by Skye Taylor
Captain Allan spoke as though she knew Ben personally.
The doctor looked past Meg and then shook her head with a rueful expression on her pretty face. “Our time is up for today, but I think you’ve begun to find a few of the answers you need. At least there are things for you to think about and perhaps act on. Perhaps it’s time you asked Ben what you can do to help out around the kennels again. You enjoyed it before, and I think you will again. Look at it as a way to honor Scout’s sacrifice. And next time, perhaps we will talk about Captain Bissett.”
The doctor stood. Clearly Meg was dismissed. She wanted to protest that John Bissett was not part of her problems, but she wasn’t given the opportunity.
Captain Allan came around the corner of the desk and stuck out her hand. “It was nice to meet you. I know you don’t think I understand what it’s like, but I do honor your service and thank you for it.”
Meg took the doctor’s hand. She swallowed and then looked the doctor in the eye. “Thank you for your time.” She did an about-face and left the doctor’s office.
She passed the young private in the outer office without a word and let herself into the hall. The doctor assumed Meg would be back. But unless Colonel Jenks insisted or the captain refused to sign off on the paperwork, Meg had no intention of returning. She didn’t want to talk about John Bissett. Her issues with him had nothing to do with leaving the Marine Corps. Hopefully she’d get her psych-eval box checked without another session with Captain Allan.
Striding quickly down the hall past the walk-in sick bay clinic, Meg almost didn’t notice the dog sitting at the feet of the old man in the wheelchair. But it was hard to miss the bright orange vest the dog wore, and in spite of her urgent need to get out of the building, she paused and glanced back.
The old man’s trembling hand rested on the dog’s head. His broad smile made it clear he enjoyed the dog’s presence. The middle-aged woman holding the end of the leash wore civilian attire with a visitor’s ID pass dangling from a lanyard around her neck. She glanced briefly at Meg, then back to the golden retriever with the lolling tongue and liquid eyes. Meg read the bold patch stitched onto the dog’s orange vest before she headed for the door.
Therapy Dog. What on earth is a Therapy Dog? Meg shoved the door open and stepped out into the warm North Carolina sunshine. She sucked in a huge breath of the fresh fall air. Was the atmosphere in that place always that oppressive, or was it just her? She unfolded her cap and set it on her head, squared her shoulders, then set off toward her car.
“Marissa.”
Meg whirled on one heel.
John Bissett! As if the doctor’s suggestion had conjured him up.
“Are you following me?”
Captain Bissett saluted. Belatedly Meg realized that she should have done so first. She returned his salute.
“Well, are you?”
“Am I what?” He frowned.
“Stalking me?”
Now he looked offended. And hurt.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just didn’t expect—” Meg swallowed the nervousness clogging her throat. “I thought you were—”
“Gone? I will be. Tomorrow. I’m just tying up a few loose ends.”
“Where to, this time?”
“Afghanistan.”
Meg felt herself blanching. She’d wanted him sent somewhere besides Lejeune, where there were too many opportunities for her to keep running into him, but not back to a war zone.
“Not to a hot spot, though,” he said as if reading her mind. “Want to grab a cup of coffee and wish an old friend good luck?”
The man would be gone tomorrow. Out of her life forever. Maybe she owed him at least a cup of coffee. He’d been a good friend when she needed one. He’d almost been more than a friend, but that wasn’t exactly his fault. She hesitated.
He started to reach out to touch her shoulder and then apparently thought better of it. “I’m sorry about what happened, Marissa. You were hurting, and I took advantage. I hope you can forgive me and forget it ever happened.” His mouth quirked up on one side, and a look of doubt clouded his eyes.
She started to remind him no one called her Marissa, but John was taking all the blame for her shameless behavior. An officer and a gentleman to the core.
“Nothing happened,” she muttered, not quite meeting his gaze.
He hesitated, his green eyes searching her face. “So? We good for one last cup of joe?”
“Sure.” She owed him that much. They turned together and stepped off in the direction of the base café. “What do you know about therapy dogs?”
“Not much.” John glanced at her. “But one did visit me in the hospital. He was making the rounds with his owner. Cheered the guys up no end to have a big goober of a lab come by. I only saw him the once, though.”
“I just passed one in the hall.” Meg jerked her head back in the direction of the building housing the sick bay and doctors’ offices. “A nice old golden retriever. I didn’t know they let dogs into those places.”
They stepped up onto the curb, and John reached to open the door for her. “I saw service dogs in the hospital, too. They’re a whole different thing though. They get special training and then get paired up with just one vet. They’re allowed to go everywhere, like guide dogs for the blind.”
“I met one a week or so ago,” Meg admitted as she slid into a booth.
John sat across from her and signaled the waitress for two cups of coffee.
By the time the coffee arrived, Meg had explained about Ron and his dog Lola. By the time the coffee was drunk, and they were ready to leave, she’d told him all about Ben, the mortgage, and Ben’s plans for a facility that trained more dogs like Lola. She’d even told him about Kip. She’d flushed with embarrassment when she recalled the scene following Scout’s death, but John had acted as though he hadn’t noticed. Meg had no idea why she’d just blurted all that stuff out. But John had let her do all the talking.
