17. Emily
CHAPTER 17
EMILY
M y phone buzzes on the nightstand, a soft vibration that pulls me from the warmth of sleep. I reach for it, my heart still nestled in the quiet comfort of dawn.
It’s a text from Isaac. A response to my message last night?
Either way, my heart is already racing, and I hurry up and swipe the text open before the doubts can creep in. I’m doing what Jenn said — I’m jumping in, going for this. No matter how scary it is.
A picture pops up on the screen: Baxter, curled like a comma in a sea of white sheets, his furry body surrendered to slumber. Guess he wore me down, the message reads.
A smile tugs at my lips. This dog, with his stubborn streak and relentless charm, has managed to conquer the bed of the most disciplined man I know. It’s endearing, this small victory of my four-legged friend. And it’s stirring something within me — something warm, something hopeful.
What did Isaac think about sending me a picture of his bed? Did he hesitate? Did he overthink it? Was he nervous?
Or did it mean nothing at all, other than he just wanted to share a picture of the dog?
Look at me, overthinking this whole thing. Jenn’s words echo in the back of my mind, her gentle nudge toward the precipice of love. She’s right. Maybe it’s time. Time to let go of past hurts, to embrace the possibility of something new, something good.
Isaac… could he be the one to walk this path with me?
The thought lingers as I dress, pulling on jeans and a comfortable sweater, the image of Baxter still etched in my thoughts. Isaac’s kindness of late, his unexpected gestures — they carve out a space in my cautious heart. It seems that Baxter isn’t the only one who has been growing and changing. Isaac and I have also been discovering new parts of ourselves.
I shake off the remaining threads of sleep, my mood buoyant despite the burden of yesterday’s worries. I don’t have a shift at the coffee shop today, or any appointments with my few clients. Which means I get to do whatever I please.
Which means I’m heading to the shelter.
Today, I make a difference, however small.
The shelter greets me with its familiar smells and sounds — the tang of disinfectant, the babble of barks and whines. My steps carry me forward, and even though there’s so much to repair and heal here, the problems don’t feel as big as they once did.
Taco waits for me, his small frame quivering with energy. The chihuahua mix is a bundle of nerves, quick movements and darting eyes, but beneath the surface lies a heart in need of understanding.
“Hey, little guy,” I murmur, kneeling before his kennel.
He hesitates, his gaze flickering between me and the safety of his bed. Patience is a language all its own, and I speak it fluently. Slowly, gently, I extend my hand, a silent offering.
Minutes pass, an eternity in the currency of trust. Then, a step — a tentative paw reaching out. His nose twitches, exploring the scent of me, the promise of kindness without harm. Another step, and then he’s there, his tiny body pressed against my palm. Connection, fragile as spider silk, weaves its magic.
“Good boy, Taco,” I say softly, my voice barely audible over the barking from the other enclosures.
I put a lead on him and take him into the yard, away from the distraction of the other dogs. We work together, him learning the cues, me reveling in every small triumph. Sit. Stay. Come. Simple commands that build bridges between us.
They’re the commands that he can use when prospective families come in for meet-and-greets. They will show that he is a good dog, eager to bond and please. They will, fingers crossed, help to get him adopted.
Taco’s tail wags, a metronome of growing confidence, and my heart swells with pride. These moments matter. They’re the reason I’m here, why I pour my soul into these creatures others have discarded.
By the time our session ends, Taco is a different dog. While he is still grasping the commands, his spunk is back. I can feel the joy and love emanating from him.
He’s still cautious, yes, but he’s also braver than before. It’s a transformation that never ceases to amaze me, the resilience of these animals, their capacity to heal and to love again.
“See you tomorrow, buddy,” I promise as I put him back in his kennel, though the ache of uncertainty clings to the words. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, not here, not in this life of transience and fleeting connections.
But today, today is good. Today, I’ve made a difference, and that has to be enough.
Checking my phone, I see that it isn’t even ten a.m. yet. With nothing on my schedule, the day stretches on, feeling weirdly empty and hollow. I would love to see Isaac again, but he’s at work, probably with a thousand other things to do that are way more pressing than seeing me.
It’s good, though, I remind myself. I can use this time to work with some more dogs here. Smiling to myself, I head to the office to talk to Ricki about it.
The second I see her, though, the grin drops right off my face. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a stark glare over the cluttered desk where Ricki sits, her face etched with lines of worry.
More bad news?
I almost don’t want to ask, and yet I also can’t stand the anticipation of not knowing what’s going on.
“Hey,” I begin, voice softening as I step closer. “Any updates on the funding?”
Ricki looks up, her eyes reflecting the burden of bad news before her lips even part.
“It’s not good, Em.” She shuffles papers, none of which hold the answers we need.
My chest tightens, air thinning in my lungs. I swallow hard, bracing for the rest. “And?”
She sighs, the sound heavy and tired. “Donations are nearly at zero. Flatlined. If things don’t pick up…” Her voice trails off, but the unfinished sentence hangs thick between us.
“Are we talking about more cutbacks?” My voice is barely above a whisper, dread pooling like ice water in my veins.
“More than that,” she admits, her fingers worrying the edge of an unopened bill. “We need to cut you down to zero paid hours.”
