Chapter 2

Jeni

I hated mornings. My bed was a womb of wonderfulness, soft and warm. After I’d tossed, crunched, and re-positioned myself throughout the night, I was in the perfect spot, nestled into my little hollow. How dare the dreaded alarm disrupt my sanctuary, didn’t it know not to disturb my peace?

I rolled over and stared at the clock, six am. Who really got up at that hour? Eight o’clock was a decent hour to wake up, eight was perfect. Six or any version of six was the work of the devil, I was sure of it. I wanted to rebel, dive deeper into my covers and wish the world away.

But alas, I also wanted to save the world and the world was waiting for me, specifically Calvin S. Delgado, the sweetest seven-year-old on the planet. I ripped my covers away and let the cold morning air assault my body. Why did I live in Minnesota of all the coldest places on the planet? Winters were brutal. I was a California girl at heart and always would be, despite living in Minneapolis for going on ten years.

I tucked my feet into my fuzzy pink bear slippers and trudged off to the shower. Before coffee, I was an ogre in a hot girl’s body. After coffee, I was a pediatric therapist with my shit all freaking together, a nature enthusiast and one of those crazy people who climbed steep mountains for fun.

By seven, I was dressed professionally, caffeinated and in my office ready for Calvin, whose mother always brought him in right on time.

“Good morning, Ms. Delgado,” I said to Calvin’s stern and almost overbearing mom.

“Cal’s therapy dog crapped on the rug again this morning, the third time this week,” her face crumpled into an angry, distorted ball of flesh as she assaulted the hand sanitizing station, taking five or six doses and slathering the pungent alcoholic gel all over her.

She was obviously stress-sanitizing.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Delgado. I’d heard Buddy was a great service dog. Is he going out for his regular walks?” Oh shit. I didn’t really mean to ask that so bluntly.

I might as well have asked if she EVER takes the poor dog out to do his business.

Her dagger-like gaze spoke volumes, “Of course he is. It’s a control issue, the dog hates me. He loves Cal, but hates me, he shits in MY bedroom, every time.”

And there was the problem, the dog probably did hate her.

“Oops, did Mommy just use a .25 cent word?” I gave her a sweetly reproachful glare.

“I have a few hundred-dollar words, I’d rather use,” she all but threatened.

I blew her off with a big smile.

“Sorry about Buddy, Ms. Delgado, I’ll see what we can do to help you… And how are you today, Calvin? I’ve missed you.” I switched gears in whip-like fashion, refocusing my attention to Calvin who was sitting quietly rocking back and forth in his chair, disassociating.

We had prescribed the dog for him because dogs were the only thing we could get him to respond to. He had little to no interest in anything else. When he talked it was about dogs, when he drew, it was a dog. His mother wasn’t a Momster exactly, but I think she didn’t want to deal with Calvin’s issues and that was normal for parents, especially right after their kid had been diagnosed.

I’d seen it a lot in my profession, parents who had waited to have kids and wanted the perfect child. Calvin’s parents only wanted one kid and she said over and over how happy she and her husband were that Calvin had been a boy. When he was six he was diagnosed with autism, their world collapsed. I didn’t see autism as an Apocalypse, I saw it as an opportunity to rethink how we looked at education and parenting.

Calvin’s mom struggled with the concept and was always looking for me to fix him, but what she didn’t understand was, Calvin wasn’t broken.

I crouched down to Calvin’s level and looked him in the eyes, “You wanna go and see what Buster is doing?”

His eyes lit up and a broad toothless smiled widened across his face, “I love Buster,” he blurted out with joy.

I think I felt Mrs. Delgado’s eyes roll. I felt her pain; I was more of a cat person myself.

“I can get a trainer out to your house for Buddy. We have some great therapy dog trainers who will probably be able to teach him to tell you when he needs to do his thing.”

I smiled and winked, again regretting it, but I was trying to keep the mood light. Mrs. Delgado was an intense woman.

“Sure, send a trainer over, I’m sure it’ll just be a waste of time,” she said with a marked disdain in her voice.

“You betcha. I’ll make sure to send you guys one of our best,” I was so inappropriately goofy when I felt intimidated.

Intense people made me nervous.

I walked with Calvin into my office where Buddy the Chihuahua half-breed sat waiting patiently for his patient. The dog was a death row salvation by another therapist. He was half Chihuahua and half something ugly, mottled, and scruffy. We were able to get him certified pretty easily because, despite his messy, unattractive appearance, he was a great dog.

