I held it to her lips and tipped it ever so slowly, so it wouldn’t burn her, but a trickle of coffee still dribbled down her chin. “It’s okay,” she said.
So we tried again, and it worked better the second time. “Mmm. Thank you.”
I sat down in the chair next to her and waited while she breathed in more oxygen. I hated seeing her struggle to talk. It made me feel so helpless. “Did the doctor say how long you have to stay here this time?”
She cleared her throat. “No. But we have to let our … our …”
“Our what, Grandma?”
She stared up at the ceiling with a baffled look, and I could see her struggling to come up with the correct word. “Our … house?” she asked uncertainly.
“Our apartment?”
“Yes. We have to … let it go.”
I stared at her, sure she must still be confused. “Let it go? What do you mean?”
“Can’t keep paying … if we’re not there.”
I felt like somebody had whacked me from behind. “But what about when you get out? Where will we live?”
She put the mask back in place and took several more breaths. “They’ll send me back to … to the care home.”
“The Huckleberry Home?” I wanted to be strong, but I couldn’t be. The panic rose up into my chest, and I started to cry. “But if you don’t come home, what will happen to me? I don’t want to live at the center. I hate it there.”
“Oh, Poppy,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I’ve let you down.” And her eyes filled with tears, too, and I couldn’t stand to see it.
“No,” I said. “No, you haven’t.” And I dropped my head down on her blankets.
She smoothed my hair. “There, there,” she said in her thick, halting voice. “Change is hard, remember?”
And I nodded, because I knew exactly what she was talking about. It was one of her favorite quotes. “All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.”
I even knew the author — a man named Anatole France. But right then, I couldn’t bear to think about him or his quote, because I hated them both.
BY THE time Trey and I walked out of the hospital, my legs were shaky and I felt like I weighed a thousand pounds. I crawled into the front seat of the car, glad to be off my feet.
Trey’s leather jacket made squeaking noises as he settled into the driver’s seat. He stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine. I stared out the windshield at a lady walking her Chihuahua across the grassy strip between the street and the parking lot. The little dog pranced along, its head held high, like it belonged in some royal court. “I thought she was gonna get better,” I said.
“She still might, Tiger.”
“What’s that durable power of attorney thing the doctor asked if Grandma had the other day?”
“A medical directive. It lets you make decisions about your health care ahead of time.”
“Ahead of what?”
“Before an emergency comes up.”
“What kind of decisions?”
“About what treatment you’ll accept, whether or not you’ll take a blood transfusion. Whether or not you want to be resuscitated if your heart stops … that sort of thing.”
“What’s resuscitated?”
“That’s when the doctor tries to get your heart beating again.”
I didn’t understand. “But if he didn’t, you’d die. Who wouldn’t want to be resuscitated?”
He tipped his head. “Death isn’t always a bad thing, Poppy.”
That gave me a start. How could death ever be a good thing, unless maybe you were in severe pain or something. It didn’t make sense. But I didn’t have the energy for such a complicated subject right then.
Trey reached over and gave my knee a squeeze. Then he started the car.
The lady and her Chihuahua crossed the street in front of us and started up the other side. The little dog was all business now, trotting fast, straining at the leash. My hip started to tingle, and it took me a minute to realize it was my cell phone. It was a text from Lizzie.
Gunner needs U. Hurry.
The message gave me a dropping sensation in my stomach. My thumbs flew over the keyboard. What’s wrong?
Just hurry.
A shudder passed through me, and I looked at Trey.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Could we stop by the animal shelter real quick? Just for a few minutes?”
“What’s going on?”
I hesitated. He didn’t like Lizzie. Would he take me if he knew the message was from her? “I was just wondering if you might want to meet a good friend of mine. He’s pretty cool.”
“At the shelter?”
“It won’t take long. He’s not much of a talker.”
Trey cracked a smile. “He must have four legs.”
Relief flowed through me. “Yeah, actually he does.”
He shifted the gear. “Okay, but then I have to get back to work.”
A few minutes later we pulled into the shelter’s parking lot. There were only four vehicles — Carol’s car, a pickup with SAND CREEK VETERINARY painted along the side, and two others.
I wanted to find Lizzie, but something told me to go straight back and check on Gunner. I gestured for Trey to follow me along the far side of the building. “Come on,” I said, “he’s out back in his own kennel.”
Trey glanced around. “Maybe you better check in with Carol first.”
“No, it’s okay. She won’t mind.”
“Why isn’t he with the other dogs?”
“Uh … I’m not sure,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything better.
I caught a glimpse of Gunner resting with his head on his paws, but then he rose with one smooth move, his whole body rigid. He was so beautiful. I wondered why Lizzie had sent the text. Everything seemed fine.
“Hey there,” I said. “Take it easy, boy, it’s just me.”
His ears flickered, and he gave a single sweep of his tail. It was the first time I’d seen him do that. I looked up at Trey. “His name’s Gunner. Isn’t he pretty?”
“So this is the good friend, huh?”