She should have been asking him more about where he was headed and what he’d be doing.
As they stood on the curb, preparing to go their separate ways, Meg got flustered all over again. Instinct urged her to give him a hug. It might be the last time she ever saw him. Training kicked in, and she saluted instead.
John returned the salute. “Take care of yourself, Marissa.”
“Keep your head down, John.”
He nodded and turned to leave. Meg watched him walk away and prayed he’d get through the coming deployment in one piece. And that life would be good to him. He deserved it.
Chapter 19
WHEN MEG TURNED into her driveway a police cruiser sat parked next to Ben’s truck with the back door open. Ben squatted on the ground next to the cruiser nose to nose with Kip. Both man and dog looked up as Meg’s car approached.
She pulled up on the far side of Ben’s truck and turned the engine off. Her heart thumped, and her chest felt uncomfortably tight. Until just a few days ago, anything that involved Kip had caused her heart to quail, but things had been different since their walk to the end of the dock and back. For weeks, she’d been waiting for the police officer who’d brought Kip to come and retrieve him. Now he was here, and she wasn’t so sure she wanted the dog to go after all.
Sliding out of the car, Meg walked around the back of Ben’s truck and approached the cruiser. Kip trembled, his ears angled back in an anxious posture and his tail tucked up so tight the tip of it touched his belly. Ben spoke to the dog in a low, calming tone. The same tone Ben used when he rubbed her back, soothing her after she woke from a nightmare. Meg stopped a few feet away, not wanting to intrude. Not sure she wanted to witness Kip’s distress or the heartbreaking scene that might follow when the dog was ordered to get into the cruiser.
“He seemed fine a few minutes ago,” the police officer obs
erved, scratching his head. He glanced over at Meg, then back down to Ben, still squatting next to Kip.
“He’s been fine around the house. Good with the family and all.” Ben ruffled the fur at Kip’s neck. “He seems to enjoy playing with the boys, too.” Ben stood. He moved to Kip’s side and placed one hand on the dog’s head. “I took him to the beach last week and fired a few blank rounds to see how he’d react. It wasn’t good. I thought maybe I’d just been a little hasty. Rushing things, you know? Considering his refusal to get into the cruiser, I’m thinking it might take a lot longer.”
The officer grunted. Looked at the dog, then back to Ben. “I know it’s an imposition—”
“Not at all,” Ben cut him off. “He can stay as long as he needs to.” Abruptly Ben turned and noticed Meg, as if he hadn’t realized she hadn’t gone directly to the house from her car. “Unless . . .?”
“Unless what?” Meg asked, closing the distance between them.
“Meg, this is Jerry Brady, Wilmington PD. Brady, my wife Meg.”
The officer stuck out his hand, and Meg took it. “Nice to meet you.” Meg tried to keep her voice neutral. She was so conflicted about what might or might not happen to Kip. And that conflict unsettled her.
“Same here, ma’am. You all have been very generous, and we appreciate it.”
“Unless what?” Meg asked again, looking pointedly at her husband.
Ben looked oddly abashed. “I guess I should have consulted with you before offering to continue fostering Kip.”
“You didn’t consult me when he first got here. No reason you should now. But either way, I’m good with it. I’ll let you guys decide what’s best.” She turned on her heel and headed for the house. For reasons she could not fathom, her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. And she didn’t care to explain them to Ben, never mind cry in front of a perfect stranger.
Ben watched Meg stride across the dusty driveway toward the house in shock. What shocked him most, he wasn’t sure. Her accusation that he hadn’t consulted her before taking Kip on, which he couldn’t deny, or the tears he’d seen in her eyes just before she’d turned away.
He turned back to Officer Brady, not sure what he was supposed to do now. But Brady had already closed the back door of the cruiser and was sliding into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll give you a call next week,” Brady said as he pulled his door shut.
Ben threaded his finger through Kip’s collar. Not that he thought for a moment that the dog would bolt after a car he’d just shown quite clearly he had no interest in getting into, but habit died hard. Securing any animal when cars were moving just came as second nature.
Brady waved out the open window as he turned out of the driveway. The cruiser made the jog across Stewart Road and then went right onto Jolee Road and disappeared from sight. Ben glanced down at Kip, who now had his tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth. All shivering had ceased, and the dog’s ears were erect and eager. Kip clearly related the sight of the police cruiser to the death of his handler, and it disturbed him. Unwillingly, Ben faced the fact that Kip might never see a cruiser without trembling and would most likely never return to police work.
But right at the moment, that reality took second place to whatever was going on with Meg. The last few days or so, she’d seemed okay with Kip being around. So the tears now? Along with the accusation that he hadn’t consulted her before agreeing to foster the dog in the first place. Confusion didn’t begin to describe what was going on in Ben’s head. Or the sudden pain in his heart.
Meg had been equally upset the day she summed up Ben’s character as being defined by the dogs and his choice of career. He’d offered to give them up if it was what she wanted, but he hadn’t believed for a minute that she would ask that of him. He’d been serious, but he hadn’t thought that was really what was at the bottom of her despondency and distress.
Maybe it was time to talk about it?
