“Where’d she go?” Sylvester asked when Jesse got home from work. The old man was still sitting in his rocker on the porch. Hopefully he'd moved so he wouldn't be too stiff. It wouldn’t be long before Jesse would have to stop leaving him there alone, what with his heart failure and gout.
Jesse took the rocking chair beside Sylvester. “She wanted to go home, so I took her home.”
“You bring a girl home finally, and then just take her home? Could have got her a little whiskey, and I bet she’d have warmed right up.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you scared her off. And I told you she’s not my girl.”
“Who is she, then?”
“My therapist, I mean, counselor, all right? I can’t sleep because I was an asshole as a kid, so I’m seeing a counselor.”
Sylvester stilled his chair and looked out across the front yard. He was quiet for a long time before slowly resuming his rocking. Jesse followed Sylvester's line of sight across the yard to the multi-level birdhouse he’d built back when his joints still allowed him to. Purple martins flew in and around it, carrying nesting materials and flying insects for their fledglings.
“You know, son,” he finally said, “You can’t stay stuck in the past, or you’ll never have a future.”
“That’s why I’m seeing her. I don’t want to be stuck, so she told me to make a list of people I’ve hurt, apologize, and offer to do something nice for them.”
“Sounds like a sensible girl. You should bring her back here. I like her.”
“She’s not your girl, either.”
Sylvester grinned. “Yeah, I know that. I may be ornery, but I know a tough woman when I see one. You need a tough woman to smack some sense into you. Your mamaw was that for me. Probably why I’m so ornery now, she’s not here to straighten me out.”
He was right about that, at least. Jesse's mamaw, Lorraine, didn’t put up with Sylvester’s shit. She made him, Jesse, and Jack dress up and go to church on Sundays. She made Jesse and Jack mind, too. In a lot of ways, she sheltered them from the hell they'd grown up in, giving them some semblance of a normal life. Then she died suddenly of a stroke when Jesse was only ten, leaving him with Sylvester, who didn’t make the boys mind. He still took them to church, but slept through most of it, while Jesse got up to mischief. Even after Reverend Simpson retired and Reverend Donner moved in, Jesse wreaked havoc.
The alarm on his cell phone played a whippoorwill chirp. Jesse looked at the screen: Feed Mrs. Donner’s dog. Mrs. Donner, number eight on his list, happened to be on vacation, so he’d offered to feed her dog and let him out while she and the preacher were gone.
Jesse stood, sliding the phone in his shirt pocket. “Well, Pa, I'm going in to change out of my uniform. Then I got an ugly dog to feed, and you’re going with me.”
****
A change of clothes and a short ride later, Jesse pulled up to the old part of town, those little streets that stuck out like spokes from Main Street. Here were houses built back in the town's heyday, right after World War II. They were for the most part brick, two stories, with high foundations, and wrought-iron-railed concrete porches. Most had a decent backyard with enough room for a garden and even a chicken coop, swing set, or pool. The Donners lived in such a house, which he couldn't drive by without being reminded of The Chicken Incident of 2003.
This event had gone down in Beach Pointe infamy. One Sunday while recently widowed Sylvester snored in the pew, ten-year-old Jesse had sneaked out of church and to the Donners' house. Mrs. Donner's pride and joy was a big chicken coop out back, filled with a collection of bannies, leghorns, and buckeyes. There were even some with tufts of feathers on their heads that hid their eyes like a sheepdog. Though Mrs. Donner adored her poultry, her neighbors did not, what with the roosters crowing at ungodly hours and the smell of chicken manure in the hot, humid summer months.
Jesse decided it would be a hoot to let all those chickens out. Reverend Donner's blue tick hound was chained up by the shed nearby. He’d woofed and barked and lunged as far as his chain would allow. He made so much ruckus, it wouldn't be long before someone came to investigate. Jesse had planned to hide in their big sycamore tree and watch Mrs. Donner running like a decapitated chicken to catch her flock. So, he unfastened the hook on the coop door and opened it wide. The chickens bolted out and scattered across the backyard, but they didn't go far. They scratched around and pecked at the summer buffet of ticks, beetles, crickets, and grubs in the ankle-high grass.
That wasn't very exciting. He thought for a while, then grinned when the idea hit him. A couple of chewed-up soup bones lay at the bottom of the gentle slope of yard around the dog house. They had rolled just beyond the dog’s reach.
