CHAPTER 8:
SAMMY STEPS UP
Rav started a pot of coffee and tried to mentally prepare himself. Interviews. Assistant manager. Forget the fact that a huge pack of dog shifters were right outside. Yeah, no problem.
He went over the skill set in his head. He needed someone who was good on the computer, who could wrangle emails, organize the shelter's bills, interact with their suppliers, and make calls asking for donations. He also needed someone who was good with dogs, someone who could be trusted to run an adoption booth, ask the right questions of potential doggie parents, and who could keep the dogs from getting over rambunctious or, conversely, depressed. Some dogs did get depressed at adoption fairs. Rav had seen dogs shut down after so many people petted them and then walked away, when it was clear they weren't going to find a home. He needed someone who understood dog psychology.
Probably not a problem finding that in Mad Creek.
He wanted to hire a quickened, someone who could liaise with the local community, make sure the shelter remained as welcome as it had been so far. And besides, Rav wanted to get to know a real, live quick up close. So he was willing to train. But he hoped to at least get close. After all, Lance Beaufort and Jason both seemed well-educated, and they were quickened. Rav was pretty sure they were anyway.
When he was ready, he opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. "Okay, everyone! Let's rock and roll. How about ten of you in the lobby at a time. There's water and coffee, and you can relax while I do interviews. Cool?"
Beaufort, still on the porch, counted off the first ten, and they pushed inside like it was a race. Rav selected a small guy with white hair to take into his office first. The rest sniffed at the coffee or picked up magazines.
Rav shut the door and motioned the guy to take a seat. The furniture in Rav's office had been scavenged, most of it from a used furniture shop in Oakhurst. The large desk had a peeling fake wood finish and a notepad stuck under one foot to level it. Rav's rolling chair had black upholstery with pills. The curved plastic visitor chair in sparkly orange looked like a reject from a 1970s cafeteria.
For a moment, Rav saw the office in comparison to the swanky high-rise executive suite he'd once had overlooking Times Square. He felt a waft of regret.
Yeah, fuck that. He pushed it aside.
"So. Your name is Simon, right? You helped with the fencing last week." Rav took his seat behind the desk. He opened his laptop.
"Yup! Simon Marshall. Marshall is my last name."
Rav typed it in. "How long have you been in Mad Creek, Simon?"
"Three years! I love it so much! Even though I don't have a mate yet."
Rav blinked. "Uh… Good. What was your last job?"
Simon's face fell. "I never had a job that paid. Sometimes I help out at Lance and Tim's place in the garden? And we have clothes parties at Lily's. Sorting stuff from Goodwill and Salvation Army is fun. We have parties to wash and iron and sew and patch and fold and sort. I like sorting! I can sort by size and type and season and even color." Simon beamed as if this was sophisticated business right there.
"I see." Rav kept his face neutral. It occurred to him that this interview process might be a chance to learn more about the quickened. No wonder Beaufort was worried.
"We have to read labels for that," Simon said importantly. "I can read and write up to grade twelve. And I worked on a cabin crew last summer! We built a cabin and put in a kitchen and bath and everything."
"That's a good skill. Construction," Rav said, typing it in. It wasn't what he needed, but he didn't want to insult Simon.
"It really is! Ronnie Beaufort, that's Lance's brother and Lily's son? Do you know Lily? Ha-ha! Everyone knows Lily!" Simon laughed at his own joke. "Ronnie runs construction crews, and he teaches us how to do things and then we teach each other. I got pretty good at drywalling, and I can lift heavy things too. Also, I'm very, very good at tasting and smelling things. Maybe you need dog food tested sometimes? In case it was bad or poisoned? That's what I was thinking."
Rav had to bite his cheek not to laugh. Oh my God. "Great. Have you spent much time on computers?"
Simon made a face. "No. They gave a class on emails at the library once? And we all got an account on Gmail. But since I don't know anyone to email, I never checked it! But I could learn if you need that. I would like to email more people!"
Rav nodded. But he stopped filling out the form on his PC. Instead, he observed Simon for a moment. He spoke fairly well and his eyes were sharp. He was short, maybe five two, and quite thin. He had gorgeous thick, pure-white hair that most guys would kill for. It was buzzed short on the sides, but the top stuck straight up about two inches with apparently no product at all. His eyes were a gentle blue and his face triangular with a pointy chin. His skin was very, very pale. He almost looked albino. Despite the white hair, he looked maybe in his late 30s. If he'd been a person.
Terrier, Rav thought. A little white dog. Fuck, this shit blew his mind. Sometimes he was sure he was lying in a hospital somewhere on some really good drugs.
