Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
I am bleary-eyed when I stumble through the door for Rufus’s vet appointment the next morning.
He literally whined until two a.m., when I finally put him in the crate and turned up the white noise app on my phone.
I wasn’t sorry to skip a Zoom meeting about an Observer potluck to take the vet’s one and only opening.
I was half joking when I mentioned CBD oil to Lydia, but I’m ready to try pretty much anything a doctor suggests.
And we get off to a good start. The vet asks at least a hundred questions starting the moment we walk in.
How long have I had him? What’s his background?
What are his habits? She performs a physical exam, weighs him, listens to his heart, looks in his ears.
They even draw blood to rule out any kind of imbalance.
But by the end of the appointment, we run into the same wall.
“Overall, he’s really healthy,” she says, draping her stethoscope around her neck.
“But since he was a military dog and you don’t really know what he was exposed to, it’s hard to pin down what’s causing him to be so anxious now.
I’m kind of limited to what he’s experiencing physically,” she admits.
“Unless something weird comes back in his bloodwork, this sounds like it’s more behavioral. ”
“Okay, sure . . .” I say, grasping at straws. “But what can I do? Can you give him Prozac or something? Are there like, CBD edibles for dogs?”
She looks at Rufus, who sits against my calf, panting and covering my leggings with dog hair. Gross.
“There isn’t much actual data on CBD for canine anxiety. But yeah, we could try fluoxetine,” she says thoughtfully. “It’s been shown to improve separation anxiety, among other things, though it’s a gradual process. It’s usually four to six weeks before you see a result.”
My stomach drops at the timeframe, but I need something. “Let’s try it.”
“I’ll put in the prescription.” She makes a note on her computer. “In the meantime, you could also consult a behaviorist. There’s a guy locally who—”
“Please—if you’re going to recommend Drew Forbes?” I frown. “I know him, and I’m not a fan.”
She pauses, chuckling. “Okay . . . he can be a bit prickly. But he’s amazing with dogs.”
“So I keep hearing,” I mutter. “You mentioned some kind of drops earlier that I could put on the dog food?”
“Rescue Remedy, yeah,” she says mildly. “It’s homeopathic, but we have clients who swear by it. I can email you an estimate for acupuncture too.”
“Sure,” I say. Because woo-woo alternative medicine for dogs is exactly how desperate I am.
“Okay. You can order the Rescue Remedy online or pick it up at a Pets ’N Co.
I’ll let you know how his bloodwork looks in a day or two.
” She pauses, giving Rufus a scratch before she heads out the door.
“He does seem like a really nice boy. He might just need time. But give me a call next month and let me know how the fluoxetine is working.”
I look at Rufus, who wags his tail and tries to lick my hand before I pull it back.
The receptionist smiles when we head out to the front desk. “Can he have a treat?”
I nod, fumbling with the leash because there’s some guy over in the corner with a German shepherd, and the last thing I need after this frustrating visit is for Rufus to freak out again.
“Great. And here is your total for today,” the woman says. “Do you want to put that on a card?”
My heart skips a beat as I look at her screen. “I’m sorry . . . this was how much?”
She details the charges for the exam, the bloodwork, and the Prozac, minus the portion of my soul I must have handed over. I look down at my whiny, high-maintenance, inherited dog, and scowl. “I should sell you.”
“I’ll buy,” a deep voice says from across the room.
This time, I can’t even feign surprise. It has started to feel like I’m living a why choose where everything in the universe wants to screw me at once. And here I am, being ordered to bend over again. Only it isn’t even fun.
“You couldn’t afford him,” I mutter.
My already-erratic pulse spikes as Drew Forbes rises from his chair and approaches. “Name your price.”
The German shepherd at his feet stays where he left it, chill on the floor. I pull out my credit card as fast as I can. “I was joking. He’s not for sale.”
But the man keeps coming. I brace myself, tightening my grip on the leash. Just when I think he’s going to get in my face and snatch the leash, though, the misanthropic trainer drops to one knee. And starts petting my dog.
“How you holding up, Ruf?”
Of course the beast responds by putting his feet on Drew’s shoulders and licking his face like it’s covered in Salisbury steak.
And the man just lets him, tipping his head back and closing his eyes until an ache starts up in my chest because he is Kyle.
His angular, handsome face is calm, free of shadows and turmoil, relaxed and at peace—because of a canine.
He doesn’t even correct the dog when it knocks his glasses askew.
But when he catches me watching, his mouth dips into a frown and the spell breaks. I look away.
The receptionist hands me the receipt for a bill that almost matches my rent payment, and I just stand there hoping Rufus decides Drew tastes so good he bites his face off.
“Is he sick?” he asks, running his hands over the dog like he’s checking for illness. And from the bitter tone of his voice, any blame is clearly directed at me.
