Chapter 14 #2
He appears to be locked in, though not necessarily enjoying himself the way he was at the jubilee.
But he handles the dogs with competence, following the volunteer coordinator’s instructions to the letter.
He walks a boisterous pit bull mix, calms a golden retriever who’s still learning boundaries, and even gets the bunnies to come out of their hutch and visit with a woman with a rabbit tattoo on her neck, who is clearly a big floppy-ear fan.
But he never smiles. Never lightens up or loosens up.
And never, not once, looks my way.
When we run into each other at the water station around three, he’s clearly ready to bolt the second he sees me, but I pounce before he can vanish again.
“Hey, so I was thinking about how I could make up for having to cancel on Wednesday. There’s a holiday movie double feature at the theater this weekend.
Miracle on 34th Street and Elf. I thought maybe you might want to go tomorrow night? We could grab dinner first or—”
“I have plans tomorrow.”
I blink, my throat going tight. “Oh. Okay. Well, maybe Sunday afternoon, then, I think they—”
“Sorry, I have to go,” he says, tossing his empty paper cone into the trash beside the cooler. “I promised I would help lift the pit bull’s kennel into Mr. Clapp’s truck when he pulls around.”
Before I can assure him that’s okay and we can talk later, he’s gone.
I head back to my booth, fake smile glued to my face, pretending to be fine.
The afternoon drags on. I photograph happy families with their new pets, fake good spirits, and make cheerful small talk with adopters while my heart gnaws away in my chest.
What the hell happened?
Why is he so cold?
It can’t be just because I cancelled, that would be crazy. But I honestly can’t think of anything else it could possibly be.
By late afternoon, most of the animals have found homes.
The parking lot is quieter now, just a few volunteers gathering supplies and saying their goodbyes.
The sun is starting to sink behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would be beautiful if I weren’t too angsty to appreciate it.
“Holly?” Janet, the volunteer coordinator, approaches with a worried expression just as I finish packing up my things.
“We have a problem. That beagle mix, Daisy, the one that came in from the hoarding situation after her owner passed? A family is interested, but she won’t come out of her crate.
We’ve tried everything, and we’re running out of time.
They have to leave in thirty minutes. I thought maybe you could give it a try? You’re so good with the anxious ones.”
“Of course, I’m happy to,” I say, following her to the last small enclosure still standing.
I step over the temporary fence and squat down, heart melting at the sight of Daisy pressed into the very back corner of her crate, her small body trembling. Her brown eyes are wide with fear, and she whimpers as I come into view.
“Aw, hey there, sweet girl,” I murmur, extending my hand slowly. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you. These nice people just want to say hi and give you a treat.”
Daisy doesn’t move. She simply shakes harder.
“Oh, come on,” I cajole. “I bet you love treats. All the beagles I know will do just about anything for a treat.”
“We tried,” Janet murmurs behind me. “She wasn’t interested in the biscuits. But a volunteer went to grab some smoked turkey from concessions. Maybe she’ll be more tempted by that.”
Somehow, I know which volunteer is fetching the turkey, even before Luke appears a beat later, holding a small ice cream cup filled with lunchmeat.
He hesitates when he sees me, but then steps over the fence, coming to crouch down next to me in front of the crate.
“Here you go, Daisy.” He sets the cup down on the pavement, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Come have a snack. You must be hungry. Janet says you haven’t eaten all day.”
Daisy’s trembling slows, just slightly. Her eyes fix on Luke.
Janet whispers, “Keep talking. Her owner was a man with a deep voice, too. Maybe you’ll be able to get through to her.”
Luke clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. But he nods and turns his attention back to the frightened pup. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time. I’m sure all this noise and fresh air is very different than what you’re used to. But different doesn’t have to be bad. Or frightening.”
Slowly—so slowly, it’s almost imperceptible—Daisy inches forward.
“Different can just be different,” Luke continues, his voice so gentle it makes my chest ache.
“And sometimes it can be…wonderful. Not always, but sometimes. I’m sure it will be for you.
The Underwoods seem very kind. They recently lost a beagle they loved very much and are very excited about taking you home to foster. ”
Daisy moves one paw, then another. She lifts her twitching nose, as if sniffing Luke’s words to see if they smell like truth.
