Reign of Terrier Page 3

  It probably wouldn’t bode well if she showed up to Pretty Paws looking like a zombie.

  And the day she could talk herself out of her semi-irrational anxieties was the day that she stopped having issues altogether.

  She was up and pacing across the hallway between bedroom and bathroom by seven, then grateful at about 7:30 to realize that now was a sensible time to start getting ready. She showered and dressed in her most professional-looking pencil skirt — an item of clothing she’d bought for a Halloween costume party and had never looked at since — and even attempted to do her makeup and hair, such as it was.

  By the time Maggie knocked on her door at 8:14, Tessa looked presentable. Better at least than she had since Livy’s funeral.

  Maggie actually blinked owlishly at her for a moment when Tessa opened the door and stepped carefully out on the low heels she never wore into the world. “Going somewhere special?” she asked after a moment.

  Tessa twisted the strap of her purse between her fingers. “Job interview.”

  “At the shelter?” She led her to her car, gestured toward the passenger side that the door was open.

  “Well, sort of. It’s for school?” Tessa wasn’t sure if Maggie knew about her vet tech ambitions.

  “Ah.” She stared out the windshield and didn’t say anything more.

  It was a mercifully short drive, most of the time taken up with waiting at stoplights, and still they were there a few minutes early. Tessa could, if the weather were decent, walk.

  She hadn’t been to this plaza before — not because there was something wrong with it, but it just wasn’t a place that she usually went. Maggie’s Chinese buffet place was the only one that had caught her notice before, and they delivered. There was the pleasant smell of baked goods wafting from the bakery that Maggie went into, and Tessa was tempted to follow, at least to see if she could get a cup of coffee, but it ticked over to 8:30 in her dithering, so she promised herself a cup afterward and went into Pretty Paws.

  The lobby was a clean tiled space that smelled gently of lavender, probably from the plug-in she spotted behind the desk. The girl sitting at the desk looked up from a small stack of papers when Tessa went in.

  She was a pretty young woman, maybe a little younger than Tessa’s thirty-two, with orangey hair braided and slung over one shoulder. Her smile showed off every one of her perfect white teeth. “Tessa?” she asked before Tessa could say anything.

  “Um.” She struggled not to choke on her words. “Yeah.”

  The other woman held out her hand. “I’m Eliza. We talked yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Tessa shook her hand. She had a firm, cool grip. “Of course. Hi. Nice to meet you.”

  She dropped her hand, gestured expansively toward a couple of waiting room chairs against the far wall, and turned toward the door on her right. “Have a seat. I’ll let Dr. Dale know you’re here. Do you want anything? A cup of coffee?”

  Tessa definitely did, and something in her expression must’ve said so even as she opened her mouth to politely decline, because Eliza’s smile widened — somehow, it was possible — and tossed words back over her shoulder. “Cream or sugar?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Tessa sat. The chair was that thinly padded metal type, not particularly comfortable, but okay for a few minutes. She was a bit surprised by how quiet it was in the lobby — she must’ve expected to be able to hear barking dogs even from here. But, no. The lobby was peaceful, with the dim strains of some kind of easy jazz playing through a tinny speaker somewhere out of sight. The front-facing windows brought in plenty of light, though the view was all parking lot and the jutting corner of the Staples a few doors down.

  All in all, rather more pleasant than she’d been expecting from a dog shelter.

  Eliza came back out to the lobby carrying two Styrofoam cups of coffee. She offered one to Tessa and sipped for herself from the other. “It comes from the bakery next door. The owner there is a friend. Adopted one of our dogs.”

  It was good coffee: stronger than Tessa could ever get from her K-Cups, almost too bitter to swallow. She shivered, just a little, as it went down.

  Eliza, sitting back down at her seat behind the desk, giggled. “Too strong?”

  “No. It’s great.”

  Livy would’ve gagged, but she had always been a latte girl.

