Nadia cast Taggart a brief, unfriendly look, and left them alone. “I’ll be up front.”
When she was gone, Martin turned to Taggart. “I know you said you don’t really want a dog, but could you at least act like you’re taking this seriously? Nadia stayed an hour late to meet us here.”
“I’m not just gonna pick out a dog at random,” Taggart said. “Even if I did want a mutt — which I don’t — I wouldn’t do that. It’s not like picking out a fucking candy bar. Haven’t you had a dog before?”
“Actually, no,” Martin said.
Taggart gaped. “Seriously? Why not?”
“Me and Keith mostly lived with our aunt,” Martin said. He shrugged. “She didn’t like animals in the house.”
“Well that’s just fucking un-American,” Taggart muttered.
Martin snorted. “Says the man who doesn’t want a dog.”
“It’s different,” Taggart said. “I had dogs before.”
“Fine,” Martin sighed. “Then let’s go. You did what you said. I’ll apologize to Nadia. And if your therapist wants to know, I’ll tell her you came.”
A particularly piercing bark caught Taggart’s ear, and he looked around toward the corner that led to another row of kennels. “What’s that god-awful racket?”
“A puppy, probably,” Martin said. “Or something small. They get a lot of little dogs here.”
Taggart grunted, and trundled around the corner, following the high pitched wailing.
“I think these are the dogs that they haven’t trained or anything,” Martin said as he followed. “Nadia said they only had the handful so far.”
“I heard her,” Taggart said. “I’m not gonna buck their system or anything, I just wanna look.”
“You’re gonna get them all riled up,” Martin sighed. “Let’s go back up and let Nadia get out of here, she’s —”
“Just hang on,” Taggart growled. “She can hang on for another thirty seconds, for fuck’s sake.”
Martin shut up, finally, and Taggart paced down the row of kennels. There were other dogs here — mostly small ones, like Martin had suggested, including innumerable yapping little chihuahuas — but the one making the most noise was at the end. He didn’t know why, but something about that lonely wailing made him keep walking.
He found the furry little fucker at the end of the row and stared. A barking bundle of blond fur sat on its haunches near the kennel door, barking and howling in turns.
Martin moved up beside him and looked into the kennel as well, and made a half-choked sound of surprise. After a moment he nudged Taggart. “I mean, it’s a puppy. But, it’d be kind of perfect, don’t you think?”
“Fuck you,” Taggart muttered. But the retriever puppy had stopped yowling, and now stared up at him licking its chops, its floppy little ears twitching back and forth as it tried to figure out if he was friend or foe, maybe. When Taggart eased himself down, and stuck his fingers through the kennel fencing, the little guy scuttled back, and gave a few plaintive barks before it scooted back up, cautiously, and sniffed at Taggart’s fingers. It stood, unsteadily, and tried to wag its tail but failed and toppled sideways. Taggart’s chest constricted.
“God damn it,” he sighed.
He’d known it was a mistake to come here. This was exactly the sort of thing that happened in places like this. Anyone with any sense knew not to go to a shelter if you didn’t want a dog. Now that he saw the little guy, he couldn’t just leave him here.
Who else was going to take home a fucking three-legged dog?
13
The paperwork was brief, although Nadia was initially skeptical of Taggart’s choice.
“It’s not that he’s missing a leg,” she said quickly when Taggart bristled. “It’s just that we only rescued him about a week ago. We haven’t trained him at all, so, you’ll have to housebreak him. Are you sure you’re ready for that? Taking on a puppy is a big responsibility.”
“So was joining the marines,” Taggart said flatly.
Martin cleared his throat, and handed the paperwork back to Nadia. “I’ll look in on them once in awhile,” he whispered.
Nadia gave Taggart a last uncertain look and shrugged as she signed the papers. “Wait,” she said, tapping the adoption form. “I need a name.”
“What’s it matter?” Taggart asked. He looked down at the wobbly pup, who was gnawing on his new cheap leash. “I’ll figure it out later.”
