Two.

 

I wasn’t lying about running late. I make the drive half an hour out of town, all the way to a run-down old farm set on a couple of acres of plain grassland. It’s the home of the Brunswick County Animal Shelter. I’ve been coming out here for years, first as a kid, just to play with all the animals, but then volunteering to help with donations and paperwork. It’s a special place to me, the one place I can go to forget the rest of the world and just feel like me. Like I’m doing something that matters.

Today, I need that escape more than ever.

I pull up beside a muddy pick-up truck in the overgrown lot. I head into the main house to change into old jeans and a sweater, the kind of outfit that can stand up to fifty over-eager dogs – and all the mess that comes along with them. Right away, I’m attacked by a barking, drooling herd of Labrador puppies. Someone found them in a box out on the highway. It breaks my heart to think of them out there in the dark, crying for their mother.

“Whoa, easy there.” I push them down, laughing, but they trail me all the way outside. I find Edith, the owner, mending wire fence by the kennels. She’s a legend around town, the one who started taking in strays twenty years back. She built a couple of kennels every other year, taking in every abandoned dog and unwanted kitten litter around. Soon, there was a whole farm full of unwanted animals running wild. The puppies race on ahead, bouncing eagerly around her, then skittering off to play in the mud.

“Sorry I’m late,” I greet her, my boots squelching on the wet ground. “I got held up at work.”

“That’s no problem, sweetheart.” She looks up, her wiry grey hair pulled back with a bright batik-print scarf. “I’m just finishing up here. The collies got out again last night. I had a call at three AM that they were halfway to Wilmington.”

I smile and reach to help her fix the wire in place. “How’s Chester doing?” The old German Shepard has been sick for a couple of days now.

Edith tuts. “Not great. He’s still off his food, so I called the vet in. Maybe he’ll know what’s the problem.”

“Poor guy,” I agree. “I’ll go stop in, see if I can make him drink something.”

“And would you move the feed, when you get a chance?” Edith makes a face. “We had a delivery, but the boy just left it on the porch, and you know my back’s not what it used to be.”

“No problem.” I straighten up. “I’ll go see to it now.”

I head back inside and start my usual routine. Some people think it’s boring, dirty work to refill feed bowls and clean out the kennels, but I like it. I’ve always loved animals, especially dogs. I love how simple and loyal they are, how they don’t judge or criticize, but accept you. When I was a kid, I had a terrible stammer. The experts all said it was nervous anxiety and nothing to worry about. I started speech therapy, learning how to slowly take control of every word, but it was a long, hard process. Worst of all for any ten-year old kid, it made me different. The kids at school would tease me until I was so self-conscious that I barely spoke at all. I retreated into my own little world, losing myself in plays and poetry, whispering a single word in response to questions, or just ignoring them all. Other people’s words were safe – I could memorize whole monologues from school plays – but when it came to speaking my own mind, I couldn’t string the sentences together. Mom didn’t know what to do, until someone suggested a pet might help. She brought me out here one day, and that’s all it took. A motley litter of strays came bounding out to meet me, and I fell head over heels in love. You see, I didn’t need to speak to the dogs to make them like me. They seemed to know exactly what I was feeling without a single word. They didn’t tease me, or judge; they just loved me for me. Unconditionally. Even later, after the speech therapy worked and nobody could tell I’d ever had a problem, that acceptance and peace never went away. The animals helped me when I needed them most. When I was at rock bottom again, after Finn left and I had nothing but questions and scars that nobody else could see, I found myself back here, trying to forget the world all over again.

Finn…

I take a break from hoisting feed-bags. His face fills my mind, that knowing smile and vivid stare that could melt from blue to green and back again, like the waves shifting in a storm. How many nights have I lain awake, wishing that he’d come back again? They were the futile prayers of a heartbroken girl. Now that the universe has conspired to deliver him to my doorstep again, all those questions flare to life.

We were friends, first. I was just a junior, and he already had a reputation, strolling around school in those black jeans like he didn’t give a damn. He was cool, reckless, a heartbreaker through and through – and so far out of my orbit, it was like we were living on different planets. My friends would whisper the latest gossip about him in hushed, scandalized whispers: all the girls he hooked up with, and the latest trouble he was in. I never even spoke to him, until one October afternoon. I was out with the dogs in the woods back behind town, and found him by the creek, playing his guitar.

I remember it now, how surprised I was to hear such sweet, soulful melodies drifting out from the strings. He had such a rebellious image, like he didn’t give a damn about anything, but the expression on his face that day was so intent and careful as he plucked the melody, stopping and starting over each time he got a chord wrong.

When the dogs rushed back, barking, I jumped out of my skin. He looked up and saw me. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, backing away. “I didn’t mean to watch.”

“That’s OK.” He laughed as the dogs swarmed him curiously, licking at his face and nudging his hands. “Who are these guys?”

I told him about volunteering at the shelter, and we wound up talking until the sun started sinking in the pale autumn sky. We talked about my acting, and his music, about everything and nothing at all. The next day in school, I figured he’d act like nothing had happened, but instead he stopped me in the hallway to talk some more. My friends’ jaws all dropping when he called to me by name. We were unlikely friends, nobody could ever figure us out: the rebellious heartbreaker, and the shy, quiet girl who always had her head in a play. But Finn never seemed to care. All through the winter, I saw him around school. He would even give me a ride sometimes, when he found me waiting at the bus stop in the pouring rain, or lugging a backpack overstuffed with books. We would have stayed that way too, just friendly, if fate hadn’t brought us together again, away from everything. That dark, cold New Year’s Eve when the air hummed with electricity, and everything changed for good.

