Chapter 4
FOUR
JOSIE
Have I ever offered house service before to a customer?
Nope. After over a decade in this profession, this is a new one.
Although I’ve thought someday I might join a mobile vet place, I’m not actually part of one, and as I toss my bag into the back seat of the car and take off toward Colby’s house, I’m questioning my impulsive offer.
It’s fine, right? I’m just doing a good deed, helping out someone in distress, giving that good old white-glove service that my manager keeps droning on about, and nothing more. I would have done this for anyone.
Right?
The sadness gutted me. While watching Colby with her dog, the way she looked so broken and distraught, something in me flickered.
I don’t think there is anyone in my life that would care about me so deeply like that if I were to have leg surgery.
Sure, I have my brothers and sisters, and my mom.
But ever since my dad left when I was twelve, my mother spent years in a perpetual state of exhaustion.
And the moment the last one of us left the house, she’s spent years making up for lost “me” time.
Not that I blame her. Being a single parent for six of us killed something in her.
The fire, the joy I saw when I was younger—when my dad was still there—left along with his suitcase.
And the rest of the family sort of… scattered.
My siblings spread themselves across the country and moved on with their lives and families.
We do our obligatory Thanksgiving dinner when possible, but other than that, I keep tabs on everyone via social media.
My siblings don’t call and check in, don’t ask how I’m doing after all my life changes, don’t wonder if I’ve found whatever it is that I need.
And here, Colby broke down for her dog.
I turn at the last light in town and head up the county roads towards Colby’s place, keeping one eye on the navigation and one on the snowy road.
In the quiet, on drives like this, is when the thoughts start filling my brain.
I know deep down I would not have made a house call for “just anyone.” It’s Colby.
And I need to be very, very careful how I tread these waters.
From the moment I met Colby last year, something deeply intriguing had affected me, and now, that same feeling stirs beneath the surface.
Those soulful, haunting eyes carry something huge, something much deeper and more profound than I think I can understand.
But there’s this urge in me to know more, to burrow myself a little bit into her world, and start unraveling these pieces.
And… her lips, all right. There, I admitted it. Her lips are freaking phenomenal. They’re soft, and a Cupid’s bow shape, and a deep plum color, and… I shake my head.
Nope. Not doing this. Definitely not going to do this, not now, not again. My MO for these last two years has been the same—fall quick, take no prisoners, deep regret later. I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist in the arms of these women, and I need to stop.
Snow-covered pine trees and bare-branched oaks and cedars fly past my window.
The navigation system says I’m going to the right place, but I’m not sure if this is actually the right place.
I haven’t even seen another vehicle for the last five miles.
I’m not that far out of town, maybe only ten minutes or so, halfway in between Spring Harbors and Quinn Lee’s Christmas tree farm, but I feel like I’m literally in the middle of Pine Tree Island, a white wasteland on a single lane road with nothing but me, the air, and whatever deer are contemplating jumping in front of my car.
Thank God there’s no corn field and a gravesite, or I may have pulled right back around.
One mailbox and a reflective marker in the shape of a waving dog sitting at the edge of a cleared patch is the only indication that I’m most likely at the right place. My small sedan chugs up the narrow, windy hill as I grip the steering wheel and hope I don’t slide into a tree.
The property is absolutely beautiful. Dusk is settling in, but it’s still light enough to see the tall snowflake-dusted pine trees and large rolling hills.
I feel like someone lifted my car and plunked me in the middle of a forest nestled inside a snow globe.
At the top of the hill, Colby’s Jeep comes into focus.
Behind it, what I assume is Colby’s house. “Whoa…”
My God, I feel like I’m a character in a Thomas Kinkade painting. Warm, glowing, lantern-style lights adorn a pathway leading up to a log-cabin-style home. Huge, rustic cedar logs for the siding, a small wrap-around porch filled with firewood, a matching shed off to the left.
Colby is snugged into her boots and jacket outside of her Jeep, with the tailgate popped open. She’s rubbing Kona’s head, and waves to me as I pull to a stop.
