by Claire Adams
“I’m in the T,” I sighed. “My car’s been having problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Ace asked.
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to get the final diagnosis from the mechanic tomorrow,” I told him.
“You should have let me have a look at it first,” Ace said, and I could tell that he was shaking his head.
“What do you know about cars?” I asked curiously. I knew he drove an old pickup that must take a fair amount of maintenance, given its age, but I didn’t think he’d ever mentioned anything to do with mechanics in all the time I’d known him.
“I did a bunch of mechanical work when I first enlisted,” Ace said. “Granted, a tank is a little different than your run-of-the-mill car, but I might have at least been able to pinpoint the issue, even if I couldn’t tell you how to fix it.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I told him. Then, I groaned. “Only hopefully there isn’t a next time. This week is killing me.”
“Are we still on for this weekend, or do you need a real break that involves just you and some shut-eye?” Ace asked.
“This weekend would be great,” I told him. “I miss you. I hate that it’s been almost a week since the last time I saw you.”
“Me too,” Ace said. “Things have been busy here, too. It’s like once I told George that I was interested in starting this new training school with him, now he suddenly wants everything done at once. He’s still interviewing my replacements, having me show them around and show them some of the work that I’ve been doing, plus I have everything with the dogs I’m currently working for. And then on top of that, he had me real estate hunting to try to find the perfect place for our new school to open up.”
“Sounds nuts,” I said, shaking my head. “You must be almost as exhausted as I am.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ace said, his voice warm. “How you manage to do everything that you do and still be a good mom on top of that, I’ll never understand.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling.
“How is Ava doing anyway? Is she getting to spend some quality time with her grandma this week?”
“She’s doing good,” I said. “Spending more time with Maisie, my neighbor and best friend, actually. But either way, she’s getting spoiled rotten.”
“Uh oh, sounds like there may be trouble on the way for you, then,” Ace teased.
And right then, at that moment, I suddenly felt the need to tell him. I wanted him to know that Ava wasn’t just my daughter—she was our daughter. He wanted to know about her. He wasn’t running away.
I really had to conclude that he was a different man than the one I had met in Kuwait.
But it was almost my stop, and I felt like I should probably tell him in person, rather than over the phone like this. Reluctantly, I let the moment pass.
“I should go,” I sighed. “I want to review my notes one more time before my interview.”
“Okay, no problem,” Ace said easily. “Text me if anything changes about this weekend. No problem if you need a night off to just veg.”
I groaned. “I think I need two weeks off to just veg,” I told him. “But I’d rather veg naked in bed with you.”
“We could possibly arrange some of that,” Ace said, sounding amused. “Go, rock out. Good luck with the interview. We’ll talk soon.”
“Talk soon,” I said.
When I got to the general hospital, the first person I ran into was the doctor who delivered Ava. “Dr. Petersen!” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Hey, if it isn’t mama extraordinaire, Harper Dawson! You know, I read your piece in the Globe, the one about the kidnapping. What a horrible story—happy ending, but a horrible story. But you wrote it so well. As a mother myself, I could really empathize with that poor woman.”
I grinned and ducked my head. “Thanks,” I said. It was still always flattering to find out that people were actually reading my articles. I knew, objectively, that people were, but it was another thing to have people unexpectedly comment on them like this. I didn’t go into journalism with the aim of getting famous, but I did appreciate a little recognition sometimes.
“What are you doing over here anyway?” Dr. Petersen asked. “Don’t tell me; you’re pregnant with the second one?”
“Oh no,” I said, shaking my head. “Ava is more than enough at the moment.”
“She in the terrible twos still, or is it the tricky threes by now?”
“Neither!” I said. “I mean, she’s three, but she’s been perfect. I’m afraid that one day, she’s going to be an absolutely terrible teenager.” Dr. Petersen laughed. “I’ve got some pictures, if you want to see,” I continued, pulling out my phone.
“Isn’t she just the cutest,” Dr. Petersen said, shaking her head. “But if you’re not here because you’re pregnant, what are you doing here? Everything’s okay with both of you, isn’t it?”
“It is, it is,” I told her, nodding. “It’s been a long week, and I’m ready for the end of it, but I’m just here to interview the new head of the pediatric oncology department.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. You’ll have an interesting take on her, I’m sure.”
I glanced at my watch and realized I didn’t have time to ask Dr. Petersen what she meant by that comment. Of course, I would try to write the article from an interesting perspective; that was all I ever did. I really wanted people to come alive for my readers, whether it was SEALs in Kuwait or doctors in Boston public hospitals.
But the comment made sense once I met Sandra Michaels. She was like me in a lot of ways. A professional go-getter, a black woman surrounded by white people on all sides. I tried to ask about the hardships of her job, though, and she gave me ordinary, run-of-the-mill hospital problems: funding, bureaucracy, human error. There was no chip on her shoulder. She was really well-spoken and serene.
She didn’t act like she harbored any lingering attitude about having to work twice as hard as some of her colleagues to get into that position.
