Hayley took it from the beginning. “Last night, after work, the city manager asked me to come by the town hall before the meeting to talk with him and Mayor McDaniel.” She took a deep breath and tried to look directly into Todd’s eyes, but she couldn’t. “The city of Crossing Trails and the county can’t fund our shelter anymore. Nobody has enough money, so they decided to shut us down after the first of the year. We have to close. We can’t accept any more dogs, and we have to quickly place the ones we still have—no exceptions.”
“What she’s trying to say,” Doc Pelot added, his voice on the edge of cracking, “is that we’re going out of business—just like the video rental store and the bakery.”
Even with Doc’s translation, Todd was confused, but he could tell from the expressions on the faces of those around him that this was not good news.
“I don’t understand. What will our jobs be if we don’t take care of the dogs?”
Todd’s question hit her like a jab to the gut, and Hayley knew there would be many more painful questions to follow. “We won’t have jobs, Todd. That’s part of what I’m saying.”
“What?” Todd’s face fell as his eyes grew wide. “Can they do that?”
“I think so,” Hayley answered.
“Maybe we should talk to a lawyer,” Todd said. “I dog-sit for one—Susan Reeves. She might be able to tell the mayor that they can’t close the shelter.… Where will the dogs live? Where will we work?”
Hayley tried to stay calm, but it was difficult. She was cycling back and forth between anger and sadness, and it felt like someone had sucked the air right out of her. She struggled to get her words out. “Todd, there is no law that says that the city or the county must operate a shelter for our dogs or give us jobs. That’s the way it is.”
“Well, it’s not fair, and Susan Reeves told me that lawyers try to make things fair.” It had been years, but Todd was experiencing that hopeless feeling that he’d had in algebra or history when he was called on in class and didn’t know the answer. He had wanted to run away from it all. Yet this was different. He didn’t care about algebra or history; he cared about these dogs. His breathing became labored, as if he had just sprinted around the block. He looked at each of his friends and finally spoke. “We have to do something. This isn’t right.”
Laura shook her head. “I don’t think there is anything we can do about it.”
“I don’t understand. Aren’t dogs important?”
“Yes, Todd, they’re important.”
Todd stood and began to pace back and forth, stabbing at the floor with his red tennis shoes. He considered another trusted resource. “How about Brenda Williams at Channel Six? She is the ‘Problem Solver.’ ” Todd and Brenda had first met several years earlier when she did a story about the shelter’s Adopt a Dog for Christmas program. It turned out that Brenda Williams took the plight of lost pets seriously. Even though Cherokee County was on the fringes of its viewing area, the TV station ran a great story that helped dramatically spike seasonal fostering and adoption.
Laura took Todd’s hand and gently pulled him back into his chair. “I know they did that story on the Christmas dogs, but I think the Problem Solver is more for people who buy bad cars and can’t get their money back. But you can try her if you think it’ll help. Who knows?”
Hayley sighed. She knew she had to see this conversation with Todd through to its conclusion. “Todd, you and I will have to start looking for new jobs. Any of our dogs that we can’t place will have to be transferred to different shelters. I’m sorry. I don’t like it, but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it. We’re just going to have to help each other get through this.”
Hayley knew that she needed to find some way to comfort Todd—that the circumstances must seem overwhelming to him. She was not expecting what happened next.
Frightened and anxious as he was, Todd tried to shift his focus away from himself and the dogs. “I’m sorry, Hayley. I know you love our dogs and cats. It’s not your fault.”
“Thanks for understanding. That’s a big help to me.”
“It’s still not fair,” Todd added.
“I know. I’ve never lost a job before.”
“Me either. This is the only one I’ve ever had.”
Todd shook his head. Once more he pulled Christmas close to him for comfort, feeling the animal’s strength and love. He tried to draw from it. “Where will all the new dogs go?”
Hayley watched the two of them together for a few seconds, and it occurred to her just how lucky Todd was to have the old Lab by his side. She suspected that the dog might be far more helpful to Todd than Hayley could ever hope to be. “I don’t know, Todd. We’ll have the weekend to think about it. Next week we’ll see what we can figure out.”
Still holding Todd’s hand, Laura gave it a gentle squeeze. And then she did it again. And again. And again.
Todd didn’t seem to notice, but she was pressing a message into his hand: We’ll get through this. Together.
LATER THAT same day, Todd put his jacket and gloves on, opened the back door of his small cabin, and called Christmas to follow him. Many years earlier, before his parents had bought it as a rental property, the cabin had been owned by a man named Thorne, and to this day George still often referred to Todd’s place as Thorne’s cabin. A year earlier, as a step in fostering Todd’s independence, George and Mary Ann had allowed Todd to move into it.
Todd had a favorite trail that he had walked on since he was a little boy. It led west past his parent’s house—just a few hundred yards away from Thorne’s cabin—and then turned south through a twenty-acre meadow that was lined with scrub cedar. Eventually, he could amble down along Kill Creek for miles on end. Today he had a destination in mind.