God, she’s pretty.
“Hey,” she says, her cheeks rosy with the cold air. “Did you have any problems finding this place?”
“No problems at all. Google Maps for the win,” I say, as I tug on my mittens.
Northern Minnesota is God’s land, one of the most beautiful places in the country, but I never take the time to come out to places like this, or Lake Superior, or Black Beach, to appreciate the natural landscape.
I make a quick mental note to add to my list of excursions some sort of nature walk or activity.
“It’s so picturesque out here. I love it. ”
“Thank you,” Colby says with a soft grin. “When I bought this place, that was exactly what I told the realtor I was looking for—quiet and picturesque. I wanted it to look and feel like a cabin and make me believe the rest of the world was a million miles away.”
We cannot be more different. For as long as I remember, I’ve searched for constant stimulation.
Hobbies, friends, jobs, working long shifts, sports…
I’ve done it all. Being alone with my thoughts is a nightmare.
But even without this compulsion, there is no chance in hell I’d ever live out here alone.
With my luck, a lightning strike during a thunderstorm would zap electricity into a scarecrow and bring it to life Stephen King-style or something.
Or an axe murderer would pop up and plant his dirty palms into my window.
No thanks. Although in Spring Harbors, the scarecrow is probably a more likely scenario.
Last summer, the weekly police blotter—which is one of my favorite things to read in our local newspaper—touted the biggest scandal this town has seen in the last five years.
Twin fourteen-year-olds stole their grandma’s car, hit a bunch of mailboxes on a county road, and went on a two-mile-long high-speed chase until they pulled over for the police.
“Okay, we ready for this?” I ask, looking at Kona, who’s resting on her chin in the terrible cone of shame, glancing up at me through the hard plastic with weary eyes.
“I think so. I’m ready to get this girl into the house and settled.
” Colby and I shuffle around each other to scoop Kona in our arms and rest her gently on the earth.
She slowly sniffs the ground and limps in a circle until she finds a spot to go to the bathroom.
Her body is moving exactly as expected post-surgery, but Colby’s brows are creased with worry.
“Good girl,” Colby says as she pats Kona’s head, then glances over to me. “I’ve never been so relieved in all my life that I live in a place without any stairs.”
She guides Kona through the snow, fussing. The dog’s poor shaved leg looking like it’s freezing in the crisp air. Should I stay? Leave? When exactly is the point when my helpfulness becomes creepy and overwhelming? “First surgery?”
Ugh. Why did I ask this when I already know the answer since I’d looked at Kona’s chart today? But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay, and talk, and learn more, and ask more questions that I might already know the answer to, and this, my friends, is a huge fucking problem.
“Yeah. It’s just more than what I thought it would be,” Colby says as she inches toward the front door with a reluctant Kona trailing behind.
“I feel like I know my dog better than myself, but I just… I didn’t expect all of this, you know?
I didn’t realize how disorientated she’d get from the meds. ”
I should go. Right now. Leave her be, leave the dog be. Maybe I can still make my drumming class, or catch a movie at a theater, or see if Leo wants to grab dinner. “Do you want me to stay and help for a little while?” So much for that plan…
The worried crease on Colby’s forehead smooths. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already gone above and beyond.”
“Ah.” I wave away the words. And sure, I don’t know Colby, not really, but her eyes are so expectant that there’s no way she doesn’t want me to stay.
She’s probably just like all the locals in this area who consider hard work next to godliness and asking for help is akin to dancing with the devil.
But besides the fact that I really don’t want to leave, I’m also dying to see the inside of her place. “It’s really no problem.”
Colby nibbles on her smile, and we both spend the next few moments coaxing Kona inside.
Colby offers her a treat, which Kona completely ignores, but finally, Kona moves inside, knocking the cone into the door frame in the process.
The hard plastic scrapes against the wood, the floor, and the poor dog is so confused and agitated that I want to hug her.
At the door, we both tug off our boots, and Colby moves to the doggie bed next to the couch. She sits next to it and pats the cushion. “Come on, girl, you got this. Come lie down.”