Dog Tags

by Heidi Glick

  Here she was standing inside Mark Graham’s house—not where she would have guessed she’d have been had someone asked her years earlier. She examined her hair in the stained glass mirror next to the door and adjusted several out-of-place strands. They’d been moving furniture all day. How long had it looked like that?

  An aging Hispanic woman greeted them in the foyer. “Hola, Mark.”

  The scent of glass cleaner mixed with disinfectant permeated the air. A change in pace from the lemon furniture polish scent of her childhood home. Glass cleaner and disinfectant—maybe that’s what Mark’s house smelled like growing up. Not that she could remember going to his house. Perhaps once or twice she studied the outside of his home when her father drove Mark over there and dropped him off. No, all their encounters had taken place at school or her home. Outside of those places, she didn’t know much about him.

  Mark moved forward toward the entryway. “Hello, Lupe. You’re not on your way out, are you?”

  “Sí, I was. You need me to do something else?”

  “This is my friend, Beth.” Mark turned and gestured toward her. “Beth, this is my housekeeper, Lupe.” He looked at Lupe. “I was hoping you’d stay and enjoy dinner with us, or are you in a hurry to get home?”

  The woman scrunched her face. “My husband works second shift this month. No hurry.” Lupe studied Beth for a moment and grinned.

  “Nice to meet you.” Beth extended her hand. It was good Mark had someone to help him out.

  Lupe shook Beth’s hand, wide-eyed. “Si. Nice to meet you.” She turned toward Mark and winked. “Mark, do you want me to cook for you?”

  “I can manage, thank you. No, Lupe, you’re off the clock. Tonight, you’re my guest.”

  Smiling, Lupe moved to one side and allowed a small black dog to scamper past and jump into Mark’s lap.

  Mark scratched the dog’s head, wheeled to his sliding glass door, and let the dog outside. Mark shut the door and pointed outside at the dog. The animal spun in circles, chasing its tail. “That’s Sparky. I found him back in Beaumont.”

  Beaumont, Ohio—their connection. No way around it.

  Beth placed her hands in her pockets. “Sparky, how original. I’m guessing you narrowed down name choices to either that or Spot?” Why hadn’t he laughed at her joke? It wouldn’t hurt the corporal to smile a little. Perhaps sarcasm was against Marine regulations. She stopped to observe the dog for a moment. “Actually, it’s a cute dog. Kind of looks like a little black wolf. What breed is that?”

  “He’s a Schipperke. Most of them have their tails docked. But I’m glad his isn’t. I think it adds character.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “A Schipperke? I never heard of that breed before.”

  “LBDs. Little Belgian dogs, little barge dogs, or little black devils, depending on how they’re behaving. The Belgian resistance used them in World War II to relay messages.”

  “Little black devils?” She stared at Mark. “Is it safe to pet him?”

  “I don’t know.” Mark opened the door, letting Sparky inside. “Have you had your rabies shot?”

  “Ha, ha.” Beth whistled, and the dog came right to her. She crouched down and scratched his head. Sparky wagged his curly black tail and flashed a huge grin. His incisors gleamed. “Whoa, nice teeth there, little fella’.” Beth stood up and stepped away from the dog.

  “It’s OK. He doesn’t bite.”

  “That’s good to know.” Good to know, and yet being bitten by the dog was the least of her worries. Beth petted Sparky and then glanced at Mark. “So, you…you’re making dinner?”

  He wheeled toward the kitchen. “While my Mom worked, I learned to cook.”

  “Interesting. I’m sure it will be great.” Her palate anticipated a microwaveable frozen dinner.

  He returned with a plate on his lap. “I’ll fire up the grill.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You can set the table.”

  She made two attempts to locate the silverware drawer. Everything in the kitchen was positioned at a level Mark could reach from his chair. From the looks of his place, he hadn’t kept many memories from home. He and Chris had been best friends growing up. It was a little odd he wouldn’t put out one photo of them together. Then again, maybe he was trying to move on. She clasped the chain around her neck. Maybe someday she could do the same.

