the flood to end! I remember telling my mother as much and she threatened to wash my mouth out with soap for saying such a thing.”