Harvey Comes Home

by Colleen Nelson

  Harvey’s coat is already springing back to life. “There now. That’s better, isn’t it?” Phillip says. Phillip rubs Harvey dry with the towel and checks inside his ear. “Some of them get identification tattoos in case they get lost.” Harvey doesn’t like having his ears yanked. He cowers. The pink flesh is numberless anyway. Phillip sighs. “Well, tomorrow you’ll have to take him to a vet and see if they can find a microchip. A nice dog like this, someone must be looking for him.”

  Harvey feels the boy beside him tense just a little.

  “You know you can’t keep him,” Phillip says. “He belongs to someone.”

  “I know.” Austin picks Harvey up and holds him against his chest. Normally, Harvey would prefer to walk, but he’s done so much walking lately. His legs ache and the warm bath has left him feeling sleepy.

  Austin carries Harvey back to reception where there are lots of oohs and ahhs over his newly clean appearance. “Aren’t you a cutie,” Mary Rose says, putting her nose right up to Harvey’s. Harvey likes the smell of her and the way she holds his chin in her hand. She scratches behind his ears and grins at him. “Some places have therapy dogs like him to help with the residents.”

  Harvey settles himself on the blanket that has been laid out for him. It is soft, much softer than the cement he slept on yesterday. He is surrounded by warmth and feels safe for the first time since he left his home. Austin’s hand strokes his back. The rhythmic motion sends Harvey to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Austin

  I was hoping Mom’s No Dogs rule would fly out the window as soon as she saw Harvey. My sweet-and-innocent face might not work anymore, but maybe Harvey’s would. Mom hadn’t had an easy time lately. She’d been laid off last year and had to take a job she hated. There was a frown line between her eyes that I swear got deeper every day.

  “Austin!” she exclaimed when Grandpa and I walked in with Harvey. She looked at Grandpa and shook her head. “Did you agree to this?”

  “He’s lost, Mom.”

  “It’s just for the one night,” Grandpa added. “I’ll pick him up and bring him to Brayside till Austin’s done school.”

  Mom sighed. “We don’t have a leash—”

  But I held up the yellow nylon rope I used to get him here. “This works.”

  Mom frowned at me. She knew when she was beat. As if she could say no to a dog like Harvey, anyway.

  “One night, Austin. And then he goes. It’s not like we can afford a dog on top of everything else.”

  “One night,” I agreed.

  I heard her and Grandpa talk in low voices while I followed Harvey around on his inspection of our apartment. It’s small, but it was probably filled with new smells. “Come on, Harvey,” I said and went to my room. I dumped the clothes out of my dresser drawer and lined it with a towel I had grabbed from the bathroom. I wanted him to try out his new bed, but he was still too busy checking out his new home.

  Mom said one night only. But what if his owners didn’t want him anymore? What if they offered to let me keep him? I bet Mom wouldn’t say no to that. How could she?

  The next day at school, all I could think about was Harvey. The night before, instead of sleeping in the drawer, he’d jumped onto my bed and curled up on my feet. Thinking about it made me smile. I caught Mom patting him before she left for work.

  I knew I’d promised Mom he’d only be with us for one night. But I hated the thought of leaving Harvey at a shelter.

  If I’d had a dog like Harvey, I’d never let him run away, that was for sure. I wondered what kind of an owner couldn’t look after their dog. Maybe Harvey ran away for a reason. Or maybe his owner didn’t want him anymore—in that case, there’d be no point looking for him.

  What if his owner hurt Harvey? I got a twist in my gut thinking about it. There was no way I could send Harvey back to a person who didn’t take good care of him—that made the decision for me.

  I wasn’t going to take him to the animal shelter. I’d say I went but that they couldn’t find the owner and asked me to keep him. Those shelters are always overcrowded with abandoned pets, so I was sure that Mom would believe me.