A distant door slamming brings me back to reality, and I realize I’m standing in the middle of the storage shed with dry feed scattering at my feet. I push aside the past and go check in on the dogs, making sure that the old terrier has a blanket and the nervous poodles can hide in a fort of boxes, out of sight. Edith moved Chester into the main house when he first got sick, and when I finally find him in the office, hiding under the desk, he’s heavy and unmoving.

“Poor boy,” I murmur, crawling under to softly stroke his coat. Chester lifts his head and stares at me with miserable eyes. “What’s got you feeling so poorly, hmmm?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

I startle at the noise, and bang my head on the underside of the desk. “Owww!”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” A male voice comes from behind me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Edith said to come right back.”

I carefully crawl out and straighten up, rubbing my head. “It’s OK. I think.” I turn to the newcomer, trying not to wince. “How can I help you?”

“I’m the new vet.” The stranger smiles, extending a steady hand to shake. He’s definitely an upgrade on the old one. Tall and broad-shouldered, he can’t be older than thirty, with sandy blond hair and a clean-cut jawline. “Sawyer Green. Are you sure you’re OK?”

I nod. “It was just a bump.”

He frowns. “Well, if you start feeling dizzy or nauseated, let me know.”

“And what, you’ll check my heart-rate?” I ask, nodding to the tiny animal-sized stethoscope in his hand.

Sawyer smiles. “Either that, or try some de-worming.”

“Eww.” I laugh. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Good call.” His eyes go to poor Chester, still slumped there under the desk. “May I…?”

“Please.” I stand aside. Sawyer gets to his knees, and slowly approaches the old dog, holding out his hand for Chester to sniff. “He’s usually running around with the rest of them. I’m wondering if it’s something he ate.”

“Could be.” Sawyer carefully runs his hands over Chester’s body, pausing to press and feel. “But with dogs this age, it’s more likely to be something internal.”

“You mean like cancer?” My voice is stricken. Sawyer looks up at me.

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Can you help me lift him out? Then I can take some blood, run some tests.”

I quickly clear space on the table, and together we gently lift the old dog. Chester’s usually full of life, but he barely even makes a sound. “Don’t worry,” Sawyer catches my expression. “He’d be whimpering if he was in any pain.”

“Still.” I stroke him, “I don’t know what we’d do without him. He’s been here for years.”

“What about you?” Sawyer asks, checking Chester’s temperature, and making a note in a file.

“Me too, I’ve got a kennel out back.”

Sawyer laughs.

“No, I’m just a volunteer,” I say. “I help Edith out around the place.”

“It’s a lot to manage.”

“And getting bigger all the time,” I sigh. “But we just can’t turn anyone away. Every time Edith says we’re full, someone will show up with a box of kittens, or a dog they found out by the highway and, well…”

“Who can say no to that?” Sawyer finishes. He gives me an understanding look. “I’m the same. Somehow the neighborhood cats figured out I’m a soft touch. Now they just show up in my yard mewling for food.”

“So you’re a cat lady.” I grin.

“And proud of it.” Sawyer finishes taking blood, so smooth I barely even noticed, and neither did Chester. Sawyer tucks the vial in his bag, and gives the dog another pat. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I walk him out front, where Edith is sat feeding some of the newborn kittens from a bottle. “What’s the verdict?” she asks from the rocker.

“I’ll put a rush on the blood work, see if I can give you a call tomorrow,” Sawyer says.

Edith nods approvingly. “I like this guy already.”

“Did you just move to the area?” I ask. I haven’t seen him around. Sawyer nods.

“I did my residency training up in Chicago, but I couldn’t stand the cold. Below freezing every other day.” He shudders at the mention.

“Well, welcome to town.” I smile. “I promise, the weather’s better here. Until it gets to August, and you’ll be dreaming about the cold again.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Say, you wouldn’t happen to know a good place to get a bite?” Sawyer asks. “Nothing fancy, just a burger and beer.”

“You’ll want Dixie’s.” I suggest. “A few blocks past the harbor. It’s a casual crowd, but they’ve got a great selection on tap, and there’s always Springsteen on the jukebox.”

“Well in that case, I’ll have to check it out. Want to join me there later?” he asks casually. “I have to go check on some horses out in PLACE, but I could meet you after.”

“Sure,” I agree, surprised. “I could use some of her chili fries.”

“Great.” He smiles. “I’ll see you there at eight. It’s a date.”

Wait, what?

I don’t have time to react before he shakes hands with Edith and heads back to his truck. As the wheels crunch on gravel, I stare after him. “Date?” I repeat, blinking. Edith snorts with laughter.

“Girl, you wouldn’t know a pass if he put it in writing first.”

“He didn’t mean it like that.” I shake my head. “He’s new in town, probably just looking to make friends.”

Edith smirks. “Whatever you think.”

I look back at the driveway, feeling a rush of guilt. I shouldn’t have given him the wrong impression, not with memories Finn still whirling in my mind – and my heart.

Except that Finn is ancient history. He’s spent the past five years doing whatever he wants – with whoever he wants. I’m allowed to go on a date if I want, especially with a handsome, sweet, funny guy like Sawyer. Finn waltzing back shouldn’t change that, so why am I letting it get to me?

He’s made it clear that he’s moved on. Why shouldn’t I?