"Easy now, boy," he said and tossed one at the dog's feet. While the hound gnawed on the bone, Jesse released the chain from the collar. The other bone still had some meat on it, which must have made it a lot more appetizing. Jesse picked that one up, let the hound get a good whiff of it, and tossed it directly into the unsuspecting flock of chickens.
The chickens scattered in a commotion of squawks and feathers. The hound dog, recognizing a good chase when he saw one, ran after them, nipping at their tails. Church had just let out. Cars peeled out of the parking lot in a rush to get to the Sunday specials before everyone else. Inevitably, many of the chickens fled onto the roads, running for dear life. One after the other, they succumbed to windshields and grills with feathery splats. Jesse was so caught up in the excitement, he forgot to hide in the tree. He ran from the scene, but word got around. That was the day Beach Pointe was initiated into Jesse Maddox's reign of terror that would go on for the next seven years or so.
No one would admit it, but Jesse suspected a lot of the Donners' neighbors were relieved about the flock's reduction. Hell, the Donners themselves gathered up the remains and hosted a barbeque after church the next Sunday. Pa had made him stand up on an empty picnic table and apologize in front of the whole congregation. Yet, he hadn't really been sincere about it. After all, he had barbeque sauce on his chin and a belly full of chicken.
But that stunt meant that he would now pay the Donners back however he could, which meant feeding Barkley, Mrs. Donner's house dog. The chickens and hound were long gone, so he didn't have to worry about them. He parked his truck at the curb and helped Sylvester climb the steps to the Donners' porch, where he sat in a cushioned wicker chair.
Wa-roof! The dog's muffled bark sounded through the door.
"I'll be back in a second," Jesse said.
He retrieved the key from under the potted fern, opened the door, and stepped into the kitchen. Barkley stood at the end of the hallway, staring him down. He'd seen the creature a few times, and it was still as hideous as ever. Apparently, breeding a French bulldog and Chinese Crested resulted in something bug-eyed, partly hairless, and ugly as homemade sin.
Wa-roof!
"Just here to feed you, Barkley. Guess I better let you out to take a piss, too. Wanna go out?"
Wa-roof! He lowered his head and scratched the floor like a bull about to charge.
"Easy now, boy. I'm not gonna hurt you." Jesse saw the food on the counter and crept toward it.
Barkley growled, baring his scraggly teeth. His tongue lolled out on one side. Drool dripped onto the hardwood. Mrs. Donner had gone on and on about what a sweet and cuddly thing her Barkley was. Sure didn't seem that cuddly now. Jesse chuckled as he opened the dog food canister she'd left sitting on the counter. That little twist of the truth was probably her way of punishing him for those chickens. But he'd dealt with a lot tougher things than this ugly canine since then.
He scooped out the food into Barkley's stainless steel bowl and bent over to put it on his personalized placemat. The little monster charged. WA-ROOF! Barkley barreled down the hallway and stopped at the kitchen threshold, growling and drooling. Jesse spied some fake fruit scattered across a silver platter near the dog food bag. Several of them were misshapen and had teeth marks. He swooped up the platter. Plastic fruit rolled off onto the floor, bouncing across the linoleum. Maybe he could distract Barkley with it like a bullfighter’s cape, then entice him with some food like he’d done with the reverend’s hound.
“I’ve got some good kibble for you, buddy.” Jesse rattled the food in the bowl.
Wa-roof! Barkley galloped across the kitchen threshold and launched his attack. Jesse held the platter, ready to toss some food on the floor and...BAM!
The impact resonated through the house. Barkley yelped and fell limp onto the linoleum. Shit – he’d hit the platter at full speed and had completely ignored the food.
"Well, son, you ain't gonna get nowhere with that list of yours like that," Sylvester said from behind him.
“Geez, Pa, I thought I told you to stay outside.”
“Too many gnats swarming. I think one went up my nose.” The old man snorted and coughed as though trying to dislodge the tiny pest.
Jesse squatted and checked for a pulse among the folds of stubbly skin on Barkley’s neck. He had a pulse and was still breathing, but he was out cold. Jesse could have just left him lying on the floor until he regained consciousness. His food bowl was a foot away, so he'd have something nice to wake up to, but then again, what if he didn't wake up?
