* * *
SHE FOUND A whistle with Adam’s help, her son insistent that he go outside and watch whatever it was Major McCall was about to do.
“Do you think he’ll have him attack someone or something? You know, blow the whistle and tear something to shreds.”
Her son might be bald. He might still be recovering from the hell the doctors had put him through to kill the cancer in his blood, but he was still a boy.
“No, Adam. I don’t think he’s going to do that.”
They emerged into the bright, spring sunshine. It’d been a year ago that Adam had been diagnosed. A year ago since her world had fallen apart. Hard to believe time had passed so quickly, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Though the cancer hadn’t metastasized, it was still a waiting game. So far the immune depression therapy had worked, but they still had a while to go before they’d be given the all clear—if they were given the all clear. Things could change at any moment, which was why she refused to get her hopes up.
“What’s wrong with him?” Adam asked Ethan, his baseball cap nearly falling from his head he bounced up on his toes so hard. “Are you going to put him through his paces?”
She had to give him credit; Ethan didn’t seem bothered by her son’s exuberance. Quite the contrary. He smiled down at him, even tapped the brim of his hat, just as she did, and it was then she noticed it.
His hands shook.
Her eyes shot to his. Was he nervous? Did Thor make him afraid?
“I’m just going to perform a little test.” He held out his hand for the whistle.
Yes. No mistaking it. He shook.
“Here.” The polished surface caught the light as it swung back and forth.
He snatched the whistle from her so fast she wondered if he knew she’d spotted his quaking limbs. Something about the way he turned away from her, too, as if he were afraid she’d look too closely. Little did he know. The man had held her attention since the moment she’d met him.
He blew the whistle.
Loudly. Shrilly. Unexpectedly. Claire’s heart nearly jumped from her chest.
“Ouch.” Adam covered his ears. “That was loud.”
And Thor didn’t move.
Claire stood, frozen, as a dozen little puzzle pieces fell into place. The way the dog ignored her. How he never rushed to greet her when she went outside. How he never came to her when she called his name.
He was deaf. She felt like a fool for never checking something so basic, so in-your-face obvious. Then again, Thor had been given a full physical, and a health clearance following that. He still bore the physical scars of his injuries. She’d just assumed his lack of attention was related to the physiological baggage he carried.
She took a step closer to Ethan and said, “It wasn’t just his unresponsiveness that concerned me. There are other...issues, too.”
He tucked the whistle in his pocket. “Like what?”
“He seems...detached somehow. He never wags his tail. Barely shows interest in his food. Ignores me for the most part.”
He headed toward the entrance to the kennel.
She rushed to catch up to him. “Let me go in with you.”
Adam knew to stay behind. He’d been strictly forbidden from dealing with Thor, but that didn’t stop him from asking, “Can I go in, too?”
“No,” she told her son. “Stay here.”
She patted him on the head again, something she seemed to do more and more of late. Reassuring herself that he was still there. At least that was what one of the other moms at the hospital had told her when she’d spotted the gesture.
Ethan had rounded the end of the building. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about Thor’s behavior.
Still, she heard herself say, “Be careful,” as he slipped inside the “doghouse,” as Claire liked to call it, a spacious room with a man-sized door leading to the dog run. Inside, an uneaten bowl of food lay in the corner. It worried her. Every day she hoped the dog would get better. Now she didn’t know what to think.
Thank God he made a house call.
Fate, she admitted.
Thor lay just outside the back door, and Ethan moved slowly, his footfalls light. There had been dozens of times when Claire had done the same and she’d always taken care to use a soft voice to announce her arrival. Now she understood why the dog had been startled to the point that he’d tried to bite her. She’d snap at someone, too, if she’d been taken by surprise.
“Hey, Thor,” she heard Ethan say. When she joined him, it was in time to see Ethan kneeling by the dog’s side, but this time the dog’s reaction was different. Normally he cocked an eye, maybe lifted his head in mute greeting, then went back to ignoring the world. This time he opened his eyes, immediately lifted his head, then stood. He moved toward the man who knelt beside him and sniffed, only to be clearly disappointed by his investigation. The dog’s head lowered. His shoulders appeared to slump. He lay down at Ethan’s feet.
“He’s missing his handler,” Ethan observed.
His male handler, she realized. She was just a poor second in the dog’s eyes. Not worth getting to know.
“He was injured pretty severely,” she said. “I’m thinking he probably lost consciousness. I would imagine he has no clue what happened to him.”
“Yeah, I had a friend send me his file.”
He’d done that for her? For the dog? Somehow, that took her by surprise.
He buried his fingers in the dog’s fur, held them there for a moment, and if she hadn’t been watching him closely, she might have missed the way he inhaled deeply. It was as if the dog’s presence reassured him. He ran his fingers through Thor’s coat, and she wasn’t sure if it was a professional gesture, or a personal one. Another deep breath and then he began to move his hands up and down the dog’s body, feeling for the scars now covered by hair, she realized. Another dog that’d been injured by a bomb blast. She’d seen far too many in the past three years. Thor had nearly had his leg taken off. The missing patch of fur right below the knee was the only visible sign of his injuries.
She knelt down next to Thor, too, touching him. Whatever Ethan’s problem was, she understood all too well the soothing reassurance of a dog’s coat. How many times had she come out and done the same thing, sometimes in the middle of the night, her son completely oblivious to her midnight visits?
“Anything?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Their gazes met and there it was again. The sadness. It lingered in his eyes like a bad stain. “No sign of pain anywhere. That’s good.” He went back to examining the dog.
She had