  But then I had another thought. What if Harvey was my dog and I lost him? I’d want whoever found him to help get him back to me. Saying I’d gone to the shelter and then keeping him was like stealing—and I’d be lying to Grandpa and Mom. I wrestled the thoughts back and forth all day, hoping that by the time I got to Brayside after school, I’d know what to do.

  Chapter 11

  Harvey

  Harvey arrives at Brayside with Phillip to find a new collar, leash, and a proper dog bed, dug out of Artie’s basement. They belonged to a long-gone pet, and Harvey smells her odor as soon as he settles into her bed, which has been tucked under the reception desk.

  Harvey doesn’t spend much time there. He has too much work to do. The whole main floor must be inspected and sniffed. There is a couch in front of the window in the entrance, and Harvey is just tall enough to stretch his front paws and see over the back of it. From this location, he can scout the sidewalk for intruders. The sliding-glass doors make a curious shushing noise that draws him to them every time they open and close.

  Of course the old people all want to see Harvey. Mary Rose finds a tennis ball and they play a game of roll-the-ball in the games room. The laughter of the old people is low and soft, like a gentle breeze. Harvey is so busy, he almost forgets his Maggie. But when he retreats to his bed under the reception desk for a rest, it’s her scent he longs for.

  He has just dozed off when he hears his name. “Hey, Harvey!” A leash dangles in front of him and the boy says the magic word: “Walk.”

  The leash is clipped onto his collar. Harvey tugs, eager to get outside. His nose is alert, ready for the onslaught of new odors. “Whoa, Harvey.” Austin laughs. The leash goes slack, so Harvey knows he has permission to run.

  Austin lets Harvey run for blocks, stopping at the spots where the air gets thick with exhaust and metal and hot rubber. They go all the way to a spot where Harvey’s nose ­twitches with new smells—layers and layers of them! He sprinkles where he can to let whoever else might show up know he’s been there. Harvey zips from tree to tree and every fire hydrant in between. Even the corners of buildings are filled with the scents of other dogs. Harvey is so preoccupied with the layers of scents that he doesn’t notice the change in Austin.

  “Harvey,” Austin says, pulling him away from a tuft of grass. His voice is strained, and Harvey pricks his ears to figure out why. There are animals inside the building. Harvey can hear their barks bounce off the windows. As soon as the door is opened, the barking becomes clearer. The other dogs are warning him.

  “Out!”

  “Don’t come closer!”

  “Danger!”

  Harvey’s tail goes up and he freezes. He won’t go one step closer. Harvey looks up at Austin and their eyes lock.

  “I can’t do it,” Austin mumbles. “Come on, Harvey. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 12

  Austin

  The first words out of Grandpa’s mouth when he saw me with Harvey were: “I thought you were going to the shelter. That’s what I told Charlie.”

  I let go of Harvey’s leash, and he ran to greet Grandpa, his tail wagging a hundred miles an hour.

  “I did. They said they were full.” The lie came off my tongue so easily. “They asked if I could keep him till there’s space. They’ll call Brayside if they find his owner.”

  Grandpa frowned for a moment, then bent down to pat Harvey’s head. “Don’t worry, little guy. We’ll find your home.”

  He is home, I wanted to say.

  While Harvey slept, worn out from our run, Grandpa asked me to dust the baseboards—again. I wanted to tell him I’d just dusted them last week, and that old people weren’t that dirty. Plus, even if the baseboa
rds were covered in an inch of dust, none of the old people could bend down far enough to see them. But I kept my lips zipped. I was still on probation for the fireworks, and I had Harvey to think about now. I didn’t want to give Grandpa or Mom any reason to take him away.

  I crabwalked along the floor with my spray bottle and cloth, but I didn’t get very far before my legs ached and I had to stand up. I could hear someone walking toward me. It was a shuffle more than a walk. The slipper bottoms sounded like sandpaper against the floor.

  Behind me, the shuffling stopped. I waited, expecting it to start again, and when it didn’t, I turned around. Mr. Pickering was standing in the middle of the hallway looking confused. Being around old people so much, I’ve seen it happen before. If it were anyone else, I’d offer to help, but I was worried Mr. Pickering would bite my head off.