"Shit." Jesse picked up the dog in both arms, adjusting his balance for the unexpected weight of the denser-than-it-looked animal. "Pa, you think you can make it back to the truck? You can hang on to my arm if you need to."
"I can manage."
There was only one place he could think of to take the unconscious pooch—Beach Pointe Animal Clinic, ran by none other than his semi-estranged brother. "Reckon Jack will take a look at him or tell me to get lost?"
"Only one way to find out."
Ten minutes later, Jesse carried Barkley into the clinic while Sylvester took a seat in the waiting room. It smelled like other such facilities—a mixture of disinfectant and wet dog.
The receptionist, Penny Stanton, who also happened to be Sheriff Stanton’s wife, smiled brightly. “Why, Deputy Maddox, what brings you here today?”
“My truck.”
She just blinked at him. That little shot of humor had flown right over her head. He guessed Sheriff could overlook her lack of wit in light of her long red hair, huge boobs, and tight clothes.
“I have an unconscious dog here.” Arms aching under the mutant critter’s dead weight, he held Barkley up so she could see him over the high counter.
“Oh.”
“I think we should check him for a concussion or whatever it is you do."
"Okay. Follow me to exam room three." Penny came around the counter and led Jesse to an empty exam room.
He laid Barkley on a stainless-steel table.
"Dr. Maddox will be right in.” Penny walked back out, shutting the door behind her.
Now left alone with the unconscious Barkley, Jesse tapped his foot impatiently and waited. The dog's tongue lolled out of its mouth, along with a growing pool of drool. His breathing sounded like a wheezing snore. That probably wasn’t good.
Jesse whispered into one stubby ear, "Don't you die on me, you mean old dog."
Then he waited some more. Considering the two cars in the front parking lot and only one old lady with a cat carrier in the lobby, he figured Jack was keeping him waiting on purpose. Then he wondered if Jack had ever had a fling with Penny. Rumors had been flying around town about her for years. It was no secret that Jack, the confirmed rich bachelor of Beach Pointe, loved 'em and left 'em like nobody's business. Of course, Jesse hadn’t even seen him in six months, so he could be married by now, for all he knew.
The rear door of the exam room opened, and in walked Jack, decked out in bright blue scrubs, a stethoscope, and an Apple watch that was probably worth more than one of Jesse's paychecks.
He stopped in his tracks, his charm-the-paying-customers smile sliding into a smirk. "Well, if it isn't Jesse James himself. What did you do to Barkley, shoot the poor thing for jaywalking?"
It made sense that Jack would recognize the dog, being the only vet in the county. Not to mention Barkley had a face no one would forget. “No, as a matter of fact, I was feeding him for Mrs. Donner, and he charged at me. I held a silver platter up as a shield, and he ran headfirst into it, and now he's out cold and making god-awful noises."
"You, helping someone out? What's in it for you?"
"Not a damn thing but peace of mind. Now, are you going to help this dog or not?"
Jack seemed to forget that helping people was part of Jesse’s job as a deputy. Maybe it irked him, seeing Jesse inherit their father’s one good trait, while Jack had inherited the womanizing gene.
"Of course. That's what I do." Jack stuck the ends of the stethoscope in his ears and pressed the business end onto Barkley's chest. "You have to pay for services rendered today, unless you're a long-time client with good credit."
"That's fine." Was that his wallet Jesse heard screaming or a mad cat? Either way, this list was going to leave him broke and possibly labeled a dog killer if Jack couldn't fix the poor canine.
Jack examined Barkley's eyes and ears and took his pulse. A genuine worried frown creased his forehead. "He's in respiratory distress. How long has he been like this?"
Jesse didn't appreciate the accusing tone in Jack's voice. "Just a few minutes. I'm not that cruel to just leave him lying." Although he had been sorely tempted to do just that.
Jack listened to Barkley's heart again. "He's going into cardiac arrest." He ran to the door on the lobby side and yelled, "Jo!"
Leigh’s mom came rushing in, her eyes widening when she saw Jesse. Then his cell phone rang. He stepped aside, fumbling the phone from his pocket, while Jack started chest compressions. The caller ID said: Sarah Donner.
"Shit." Jesse felt the blood drain from his face as he slipped out into the lobby and turned around to witness the chaos through the slim window in the exam room door. He hit accept and put the phone to his ear with a trembling hand, trying not to stammer too much. "Hi, Mrs. Donner, h-how are you?"