  Lupe entered the kitchen. “Let me. I know where he keeps things.” She waved her hand at Beth. “You go outside.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Lupe shooed her with both hands. “Sí. Go on now.”

  Mark looked puzzled as Beth walked outside.

  She shrugged. “Lupe wanted me to keep you company.”

  “That sounds about right,” Mark muttered under his breath.

  Sparky ran over to greet Beth. She knelt to pet the dog’s head and lowered her voice. “Between you and me, Sparky, I think he’s going to poison us.” The dog stared at her and panted, giving the appearance of grinning.

  Mark wheeled over to where she stood and pointed at her. “I heard that.”

  She stood up. “You have a nice house, a nice vehicle, nice furniture, nice dog”—Beth crossed her arms—”with my apartment, I feel like I’m just playing grown up.”

  “Yep.”

  Her neck muscles tensed. “You didn’t have to agree.” Beth found a tennis ball in the yard and tossed it to Sparky. He seemed to enjoy the game.

  Mark turned foil packages on the grill. “So why’d you change your hair?”

  “Huh?”

  “The highlights.”

  She held a strand of her hair and examined it. “What’s wrong with them?”

  Mark shrugged. “Nothing. I guess I don’t understand what was wrong with your hair before.”

  “That’s because you’re a guy.” He’d noticed. That couldn’t be all bad. Then again, Mark Graham always proved to be a tough one to figure out.

  Beth followed as Mark wheeled back inside and placed a plate of grilled vegetables and meat on the table.

  “Lupe, somos listos por comer. Time to eat.”

  “You speak Spanish?” Beth asked.

  Mark arched his brow. “You?”

  “Just my two years of required foreign language at Beaumont High. I might be able to ask where the bathroom is. Stuff like that.”

  “If you ever want to brush up on your Spanish, Lupe and I are glad to help.”

  “Thanks for the offer.” Beth sat at the table. Chris wasn’t there for her. Lupe would have to serve as a buffer.

  Her mind raced to think of ways to break the awkward silence. “So do we pray and recite some Marine creed or just shout ‘Semper Fi’?”

  Mark glared at her.

  Her jaw dropped. “You gave me the ‘Jim look.’”

  Mark smirked.

  “You know what I mean. That look my dad used to give. You know the one.”

  “Shall we?” He prayed then placed his napkin on his lap.

  Beth pointed at him. “That look. Don’t do that again. It’s creepy. No wonder people listened to you in the military. One look and…uggh.” She shivered.

  Mark chuckled and sipped his water then moved his napkin aside and patted his lap. Sparky jumped up.

  Beth stabbed a piece of meat with her fork. “You let your dog sit there while you eat?”

  Lupe grinned. “It’s cute, no?”

  Mark scratched Sparky’s head. “Usually it’s just the two of us.”

  An apartment to herself. The prospect of eating alone every night. She stared into the distance, watching the clock pendulum swing—back and forth—back and forth.

  “You get used to it.” Mark set down his fork and reached for his drinking glass. “Hadn’t thought about the downside of having your own place?”

  Beth shrugged. “Well—”

  “Just like Chris.” Mark shook his head. “Living in the moment. Your dad always gave Chris advice on planning ahead. I don’t think Chris took i
t too seriously, but me, I took mental notes.”

  A phone rang in the distance. “My cell phone,” Lupe said. “I’ll be right back. Excuse me.” She left the room.

  “Living in the moment?” How dare he lecture her. He might be her elder but not by much. Not that she should let on as such. “Sounds like someone drank the Kool-Aid.”

  Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “Your dad’s a good man.”

  Beth played with her food. “You’re only saying that because he’s old, and so are you. Old people have to stick together.” If he could lecture, she could tease.

  “I’m not old.” Mark raised his voice.

  She giggled. “Hey, whatever you have to tell yourself.” Beth finished a bite of steak. A rich meaty flavor flooded her palate. Apparently, some guys could cook. None of the ones she’d dated, but this one could. Mark was full of surprises. What else would she learn about him? “This is pretty good.”

  “Thanks.”