“Yeah, but he’s kind of shy with new people, so you should probably stay out here.” Then, without giving myself time to chicken out, I unlatched the kennel gate and stepped inside. Gunner took a step back. I knelt beside him and slowly reached an arm around his neck. “Good boy,” I said. “You are such a good dog. Yes, you are.”
He touched my face with his nose and sniffed at my shirt.
“He must be up for adoption?”
I felt a little jab to my heart. “Yeah, I wish I could have him. But he needs a place with a big yard and no little kids … at least no little boys. He likes to bite boys.”
Trey smirked. “Did he tell you that?”
“No, the guy who brought him in.”
“Oh. Maybe you shouldn’t be in there.”
“It’s okay. He’s fine around me.”
“Has he been here long?”
“A few weeks.”
“He probably needs a job,” Trey said. “Shepherds like to work.”
Gunner’s ears flicked back and forth as Trey spoke, but he’d relaxed enough to lean into me like I was leaning into him. And as I ran my fingers through his warm, thick fur, I felt myself start to relax a little, too.
But after only a few minutes, the sound of Carol’s voice snapped me to attention. She was talking to another woman, someone whose voice I didn’t recognize, and they were coming in our direction.
I started to stand, because my first thought was to get out of the kennel before Carol saw me. But then I realized that maybe this was as good a chance as any to let her see Gunner and me together, to prove that he was perfectly safe, and not aggressive at all.
I slipped a finger under his collar and settled back into him. “Take it easy, boy. It’s just Carol. You
know her.”
Trey narrowed his eyes, like he sensed something was up. Then he stepped away from the kennel and waved a hand. “Hey, Carol.”
There was a pause, followed by her squeal of surprise. “Trey! Well, hello there, stranger. How have you been?”
“Oh, can’t complain. How about you? Mom tells me you’re living on the South Hill now.”
I took a deep breath and tightened my hold on Gunner. “Hang on,” I whispered. “This might turn out to be a good thing.”
“Were you looking for your mom?” Carol asked. “Because I don’t expect her until tomorrow.”
“No, Mom’s home. Poppy just talked me into stopping by.”
“Poppy?” Carol’s voice rose into a high-pitched question mark. “She’s here?”
“Well, yeah … she said you wouldn’t mind.”
Carol hurried into view and skidded to a stop next to Trey.
I forced a smile. “Hey, Carol.”
Our eyes met, and she froze. “Poppy! What in the world … You know you’re not allowed to be in there.”
“She’s not?” Trey said.
I knew it was one of the worst times ever to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. There was just something genuinely funny about seeing adults look at each other all confused like that. “It’s okay,” I said quickly, “Gunner’s great, Carol. Just look at him. He’s being really good.”
Carol seemed to come unfrozen then and her nostrils flared, and it was pretty obvious she didn’t find anything funny about the situation. “Yes, I see that,” she said. “Now come out of there anyway.”
“But why? Gunner’s fine. He’d never hurt me.”
Trey coughed. “Man, I’m sorry, Carol. I asked her if she needed to check in or anything.”
Carol touched her fingertips to her forehead. “No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s just that Gunner’s got a history of aggression. I can’t trust him — that’s why he’s out here instead of with the other dogs.”
I lowered my eyes and focused on massaging Gunner’s neck.
“So, this must be Gunner?” the other lady asked, her voice hesitant. She was tall and thin, and carried a small black bag.
Carol nodded, and her shoulders slumped. “Yes, this is Gunner, and you’ll have to excuse my poor manners. Trey and Poppy, I’d like you to meet Dr. Julie Buchard, from Sand Creek Veterinary.”
“Hi,” I said.
Trey stuck out his hand. “Trey Brannigan, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”
The lady smiled. “Oh, call me Dr. Julie, please. Ma’am makes me feel way too old.” Silence followed the introductions. Trey shoved his hands into his back pockets. Carol and Dr. Julie kept glancing around — at me, at each other, at the ground — acting like two nervous little kids.
That’s when I caught a glimpse of Lizzie, standing near the corner of the building where no one else could see her. She flattened her hand and drew it across her throat in a quick gesture. And right then is when everything finally made sense.
Lizzie’s text — Dr. Julie — the black bag — Carol’s shock at seeing me.
I’d thought she was just surprised to see me inside Gunner’s kennel. But she wasn’t. She was surprised to see me at all. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’d interrupted something.
Tears instantly flooded my eyes, and I glared at Carol. “I’m not coming out, and you’re not touching him. He’s a good dog. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
Trey did a double take.
Carol looked up at the sky. “You know,” she said, to no one in particular, “some days this job really sucks.”
Dr. Julie cleared her throat. “It’s fine. You can call me if you need to … reschedule.”
“No,” I yelled, “you’re not rescheduling.”
Gunner pulled away and started twirling in nervous circles.
Carol turned pale and made a low shushing sound with her voice. “Okay, okay now, let’s all be calm. The last thing we want is for Gunner to get worked up.” She stepped over to the kennel door and eased it open. She held a hand out toward me. “Honey, I understand why you’re upset, but you’re upsetting Gunner, too, and I’m not sure what he might do if he feels threatened. You need to please come out now and give him a chance to calm down.”