"Lovely, thank you. How's my darling Barkley?"
"Uh, he's..." Jesse watched as Jack checked Barkley’s airway, then grabbed the dog's muzzle and gave it mouth-to-mouth. Jesse gagged a little. Jo jumped in and started chest compressions.
He had to stall for a minute, in the hopes that his brother would perform a miracle. "How's your vacation? I hear Gulf Shores is really nice."
"It's very nice. Raymond and I love the dinner theater. There are entirely too many drunks on the beach, though. And the girls may as well be naked with practically all their flesh hanging out..."
He let her drone on about the saints and sinners of the Alabama coast in her annoying high-pitched, breathy voice. But he didn’t hear half of what she said.
Jack yelled, "Clear!"
Jo stepped back while he tried to jumpstart Barkley, who convulsed once.
"Clear!" Twice.
"Shit," Jesse whispered.
"What did you say?" Mrs. Donner asked.
"Nothing, sorry. You were saying?"
"My darling Barkley—how is he? He's not sick, is he? You didn't let him loose, did you, like you did with my chickens?"
“N-no, he's just..."
"I see something in his airway now!" Jo held Barkley’s jaws open and grimaced. He could only imagine the smell, worse than a buzzard-picked possum carcass roasting in the sun.
“Jesse?” Mrs. Donner asked with the accusatory tone he’d heard when he was a kid.
Jack hoisted up the dog and braced it against his chest. Arms wrapped around Barkley, he thrust his fist into the dog’s bald, splotchy belly in a violent Heimlich maneuver. "Come on, Barkley, cough it up, you ugly son of a bitch!"
Jo had her hands folded, eyes toward the ceiling in silent prayer. Jesse would have prayed, too, if he thought it would help, and if Mrs. Donner wasn't screaming on the other end.
"What's wrong with my Barkley? What did you do to him?" She sounded close to hysterics.
He had to fess up. "Well, he’s kind of, uh..."
A slobbery green lime smacked the window with a splat and slid down. Jesse put a fist to his mouth and retched. Stupid dog must have had one of those fake fruits in his mouth when he slammed into the platter.
"Thank God!" Jo exclaimed.
Jack laid the dog back on the table. Barkley's tail slowly began to wag. Jack listened to his heart again, then took off the stethoscope and gave Jesse a thumbs-up.
"He's fine!" Jesse said, perhaps a little too loudly, into the phone. "It just took him a while to warm up to me. That’s all."
"Are you sure?" Extreme suspicion weighed down that question.
Jesse smiled and nodded, though she couldn't see him. "Yes. You just enjoy your vacation. I'll make sure he's fed and happy while you're gone."
This would, of course, mean he'd pay for Barkley to be boarded here at the clinic for the rest of the week to make sure he stayed alive. But what she didn't know, the better for now. Might as well let her enjoy her vacation, notwithstanding all the drunks and flesh-bearers. He’d never been so relieved.
Jack came outside, wearing a smug smile that went with his smug watch. “You owe me for this one, big brother.”
Jesse reached around to get his wallet from his pocket. “I told you I’ll pay for it. I hope you take credit.”
“Of course, but I think you owe me a bit more for handling this little situation to save not just the dog’s ass, but yours.”
“What do you want me to do? Scrub your floors? Mow your lawn? Paint your fence?”
“I’ve got something else in mind. But you’ll need to go home, shower, and change into your Sunday best. Meet me at this address at six forty-five.” He pulled a pen and business card from his scrubs shirt pocket, scribbled something on the back of the card, then handed it over.
Jesse stared at the address. Even Jack’s handwriting was better than his. Figured. “Isn’t this the community center?”
“Yep.”
“And what are we doing there?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Sylvester hollered out, “Hey, Jack, stop being a smart-ass! I need to get home for my pills and a nap.”
“Good to see you, too, Pa.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Jesse. “Why don’t you put him in the old folks’ home?”
“Because he deserves better.”
“Whatever. Just meet me there, all right?”
“And what if I don’t?”
“Then I won’t give you fifty percent off the bill, which I just might do if you show up and don’t embarrass me too much.”
Jesse didn’t want to let Jack boss him around, but his wallet practically begged for mercy. “Fine. I’ll be there. Just don’t expect me to like it.