Chapter 7
RANGER
That went about as well as I could have hoped for, so I’ll chalk it up as a win.
I’ll take my victories where I can get them, since they’re far and few between at the moment.
Julian is, I have to admit, incredibly kind and understanding.
I’m usually pretty good at picking up nonverbal signals, but his were completely congruent with his words.
He wasn’t lying, which makes me feel marginally better about having an episode in his presence.
It’s still embarrassing as fuck, but there isn’t much I can do about it now. At least he’s not scared of me, as far as I can tell, though I’m not sure if that’s smart or not. I’ve read some absolute horror stories about vets with PTSD who got violent, for example, with their partner.
Here’s a tip: don’t Google worst-case scenarios of whatever you have. Trust me on this. Fuck knows I did not need the extra stress of fearing I might get violent with someone as my condition progresses.
On the drive back, Benny has his head out the window, and the look of sheer ecstasy on his face makes me smile.
I remember that from Maggie, one of our dogs when I was a kid.
She loved nothing more than long drives with her head out the windows.
The last thing my dad did for her when he had to get her to the vet to help her cross the rainbow bridge was to drive an extra few miles so she could enjoy it one last time.
And of course, it’s classic me to think of that sad memory when I watch Benny because I seem to be a glass-half-empty guy these days.
God, I would give anything to feel the optimism I used to have, the hope that tomorrow would be better.
Though looking at Benny, it’s hard not to feel that having him there will make things a little better.
When we get home, I work on practicing the hand signals with Benny like Julian showed me, and much to my delight, I get them right. I reward Benny with the dog treats Julian provided and make a mental note to stop by the store tomorrow to pick up more dog food for Benny. And maybe some toys?
I take a picture of Benny with my phone and send it to Lucky.
Ranger
Meet Benny. He’s mine now
Lucky
He looks so sweet
Ranger
He’s a cuddlebug for sure
Lucky
Is he allowed to sleep in your bed?
I frown. Julian never mentioned anything about that. Benny did sleep in my bed last night, but maybe that’s not smart? I’d better check.
Ranger
This is Ranger
Mack
Mack Stone
Julian
I had your number saved, no worries. Would you like me to call you Ranger or Mack?
I lean back in my chair. That question is far more difficult to answer than it should be.
I’ve gone by Ranger since I served my first tour abroad as an Army Ranger, fourteen years ago, and somehow managed to make an impossible kill shot.
I earned that name, and I’ve proudly used it ever since.
No one calls me Mack except my parents and, on occasion, Lucky.
But somehow, it feels like I’ve lost the right to my nickname. How long can I cling to the fame of the past? Because that’s what it feels like. Still, everything in me rebels at calling myself Mack.
Ranger
Ranger, please
Julian
Okay, Ranger it is. What can I do for you?
Ranger
Is Benny allowed to sleep in my bed?
Julian
I don’t know. Is he?
I stare at his reply for a while.
Ranger
Is that your way of saying it’s my call?
Julian
Yes. He’s your dog. You set the rules.
Ranger
I wasn’t sure if it would set a bad example. I don’t know. Like, distract him? Or something.
Julian
If having him in your bed makes you feel better, then that’s where he should be. Allow him to do his job and comfort you. You can’t spoil him with things like that, honestly.
Ranger
Okay, thanks. Sorry for disturbing you.
Julian
No problem at all. You can text me anytime you have a question. I’m always happy to help.
Wow, he really is chipper. What’s funny is that it’s not even annoying, since I somehow sense it’s his natural disposition.
He’s Happy, and I’m Grumpy, and the fact that I’m using a fucking Disney movie as a reference is reason enough to make me even more depressed.
Except it’s kinda funny, and I grin at Benny, who stares back with a goofy smile, his tail wagging.
“Maybe he should’ve called you Happy,” I tell him. “Because you certainly look the part.”
Benny’s response is increased wagging, so I interpret that as him thinking I’m funny. I’m not, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Ranger
Yes, he can. I make the rules.
Lucky
Let me guess. You just checked that with the dog trainer?
My brother is way too perceptive. Fucking parole officer, always reading even the most subtle signals.
Ranger
Fuck you
Lucky
Nah, thanks. I’ve got my hands full with my two men already. No need to add brocest
Ranger
Oh god, that’s… fuck off
But I do smile as I put my phone away. Benny nudges my hand, and I spend a good two minutes petting him, which is strangely calming.
“How about we head to the store now? We could get some more toys for you. Julian said to keep you engaged with different kinds of challenges, so we could see if they have something fun for you?”
I didn’t know dogs could give a “duh” look, but Benny just did as if I asked him the most stupid question ever, and maybe I did. Another car ride must sound like fun to him. I put on his special harness Julian told me to make him wear whenever we’re in public so he’d be recognized as a service dog.