  Finally, he spoke. “Which way’s my room?” It was more of a bark than a question.

  I couldn’t ignore him, so I stood up and pointed down the hallway. He took a few steps, but it was slow going. He looked a little wobbly too.

  “Want to take my arm?” I asked, holding it out. I thought, No way is he going to say yes—but he did. I took small steps so he could keep up, and we walk-shuffled down the hall to his room.

  “Mrs. O’Brien’s been baking. Smells like cinnamon buns,” I said, because it felt awkward to be so close and not talk.

  He paused and took a quick breath. “Apple crisp.”

  I glanced at Mr. Pickering out of the corner of my eye. “Do you like apple crisp?”

  “Rather have pie.”

  Before I could stop it, a smile lifted one side of my mouth. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “You’re Phillip’s grandson?” he croaked when we reached his door.

  “Yes, sir.” I’d never in my life called anyone “sir” before, but Mr. Pickering was the type of person who looked like he expected it.

  “Tell your grandfather I have a burned-out lightbulb.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said again, and opened the door to his apartment for him.

  At the other end of the hallway, Harvey had woken up from his nap. He looked like the dog version of a mad scientist; one side of his face had been crushed against his pillow, and his hair stuck straight up. Halfway down the hall, he stopped to shake out his coat. Then he picked up the pace, and in a second, he was at my side.

  Mr. Pickering looked down at Harvey and said, “What’s that dog doing here?”

  Explaining the story would have taken too long, so I said, “Harvey’s mine.” In case Mr. Pickering was nervous about dogs, I added, “He’s really friendly.”

  As if to prove my point, Harvey moved to Mr. Pickering and took a good, long sniff of his leather slippers. Then he reached his front paws up Mr. Pickering’s legs as if he was stretching to get closer. Mr. Pickering reached out a gnarled old-man hand and patted Harvey on the head.

  “You’re a good dog,” he said and chuckled.

  I stared at Mr. Pickering as if I weren’t seeing things right. It only lasted for a second, though, before his face went back to its usual frown.

  “Don’t forget about the light. It’s been burned out for two days.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled as Mr. Pickering went into his suite and shut the door.

  I found Grandpa coming out of his office, carrying a plunger. “Mr. Pickering needs a lightbulb changed,” I told him.

  “You can handle that,” he said. “Unless you’d rather unclog a toilet.” I shook my head and grabbed a lightbulb from the supply closet. Harvey was at my heels the whole time, curious to see what I was doing and sniffing at all the new spaces.

  “We can do this, Harvey,” I said, mostly to pump myself up. It helped to have Harvey with me, like my canine support crew, as I knocked on Mr. Pickering’s door.

  I knew better than to knock a second time. Old people move like they’re in slow motion. One thing about coming to Brayside so often is that I’ve learned to be patient. They really are going as fast as they can.

  While I was waiting, I took another look at Mr. Pickering’s photo collage. There was a photo of a boy about my age with a big grin on his face—I assumed that was Mr. Pickering, although it was hard to tell. The dog was in that photo too, and a girl. Her hair was cut short and uneven, like she did it herself. She was wearing a grubby dress. Just looking at her, I could tell she was one of those kids who’d rather be digging for worms than standing still for a photo. Behind them was a house and a field, and an old farm truck was parked in the driveway. There was a date stamped on the bottom: 1933.

  When the door finally opened, I held the lightbulb up so Mr. Pickering could see it. “Grandpa was busy, so he sent me.”

  Mr. Pickering grunted and opened the door wider. “It’s that lamp, right there.” He pointed to one on the table by a recliner. Even though cleaners came once a week, Mr. Pickering’s room had a musty, old-man smell. He was wearing a sweater despite the room being hot and stuffy. There were all kinds of books on the shelves, and a TV—the old kind, not a flat-screen. It was set to the weather channel, which was kind of funny, since I’d never seen him go outside. A knitted blanket was draped over a couch. A stack of newspapers sat on the counter.