Without Kip to influence her.
Ben headed for the kennel with Kip trotting obediently at his side. Columbo met them at the door, and both dogs checked each other out, sniffing with interest, but without animosity. Ben considered the option of putting Kip in one of the runs, but by then both dogs were seated at his feet, side by side, patiently waiting to see what happened next. He decided to leave Kip free.
He closed the door and headed to the house. A leaden sense of dread puddled in his gut, and he had to force himself to open the kitchen door and go inside.
Meg stood at the counter chopping vegetables. She didn’t turn around when he entered.
“He staying?”
“You mean Kip?” Of course she meant Kip. Who else would she be talking about? “For now, but that can change. What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t want you to do anything.” She continued to slice carrots.
Ben feared for her fingers considering the aggressive way she chopped at the vegetables. He crossed the kitchen and reached around her, removed the knife from her hands, and set it on the cutting board.
Meg placed both hands on the counter but still didn’t turn to face him.
“What’s the matter, Meg?”
She shook her head.
“Something’s bothering you, but I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is.”
A teardrop splashed onto the counter next to her hand. Distress shot through Ben like a bullet. He wrapped his arms about his wife and began rocking her. With his head bent down beside hers, he just held her tightly. He had no idea what to say.
“Help! Daddy!” Evan barreled into the kitchen and grabbed a fold of Ben’s pants.
Ben dropped his arms from Meg and squatted down in front of his agitated son. “What’s up?”
“Rick cut himself. He’s bleeding all over the place.”
“Where is he?” Meg dropped the dishtowel she’d grabbed to dab her eyes with.
“In the bathroom. He tried to shave with Daddy’s razor, and he’s bleeding everywhere.” Evan’s voice rose in intensity, half panic, half excitement.
Meg bolted for the hallway.
Ben followed, but Evan’s grip on his pants slowed him down. Meg dashed through the bathroom door first.
“Rick?” Meg reached for her son.
“Mom.” Rick sounded annoyed. “Evan, why did you have to go bringing Mom in here?”
“How bad is it?” Meg asked, grasping Rick’s jaw.
Rick jerked out of reach. “Dad?”
Rick had his hands clutched over his groin. Blood dribbled from a cut on his chin. Nowhere near as much blood as the excitement in Evan’s voice had suggested. For a moment Ben felt like smiling, but he stifled it.
“Please, Mom. It’s just a nick. I’m okay. Dad, tell her she can’t come in here.”
“What do you mean, I can’t come in there? I’m your mother, and you’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
Meg grabbed a facecloth and began dabbing at the blood on Rick’s chin.
“Mom! I haven’t got any clothes on!” Rick was clearly more distressed about his mother seeing him naked than about the cut on his chin. “Dad?” Rick looked pleadingly toward Ben. “Can you please make her go away?”
“I’m your mother, Rick. I changed your diapers. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.” Meg went on mopping at the cut, which continued to dribble bright red drops of blood onto the tile floor.
“But I’m not a baby anymore,” Rick protested. He backed away from his mother, his face pinched with embarrassment and his hands still clutching his private parts.
“I’ll take care of it.” Ben stepped between Rick and Meg. “Go finish fixing dinner, and we’ll be out in a few minutes.” He took the facecloth from her hand.
Meg looked c
onfused. She peered past Ben and then angled her head up toward his. “But, I—”
Ben kissed her briefly on the mouth and turned her toward the door. “You too, you bloodthirsty little imp,” Ben told Evan, who’d been hanging on every word with relish. Such high drama didn’t happen every day, and he was clearly enjoying every emotion-packed moment.
Evan lifted his shoulders and dropped them with a huge aggrieved sigh. “Awright.” He followed his mother from the blood-spattered bathroom.
Ben shut the door. Then turned back to his son.
“WHAT POSSESSED him?” Meg asked Ben as soon as he reappeared in the living room after putting the boys to bed. The subject of Rick’s little fiasco in the bathroom had been taboo during supper. Ben had given her a stern frown when Rick slid into his seat at the supper table with an adhesive bandage covering the cut on his chin. Frustrated and feeling more left out than ever, Meg had fumed and stayed stubbornly silent through most of the meal. She hadn’t even made a token protest when Rick asked Ben to tuck them in. If the boys didn’t want her intruding into their privacy, she wasn’t going to force herself on them.
Ben shrugged as he dropped onto the ottoman in front of her. “Not sure what put the idea into his head in the first place, but once there, he was convinced he was growing a mustache.”
“No way!” Meg protested. He was only seven. Her baby was only seven. Years away from having to think of shaving.
Ben chuckled. “Not unless you count the peach fuzz he’s had since he was born.” Ben reached out to put his hands on her knees. He started to say something, but Meg cut him off.
“Did you punish him?”
“We talked.”
“You talked.” Meg’s echo was heavy with sarcasm. That’s all Ben ever did with the boys. Have a talk. He never meted out punishment.
“I think he scared himself more than he did us.”
“So, what’s up with all the squeamishness over me seeing him naked?” Meg hadn’t meant to ask. She’d meant to keep her hurt feelings to herself, but the question slipped out anyway.