“He’s fine,” I say, tugging the leash. “Just anxious.”
Rufus finally backs off, and when he does, Drew rises to his feet until he’s towering over me.
And all at once, everything shifts. My breath stutters.
Kyle wasn’t a small guy, but Drew is taller, maybe even broader.
It’s not so much his size, though, as his presence.
Something about the way he takes up space, maybe his scent. I feel completely off-balance.
He looks me up and down in my athletic wear, and the way my skin heats in response is freaking embarrassing. “You should be running him,” he says.
His cranky tone reminds me I’m angry. “Excuse me?”
“He needs activity—he needs to run. It would help,” he says, going for condescending and landing it like the professional he is.
I school my face and straighten my spine. “Maybe I do take him running.”
He snorts. “You don’t.”
“How would you—” But then I stop. Because he sounds so certain, and then one tiny bit of data connects with another inside my brain, and I step back. “Oh my God. I knew I saw you at the park.”
A look flashes over his face. It’s fast, but it’s enough. I think back over the last few times I’ve walked there with Rufus. I’ll admit, I’m generally paranoid about being watched, but I’ve been looking over my shoulder more this week, and now I know why.
I lower my voice. “Have you been following me?”
“Of course not,” he says, but he avoids my eyes.
My skin prickles. “Why?”
He glances at the desk, but the receptionist has disappeared into the back to get my prescription. “No need to inflate your ego. I live by the same park.”
I step toward him, shaking my head. I’ve been honing my interview skills for years—I can tell when I’m being lied to. And while Drew Forbes following me in the park is surface-level upsetting, after the threats I’ve received this year, my tolerance for creepy men is shot.
“I don’t know what your obsession is with this dog,” I hiss. “But if you don’t back off, I will report you for harassment. I’ve got no time for any more psychos in my life.”
His brow furrows.
Just then, a door swings open, and a tech with two braids and a nose ring comes bouncing toward the German shepherd. “Is that my Diesel?”
The dog looks over at Drew, who mutters, “Release.”
The shepherd immediately rises, albeit stiffly, from the floor and wags its tail as she offers him treats. “Who’s ready for acupuncture?” She rubs his neck. “Are you?”
Drew glares back in my direction. But just when I think he’s finally going to leave, he leans close, voice low in my ear. “I meant what I said.” He strokes Rufus’s chin one last time. “I’ll pay cash if you’ll let me have him. And cover his vet bill too.”
I press my lips together, needing no reminder of my financial straits.
But when his cold green eyes meet mine, my vision darkens around the edges.
I learned a long time ago never to trust the Forbes family.
Starting the day Kyle enlisted, when they turned their backs on him.
And reinforced when they declined the invitation to our ill-fated wedding.
But worst of all, not one of them bothered to call me when Kyle died.
I only found out by chance, on social media, of all places.
And when I showed up at the memorial service, they actually seemed surprised.
Just another reason I can’t bring myself to hand one of them his dog.
I rise on tiptoe, bringing my lips close to Drew’s ear. “I’d sell him to a sausage factory before I’d sell him to you.”
“Here’s Rufus’s prescription,” the receptionist says, blustering toward me with an orange pill bottle. “Sorry about the wait.”
Drew watches with an icy stare as she goes over the instructions, his expression so tight I’m tempted to punch him and see if he breaks.
“Puppy Prozac.” I wave the bottle at him as I head for the door. “Maybe you should try some—though I hear nothing helps bad breeding.”
I don’t sleep much again that night. I have this weird dream where I keep running into Kyle, except every time he turns around, it’s actually Drew.
My brain finally ceases this torture around one a.m., when I get out of bed to make herbal tea.
And wind up taking the dog out because he thinks it’s morning.
Once we’re back inside, I head for my closet, to the shoebox shoved in the back with the garment bag still holding my wedding dress. The dog watches as I take it out and set it on the bed, but has the decency to stay over on the couch.
Lifting the lid feels like exhuming a grave.
There’s an assortment of history inside. Documents. Trinkets. A ring box.
I remove the one I’m interested in—a framed photo stored face-down—and quickly replace the lid. But it takes a few minutes before I’m ready to turn it over and look at the picture.
When I do, it feels like I’m staring at a pair of strangers from long ago. A carefree girl lifted off her feet in the arms of her handsome, rugged hero. They’re both grinning, like neither of them has a worry in the world. Because they have no idea what’s to come.
I let out a long-held breath. Then I rise from the bed, ready to bury the frame back in the box.
Except I can’t.
My chest aches at the thought. Or maybe, after a night of bad dreams, I just need comfort. So I wander around my tiny apartment until I find a place for the photo on a little table by my door. Where I can look at it and remember that once, a long time ago, Kyle and I were enough for each other.