I frowned. It really made me think. In the journalistic field, I’d often been frustrated by the boy’s club nature of it. The work I’d done over in Kuwait had been big, and I’d turned out some of the best pieces that I’d ever written. I knew that they had resonated with a number of people. But I hadn’t even gotten a nod toward a promotion, let alone a Pulitzer.
I’d resented that. And I’d wondered whether it wasn’t partly due to the fact that I had come home early. Maybe they thought I couldn’t cut it over there, that I was just having “women troubles” and needed to come back home.
Maybe it hadn’t been that at all. I’d still been so young while I was over there. And even though I knew that the pieces I’d written had been good, maybe I’d needed a little more experience prior to tackling something so huge. Maybe if I went back now, knowing what I did, I’d write some of those stories differently.
Maybe there was no reason for the chip on my shoulder.
I thought about it the whole ride home. I tried to remember the last time I’d had an incident where I had been made to feel less. But I couldn’t pinpoint one. I did have to deal with a lot of men who felt like they could be rude or press their advances. The kind of men who just didn’t seem to understand the word no. But that wasn’t because of who I was or what I looked like or how hard I worked. That was just because I was a woman and they were entitled.
I frowned, thinking harder. I could feel the chip on my shoulder start to loosen. I wanted to write good pieces, really good pieces, even if I couldn’t disappear to Kuwait for six months at a time anymore, not now that Ava was in the picture.
But there was still a way to make each of these small, local pieces meaningful. And that was all I could do. I became a journalist because I wanted to share some of those big-picture stories with the world, but what about turning the small-picture story into the big picture?
The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The less I blamed myself for leavin
g early from my trip to Kuwait. Everything had worked out the way it needed to. I had a beautiful daughter, and my daughter’s father was somehow in my life again.
I smiled to myself.
When I got home that night, there was just a little light left. “Can we play outside?” Ava asked immediately, bounding up to me with her favorite stuffed dog.
“Sure thing,” I said, giving her a quick hug. “Just let me say hi to Maisie and get changed.”
“Okay!” Ava said, trotting off to amuse herself in the meantime.
“How was she?” I asked Maisie.
“A perfect little angel, as always,” Maisie said.
“Great,” I said, sighing in relief.
“You look tired,” Maisie said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and cook dinner?”
“Nah, we’ll probably just order in,” I told her. “I’m thinking pizza.”
“Sounds like Miss Ava is a lucky little duckling tonight,” Maisie said, grinning at me. She gave me a quick hug. “Just let me know if you ever need anything else.”
“Thanks,” I told her gratefully. “I’m really just tired. Lots of work this week. But hopefully, that means things are going to slow down soon, and I’ll get a little more time with Ava then.”
For now, I’d take what I could get. Ava and I went out in the little square backyard. The place wasn’t ideal; it was half concrete, and the grass was thin and wiry. But it was at least a space that Ava could run around in.
And tonight, she zoomed all around it, waving around her stuffed dog. “Doggy!” she yelled every time she passed by me. I watched her from the back steps. I wanted to join her, but I didn’t have the energy to chase her around tonight.
“Doggy!” she cried out again.
Somewhere in one of the other yards, a dog started barking as if on cue, and she dissolved into giggles. “Want to see the doggy,” she said, though, pouting.
I sighed. I had known it was only a matter of time before she wanted to get her first pet. But even if our landlord was okay with me getting a pet for us, I knew my lifestyle wasn’t exactly a match for a dog. How many times a week did I have to dump Ava on Maisie or Mom? Not that they minded, but I couldn’t very well add a dog to the mix. A dog would need walks and food and vet visits and all sorts of things.
It was out of the question. But I hated depriving Ava of the joy of having a pet around.
For a moment, I considered talking to Ace about it. Maybe he could see if he could bring one of his training dogs over and let Ava get acquainted with it. Wouldn’t that be good for the dog, too, having to learn to be okay with childish antics? The screaming, the squealing, the hair- and tail-pulling, all of that.
But if it was just a training dog, eventually it would have to move on to a more permanent home, once it was trained. And I wasn’t sure that I was ready to teach that lesson to Ava just yet: that sometimes, you loved something that you’d never get to see again.
For some reason, Ace came to mind when I thought about that. I’d definitely never expected to see him again. Or if I was going to see him again, I’d thought I would have to work to track him down. I hadn’t expected to literally run into him, and I hadn’t expected everything that had come from that.
I shook my head. That was neither here nor there. I didn’t want Ava getting attached to dogs that she couldn’t keep. No matter how much she might want one. Maybe we could get some fish. I made a mental note to look into that when this long week was finally over.
20
Ace
By Saturday, more than a week since the last time I had seen Harper, it almost felt as though the universe was conspiring to keep me away from her. It had been a busy week. On Thursday, there was an emergency with one of the dogs, and I’d spent most of the day at the vet while Sparky underwent emergency surgery for stomach ulcers.
At least it wasn’t anything contagious that some of the other dogs could pick up. I was just shocked that things had gotten so bad so fast. We’d thought it was just some routine sickness keeping him quiet and subdued, but apparently, this pup had a pain tolerance of a god.