Calvin immediately sat next to him and Buddy crawled into his lap. We’d been working on reading, something Calvin struggled with and was unlikely to master anytime soon. However, that day was sort of a miracle, because somehow, Calvin did it. A tiny lever clicked over in his brain and he was able to read his first string of three simple words. It was monumental.

I wasn’t going to rush out and tell Mrs. Delgado just yet, but I wanted to. I just had to bite my tongue, sit on my hands, and pray it wasn’t a fluke for forty minutes until I could tell her and thus validate my purpose on this planet. When I did show her what Calvin was able to read, I think the dark and stormy clouds that had been raining on her life finally let a bit of sun through.

With tears in her eyes she scooped Calvin into her arms and he didn’t protest. We were making progress, slow but gradual progress and in that moment, with a tense mother and her sweet son, I was reminded why I did this work. We said our goodbyes, scheduled our next appointment and I sent a text to get Maggie, the dog guru, to go to the Delgado house as soon as possible. Calvin needed his dog.

I didn’t have another appointment until noon and it was a Friday. I’d scheduled a visit to see my crotchety old grandpa and his lovely live-in nurse. I made a point of visiting them at least once a month, considering my dad never bothered. My dad was in his early sixties, he had a young wife and two very young children. He didn’t need a cantankerous father-in-law or a busy twenty-four-year-old daughter cramping his new, do-it-over lifestyle.

I can’t say I blamed him. After mom died, he went into a social coma for ten years. He barely ate. I was happy to see him finding life again because he was all I had. I didn’t have any siblings, his own parents died young, and my maternal grandmother died last year. My family consisted of my father, my stepmother, who was five years older than me, her two kids, who could have been my two kids, and my mean ol’ grandpa.

Despite his unpleasant disposition, I always visited. I decided to give them a call, to remind Gramps I was coming and to ensure Lydia planned for a few hours of downtime while I was on Gramps duty. Hopefully, she’d do something fun like get her hair done or go to the movies.

Lydia answered the phone and I heard Gramps in the background being an asshole, “Tell whoever is calling we aren’t buying any of their crap,” I heard him shout before she even had a chance to say hello. “Grant residence,” Ugh she was always so formal.

“Hey Lydia, it’s me, Jeni. I’m calling to remind you that I’m coming up tonight.”

“Oh Jeni, yes, what a nice surprise. I’m sure your grandfather would be delighted to see you this weekend.” Her voice was sugary and fabricated, she knew very well he wasn’t going to be happy to see me.

He liked to offend, it was his thing.

“Who is it, Ms. Green? Tell them to shove whatever they’re selling up their ass,” was his delightful remark.

I heard her back away from the phone as she let him know it was me calling.

“Tell her to stay and work, god knows the girl needs money, she ain’t getting a penny out of me. Tell the mooch I’m not here.” Cantankerous ol’ fart. I’ve never requested a dime from him, but I still get Christmas cards and birthday cards with a dollar in them, just like I did when I was four; that must be the money he was referring to.

“Lydia,” I whispered into the phone. “Tell him I’ll bring him some DeMet’s Turtle chocolates and a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup if he lets me come.” I knew I was being bad, his doctor had forbidden him sweets, but a few now and then wouldn’t hurt.

“I’m sure Dr. Shellbourne won’t be too happy about that, but since your grandfather’s not doing so great right now, a little pick me up might be just the medicine he needs.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

Lydia had been my grandpa’s caregiver for fifteen years. She’d rarely taken a day off by choice and had stayed by the old man’s side through thick and thin. Her own family didn’t visit much, and she liked the quiet life they shared at the mountain cottage near the lake. It was secluded, but only about 15 minutes from Grand Marais, and John McNaughton, the local sheriff, often stopped in to check on them and get a plate of Lydia’s famous cooking.

Before she chose to be a caregiver, Lydia was a chef at a small local restaurant which she closed when she started working for Gramps. I think she was ready for a quieter, simpler life, not that living with Gramps was simple. He was manageable, he always did what you told him to do, even if he did it while throwing expletives at you.

“Liam,” she called out over the phone, “Jeni’s bringing candy for ya.” She knew that would perk him up.

“Well, tell her to get her ass over here, what’s she waiting on.” That was more like it.

“We’ll see you soon, dear. Drive safely,” Lydia said as she rushed me off the phone, most likely to start cooking something grand.

My Grandma Jan had died just last year and while Lydia wanted nothing to do with my grandpa romantically, she was like a grandmother to me. I visited them to see her just as much as I did him. I was actually excited to see them; they always made me smile in a weird, dysfunctional family kind of way.