Olivia
I pull up to the front door of Dalton’s cottage. Inside the one-room shack, Xena barks and scratches at the front door until Josiah gets out of the car and lets her out. She bolts for the passenger side, jumping at the door that Dalton hasn’t yet bothered to open.
“You need to let her in,” I say, maybe a little too sternly for what he’s endured this morning. “You need to stop shutting her out. Right now, that dog exists to make you happy.”
“I don’t t-t-think it’s working out,” he murmurs in a monotone.
“You’re not giving her a chance,” I say honestly. “I can give you the tools to get through this, but at the end of the day, it’s up to you how you use them. You have to take your meds.”
“I d-d-don’t like the way that t-t-they make me f-f-feel. I can’t be alert and on m-m-my guard with them. Can’t as-s-sess p-p-possible t-t-threats.”
“You’re not in danger, Dalton. You’re not back in Sangin, and you don’t need to keep your guard up anymore. You can let it go—”
“No, I c-c-can’t.” He shakes his head and yanks open the door. Xena gives a little yelping cry, as if he’s hit her. She whines and skitters away from the car. I’m assuming Dalton had forgotten she was even there, because the alternative gives me some cause for concern. He climbs out, and she follows after him, jumping up and weaving in and out between his legs, despite the fact that a second ago she was scampering back in the other direction. She can sense his unease, and she’s just trying to do her job, but it appears that Dalton isn’t letting her. I wonder how long that’s been going on. She’s been in his care for days now, and even though we’ve only done a handful of training sessions, they should have a stronger bond than the one I’m seeing. I sigh and follow him inside, and Josiah sticks closer than my shadow.
It’s not the first time I’ve been inside Dalton’s house. I drove him home after pancakes last Sunday with Xena and he invited me in, but walking in now I feel uneasy, and I shiver despite the sweltering heat. The man has no electricity, no phone, and no means of communication with the outside world. I don’t want to leave him here alone, but I don’t see what choice I have. I can’t take him back to Tanglewood, not like this; he could lash out and hurt Bettina, and I won’t have that on my conscience. But I don’t know what else to do. It’s a one-room shack with one couch and no bed—there isn’t even so much as another armchair to sit in. There’s a tiny kitchenette, and it’s as clean and uniform as any Marine’s room would be, but it’s hardly a home, and apart from Xena’s dog bowls and the folded up bedding sitting on the end of the sofa, you’d never know anyone lived here.
Dalton sits on the couch while Xena attempts to nudge his lap, a trick we teach the dogs to distract their handler from themselves. Today, it isn’t working, and I can see how frustrated Xena’s becoming with his lack of response. She paces, she nudges, and when all that doesn’t work, she climbs on into his lap and demands his attention by barking. Dalton absentmindedly scratches behind her ears, and she pants, but I can tell from the way she bows her head and whines that she knows as well as I do that he’s not responding to her the way he should.
“Listen, I can give you the number of a great psychologist—”
“You t-t-think I need someone else inside my head, p-p-poking around and p-p-probing, handing me another b-b-bottle of pills to swallow?”
“You need to listen to your doctors, and you need to talk to someone.”
“I need t-t-to be left a-a-alone.”
I sigh. “Well, unfortunately for you, I can’t do that. I care about what happens to you, Dalton—we all do.”
He shakes his head and extricates Xena from his lap, setting her down on the floor so he can lie out on the couch, and I can take a hint. Emotional episodes like the one he just had outside Jesse’s take it out of you, and I know he probably just wants to sleep it off.
“Take the day off tomorrow. I’ll be back to check on you after the shelter closes. But you come by Tanglewood if you need me, you hear?”
“Y-y-yes ma’am,” he whispers without opening his eyes, and I motion for Josiah to head out the door while I scratch behind Xena’s ears and fill her bowl with fresh water and dry food. I take one last look at the man sprawled out on the couch, and for the first time in fifteen years, I begin to doubt my ability to help anyone.
I know my program works. We’ve saved thousands of ex-servicemen and women, and yet everywhere I turn in this town it feels as if I’m banging my head against brick walls and still never making any leeway. I’ve been so distracted with August and everyone else since the moment I arrived that I feel as if I’m forgetting why Paws for Cause is so important for Magnolia Springs. I’m preoccupied, spread too thin. I’m failing Dalton—and possibly August too—and I don’t know how much longer I can hide the fact that I’m in way over my head.