  A beat of silence. Eliza broke it with another of those impossibly wide smiles. “So. A veterinary externship?”

  Tessa blinked, struggling for a moment to understand what she was talking about. “Oh. Yeah. It’s a requirement to graduate.”

  “What program are you in?”

  “Harper Jones?” There her voice went, turning what should be a statement into a question. She bit her lip and stared down at the black surface of her coffee.

  “Really? Me, too!” Eliza’s voice pitched nearly to a squeal. “I guess you’re right at the end, then? Just the externship and the test left?”

  Tessa nodded.

  “It’s a small world.”

  “Um. Yeah.”

  “I’m right there, too. We should study for the test together. I hear it’s a doozy, and I’d love to have a study buddy.”

  She paused and lifted her eyebrows at her as if expecting a response. Tessa coughed. “Why, yeah? Same.”

  “That’s so weird you called when you did. Dr. Dale only takes, like, one extern every few years, you know. He likes to hire them on as his techs afterward, and he’s been without a tech for months. I try to help, but then I’m needed up here, y’know?”

  The door to what Tessa assumed was the rest of the shelter — kennels and rooms and laboratory, she guessed — opened again, and two people came out. The first, a thin, middle-aged man, was probably Dr. Dale Savage; the other, a shorter, squatter, middle-aged woman, she wasn’t sure about.

  “Tessa,” said the man with a warm smile and an extended hand. “I’m Dr. Dale. Welcome to Pretty Paws.”

  Tessa shook his hand, then the woman offered hers with a similarly warm smile, her teeth shining very white against her skin. “Leslie Durant. I’m the owner.”

  “Ah.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too weak. Her heart was in the process of trying to break free of her ribs. Her skin tingled. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to concentrate on the burst of bright, sharp pain the motion induced.

  Keep it together, Tessa. Don’t fail at the final hurdle.

  Her voice was barely a mumble when she was able to find it again. “Pleasure.”

  “So. What can I do for you?” Dr. Dale asked.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  Tessa could feel the panic coming — she’d been shoving it down since getting that email yesterday — but even knowing it was coming wasn’t enough to keep it at bay. Her skin itched and burned; her vision swam. Three pairs of strangers’ eyes stared at her with increasing uncertainty as she opened her mouth and nothing but a croak came out.

  Livy would’ve taken her hands at this moment, pressed them flat against her shoulders or chest, and taken several exaggeratedly deep breaths, making sure they made noise. In. Out. “It’s all right, Tessa,” she’d say, low and gentle. “Breathe with me, that’s it. It’s all right, you’re safe. It’s just us, I’m here, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  She wished Livy were here. Her own attempts to self-soothe were not nearly as effective as hearing her say it.

  “Tessa? You okay?”

  A voice — a stranger’s voice. They were looking at her. Staring.

  Tessa never should’ve come here. What was she thinking, that she could ever manage such conversations, to ask strangers for something they were utterly un-obligated to give her?

  “I-I should go.” She wasn’t sure if the words were spoken aloud or if she just thought them with every cell in her body.

  A hand landed on her shoulder. It was warm and rough and strange, and Tessa flinched away, but it remained, steady, nudging with gentle but inescapabl
e pressure until her feet moved.

  She was dimly aware of the woman, Leslie, leading her through the door to the rest of the shelter, down a short, dimly lit hallway, and into another room, smaller than the lobby, with beige carpet and white walls. Tessa sat where she placed her, on a short couch. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  And then she spun around and hurried out of the room, leaving Tessa to draw too-shallow breaths in silence.

  Chapter Six

  The metallic rattle of the kennel door woke Princess from a pleasant-enough nap. She peered up from the shelter of her bed, half-tempted to growl at the person who was niggling with it, but then saw it was the pleasant woman, Leslie, and just lowered her head back onto her paws again.

  The door opened, and Leslie crouched down at the doorway. She tapped her fingers to her thigh, and her voice was soft, a gentle summons. “Princess. C’mere, pup.”

