Chapter Eight
If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.
—émile Zola
Hollis opened the crate door and squatted to greet Buster. “Hey, buddy. How’re you doing?”
Buster gave a soft wag, his eyes bright and calm.
After attaching the leash, Hollis led Buster through the back door and trudged through the snow-dusted Christmas tree farm.
As Hollis had taught Buster over the past weeks, the dog trotted obediently by his side.
The crisp winter air nipped at Hollis’s cheeks, but he hardly noticed, his attention laser-focused on the dog beside him.
Hollis had been working on walking with Buster on a leash in the yard and on the farm, but today, Hollis paused in a small clearing. It was time.
Bending, Hollis unclipped Buster’s leash, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. What if Buster darted off and didn’t return? Hopefully the time they’d spent training was enough for the dog to see him as alpha.
Hollis straightened back to a standing position.
For a moment, Buster just stood there, looking up at Hollis for direction.
“Go on, boy,” Hollis encouraged softly, gesturing slowly. “You’re free.”
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Buster took off, bounding through the trees with unbridled joy.
Hollis’s heart dropped momentarily as Buster disappeared among the trees.
Hollis resisted the need to call him back or run after him.
He inhaled deeply and stayed rooted for a few minutes.
Hollis let out a laugh as Buster reappeared, darting among the trees, disappearing and reappearing like a furry phantom.
Hollis’s mind drifted back to his own youth. He remembered sneaking onto this very farm as a troubled teenager, long before Matt and Sandy had taken him in. The farm had been his sanctuary, a place where he could escape the chaos of his various foster homes.
He’d come here to smoke cigarettes pilfered from foster parents’ packs or to sip beers stolen from forgotten corners of refrigerators.
But more than that, he’d come for the peace.
The scent of pine, the whisper of wind through the branches, the solid presence of the trees themselves—it had all worked to calm his restless spirit.
Hollis recalled the times Pop had caught him trespassing.
But instead of calling the authorities, the old man had welcomed him, offering hot chocolate and a listening ear.
It was Pop who had eventually introduced him to Matt and Sandy, setting in motion the events that would change Hollis’s life forever.
Hollis couldn’t help but laugh at Buster’s infectious enthusiasm. Then he lifted two fingers to his lips and whistled.
Buster had slipped out of view, and Hollis no longer saw him. Uh-oh.
“Buster!” he called, his voice echoing through the trees. No response.
Hollis whistled again, the sound piercing the winter stillness. He held his breath, straining to hear any sign of the dog. Seconds ticked by, each one increasing Hollis’s worry. Had he misjudged their bond? Had Buster seized the opportunity for freedom and run away?
Just as panic began to set in, Hollis heard it—the faint sound of paws pounding against packed snow as Buster came barreling into view. The dog’s ears were flying behind him, his mouth open in what could only be described as a canine grin of pure joy.
Kneeling to greet the returning dog, Hollis opened his arms wide. Buster skidded to a stop in front of him, panting happily. For a moment, they just looked at each other, man and dog, a newfound understanding passing between them.
Then Buster leaned forward and licked Hollis’s hand. The gesture was so unexpected, so filled with trust, that Hollis felt his throat tighten with emotion.
Eyes burning, Hollis reached out to scratch behind Buster’s ears.
“Good boy. Good boy. You are such a good boy,” Hollis said, his throat tight.
As they sat there amid the Christmas trees, Hollis marveled at how far they’d both come. He thought about the angry, distrustful teenager he’d once been, and how this farm—and the people connected to it—had changed his life. Now, years later, he was helping another wanderlust soul find its way.
The parallels weren’t lost on Hollis. Just as Pop, Matt, and Sandy had seen past his rough exterior to the good heart beneath, Hollis had overlooked Buster’s initial presentation to see the loyal, loving dog waiting to emerge.
It was a powerful reminder of how patience, understanding, and love could change any circumstance.
“Come on, Buster,” he said, reclipping the leash and returning to a standing position. “Let’s head home.”
They walked side by side through the rows of trees, their breaths creating small clouds in the cold air. Here, surrounded by the trees that had always been Hollis’s comfort, with a dog who had learned to trust him against all odds, Hollis felt truly at home.