  So much of her memory of Mark appeared to be tied to her brother. He’d been Chris’s friend. Not hers. And now, she had the opportunity to get to know Mark better. Perhaps as her friend or maybe something more.

  Sparky watched Mark as he finished a bite of bell pepper.

  Beth stabbed another piece of steak. “You know, they finally remodeled the Hometown Café. Looks a lot different than the last time you were there.”

  “Really?” Mark leaned toward her. His eyes twinkled. “Tell me more.”

  She blinked. Mark Graham appeared to be hanging onto her every word—this was a first. She could only hope it wasn’t a last.

  ****

  Mark finished his last bite of steak. Not that he minded chatting with Beth, but what had been keeping Lupe for so long? Perhaps she was attempting to play matchmaker and leaving them alone on purpose. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  Lupe returned to the dining room. “That was my daughter on the phone. She was in an accident.”

  “Is she OK?” His neck muscles began to twitch, like the night he received the bad news about Chris.

  “OK, but a bit scared. I need to go. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Lupe. It’s fine. Go ahead.”

  It would be a shame to waste a perfectly good dinner, though. He packed up Lupe’s meal and some leftovers in a plastic container. “Here. Take it with you. Glad your daughter is OK. If you need anything, call me.”

  Wearing a faint smile, Lupe grabbed the container. “Gracias, Mark. Nice meeting you, Beth. G’night.”

  “Adios.” Mark waved to her as she left. He turned toward Beth. “Wanna get some coffee?” Furniture moved—check. Next on the agenda—talk about old times with Beth without prolonging his current episode. But then what?

  “Sure.”

  Sparky jumped off his lap. Mark grabbed his plate, and Beth picked up hers. She followed him into the kitchen. As he took her dish from her, their hands brushed. Years ago, it wouldn’t have meant a thing, but they weren’t children anymore. Still, she was Chris’s kid sister.

  He decided to focus on something else—something—anything other than Beth. Trivial things were his strong suit, and what he reverted to, even in times of stress.

  Mark set both plates in the dishwasher and studied the contraption. A machine that washed your dishes. A handy invention. It was crazy to think the first was designed back in 1850. Now why couldn’t he think of something like that? He only needed one really good idea. Moving closer to the door, he motioned toward Beth. “Ladies first.”

  She walked outside, and he locked the door behind them. A yip sounded from inside, but Mark continued to wheel away from the door.

  Beth followed him to his van. “Will Sparky be OK?”

  Mark maneuvered up the ramp and inside his vehicle. “He was outside so much tonight, he should be OK inside for a few hours.”

  As he and Beth drove down Riversdale Avenue, palm trees lining the street swayed from the gentle force of a Pacific Ocean breeze. Beth rolled down her window, and the same wind flapped her highlighted locks. Mark’s mind wandered, recalling their original shade. Years prior, he had moved to start a new life. Maybe Beth also changed her hair color in an attempt to move on.

  Mark rubbed his left temple. Needing to pull things together before he traveled too far down memory lane and lapsed into another episode, he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand: finding a coffee shop. They could visit one of the local chains, or maybe the place over on Third. At least they had a short counter. It made life easier and more accessible. He made a right onto Third Street. If nothing else, he needed to support local businesses. It would be hypocritical if he didn’t, considering how much effort and hard work it took to run his own shop.

  Beth waited for him as he got out of the van. Once inside, she walked up to the counter.

  Mark followed behind her. The male barista he’d seen before, on occasion, wasn’t working that evening. So far, so good. Less chance of someone raising questions.

  “What can I get for you?” The short, female barista asked Beth.

  “I’ll have a twelve ounce mint mocha, nonfat milk, no whipped cream.”

  “What can I get for you?” The barista stared at Mark.

  He managed a slight smile. “Just coffee.”

  Beth stood, hands on her hips. “Just coffee? You can’t go to a coffee shop and order plain coffee.”

  So now the little Martindale was telling him what to do? He pointed to the lettering painted on the outside window. “Read that for me.”

  Squinting, Beth appeared to strain to read the letters, which appeared in reverse from the inside of the window. “Surfside Coffee Shop?”