"I want to help," Simon said, eyeing Rav hopefully. "Even if you don't hire me! I can come most mornings, if I'm not working in the garden. But, oh, if you do hire me, I can come anytime. Anytime at all! Tim already said he doesn't mind. Anyone who gets a job here won't have to help with the garden or clothes or anything. Though I'm happy to if I have the time. And same for here! I mean, I want to help with the dogs just because."
"Thank you, Simon. I appreciate that," Rav said honestly.
"No, thank you! Thank you for the opportunity to interview for a job. It's fun!" Simon looked around and whispered to Rav, as if it was a secret. "But a little scary too."
Rav couldn't help but smile. He also couldn't help giving Simon an affectionate pat on the shoulder on his way to the door. He did, however, hold back the "Good boy."
As Rav let what was possibly the most unqualified person he'd ever interviewed in his entire life out of his office, he actually felt bad that he wasn't going to give Simon the job. Damn. He'd never felt that way. During his corporate life, Rav remembered laughing and sneering with his brother and cousin over people who were hopelessly naive about their resume versus expectations. Those people had been way more qualified than Simon.
Rav felt ashamed of that now. He would never make fun of Simon. But he couldn't hire him either.
With a sigh, Rav went out to the lobby. "Okay then. Who's next?"
* * *
The interviews lasted all through Monday and Tuesday. Far from being tedious, Rav was enthralled. He found that he liked all of them. He. Liked. All of them. It was bizarre. He'd never been a people person, never, in his whole life. Even before he'd become such a disillusioned cynic, he'd preferred his own company, or that of dogs, to people. But the quickened—the quickened he liked.
It was interesting to try to figure out who was what breed, to see the dog traits emerge and submerge like dolphins in the sea. They would wrinkle up their nose, scratch at an ear, or stick their tongue out and pant when the room got hot in the late afternoons.
He could tell which ones had mostly mastered their dog traits and which hadn't. There were a few that came into his office that were barely out of the skin of a dog. One man licked his hand as he talked, as if cleaning an irritation, totally unaware that it was weird. Another held his front two hands up, hanging down from his wrists, as he chattered in half-baked syllables and non-existent grammar. Others were much more advanced, almost undetectable.
Rav wished to God he was filming this. Because, damn, it was the most amazing shit he'd ever seen.
And then, on Wednesday morning, at 10:00 a.m., when Rav let another group of ten into the lobby, Sammy was among them.
Rav's heart stopped at the first sight of him. God damn. A lot of the quickened were good-looking, but none took his breath away like Sammy. He looked like one of those mixed-race beauties, someone who had been formed of various cultures' DNA, shaken and combined, and yet somehow managed to outshine all of them. His caramel skin hinted at African or Polynesian blood, as did the shiny milk-chocolate-colored hair that fell in layers to his shoulders, but his features were European. His golden eyes were like nothing Rav had ever seen in a human being. Rav tried not to stare at him. Sammy, for his part, looked everywhere but at Rav as he entered the lobby, as if he could make himself invisible by not meeting Rav's gaze.
Rav had only seen Sammy a few times since moving to Mad Creek, brief glimpses of him in town. He hadn't wanted to press himself on Sammy, and he'd been busy and distracted, setting up the new shelter. But he was so jazzed that he'd come to interview. His policy of playing it cool had paid off.
He made himself interview another quickened before motioning for Sammy to enter his office. He didn't want to appear too eager.
Rav sat in his desk chair, pretending not to notice how nervous Sammy looked. He put his fingers on his keyboard and asked his usual first question. "Now then. What's your name?"
Sammy looked at Rav in surprise, as if he hadn't expected the question. He hesitated. "Sammy." His voice was barely a whisper.
"Sammy." Rav typed it in. "Great. What about your last name?"
"Wilson. That was my mom's name."
Rav typed it in. That was my mom's name. That was funny. Rav didn't laugh, though. "Great. And how long have you been in Mad Creek, Sammy?"
At this question, there was a hint of panic in Sammy's eyes and a flush spread along his jaw. Rav realized that Sammy might be worried Rav would identify him. That was no good.
"A few months?" Rav suggested.
Sammy nodded. He looked at the wall. Shit. This was going downhill fast. Sammy looked ready to bolt.
Rav leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose. "Can you tell me why you're interested in this job, Sammy?"
Sammy glanced at Rav doubtfully, his brow furrowed. But when he spoke, his voice was measured and thoughtful. It was a deep voice, and it had a soft gravity that Rav liked.
"Maybe you should give the job to one who waits longer than me. But Lily said I should try. Because…" He looked down at his hands, which were clenched on his thighs. "Because… I want to help dogs. Maybe I am not good enough or strong enough." His eyes rose to Rav’s. They were so warm and honest, Rav felt them in his gut. "You are brave and strong. ’Cause you go to those places and save dogs, even if they don't like you. Even if they are scared of you or don't know you can help them. I want to work, and I want to be useful. But it would be the best work to help other dogs like…." Sammy stopped.