  Princess lifted her head. Leslie held out her hand.

  Slowly, making sure she wasn’t going to spring at her, Princess inched her way off the bed and toward her gentle hand, leaning into it when she rubbed softly behind her ears. “That’s it. Good girl. C’mon, I have someone who needs you.”

  With the same sort of easy, smooth movement she always used, she slid a lead over the dog’s head and stood. Princess knew better than to pull against the urging of the lead — to do so would be to tighten it around her neck and make her choke — so she followed Leslie past the kennels of her neighbors (Labby next door glared at her as she went) and away from the noise of the kennels.

  She was being taken to The Front.

  A small whine escaped her throat. Everyone knew that many of the dogs who went to The Front never returned. Princess didn’t want to be the next one. Life was okay in the kennels. Better than any life she’d ever known before. She didn’t want to go to The Front.

  But she couldn’t refuse the rope around her neck, the gentle-but-firm urging of Leslie at the other end of it. “It’s okay, Princess. Just through this door.”

  Did every dog being taken to The Front hear those words? Were they the last she would ever hear?

  Another whine crawled up her throat as Leslie stopped them at a closed door and reached for the knob. If Princess wiggled enough, maybe she could escape the lead before it tightened and choked her.

  The door — The Front — opened, and Princess was surprised by the sight that greeted her there.

  It was a room, smallish and plain, with some kind of soft, thin carpet spread across the floor. It smelled nice, like happy humans and happier dogs, the warmth of it covering, though not entirely masking, the antiseptic scent of the cleaners used on the walls. There wasn’t much inside the room, just a worn-out couch, and, perched on the couch and trembling harder than Princess had ever seen someone do, was a woman.

  A strange sort of terror radiated from the woman’s shivering form. Not a specific fear, like when facing a predator, or even like sometimes happens when a child cringes away from some overeager dog in the kennels (Labby had frightened a child just that way a few days ago). This woman wasn’t afraid of anything in particular, such that removing what was scaring her would make her not so afraid anymore, but the fear pouring off of her was thick enough to smell even from the doorway.

  Leslie bent down and removed the lead from around her neck. “Go on,” she whispered, for her ears only. “Say hello.”

  Princess took a step onto the carpet. It was a delight against the pads of her feet, which had never known anything but wires and tile and her squishy bed. The woman on the couch glanced up. Their eyes met, and suddenly, Princess knew.

  She knew this human. Not because they had ever met before, but because they were the same.

  She was afraid, not because something had come along to scare her, but because she was alone in a world that was too big for her.

  Princess crossed the two steps between them and leapt into her lap. Her hands were soft, and they fell against the dog’s shoulders in a gentle embrace. She made a noise like a whine and rested her forehead against the top of her head.

  And Princess knew. They both did.

  She’d been alone for so long, afraid because the world was always looking for a way to catch her up, chew her to bits, and then spit her out.

  But Princess didn’t have to be alone. Not anymore. Not with this human holding her.

  She nuzzled deeper into the woman’s grip, lifting her front legs up to her shoulders, and rested her chin against the warm exposed skin of her neck.

  The woman let out another noise, this one closer to a sigh, and hugged Princess tight.

  Home, sang something inside of her. Home.

  Princess never been home. The first place, the one before Pretty Paws, was nothing but a smelly wire cage. Pretty Paws was better, infinitely better, with its clean floors and gentle-handed humans, but it was full of noises and smells and people who stuck her with needles and rattled metal food carts down hard tile floors. No one was ever mean to her, but she never had any reprieve from it, the barking neighbors and rattling carts and oceans of smells.

  But this, this human’s arms around her in a way she’d never before wanted a human to surround her, her warmth on her sensitive nose, her soft smells of coffee and wool in the air — this was home.

  Eventually, slowly, the woman lifted her head from where she’d buried it against her fur. Leslie was still crouched where she’d been when she took off the lead, near the door to the room, peering up and smiling at the couch. “This is Princess.”