  “Exactly. Coffee shop.”

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  “I’ll tell you what.” He turned to the barista. “I’ll have hazelnut.” He grinned at Beth. “Satisfied?”

  Judging from the growing smile on her face, she appeared to be.

  Beth went to pay for her drink.

  He put his hand up. “I got yours.”

  She clung to her wallet. “Are you sure?”

  “I invited you. Seems only fair.” Was that OK, or did that make this a date?

  “Thanks, but you helped me move, and you made dinner.”

  “You can pick up the tab next time.” Mark handed the barista a twenty then folded several singles and placed them in the tip jar. Next time. He repeated the words to himself. Maybe she didn’t want there to be a next time. And yet, she didn’t protest.

  Beth sat at a nearby table. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

  Mark pushed a chair out of the way so he could move his wheelchair in place. “You’re welcome.”

  Beth took a sip.

  “So, have you found a church yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet. Might visit one around the corner tomorrow. You?”

  “When I go…I attend Riversdale Chapel. You’re welcome to come. But I understand if it’s too far for you.”

  Beth held her cup with both hands, stared at the lid. “I bet you’re in the church choir. Probably have sung a few solos.”

  “Huh?”

  She sipped her mocha then set it on the table and fidgeted with the lid. “Didn’t you sing in school or something?”

  “How’d you remember?”

  Beth shrugged. “Oh, um…random memory. Figured you’d sing at your church.” She removed the lid from her coffee. Her hand shook as she took another sip; coffee dribbled down one side of the cup. She swiped a napkin and quickly wiped off the spill.

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “I probably should sing.” He attempted to drink his coffee, but hardly any came out. Defective lids. He could see why Beth had removed hers. Mark grabbed his lid and set it off to the side.

  “What’s stopping you? Stage fright?”

  He waved dismissively. “You wouldn’t get it.”

  Beth propped her elbows on the table and leaned her head atop her interlaced hands. “Try me.” Her inquisitive, dark eyes encouraged him to go on.


  “Ever sing about God being the Great Physician, the Great Healer, when you’re in a wheelchair?” He took a sip of his hazelnut coffee. Java with a subtle hint of flavor. Not bad.

  “No.” She lowered her voice. “But I guess it’s like singing about God being your rock and shield when he allowed your brother to die.”

  Talk about hitting the nail on a head with a sledgehammer. An unexpected response, yet honest. Someone who understood that not everything about the Christian life was rosy. Someone who followed God when life didn’t make sense. Someone with a strong faith, not the kind who believed only when things were easy. “I’m sorry about Chris.”

  “Sorry for?”

  “Sorry for talking him into joining the Marines with me. I should have—”

  “Is that what this is about? Guilt? Because I was really interested in some friendly conversation. I hope you’re not doing this out of pity. You don’t owe me anything.”

  He put up his hand atop hers. “It’s not what you think. I do want to hang out and engage in”—what had she called it—”friendly conversation.”

  “Good.” Beth smiled, revealing perfectly straight teeth no longer covered with braces. Trying to view her as the younger Martindale would be a tough task. “But try some real coffee.” She handed him hers.

  Hazelnut was one thing. Minty mocha, still another. He studied her cup but didn’t take it.

  “Don’t stare at it like it’s arsenic. Drink some. I promise I don’t have cooties.”

  If Beth did have cooties, he sure wasn’t worried about getting them.

  “Mark. Good to see you out and about,” said a male voice behind him.

  He turned. His physical therapist stood to the side, holding two cups of coffee. What might the man say in front of Beth?

  “Oscar. Good to see you, too. This is my friend, Beth.”

  “I’d love to chat. But I have to take this coffee home to my wife. I’ll see you next Tuesday at Health Harbor.” Oscar nodded good-bye and left.

  “Health Harbor?” Beth asked. “The light blue building on Oleander Avenue? I think that’s near my apartment.”

  Mark’s shoulder muscles tensed. So much for relaxing. The sight of Oscar reminded him of the chair. And his reason for being in it. Not exactly a conversation he wanted to have with Beth.