I rubbed a hand across my eyes and tried to steady my voice. “I’m not coming out, Carol. Not unless you promise that you won’t do anything to him.”
She bit her bottom lip, and a mask of sadness covered her face. “You know,” she said softly, “the last animal I had Dr. Julie put down was a fifteen-year-old cat with stomach cancer. I’d only known him for two days, and I still cried over it. So don’t think I don’t understand how you’re feeling, okay? And I promise you, Poppy, if you come out, Gunner will still be here tomorrow when you and Marti come. Okay?”
I took a shaky breath. “You really promise?”
“Scout’s honor. Now hold up your end of the bargain and come out of there.”
I looked at Gunner. He stared back with his deep chocolate eyes, almost like he was assuring me that everything would be okay. I stood on weak knees and crept out of the kennel. I looked over toward Lizzie, but she was gone.
Carol latched the gate behind me and blew out a breath. “Well, now! I’m glad that’s over with. You know, Poppy, if all my volunteers were as volatile as you, I’m not sure I could cope.”
I wasn’t sure what the word volatile meant, but Dr. Julie smiled.
Carol put her arm around me and gave me a quick squeeze before she turned me toward Trey. “Okay, Detective Brannigan, she’s all yours. Handcuffs are optional.”
As soon as I got back to Marti’s, I looked up the word volatile. It meant unpredictable, hot-blooded, impulsive. And for some crazy reason that definition made me grin, especially the impulsive part, because that’s what Grandma Beth called me, too. And it was almost a comfort to know that even if everything else was changing, at least my reputation was still the same.
By the time Marti and I reached the shelter the next morning, I couldn’t wait to see Gunner. Because even though Marti had assured me that Carol wouldn’t go back on a promise, and Lizzie had texted to tell me he was fine, I couldn’t rest until I saw for myself. But there he was, sitting at his kennel gate, waiting for me.
“Hey, boy! Hi, Gunner.” I knew I probably wasn’t supposed to go in with him, but I didn’t care. I opened his kennel and threw my arms around his neck. “Man, it’s good to see you. Wanna go for a walk? Maybe now that Carol knows you’re not vicious, she’ll let me take you out. Huh, what do you think about that?” I kept talking to him for another few minutes, until I sensed someone behind me. I turned to find Lizzie watching.
“You’re brave,” she said.
I grinned at her as a wave of appreciation washed over me. “Thanks for yesterday. You saved him, you know?”
She shook her head. “Not really. You did that.”
“Yeah, but if you hadn’t sent that text …” I paused as an awful shudder passed through me. “Yesterday was really rough already. I don’t think I could’ve handled it if something happened to Gunner.”
“Did something more happen with your grandma?”
“She’s just not doing good. It’s really hard for her to talk now. Her voice is all funny and weird, and sometimes she can’t think of the word she wants.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath to calm myself. “So, did your mom say anything more about what happened with Gunner?”
“No. I don’t think she knows I had anything to do with it.”
“Well, you did really good. Especially for somebody who doesn’t like dogs.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I hate them. They just never seem to like me.”
I looked at Gunner and ran my fingertips over his muzzle. “They’re not like people. You don’t have to bend over backward to please them. All you have to do is give them a little attention, and they’ll love you forever.”
Lizzie smirked and
gave me a goofy smile. “You’re starting to sound like a commercial.”
“Well, it’s true,” I said. “That’s why I like dogs better than I like most people.”
“Let me guess: You probably want to be a vet someday?”
I shook my head. “No. Vets have to do too many sad things. But I’d like to do something with animals. I’d really like to illustrate kids’ picture books. What do you want to do when you grow up?”
“I’m gonna be a cosmetologist.”
I massaged Gunner’s neck and tried to remember exactly what that word meant. “That’s to do with cutting hair, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s also stuff like makeup and facials.”
I remembered what Marti had said about her pink highlights and had to bite my tongue to keep from telling Lizzie. “Did you do your own highlights?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool,” I said, “because they look totally professional.”
Lizzie seemed to stand a little straighter all of a sudden, and it made me feel so good for saying it. “Thanks,” she said. “I could do yours sometime if you want.”
I grinned. “I dunno what my grandma would say about pink hair.”
“It wouldn’t have to be pink. We could just do some sun streaks or something. They look really good on brown hair like yours.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That might be fun.” I gave Gunner another pat and stood up. “I’m gonna go ask your mom if I can take him out on a walk. Think she’ll let me?”
Lizzie shrugged and backed up as I eased out of the kennel. “Maybe. She’s probably in her office.”
“Okay, I’ll go see.” I hurried through the back door of the shelter, headed for Carol’s office, and nearly ran right into her. She was talking with a police officer. I came up short. “Woops, sorry.”
Carol wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Well, hello there, Poppy. Greg, this is one of my volunteer dog walkers. Poppy, this is Officer Greg Kinsley. He’s with the K-9 unit.”
I took a closer look at him. “Oh, I remember you,” I blurted. “You’re Dozer’s handler.”
His bushy eyebrows jumped. “Have we met?”
I shook my head and gave him a brief rundown of the night at the gas station. “Aha,” he said, “good memory.”
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