“They have to update his records,” Martin said. “He’s chipped. That was the second form you signed. They need to register his name in case he gets picked up at some point.”
“He’s got three fucking legs,” Taggart said. “Where the hell’s he gonna go?”
“Excuse me,” Nadia snapped. “I just have a job to do, okay? So you can —”
“Alright,” Martin spoke up. He looked at Taggart. “Come on, man.”
“Fine,” Taggart sighed. He smiled. “Grunt.”
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Huh? What, like . . .” he grunted.
Taggart snorted, and chuckled before he shook his head. “No. But that was funny.” His eyes dropped and he rubbed his chin, almost self consciously, if Martin didn’t know better.
“I mean his name is Grunt,” Taggart said.
Martin laughed, but cut it off. He looked at the puppy, who had given up on freedom and instead now occupied its attention sniffing Taggart’s booted false leg. “You can’t name a dog Grunt, Tag.”
“I can name a dog whatever I want,” Taggart pointed out. “He’s my dog, for one thing, and for another he don’t care what his name is. He’s a dog. Aren’t you, Grunt?”
Hearing Taggart’s voice raised a bit, the puppy — Grunt — looked up and pitched his head to one side curiously. He had to catch his balance when he did.
Martin gave Nadia an apologetic look, but she just shook her head and wrote the name down. The corner of her lip quirked up just a bit.
“Alright,” Nadia said finally, when she slipped the papers into a file on the desk. “We’ll get his information updated. His first few appointment dates for the vet are in the packet I gave you, be sure and schedule them as soon as you can. He’s had all his shots, but they’ll want a stool sample, and do a general check up, and get him in the system. If you go to Westside Animals, they’ll give you a discount for the first five visits.”
“Roger that,” Taggart said. He grinned at Martin. “You ready?”
Nadia let them out and locked the door behind them after a brief goodbye and Martin’s renewed promise to take her out for dinner soon as thanks. Once they were back at the car, Taggart shook the keys to catch Martin’s attention.
“You drive,” Taggart said. “I’ll hold on to this one.”
Martin frowned, and cautiously took the keys. “You sure?”
“I don’t say things I’m not sure about, Martin,” Taggart said. “Unless you want Grunt to get excited and pee on you instead.”
“No thanks,” Martin said. He got in and, when Taggart knocked on the passenger window, leaned over to unlock the door.
Taggart and Grunt got in, and the puppy almost immediately went for Taggart’s face — which Taggart allowed. Grunt sniffed around Taggart’s mouth, and licked his chin several times, and Tag’s cheek when it seemed he wasn’t going to be stopped.
It was like watching a foreign film, where some joke or profound statement was happening, but Martin didn’t have the cultural background to properly ‘get it’.
“What?” Taggart asked.
Martin shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing — you guys are just surprisingly cute.” He paled. “I mean, the puppy is cute.”
“Jesus,” Taggart groaned. “Don’t go full fag on me, Warner.”
“Can you not say shit like that?” Martin snapped.
Taggart flinched, visibly, and Grunt froze.
Martin started the car. It was several minutes before either of them spoke again. When one of them did, it was Taggart. Martin had resolved himsel
f to keeping his mouth shut until this little excursion was over.
“Hey, I uh — didn’t mean to be a dick before,” Taggart muttered, barely audible over the Camaro’s rumbling engine.
Martin glanced at him, and at the puppy, and back at the road. “Okay.”
“I just say shit like that out of habit, you know?” Taggart went on. “It’s just how I’m used to talking to my friends. Other marines. I’m not really used to civilians yet. I . . . forget.”
“So we’re friends now?” Martin asked.
Taggart shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Look, I don’t really think you’re a — that you’re gay, or anything, man, I was just —”
“Jesus, Tag,” Martin sighed, before he laughed. He looked at Taggart briefly. “Seriously?”
“It’s just a thing we say,” Taggart insisted. “I didn’t know it would get up under skin so bad, man, I —”
“Taggart, I am gay,” Martin said. “I guess I forgot you were gone for four years. Everyone in Willow’s End knows by now. For a little while I was the only one, until Charlie Baxter came back for a while. Well, if you don’t count Jasper, anyway.”
