Reign of Terrier

by Lori R. Taylor

  Oh.

  It all made sense, in a single blinding flash of realization.

  She’d spilled something yesterday. Tessa hadn’t much noticed what it was or where it ended up, since she was trying to keep Sparks from biting Dr. Dale at that moment, but it must’ve been the chlorhexidine she used to clean up Princess’ bite wounds, and it spilled into the food that she then served last night to the dogs who got sick.

  Leslie frowned. “How did we get disinfectant in the food?”

  “Tessa spilled it.”

  Eliza’s voice cut like a knife through the sudden flash of silence.

  All eyes turned to Tessa, frowning and unhappy.

  “I saw her spilling stuff yesterday. It must’ve gotten into the food.”

  Tessa opened her mouth, but for what purpose, she wasn’t sure.

  If she denied it, said it was Eliza who’d spilled it into the food — not to mention then served the ruined food — she might be believed, but for what reason? It was clearly an accident, no matter whose accident it was, and throwing Eliza under the bus wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  But if she agreed, if she admitted to it, regardless of the truth, she’d certainly be asked to leave. Dr. Dale wouldn’t want someone who did a stupid thing and then not tried to fix it working in his lab, handling his dogs.

  In the end, it didn’t matter who had done the spilling. It was an accident, and the only fault was that no one thought about checking the food for contamination and not just brand or bag changes.

  Eliza stared hard at her, almost daring her to contradict her accusation. It would, if Tessa argued, come down to being Eliza’s word against Tessa’s, and why would any of them believe Tessa, the stranger they hardly knew, over their star volunteer?

  Princess bumped her nose against her leg, softly like she understood what was happening. Tessa bumped her back with the toe of her sneaker as if she were cuddled at her feet under her computer desk.

  “I’m sorry,” Tessa said. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

  Dr. Dale’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You could’ve said something.”

  “I should’ve,” she mumbled down at her feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “Right.” The word was a sigh. “Well, at least we know what it is.”

  Leslie shifted, expression clearing as if Dr. Dale’s words were a call back to reality. She handed him the lead of the dog she was holding and grabbed the food cart instead. “Eliza, Phoebe, let’s get that food taken care of.”

  They left.

  Tessa hesitated, unsure of what to do with herself now. Surely Dr. Dale was about to send her home, tell her he’d made the decision to offer his externship spot to Eliza who didn’t make half the shelter sick.

  She was done here. She knew it, and she tried not to feel the tightening of her throat or the insistent throb of tears in her eyes.

  Princess pressed a little harder against her ankle, warm and solid and very much there.

  Dr. Dale’s expression softened as the kennel door closed behind Leslie and the food cart. “She’ll get that sorted,” he said like a reassurance. “C’mon, help me with the rest of them.”

  Tessa looked up, jaw loose. “I — what?”

  He smiled, that little smile with just the corners of his lips. “I need the help.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah. Of course.”

  She stepped forward, and Princess stayed pressed to her leg.

  “Bring her, too. You’re better together than apart.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It took a few more hours to give fluids and antiemetics to the rest of the sick dogs, but it was hours that felt well-spent and productive.

  Tessa had always figured that watching an animal brighten under her hands because of her care would be satisfying, but she wasn’t entirely prepared for just how satisfying it would be. The dogs came back to the lab feeling achy and nauseous, and by the time they went back to their kennels, their eyes were bright and their tails wagging.

  As someone who got rather sick with dehydration, she didn’t have to only imagine how good it felt for the headache and nausea to finally go away.

  Leslie came back to the lab after a while. Her dark skin hid the circles under her eyes, but her motions were slow and her voice quiet, and that spoke at the same volume about how she felt.

  “Go home, Les,” Dr. Dale said after a few minutes. “Get some sleep.”

  “I can’t. Not until they’re all feeling better.”

  So, despite his protests, she stayed, ferrying dogs back and forth between the kennels and the lab.

  Tessa kept her eyes on the dog in front of her, frightened by what she might see in the eyes of Leslie or Dr. Dale if she looked at them. Blame, perhaps. Disappointment, almost certainly.

  She didn’t look to confirm those suspicions.

  Princess remained at her side, warm and comforting for the entire time, and she was as much a soothing presence for the other dogs as she was for Tessa. When Leslie brought Sparks back to the lab, Princess flicked her tail. It bounced lightly against the bottom of her jeans.

  Sparks looked down at her from the table and whined, a thin, mournful sound like she was dying.

  Princess made a noise back, not a whine or a bark, but something between the two, a sort of encouragement.

  I know it sucks, Tessa could almost hear her saying in their own doggie language. You’ll feel better soon.

  Tessa patted Sparks and bumped Princess with a toe.

  Princess nuzzled a bit closer.

  It was dark by the time Leslie said everyone was feeling better, and no one had seen a speck of vomit or diarrhea in more than an hour. Dr. Dale and Tessa let out a sigh at the same moment, and for a moment, she forgot to be too embarrassed and ashamed to look him in the face. She grinned, tired down to her bones, but pleased just the same.

  Then she remembered that he thought she was responsible for the kennel’s illness, that she’d lost her last chance at doing this for the rest of her life, and her expression fell.