  The human — her human — looked at Princess, ran her soft hands over her ears and neck and sides. “Hello, Princess.” Her voice was as gentle as her fingers.

  Princess whined in greeting and pressed her head against the woman’s palm. She obliged and scratched behind her ears, at the spot that was always so itchy.

  “She needs a home,” Leslie added.

  “A home.” The woman’s voice was quiet, uncertain, apparently not understanding the meaning of the words, repeating them simply for something to do. Her eyes were on Princess, her fingers still rubbing at the back of her head.

  Then, as quick as a light being switched on, understanding filled her face, and she looked at Leslie with a fresh round of fear. “Oh. Oh, no, I don’t … I mean, she’s sweet, but I’m not…”

  She slid Princess off her chest and down from her lap. She set her back on the soft floor and stood like the couch had bitten her.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, her eyes on her feet. “I need to go.”

  And she skittered past Princess, past Leslie, and out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Tessa fled Pretty Paws like Leslie was chasing her out with a chainsaw, barely even cognizant of Eliza calling after her.

  Being out in the parking lot was a little bit better, where at least there was fresh air and not a lot of strangers just staring at her. Even those strangers that were in the parking lot didn’t give her a second glance.

  Tessa slowed her pace to a purposeful walk so as not to pull the attention of strangers to her but quickly enough realized her error.

  Maggie worked until three p.m., which wouldn’t be a problem if she weren’t her ride home. Tessa could walk home — it wasn’t far, and the sidewalks in this part of town were in decent shape — but the wind was cold, and her pencil skirt and low heels weren’t meant for walking the couple of miles between here and the house.

  She’d be better off going over to the bakery on the right and just wiling away the time on her phone until Maggie was done.

  The thought did occur to her — the bakery’s smells were just as enticing now as they had been on first arriving — but bakery employees didn’t care for people just lingering at their one table without a constant stream of purchases.

  Plus, Maggie would actually be there — the Chinese takeout was her evening job — and she’d know before Tessa even figured out how to tell her that she hadn’t done what she set out to do this morning.

&nbs
p; So, she passed the bakery door and headed toward the Staples at the far end. She was good at wasting time amongst office supplies, pretending she needed a new chair or printer or something for work.

  But they weren’t open until ten a.m., and it was barely scratching nine right now.

  This was a bit surprising — somehow, she’d imagined that more than just half an hour had passed since she set foot in the Pretty Paws lobby. Panic attacks could do that to her — stretch out time so that thirty seconds felt like thirty minutes — but she was usually better at estimating how much actual time had passed as she was coming down from one.

  But then, she’d often had Livy there, talking her through them, and Tessa knew how to gauge how much time had passed based on how many words Livy said, how many breaths they’d taken.

  On her own, she supposed she wasn’t quite so able to judge the passage of time.

  The rest of the plaza was unremarkable. The Chinese buffet was dark — it didn’t open until one — and the tobacco shop beside it was the sort of grungy looking storefront that Tessa preferred to avoid. There was a bench at the far end of the tobacco shop, next to the local bank’s ATM, so she sat there, well out of sight of anyone who might be looking out the windows of the Pretty Paws lobby.

  And, settling down for the first time since the Harper Jones email yesterday, she couldn’t deny how much of a disaster that had turned into.

  She’d officially fallen at the final hurdle.

  Tessa pressed her face into her hands and her elbows against her knees, and in the artificial darkness, she finally found her breath.

  She was being ridiculous. The whole thing had been ridiculous. She’d panicked over nothing, and then…

  And then she’d been handed a dog who’d looked at her like Livy used to, with trust and the sort of belief in her that Tessa never quite managed for herself.

  It was a ridiculous comparison to make, and she felt silly for even considering making it the moment her mind did so. How could she possibly think that a dog she’d never met was in any way comparable to her fiancée?