Todd had a favorite spot beneath a giant sycamore, and near a creek crossing, where he felt grounded. For generations the McCray family had gathered there on the banks of the creek to enjoy one another’s company. An old picnic table was chained to a tree so it wouldn’t be swept away in high water. Not far from the table were two sturdy hickory trees. A rope hammock was suspended between them, and lawn chairs waited patiently for spring’s arrival, tied down in the crook of the westernmost tree.
Todd wiped the snow off the bench seat of the picnic table and sat down. He could see the footprints where little squirrels had tracked across the snow on the tabletop. Walnut remnants suggested that the table had not gone without use.
Within a few minutes, and with just a little effort, he could hear from warmer and distant times the laughter, the shouting, the splashing in the water that had punctuated so many hours spent on this hallowed family ground. He could feel his father’s strong arms, gripping one of his little-boy legs in one hand and an arm in another, playfully swinging him over the surface of the cool creek water on a hot August afternoon. As Todd’s body dipped just beneath the surface of the water like a little hawk chasing a frog, his mother would shout, “George, be careful with him! He’s not a skipping stone!”
The old Lab’s whine brought Todd’s attention back to the present. The dog wagged his bushy tail for attention. Todd took off his gloves and dug his fingers down into the dark, warm fur of the Lab. He pulled Christmas closer for comfort and let the dog steady him. Today Todd felt like he had been knocked to the ground by a giant playground bully. He was just dazed enough that he needed to get his bearings before he could get back up on his feet. Without understanding how or why, he drew solace from the dog and this spot on the creek.
He wondered if perhaps this was why Hayley had wanted him to take the rest of the day off, so he could try to get back on his feet. After Laura and Doc Pelot had left the shelter, he and Hayley had sat down together for lunch. She asked him, “Have you ever wondered what you would do if you didn’t work here?” as she pulled the last potato chip from the bag they were sharing.
Todd thought for a very long time, so long that it started to make them both feel uneasy, before he finally answered,
“I didn’t know that someday I might not work here.”
She reached across the small old Formica table and put her hand on Todd’s forearm. “I understand. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and really give it some thought? What do you want to do?”
“Hayley, I don’t know. We only have a few days left here at the shelter, and we have a lot of work to do for these dogs.” He pointed in the direction of the kennel.
“Understood. But Todd, give it some thought, okay? What do you want to do?”
Todd just looked at Hayley and didn’t say a word. Still, he knew she was right. He needed to think. In the end he followed her suggestion and left an hour early.
Todd got up from the picnic table and walked the short distance to the bank of the creek. Water trickled more than flowed down Kill Creek as it made its way around occasional patches of ice and snow. Todd tossed black walnut shells into the water. In his younger days, the black Lab would have dashed into the water and made a great game of attacking and retrieving the walnuts. Now he was content to sit on the bank and watch the walnut shells bob up and down and slowly float away.
“What do I really want to do?” Todd asked himself out loud. It seemed like a strange question. “Does that make any sense to you, Christmas?”
The dog looked up at him with eager eyes that seemed to say, Don’t worry. I love you and that’s all that really matters.
What do you really want to do, Todd? He’d heard that before. It was the kind of question that teachers asked him in high school. When he shared his aspirations, they would say, “Todd, you’re not being realistic.” That was what they said, but he knew what they meant. Todd, you have disabilities. You can’t do things like everyone else. You’re not smart. Remember?
When Todd told Mary Ann what he thought his guidance counselors or teachers were saying about him, she warned him, “Don’t be so sure about what other people are thinking about you.” Still, he was pretty sure on this one. His teachers didn’t seem to have much confidence in him. As Todd got older and better able to reflect on his disability, his mother also told him that on the other side of every deficit is a corresponding strength. “Todd, it’s true, there are things you can’t do as well as some, but there are also things you are so much better at than me, your dad, or about anyone else I know.” It was a simple little message, but it was repeated often enough and convincingly enough that it kept Todd confident enough to take the chances in life that must be taken to live fully. Mary Ann meant every word of it. To her, Todd was more, not less; fuller and richer in the aspects of life that really matter. It was as if the special elixir that was Todd had been delivered in a cracked crucible. That was the trade-off. She forever felt the need to hold him close to protect the container. No matter how far apart they might be in the years ahead, he would always feel that closeness.
That afternoon, sitting on the bank of the creek, he thought about what he had told his teachers five years earlier when they’d asked what he wanted to do, and his face flushed with embarrassment. Singer on American Idol, jet pilot, and crime-scene investigator. He smiled and said to himself, “No wonder they thought I was dumb!”
The one thing he liked to do more than anything else was work with animals, especially dogs. Everybody knew that. Yet there was nowhere in Crossing Trails where he could do that but at the shelter. He wondered why everyone was so worried about his finding a job. It seemed to him that their first priority should be the dogs and cats at the shelter.