“And if you all get along, they would love to adopt you,” he adds. “I know you’ve been through some painful things, and the person you loved went away. But that doesn’t mean life will always be painful. You have a chance at a fresh start.”
Slowly, slowly, one tentative paw after another, Daisy reaches the front of the crate.
Luke extends his hand, palm up, letting her sniff.
After a moment, Daisy’s pink tongue darts out, licking his fingers, and her tail gives the smallest wag. A beat later, she turns to me with a searching gaze.
I smile, extending my hand, too. “He’s right, Daisy. We’re all friends here, sweet girl. We all just want to help you feel safe again.” She nuzzles her head into my fingertips, and I stroke her soft fur, awed by the grace and generosity of animals all over again.
Truly, what would we humans do without them?
“There you go,” Luke whispers. “You’re very brave.”
I have to blink against the sudden sting of tears. This is the Luke I know. The one who is patient and kind and empathizes with the wounded creatures in the world.
While Daisy, now calm enough to be very interested in her turkey treat, quickly wolfs up every scrap of meat in the cup, Janet hands me her leash.
I pass it over to Luke, watching as he clips it to her collar with the same careful patience. Then, we stand and walk Daisy over to the Underwood family—a couple in their fifties with kind faces and a college-age daughter who immediately drops to her knees, tears of joy shining in her eyes.
“Oh, look at you. You’re perfect, baby,” the girl whispers, making Daisy’s tail wag harder. “You look like you could be Oreo’s twin. Doesn’t she, Mom?”
“She does,” Mrs. Underwood agrees, sounding a little tearful herself.
Twenty minutes later, the family loads a much more relaxed Daisy into their car, and just like that, the last animal has found a home.
The parking lot is nearly empty now. Just Luke and me and Janet and her husband folding up the volunteer table.
The sun has set completely, leaving us in purple winter twilight, with the temperature falling fast. The clean-up crew rolled the heaters back into the community center half an hour ago, and for the first time all day, I wish I had a base layer on under my heavy sweater.
“Come on,” Luke says, nodding toward my tent. “Let’s get your car packed before it gets any darker.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Thanks.”
We break down my photography station in silence. I roll up the backdrop while Luke disassembles the tent, then we make two trips to the Honda, loading the larger items first before heading back to retrieve the cases of camera and lighting equipment.
By the time we’re done, we’re alone in the small gravel overflow parking lot across the street, our breath forming clouds in the air between us.
This is it.
My chance to ask what the hell happened, to fight for whatever this is before it disappears completely.
“That went well, I think.” I try for a light tone and land somewhere between nervous and pleading. “We make a good team.”
Luke’s face shuts down again. Just like that. Like flipping a switch.
The softness that crept in during our time with Daisy vanishes like it was never there at all, until he’s studying me with an expression so impersonal it’s jarring.
“We managed well enough.” His voice is flat, final. “But, I confess, I’m glad the blackmail portion of my holiday is done. I hope you enjoy the rest of the season, Holly.”
“Wh-what?” I stammer. “You’re not seriously—”
“Take care.” He lifts an arm as he starts across the gravel, heading toward wherever his car is parked, I assume. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
Stay out of my way? What? When was he ever in my way?
The hits just keep coming.
The parking lot seems to spin as this bizarre day gets even crazier.
I want to rush after Luke and grab his arm. Make him look at me, demand an explanation that makes sense. But my body won’t move. I’m frozen, watching him walk down the street, his shoulders straight and his stride steady.
He doesn’t look back.
Not once.
The cold night air cuts through my sweater to chill my bones, and in the distance, I catch laughter drifting from the pub.
Low conversation by the country store. Doors slamming as the town offices lock up for the weekend.
Normal sounds. Normal Friday night in Silver Bell Falls.
As if the world hasn’t just tilted sideways, dumped me into the Twilight Zone, and kicked me in the shins.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Probably Candy, checking to make sure I’m okay.
But I’m not okay, not even close.
The tears I’ve been holding back all afternoon finally spill over, hot against my cold cheeks. I let them fall. There’s no one here to see. No one here to witness the silly, small-town girl who naively thought she could turn a damaged man’s stone-cold soul around with a kiss and some holiday cheer.
Turns out I was the one who had a lesson to learn.
Some hearts are too broken to fix. Some people will refuse your love, even when it’s freely offered with no strings attached.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
And God, that’s sad.
So sad, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be quite the same.