He was doing a lot better, but he still had to be given his meds multiple times a day, and in typical dog fashion, he didn’t really want to take them. The best way to get them into him was to feed them to him in a peanut butter sandwich and then hold his head up with his snout together so that he really had to swallow them. But it was time-consuming.
And then on Friday, Stone was in a car accident and I had to help him home from the hospital. He’d refused to tell me anything about the accident, other than the fact that there had been an accident and his car was totaled. He was hobbling around on crutches now, and I knew he must be going absolutely stir-crazy around the apartment. He was drinking more than he had been before, and with the addition of his medications on top of that, he was pretty out of it most of the time. I had to keep an eye on him and make sure he was eating and that he didn’t have too much to drink.
Every time I got frustrated, thinking that this wasn’t what I’d signed up for in a rooming situation, I tried to stop and remind myself that this was just like being back in a unit. We all had to take care of one another. And not only that, but it could just as easily be me who needed help. Between my job and Harper, my reintegration was going really well. Better than expected. But I could have been the one having a hard time through it all.
Harper and I had made tentative plans to meet up over the weekend, but I was having a hard time figuring out where I could take her if I was still babysitting Stone. I didn’t want to go anywhere too far away, just in case he called me, and I also didn’t want to drink too much. Staying over at her place, even if her mom could watch Ava again, was probably out of the question.
On top of that, Sadie asked if I could meet up on Saturday afternoon so that we could work with Vixen in the park. She had another set of commands that she was hoping to teach the dog, and if nothing else, she just really wanted to know the extent of what the dog could do, so that she could put her through her paces and give her a good workout that would keep her in top form. I didn’t want to bail on that—first because she was a new friend, and second because I was interested in working with Vixen. She was such a smart dog, after all.
Finally, I called Harper. “Hey,” she said warmly when she answered. “What’s up?”
“I was just wondering if you were still interested in meeting up, and if you would mind doing so at the park,” I told her. “I’m supposed to meet a friend with her service dog in a little while. It would be good to see you, if you wouldn’t mind the company. And I’d kind of like for you to see the kind of stuff I do.”
“That sounds fun,” Harper said, easily agreeing. I blinked at the phone. For some reason, I’d expected her to protest, to say that she wanted to see me in private, that she didn’t want to hang out with anyone else. I shrugged at her easy acceptance.
“Cool,” I said. “Same place I ran into you before. I’ll see you in, like, half an hour?”
“Sure,” Harper said. “I have a couple things to finish up around the house—it’s been a busy week. But if I’m going to be much later than that, I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
When I got to the park, Danielle and Sadie were already there, with Vixen lounging on the ground between them. “Hey,” I said, dropping down onto the bench next to Danielle. “How’s it going today?”
“Pretty good,” Sadie chirped.
We started talking more about the new commands she was hoping to introduce to Vixen. They were all pretty straightforward and shouldn’t take too long for the pup to learn.
“All right, great,” I finally said. “Let’s put this dog through her paces.” I was just finishing up with a round of conditioning work when I saw Harper walking toward us. But she wasn’t alone, I realized with a jolt.
I was surprised to see Ava walking alongside her mom. But I wasn’t panicked like I might have expected. Instead, it was ac
tually a much more pleasant feeling. Like I was excited to see the girl. I smiled at the two of them as they walked up. “Hey,” I said, not sure how to act around Harper. Was I allowed to kiss her? I settled for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Harper, this is Sadie and her partner, Danielle. And Sadie’s service dog, Vixen.”
“Doggy!” Ava said, already trying to pet Vixen.
I smiled and knelt down next to her. “Ava, this isn’t a petting dog,” I told her. “See this vest that he’s wearing? That’s his work uniform. And we don’t pet the doggy in his work uniform.”
Ava pouted and looked up at her mom.
“You know what you can do, though?” I said. “Vixen is an excellent fetch dog. Why don’t you throw this ball for her?” I held out a bright orange ball, and Ava’s eyes lit up. Soon the two were playing happily.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I said to Sadie.
“Not at all,” she said, watching the little girl. “She’s cute.”
“Oh!” I said, suddenly realizing I hadn’t finished introductions. “By the way, this is Harper Dawson. She came over to Kuwait for a few months to write about the SEALs, and we reconnected when I moved here.” That was a safe enough way to phrase things, I thought. “And Ava is her daughter.”
“How old is she?” Sadie asked.
“Three,” Harper said, lifting the little girl up when Ava started pulling on the bottom of her shirt.
“Why’s that doggy working?” she asked her mom.
Harper glanced uneasily at Sadie’s metal leg like she didn’t know how to answer that question. I hid a smile. I could tell Ava was curious, just like her mom. Harper had better get used to questions like that.
Ava squirmed until she was put down, and then she came straight over to Sadie, looking curiously up at her. “Is he working ’cause you’ve got a funny leg?” she asked innocently.
Harper choked, her face flaming. “Ava!” she said.
Sadie was laughing, though. “Don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head. “I love kids; they’re so much more natural around disabilities than adults are. They say exactly what they’re thinking.” She leaned down toward Ava. “It’s because I’m part robot,” she told the girl conspiratorially. “And sometimes, Vixen needs to fetch things like my crutches.”