  “Well, that was a day, huh?” Dr. Dale said, though Tessa wasn’t sure if it was to her or Leslie or just to himself.

  “Ugh,” Leslie answered. “Let’s not do it again.”

  There was a smile in his voice, though Tessa didn’t look up to confirm the fact of it. “Agreed. Go home, both of you. Get some sleep. We’ve done everything we can — I’ll let the nightwalk know to keep an eye out for any other signs of illness.”

  Leslie shambled from the lab, for the first time since he first suggested she go, showing in the slope of her shoulders and reluctance of her feet just how tired she must be.

  Tessa was about to follow her, but Dr. Dale called her back.

  “Tessa, one more second?”

  She paused with her hand already on the lab door.

  “I want you to start on Thursday.”

  She again forgot that she couldn’t look him in the face and did just that. “Start? Start what?”

  He smiled. “Your externship. Isn’t that what you’re looking for?”

  She pulled in a breath and opened her mouth to answer, but then realized she didn’t know what to say.

  “And, once you graduate and are fully certified,” he added as if he hadn’t noticed her hesitation, “if you want it, there’ll be a job here for you.”

  The noise her mouth produced wasn’t a word, rather a hesitant jumble of vowels that wouldn’t settle into one thing. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Uh…”

  Dr. Dale’s smile faltered a moment. “Only if you want, of course. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

  Oh, right. That’s how human language worked. “I do! I-I do want! It’s just … aren’t you—” Tessa didn’t want to say it, to remind him, but she didn’t want her hopes raised like this only to have them crushed again once he remembered. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

  This pulled his eyebrows together into the start of a confused frown. “For what?”

  “Th
e…” She waved her hands uselessly in the air in front of her.

  “The dogs being sick? No. That was an accident, and you took responsibility for it, even when Eliza lied about how it was your fault.”

  Tessa blinked, once again stunned beyond words.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I knew Eliza was lying. But you didn’t argue, you didn’t pick a fight, you didn’t try to shift blame. That’s the kind of responsibility and willingness to take one for the team that I need in my techs. It’s hard work, and sometimes things happen, and it doesn’t matter whose fault it is as long as we can learn from it and make sure it never happens again. I assume you’ve learned about cleaning up spills, or at least letting someone know that something happened?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He smiled again. “So. Thursday, eight a.m., and we’ll figure out what you need for hours and paperwork?”

  “Yeah. Yes, that’s … great. Amazing. I’ll be here.”

  “Good.” His gaze fell to Princess, who Tessa could feel watching her, tail grazing her pant leg, reflecting the sudden burst of hope and joy welling up inside her. “And feel free to bring your dog with you. Leslie can help you get her socialized and trained properly.”

  Tessa glanced down at Princess. She stared back up, amber eyes bright, and Tessa knew they should never be apart again. They were meant to navigate the world together.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Tessa scooped Princess up into her arms as they got out of the car and started in toward Pretty Paws on Thursday morning. Paper crinkled in her jacket pocket as Princess shifted into a comfortable position against her chest; Tessa had gotten Irene’s fax number so she could send in the papers as soon as Dr. Dale filled them out, and her externship could officially begin.

  Eliza looked up when they came into the lobby. Her lips pressed thin when she saw Tessa, and the muscles in her jaw stood out as she clenched her teeth behind the forced smile.

  She set Princess down — she stayed close — and dug around in the opposite pocket from where she’d folded and stashed her externship paperwork. From the pocket Tessa pulled out her old list of local vets who accepted externs and held it out to Eliza like a peace offering.

  She eyed it for a moment, her forced smile never fading. “What’s that?”

  “It’s for you. I updated it yesterday, called around a bit. You should talk to Amelia Andrews in Chester.”

  Eliza took the paper slowly and read it over. Her smile lost a little of that forced look.

  “I want us to be friends,” Tessa added, quieter.

  She looked up again, and another bit of resentment slipped out of her expression. “I’d like that.”

  “You’ve got this, Eliza.”

  A smile remained, but her brows crinkled, and for a moment, she looked like she might start to cry. “Thanks.”

  “Lemme know when you get your externship. I’ll buy us drinks.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

  They smiled at each other as Tessa made my way to the back.

  Leslie was waiting, expectant, in the hall between lobby and lab. Tessa handed her the end of the leash. “Look after my puppy for me today?”

  Leslie took the leash. Her teeth were a shocking white against the darkness of her lips. “Of course.”

  They went their separate ways, Tessa to the lab, Leslie, with Princess trotting at her heels, toward the kennel.

  Maggie picked them up at the end of the day. It had been a long one, full of all kinds of Harper Jones paperwork and lots of talking to Dr. Dale, and Tessa was just to the other side of tired when he dismissed her for the day. Not exhausted, but the sort of tired that leaves you feeling loose and uninhibited and like you want to drop immediately into bed but could be convinced to keep going if there was some very good reason for it.

  They stopped at the nearest grocery store that sold flowers. Tessa bought half a dozen roses — yellow ones, because those were Livy’s favorites — then sat in perfect silence, fingers tight around the stems, for the rest of the drive, grateful that Maggie, at least, knew where they were going.