The words hit like a gut punch, knocking the wind from me. It’s not just about the money; it never has been. But losing those hours feels like losing a piece of my identity, a slice of purpose in a world that often seems senselessly cruel.
I at least have a few clients at the moment, Isaac included. And two other potential ones have already gotten in touch. Thanks to my work with Isaac and Baxter, doors are opening up. My bills are paid.
But the shelter is a different story.
“Okay.” The word emerges hollow, devoid of the conviction I’m scrambling to muster. “I’ll still be here. I’ll still come?—”
“You don’t have to.”
“Ricki.” I pin her with a hard look. “You know there’s nowhere else I would rather be. If I don’t train these dogs, who will?”
Ricki nods, but her expression remains guarded, hope a flickering candle in a storm. “We’ve brainstormed some fundraising ideas,” she offers with a forced smile. “Bake sales, community dog washes… Maybe even a training demonstration by you?”
“Sure. That sounds amazing.”
Anything for these dogs, for this place that feels more like home than anywhere else. But deep down, I know the truth. Bake sales won’t buy the expensive heartworm medicine. Dog washes won’t cover surgery costs.
“Times are tough,” Ricki continues, folding her hands atop the desk. “People are giving up their pets because they can’t afford them anymore. Asking for donations…” She shrugs, the gesture laden with sorrow. “It’s asking a lot.”
A lot from people who have little left to give. I understand that all too well; my own bank account isn’t exactly inspiring. But it’s not the numbers that keep me lying awake at night. It’s the faces of the dogs, each one imprinted on my heart, each one dependent on human kindness, money, and time that seems in ever-shorter supply.
“Let’s set something up for next weekend,” I say, trying to inject determination into my tone. “The weather’s supposed to be nice. People might come out, enjoy some sun, spend a few dollars…”
“Hopefully,” Ricki replies, but there’s a resignation in her tone that mirrors my own internal defeat. We’re two people fighting a tide with teacups, desperate to make a difference in a world that feels increasingly indifferent.
“Hey,” I add, leaning forward, compelled to offer some sliver of reassurance, however frail. “We’re not giving up. Not yet.”
Ricki manages a weary chuckle. “Never thought you would. You’re stubborn like that.”
“Comes with the territory,” I say, forcing a smile. My heart may be shattered, but it’s still beating — still fighting.
I leave the office feeling like there’s a weight tied around my ankle. I’m trying to be positive, but it seems like every time something good happens there’s another blow that just knocks me straight to the ground.
But I gotta keep going. For Baxter, for Taco, for every furry soul that will walk through those front doors in the days and years to come.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that love is a force unto itself — a power that defies logic and leaps over obstacles. Love can heal a broken chihuahua mix. Love can soften the heart of a grumpy, solitary billionaire. And love, I have to believe, will find a way to save this place that means everything to me.
“Emily, wait.”
Stopping in the hallway, I turn to see one of the volunteers, her arms wrapped around a trembling bundle of fur. The new arrival is a scruffy thing, his matted coat doing little to hide the quiver that runs through him.
“Got a tough case here,” she says, her voice low and steady. “Behavioral issues. Found wandering the streets. We named him Prince.”
The dog’s eyes meet mine, deep wells of fear and confusion. His body is tense, a coiled spring ready to release. I kneel down, offering a calming presence, but he shies away, his anxiety palpable.
“Can you…?” She trails off, hope mingling with resignation.
I nod, despite the weight in my chest. “I’ll take a look.”
I speak in hushed tones, words meant to soothe. He flinches with each sound, a testament to his troubled past. I want to help, to ease his fears, teach him to trust.
“Hey, buddy,” I say gently, extending a hand, but not touching. “You’re safe now.”
He doesn’t understand, let alone believe. I can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the wary flicker of his gaze.
“We’re full again, huh?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She nods. “Yeah, and a couple of people have already called this morning about dogs they found. We had to turn them away.”
My gaze drops to the floor. We’re not the only shelter at capacity, and that means that sometimes — unfortunately — dogs will have to end up staying on the streets.
“I’ll let Prince get adjusted,” I say, swallowing down the knot of pain. “And then I’ll check in with him and start some training.”
“Thanks.” She gives me a grateful look. “The sooner we can get him adopted, the sooner we can give another dog a bed.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
I watch her take Prince to the last kennel, my chest all twisted. I refuse to stand here feeling helpless, though, like life is against us and there’s nothing we can do. Instead, I’ll take action. There are dogs to train, and I can volunteer to spearhead organizing the event Ricki and I were talking about.
No matter what the circumstances are, there’s always a choice. An action to take or a new perspective to adopt. I only wish that it could be simpler, though.
What if I asked Isaac for the money we need?
The moment I have the thought, I laugh out loud at myself. How silly. I’ve never gone begging for money, and I’m not about to start.
Yet I can’t help but think about how little something like twenty thousand would mean to Isaac and how much it would mean to this shelter. I won’t ask for it, though. I would rather work my fingers to the bone before doing something like that — especially because I don’t want Isaac to think I’m interested in him for his money.
The truth couldn’t be further from that. Isaac is?—
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see a text from him.
Baxter says hi… And so do I :)
My lips stretch into a grin. Isaac is a light in my life. That’s what he is. A sign of hope, a reminder that things can and do get better.
With that reminder in mind, I grab a leash and go to find my next student.