We make it to the store, where it’s blissfully quiet.
Good. I don’t like people. I wasn’t a massive fan before I was diagnosed, and now even less.
Benny obediently walks right by my side as we cruise the aisles, looking for the pet stuff.
I’ve never had reason to locate it, so it takes me a while to find the right aisle.
“Excuse me.”
I whirl around at the stern male voice, my heart rate jumping into overdrive as I immediately break out in a sweat. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You can’t bring a dog into this store.”
My vision blurs, fog descending, but then Benny licks my hand, and it breaks the pattern. I take a deep breath and rest my hand on his head, holding on to him like an anchor. “He’s a service dog,” I say between gritted teeth.
The store employee crosses his arms, frowning. “You’re not blind.”
No shit, Sherlock. “You don’t have to be blind to have a service dog.”
His frown is anything but friendly. “Look, dude, you don’t look like you have any handicaps, so why the fuck would you need a service dog? Seems to me you got that vest somewhere online just so you could bring your dog in.”
“Paul, do we have a problem here?”
An older man in his seventies joins us. I’ve seen him in town several times, though I have no idea who he is. His eyes are sharp, and his face is stern as he addresses the store employee.
“I was just telling this gentleman his dog needs to leave, Mr. Sherman.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t look like he needs a service animal, so I’m pretty sure he’s faking it.”
Everything in me is screaming to get the fuck out, but at this point, I’m not even sure my legs would support me. With all my willpower, I hold on to Benny, who leans against me, solid as a rock, giving me the support I need. Literally and figuratively.
Mr. Sherman’s jaw tightens, and his eyes are blazing. “Do you know who this is?” he snaps at Paul, jerking his head at me.
Who I am? What is he talking about? Does he have me confused with someone else?
“Uh, no?” Paul shoots me another look, more hesitant now.
“This is Mack Stone, a distinguished veteran of the United States Army Rangers. He’s the recipient of a bronze and a silver star and served his country with honor.”
I move my head up. How does he know? Tears spring in my eyes. Hearing this man list my name with so much respect in his voice does more to me than any well-meaning “thank you for your service,” and I have to swallow away the tightness in my throat.
“I would hope that this store would treat decorated veterans with more dignity and respect than you’re showing right now, Paul.”
Mr. Sherman’s words are ice stabs now, and Paul has become several degrees paler, which is strangely satisfying. “I had no idea, Mr. Sherman. I—”
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to him.”
Paul turns toward me, his face void of the derision it showed earlier. “I do apologize, Mr. Stone. I wasn’t aware of your service, and I… I apologize.”
He all but runs off, and a deep sigh of relief falls from my lips, and my shoulders lose some of the tension.
“Take a few minutes to collect yourself. I’ll wait until you feel ready again,” Mr. Sherman says, his voice much warmer now.
How does he know what I’m going through? Because he knows. There’s no doubt in my mind, not based on how he looks at me, the kind compassion in his eyes, and the information he spouted about me. Somehow, he knows me, even though I have no clue who he is.
But I can’t deal with that right now. He’s right. I do need a minute, and I sink to my knees and hug Benny with all my might, burying my face in his fur. He whines and presses his wet nose against my neck, grounding me.
When I sense I’m steady enough—which has to be at least five minutes later--I rise again but keep my hand on Benny’s head. I still need that connection. Mr. Sherman is still there, standing guard.
“Thank you,” I finally manage.
“Paul is not the sharpest tool. Not that you should have to explain or defend yourself to anyone.”
“I’m sorry, but have we met before? My memory is not the best.”
His smile is almost grandfatherly. “Only on paper. You bought my house. I lived there for almost fifty years with my wife, Doris.”
Fifty years. Wow. That’s a long time to be with someone. I can’t even imagine. “Oh, okay.”
“I did a little digging when you put an offer in. I wanted to know who bought it, since that place was and is special to me. I know I let the house go, but after Doris died, I… I lacked the energy and will to put any effort into it.”
“I’m not sure I’m faring much better,” I admit. “I had big plans, but I haven’t accomplished much yet.”
“That’s okay. You’ll get there. Grieving takes time.”
It does, but how does he know I’m grieving?
“I served in Vietnam. I know war trauma and grieving when I see it.”
He extends his hand slowly enough I see it coming. Then he grabs my shoulder for a firm squeeze. “One day at a time, Ranger. You’ll get there. Rangers lead the way, right?”
I nod, too stunned to even say anything.
“Take care, Ranger. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
It’s only when I’m halfway back to my house that I realize I still didn’t get Benny his treats and toys, and that while he deserves them now more than ever. “We’ll get them tomorrow,” I promise him, and Benny just sends me a goofy smile, then turns his attention back to the open window.