“Jasper Pullman?” Taggart asked. “Shit. Go figure. Uh, well anyway, I’m sorry.”
“Great,” Martin murmured.
Taggart was quiet, thankfully, until they got back to his place. Martin spent that time trying to tamp down his anger.
Grunt whined until Taggart opened the door on his side and let the little guy jump down, where Grunt promptly peed, and before he started tugging at his leash and sniffing around his new environment.
“So, you going?” Taggart asked, when Martin handed the keys to the Camaro back.
Martin frowned at Taggart. “Yeah. I have work tomorrow, early. Why?”
“No reason,” Taggart said. He watched Grunt cop a squat and do the rest of his outside business.
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you for therapy on Friday,” Martin said.
“It’s just,” Taggart said quickly, and paused. He sighed, and rubbed his neck. “Uh, look, if I had known, when we were in school, that you were — you know —”
“Gay?” Martin asked.
Taggart nodded. “I’m sorry. About how I acted. What I did. I didn’t know you were gay.”
Martin stared at him in wonder, and shook his head. “You’re really fucking oblivious, aren’t you?”
Taggart’s face fell. “I’m trying to fucking apologize, here, man.”
“What you did to me should have nothing to do with whether or not I’m gay, Tag!” Martin groaned. “Can you not see that? Is it just, are you really that stupid or did you get more screwed up than I thought over — over there.” The wind left his sails.
Taggart looked away from him. “Maybe I am.”
Martin barely heard it. He was done with this conversation at any rate. And yet, he had a hard time just walking away from it. Taggart’s face was expressionless, but the way he leaned on his cane now — sagged onto it, almost, while he let Grunt range around a bit — and the way he seemed suddenly so still made Martin think he might be genuinely hurt.
As if he had the right.
“I have to go,” Martin said. “I’ll see you later, Tag. Don’t forget to do your exercises. Good luck with Grunt. Just . . . you know, make sure you give him the food Nadia gave you, and tomorrow you need to go to the pet store and get him toys and —”
“I know how to take care of a dog,” Taggart said.
“Right,” Martin breathed. “Of course. Night, then.”
He made a hasty retreat, and kicked himself mentally all the way back to his place. Whatever happened to Taggart didn’t excuse what he’d done before. That was, objectively, true, wasn’t it? Because it didn’t feel that way. You’d think if someone got their leg blown off and ended up a few steps shy of a constant nervous breakdown, that would somehow even the scales.
That felt like letting the man off light. Or, somehow, not light enough. How did a person pay that kind of debt? Was a leg too much or too little?
The spiral took Martin down a dark, uncomfortable track of unfamiliar territory which made him feel like a horrible person. What was a little high school bullying compared to going into a war zone and coming out minus some critical parts?
He was interrupted halfway up the stairs to the little attic apartment he was renting. His phone rang, and he saw Aunt Janey’s number pop up. They’d only talked twice in the last couple of weeks. He answered more out of guilt than in any interest in having a conversation with her in his current state.
“Martin,” Janey said before he even managed to get out a whole ‘hi Aunt Janey’. “Martin you have to come home. I — I’ve been robbed! Someone broke in and they took things, and I don’t know what to do, I’m — you have to come over!”
Martin reeled, panicked, and almost fell on his way back down the stairs. “Jesus! Call the police, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just try to stay calm, Janey; I’ll leave right now. Just a — just a few hours.”
It was not a short drive back to Willow’s End. But no one in town knew how to talk to his Aunt to keep her from having a minor breakdown. That meant either calling out at work, or not really sleeping before his shift tomorrow. He pressed his lips tight together and tugged open his car door. “Janey? Did you hear me? Call the police, okay?”
“I already did,” Janey snapped. “Oh, Martin; what am I gonna do?”
“We’ll figure it out, Janey,” Martin assured her. “Just hang tight until I get there.”
When they hung up, Martin leaned his head on the steering wheel, and took a few long breaths before he started the car again and pulled out of the driveway.