He also thought about Laura and how much fun he’d had with her over the past months. Much of their time together had been spent at the shelter on the Fridays when she volunteered. That would end soon. It was unclear to Todd how he would continue to find time to be with her. Over the last few months it seemed that every week he had been counting down the days till Friday when he could see her. Now what would he look forward to? He loved old Doc Pelot like the grandfather he never had. Without the shelter, when would he see him? Hayley was like a sister and a boss all rolled into one. Todd didn’t like the idea of all these wonderful people having a diminished role in his life. He didn’t like the idea of pets with no place to go.
He nudged Christmas with the palm of his hand, a little signal that meant it was time to move on. The two of them started to walk back toward home. When they got even with the McCray barn, Todd turned north and made a path toward his dad’s little office in the barn. It was the slow winter months for a farmer, so it was likely he would find George puttering about the barn.
Todd pushed the barn door open and found his father polishing an old cowbell at his desk.
It had been a pleasant afternoon project for George. When he had been a boy, it had been his job to rise early in the morning, climb on his horse, and herd straggling cows up to the barn for milking. The cowbells made it easier to locate the wanderers. Herding the cows was very hard work for a boy. After George’s father died, the work got even harder. For five generations now, the McCray family had found something very rewarding about spilling their sweat and blood onto that bit of Kansas farm ground. Their hard work had paid off, bringing good times for the McCray family. It was difficult for George to accept that the family farm might one day come to an end.
“What’s that?” Todd asked when his dad looked up.
George put the rusted bell down and turned the grinder motor off. “Just an old cowbell I found buried out in the feedlot. It’s from one of the milk cows, back when your great-grandfather Bo and I had the dairy together. I thought it might be fun to polish it up. Don’t see many of these around today.” Christmas moved toward George and offered a tail-wagging doggie greeting. George reached down and patted the old Lab on the head. “Christmas, how was your day?”
As Todd was apt to do, he got right to the point. “It was a bad day for us and for a bunch of cats and dogs, too. They’re going to close the shelter.” He looked down at his red Converse tennis shoes. “I don’t know what to do now. I guess we have to find another way to rescue all those dogs and cats, and I have to find a new job doing something else.”
“Son, these days are bound to arrive whether we like it or not. Women, work, and hemorrhoids are a man’s greatest challenges. Pull up that stool and we’ll talk about it.”
George and Mary Ann had spent the entire last evening, after the town hall meeting, preparing for this inevitable conversation with Todd about the closing of the shelter.
George generally was of the opinion that the best way to foster Todd’s march toward total independence was to leave him alone just like he had done with his other four adult children. If they asked for a helping hand, he gave it. If they didn’t ask for it, that was fine, too. This was George’s way of showing that he respected their ability to make their own choices and to learn from their own mistakes, just like he had. He liked the motto If you’re not making mistakes, it means you’re not trying hard enough. It’s the getting up again—after the toddler falls—that eventually makes young legs strong enough to walk on. George was not worried about Todd stumbling, not before and not now.
Mary Ann felt differently. Her primal need to protect her children was amplified with Todd. She worried that he was too fragile to sustain life’s dings and drops. It was hard for her to watch him tumble and not rush out, pillow in hand, to break the fall. She thought that caring and loving parenting naturally entailed gentle and distant supervision so that Todd did not have to scale dangerous obstacles that were too tall for him to overcome. She could not help wondering why George simply did not recognize that Todd was not like their other children.
“And if you keep treating him differently,” George had retorted, “Todd won’t have a chance to ever catch up and be his own man.”
Over the years they had tried to find a middle ground when they could. George thought Todd should move into Crossing Trails and have a place of his own. Todd seemed ready to manage his own money, time, and living arrangements. Mary Ann thought he was doing perfectly fine living upstairs with them—as
he always had and she hoped he always would. They had compromised and moved Todd down the hill and into Thorne’s cabin.
As with many compromises, neither parent was totally satisfied. Mary Ann found it harder to keep an eye on Todd, to help him when he needed it. She found that she worried more when she was not in touch with him and his needs, the way she always had been. In her opinion, his cabin was always a mess and his eating habits were poor. George pointed out that in that regard Todd was hardly different from any other young man living on his own for the first time. But Mary Ann was concerned about more than Todd’s housekeeping abilities; she worried that he was lonely and isolated by himself.
For his part, George wanted Todd to start experiencing life without parental monitoring. In his mind, Todd’s considerable progress the last few years had been a direct result of his accepting adult responsibilities, including having a job and a home of his own. George was not inclined to rescue Todd from his current predicament, at least not without giving him a chance to work through it first on his own. Mary Ann wanted to assure Todd that he was not alone in this world, that together his parents could make things right for him.
For now, George and Mary Ann didn’t have to agree. Each would talk to him in their own way.
Todd pulled the stool over by his father and sized up the problem. “We have to find a new place for a whole lot of dogs and cats before the end of the year. That’s not much time.”
“You’re pretty good at finding homes for pets. You’ll make it happen.”
“I don’t know, Dad. It gets harder every year. Hayley says it’s because of the economy. We only found twelve adoption families last December. I’m not sure we can do any better than that this year.”
“Is there something else you have to do besides find homes for all those critters?” George asked.
“I have to find a job for me.”
A Christmas Home: A Novel Page 5