  They pulled into a small paved parking lot. Maggie turned off the car and for a long moment sat silently with Tessa in it, both staring unseeing out the windshield. Then she turned to look at her. Her voice was soft, careful. “Ready?”

  Tessa sucked in a breath. Princess had placed herself on her lap the moment she’d sat back down in the car, and now she gazed up with sudden expectation. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the flowers. “As I’ll ever be.”

  They got out. Tessa clenched Princess’ leash in her other hand as she followed Maggie through the quiet rows of headstones.

  She’d always liked graveyards. She’d had a few people tell her that was weird and morbid, and maybe it was, but it was true. Graveyards were quiet, peaceful places. Very few people, often off the road enough that your thoughts weren’t being interrupted by traffic, neatly trimmed and lined with the memories of strangers. Like being in a crowd without all the noise and actual strangers that came with a real crowd.

  But maybe the actual experience of death was what many people found morbid about them, what made them painful for so many. Tessa hadn’t understood that before — now, she thought she did.

  They walked in silence down many rows. Some of the headstones were old, their edges and letters worn smooth with time and weather; others were newer, bright gray and sharp against the December-brown grass. Tessa picked out names where she could.

  Beloved William

  Jonathan Turner

  Mary Elizabeth Sharp, wife and mother

  Maggie stopped near the end of a row, and Tessa knew without being told that they’d reached their destination. She squeezed both flowers and leash for the feel of something real and solid in her hand and tried not to think too hard about how much she wished it were a hand that could squeeze back.

  The headstone was one of the new ones, of course, still too bright and easy to see between the softer, older ones on either side. Tessa let her eyes trace along the top line, its gentle curves like the profile of an open book. She hadn’t any part in picking out the headstone — she’d left that particular detail entirely up to her family — but they chose well.

  Graceful, she thought. Pretty. Livy liked nice lines, and this stone had nice lines.

  Finally, knowing she couldn’t put it off anymore, Tessa forced herself to look at the name carved into the stone.

  Olivia Ann Rhodes

  April 12, 1993 - June 3, 2021

  It hit her all at once, much the way Tessa expected it would. The shocking pain of loss, a fresh wave of understanding what it was she had lost.

  Livy had been everything to her. Her best friend. The love of her life. Tessa didn’t really believe in the idea of soul mates, at least not in the sense that there was one, and only one, person made for each other person in the world, but Livy had challenged even that. Neither of them were perfect — Tessa was an anxious and withdrawn, Livy was stubborn and naggy — but they were right. They understood each other, looked after each other, compensated for each other’s failings. The graces that one of them lacked, the other had in abundance enough to make up for it. They challenged and comforted each other; Tessa pushed Livy to be more patient and thoughtful, Livy made Tessa feel safe and loved. They loved each other, trusted each other, liked spending time together.

  That day two years ago when she’d gotten down on one knee and asked Tessa to marry her would be forever the bar to which all her other happy moments would be measured.

  And then, a drunk stranger had taken that all away.

  Tessa dropped to her knees, suddenly unable to support herself anymore. Grief ran like blood through her veins, no part of herself untouched by it, just as there had been no part of her that had not been touched and changed by Livy.

  “I brought you flowers,” she whispered, to the headstone since she couldn’t whisper it to Livy’s ear. “Yellow roses. Your favorite.”

  Ther
e was no answer. She hadn’t expected there to be, not really. She knew Livy was gone. Dead. Killed by a drunk driver who’d gotten behind the wheel of a car and hadn’t even noticed when they’d bounced up onto the sidewalk.

  No one ever found out who the driver was.

  Tessa hadn’t been there. Livy had invited her out that night, tried to get her out of her cave, but for maybe the first time ever, she’d refused and then not let her talk her into it anyway.

  Tessa was annoyed with her. She called her a nag.

  Livy hung up frustrated.

  And the next thing Tessa knew, it was past midnight, and June was crying on the other end of the line and telling her that Livy had just been rushed to the ER, and they weren’t sure if she was going to make it.

  She was dead by the time Tessa got there. She never had a chance to apologize for the way their last conversation ended. The last thing she’d said to her was that she was a nag. Not “I love you.” Not even “goodbye.”

  You’re such a nag.

  Livy knew she didn’t mean it, that Tessa didn’t want that to be her last words to her. She knew that. Tessa was sure she did. They’d had those sorts of frustrated conversations before, the ones that ended with them both stewing in their annoyance for a couple of hours before realizing they were being dumb and saying sorry. Not often — it was as close to fighting as they got, and they didn’t do that much — but often enough that Tessa could guess at how the phone call the next morning would’ve gone, if they’d been allowed to have it.

  “Sorry about last night,” Livy would’ve said. “I was being annoying.”

  “You were,” Tessa would’ve agreed, “but I was, too. I shouldn’t’ve called you names.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge, as they say. I know you don’t mean it when you get cranky.”

  And the air would’ve been cleared, and they’d have gone on like it never happened.

  But this time, she’d been killed before then, and while Tessa knew they would’ve been okay, the fact that they never got a chance to say it aloud burned in the deepest core of her.