As they reached the edge of the farm, Hollis paused to look back at the sea of green behind them—the farm that he’d been helping Pop with for years. The farm that he wanted to continue running for Pop. It was the most peaceful place on earth, in Hollis’s opinion.
Buster let out a happy bark. Apparently, he thought so too.
“Merry Christmas, Buster.” He dipped and gave the dog a final pat before heading inside. He had somewhere to be tonight, and part of him was excited. The other part, nervous as he’d been the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Mallory.
It was just a dance at Memory Oaks. No big deal. Pretty similar to a middle school dance, he guessed, although he’d never been to one.
An hour later, Hollis pulled up to Mallory’s house and climbed her porch with a skip in his step.
“Hi.” She opened her front door, dressed festively in a red sweater dress that hugged her curves with her dark hair cascading around her shoulders.
For a moment, Hollis struggled to make words. She was just as mesmerizing as anything he’d admired in nature on his walk with Buster tonight.
Mallory didn’t seem to notice what a goof he was. Instead, she locked up behind her and headed down the steps, veering toward the passenger side of his truck. She opened the passenger door before he could do it first.
“I would have gotten that for you.”
Mallory slid into the passenger seat and looked up at him. “This isn’t a date, remember?”
Hollis pushed down a twinge of disappointment.
“Of course not,” he replied, keeping his tone light.
“We’re friends.” Wouldn’t want to mess that up, like he tended to do with any romantic relationships.
Heading back around to the driver’s side of his truck, he slid behind the steering wheel and breathed in.
Big mistake. The air smelled like the garden in Eleanor’s backyard. Floral and heavenly. He should stop breathing. He held his breath as his mind whirred.
“Earth to Hollis.” Mallory poked his shoulder. “Are you going to drive?”
Hollis released a breath and looked over. “Drive. Right.” He chuckled and got another whiff of her perfume. He put his truck into drive and remembered to breathe, even though he just wanted to lean closer to Mallory.
“I can’t believe we’re going to a dance at a dementia care facility,” she said on a small nervous-sounding laugh as he drove. “It feels like we’re in middle school, heading to a dance.”
Hollis glanced over. He’d had that very same thought earlier tonight. “I never went to one of those.”
“What?” She smacked the side of his arm playfully. “You never went to a school dance?”
“I’ll make up for it tonight. I can’t promise I’m a great dancer though. I hope I don’t embarrass you.” He stole a glance in her direction.
“We’ll see.”
As they parked, entered Memory Oaks, and headed into the community room, Hollis felt a surge of pride at the sight of the large Christmas tree that he and Mallory had trimmed and decorated last week.
The facility was beautifully decorated with twinkling lights and festive garlands adorning every surface.
The lighting was dim but not too dark, accommodating the needs of the older residents.
“Hey, you two,” Nancy said, stepping over to them. “Welcome to our dance!”
Hollis and Mallory glanced around the room. It was festive and merry, but the dance floor was empty. Most of the residents were seated around the edges of the room, looking bored.
Nancy’s smile wobbled as she seemed to read their minds. “Maybe we should have stuck to bingo. I’m not sure most of these folks want to throw their hips out shaking a leg tonight.”
“Nonsense,” Hollis said with a grin. Then he looked at Mallory. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”
Mallory offered a suspicious look. “I thought you said you weren’t sure you could dance.”
He shrugged. “I have faith you’ll make me look good out there. Be right back.” He winked as he headed toward the corner where a DJ was set up behind a table with a black cloth draped over it.
“Hey, man,” Hollis said, getting the DJ’s attention. “You taking requests?”
The DJ was younger than Hollis, with his hat flipped backward on his head. “Of course. What do you want?”
Hollis thought for a moment. The first song that came to mind felt appropriate. “Do you have ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’?”
“A slow dance.” The DJ nodded. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
Hollis made his way to Mallory as the opening notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” filled the air. He extended his hand in her direction. “Dance with me?”
Mallory hesitated. Then she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the center of the community room’s dance floor.
“Not a date,” he whispered under his breath.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, looking at him intently.
“Sorry. Just talking to myself,” he said with a slow grin. He had promised Nan he’d take care of Mal. But holding her close, breathing in the soft scent of her perfume, it was hard to remember why this couldn’t be more than fulfilling that request.