He went ahead and called the hospital’s HR line when he saw the time. It was going to be a very long night.
14
It was close to a three hour drive. Martin was lucky that he managed to go about twenty miles over the speed limit the whole way. He slowed only a little bit once he got off the highway, though, and paid for it almost immediately.
He didn’t spot the sheriff’s car at all, even though there was almost always a car just a quarter mile or so beyond the sign which welcomed mostly people who got lost to Willow’s End. The lights flashed in his rear view, and Martin groaned as he slammed on his brakes and pulled off to the curb. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he waited.
Sheriff Ramsay was the one to pull him over, and took his time ambling up to the window that Martin had already rolled down. He stuck his license and registration out before Ramsay asked for it.
“Sorry, Sheriff,” he sighed. “I know I was speeding. Aunt Janey called to say she was robbed, I just got out here as fast as I could.”
Ramsay pushed his wide brimmed hat up. “That so? Huh. She call it in?” He took Martin’s license and paperwork and looked it over.
“I told her to,” Martin said. “But for all I know she . . . well you know she’s been a little off for a while.”
“I hear about her from Linda, time to time,” Ramsay said. He handed Martin’s license and paperwork back. “Want me to go with you? Far as I know, there’s been no robbery reported.”
Relief flooded Martin’s chest. “Oh, geez, would you? I mean, you can still write me a ticket and everything — I should have slowed down, I know — but, the sooner I get to my Aunt’s place the better.”
“It’s twenty up through town,” Ramsay said pointedly. “I’ll lead the way, though.”
By that, it turned out, Ramsay meant that he would leave his strobes on, which gave Martin’s weary eyes an ache almost immediately — but they drove the rest of the way into town and to Aunt Janey’s house ignoring red lights and stop signs. Not that it mattered. It was almost nine o’clock, which in Willow’s End might as well have been three in the morning. Probably Sheriff Ramsay didn’t get a lot of ‘action’ being the Sheriff of a place like Willow’s End.
When they arrived, the Sheriff parked on the street so that Martin could pull into the d
riveway.
There was no outward sign of a break in, but Janey was known to leave her doors and windows unlocked. She wasn’t unique in that — on any given day, most of the doors in town were likely to be unlocked. Crime wasn’t something that anyone here really had to worry about. It was normal for neighbors to just walk in and drop things off or, if an arrangement had been made, to pick something up.
Martin had a key, of course, but the front door was unlocked. He walked in, followed closely by Sheriff Ramsay, and looked around for Janey.
He found her making pancakes in the kitchen.
“Aunt Janey?” Martin asked, trying not to startle her when he did.
It didn’t work all that well, but she didn’t burn herself or anything. She looked around quickly, saw him, frowned for a moment and before she smiled broadly. “Oh! Martin!” She put her spatula aside, and strode toward him to give him a hug and kiss his forehead. “What are you doing here? This is a surprise. Sit down, I’ll make you pancakes. You know, I was just a little peckish and I thought to myself, well—it’s breakfast somewhere, isn’t it? I was going to make bacon, too, but that just seemed excessive, you know.”
Martin glanced at the Sheriff when she left him to return to the stove, and Ramsay looked slightly embarrassed. Martin gave him a nod, and Ramsay began to look around quietly.
“Uh, Auntie?” Martin asked. “You called me. Remember? You said you’d been robbed. I told you to call the police. It was just a few hours ago. Do you remember that?”
Janey shook her head as she turned a pancake. The cooked side was barely cooked, still so pale it was almost white. “ I called you; wasn’t that yesterday? I wasn’t robbed, though. Was I? You know, I couldn’t find your brother’s football trophies. I looked all over his room, and in your room — I thought maybe you’d taken them because you were jealous. But you know, I didn’t find them. Someone might have stolen them.”
Martin sighed and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Sheriff Ramsay was just out of sight of the stove, probably to avoid alarming Janey, but he had his hat in his hands. He gave Martin a questioning look, and Martin shook his head.
Grudge (Virtue & Vice Book 5) Page 7