Like you were? Rav thought.
"Like you," Sammy said, lifting his chin proudly. "I want to help dogs like you do."
Ka-boom. Ouch. Rav had known some world-class sweet-talkers, but that simple line right there was a pure 100 percent effective sock in the feels. Rav swallowed hard.
"Can I ask a question?" Sammy said.
"Of course. You can ask me anything."
Sammy sat up straight, his face worried. "Will you go back, all the long long way to shelters where you… where you helped dogs before?" His expression betrayed a hint of frustration, as if he couldn't say what he meant. "Was there more than one place you helped dogs?"
"Yes. There was more than one." Rav had a feeling he knew what Sammy was fishing for, but he didn't want to give himself away by saying it.
"What places? Where?"
"Well, let's see. ASPCA in Phoenix. In Flagstaff, there was a pound—"
"Yes, that one!" Sammy edged forward on his chair, intent. "You go to that one again? To help dogs and bring them here?"
"That's too far away, Sammy. I'll be visiting places closer to here."
Sammy's expression grew sad. "I know but… never?"
Rav's heart tripped in his chest ba-bum-bum-bum. He wondered why Sammy would want that, and then he guessed.
"There's a woman who runs Hold My Paw in Drake now. Her name is Gerty. She could go to that Flagstaff pound. Are you looking for a specific dog? If I had a name, I could have her check."
Sammy brightened. "Oh! That would be good. His name is Rex. That's spelled with an X! Thank you." Sammy got up, his shoulders hunched, and turned for the door.
"Sammy? We haven't finished the interview yet."
"Oh." Sammy looked surprised, but he sat back down.
Rav made sure to keep his body relaxed and his voice calm. He flashed back to that chocolate lab he'd brought in to Hold My Paw. There'd been something special about that dog from the start. Hell, Sammy had brought him here to Mad Creek. He'd thought what was special about Sammy was that he was quickened. But then why did Rav feel reluctant to let him go now, in a town full of quickened?
No, even among the quickened, Sammy was special. Looking at the beautiful miracle sitting in his office, Rav felt the same pull he had to Sammy the first time he'd seen him as a dog. Only it wasn't the same, of course. Now it was less curiosity and more… what? Rav wasn't sure. But he still wanted to help Sammy, wanted to earn his trust. He wasn't ready for Sammy to walk out of his office, not when Sammy finally wasn't running away from him.
Rav rubbed his beard nonchalantly, put his fingers back on the keyboard. "Have you ever worked with computers, Sammy?"
Sammy shook his head. No.
"Done any work with finances? Bank statements? Spreadsheets? Paying bills?"
Sammy chewed his lip and stared.
"Making phone calls?"
Sammy shrank in on himself. "I'm not good for the job. But I will learn and maybe one day I can help." He got up again.
Oh fuck it.
"Hold on." Rav shut his laptop and leaned forward, elbows on his desk, as Sammy sank back in his chair. "Okay, how about this. Tell me what you think you could contribute. What would you do if you worked at Hold My Paw?"
Sammy looked at Rav for a long moment, as if thinking about it. He sat very still. When he spoke, his voice was so raw and shaky the words seemed to be dredged up from his soul.
"I came because… I know what it's like to love someone and lose them, and end up in a bad place because… because you were not good enough. I know what it's like to be one of a whole bunch of dogs in a cage, to think no one will ever come for you. To know something bad is going to happen and not to be able to get free. To see others taken away to die and not be able to do anything to help them. I know what it's like to want love, to want to give love, with all of your guts and your head and your teeth and everything, but to be afraid to try because it hurts." Sammy took a heaving breath. "I want to help dogs like that."
God damn it. Rav had always had compassion for dogs. But Sammy's words were like all of those feelings put into voice, like the misery of a million animals given a song. And yet there was hope too. And the pure desire to please, to be good, to make a difference.
Rav did not fucking cry. Ever. He bit his tongue, tasted the coppery smear of blood, and looked at the ceiling, forcing a thoughtful look onto his face. He'd had plenty of practice disguising his feelings. What he had less practice with was actually feeling anything at all.
"Okay!" Rav said cheerfully. "That's great. Good answer. Thanks for coming in, Sammy. I'll be posting the results on the door, probably tomorrow."
"Thank you," Sammy said softly. He got up and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
Rav dropped his head into his hands and let out a huge breath. Jesus. What was wrong with him? No one had ever gotten right under his skin and ripped his heart out like Sammy did.
You can't hire him. He'd be completely useless other than maybe working with the dogs. But that's not the point of this position, it's supposed to take a lot of the paperwork and fund raising off you.
That was absolutely true. And fuck if it mattered.