  I felt him watching me as I unscrewed the little brass cap and lifted off the shade so I could replace the bulb.

  “You’re a good boy,” Mr. Pickering said.

  I was about to say thanks, but when I turned around I could see that he was talking to Harvey. I almost laughed out loud. Harvey’s tail was wagging like a windshield wiper as Mr. Pickering scratched under his chin.

  It only took a minute to screw the new bulb in place and put the shade back on. “All done.” I turned on the light to prove it.

  Mr. Pickering gave Harvey a pat on the head and shuffled over to his recliner. He sat down heavily.

  “I had a dog. His name was General.”

  I froze right where I was in case any sudden movement would stop him talking. “Is that the dog in the picture?”

  “Eh?” Mr. Pickering turned to me as if he’d forgotten I was there.

  “Outside your door. It looked like you were on a farm. There was a three-legged dog.”

  Mr. Pickering looked so confused that I wished I hadn’t said anything. I considered saying Never mind and making a quick getaway. Or I could bring him the photo collage. I knew what Grandpa would want me to do, so I went into the hallway and took the collage off the wall.

  “See, that dog.” I pointed to the photo I was looking at before. “He’s only got three legs.”

  Lots of old people tremble. Everything about them is shaky—how they walk, their hands, even some of their mouths can’t seem to stay still. Mr. Pickering was no different. His hand fluttered to the frame as he pulled it closer.

  “That’s him,” he said. “Haven’t thought about that dog in a long time.” He looked at me with eyes half buried under folds of skin, and frowned.

  “How’d he lose his leg?”

  “How should I know?” Mr. Pickering pushed the photo frame back at me, annoyed.

  I took a step back and wished I hadn’t asked. I turned to go, with Harvey at my heels.

  “Leave it,” Mr. Pickering barked. He meant the photo frame. I put it on the table beside his recliner and shut the door after me.

  As soon as we were in the hallway, I looked down at Harvey. He might be the dog, but Mr. Pickering was the one with the bite.

  Chapter 13

  Maggie

  Across town and a few days later, a taxi pulls into the driveway of Maggie’s house. It is Sunday night, and Maggie’s family has returned from their weeklong holiday, exhausted after a long day of travel.

  Maggie’s parents have spent the last five days hiding the truth about Harvey’s disappearance from their daughter. That first day, Olivia had searched desperately for hours before she
called with her gut-wrenching confession.

  Maggie’s parents had discussed the matter at length, but in the end decided that Olivia was doing everything she could to find the little dog. Cutting the family holiday short so they could find Harvey didn’t make sense. As worrisome as it was, they were sure Harvey would be found, but so far Olivia’s search has been fruitless.

  Olivia, too ashamed to face them, isn’t at Maggie’s house when the family arrives—which is just as well. The twins have fallen asleep in the taxi, and it is quite an ordeal to carry them and the luggage inside. Maggie is conscripted to be the door-holder, and it takes Maggie’s father three trips to get everything. After the taxi has pulled out of the driveway, it is a few minutes before Maggie wonders why Harvey hasn’t come to the door to greet her.

  “Harvey,” she calls quietly.

  Her mother closes the twins’ bedroom door after putting them in their beds. From the top of the stairs, she says, “Harvey’s not here, honey.”

  “Where is he?”

  It is two in the morning, and Maggie’s mother doesn’t have the emotional energy to tell the truth and deal with the fallout. So she lies. It is a lie that will buy her some time and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, she will tell Maggie the truth and do everything she can to make sure Harvey is found. But for right now, a lie is all she has the energy for.

  “Olivia took him to her house.”

  “Why?”

  Maggie’s mother hesitates. “So we could sleep in tomorrow.”

  Maggie sighs with disappointment but is too tired to argue. It’s just one more night, she thinks to herself. And then I’ll have Harvey back.