Lee McClain - His Secret Child

“You’re still sick,” Fern scolded, standing in front of him. “You should probably be resting, not working.”

“I’m fine, I just need a minute.” Carlo wiped perspiration from his brow and staggered to his feet, calling to mind all the time he’d spent in battle under less than ideal physical circumstances. “What’s the drill? Same as last night?”

Fern put a hand on her hip. Man, was she cute! “The drill is, you sit there and rest. Mercedes and I will feed the dogs.”

“I’m a good helper,” Mercedes called over from where she was squatting in front of a kennel, fingers poking in at the puppies inside.

“That’s right, honey. But we never put our fingers in unless we’re sure of our welcome.”

Mercedes’s lower lip poked out. “These ones are fine. You said.”

“That’s right. You’re doing it just right.”

Sunshine returned to the little girl’s face and Carlo marveled at her mood shifts. Was that normal, or a product of losing her mom and changing homes? Or of whatever lifestyle Kath had put her through?

In any case, Fern seemed to handle his daughter beautifully. He wondered if he could do half as well.

“Oh, before I forget.” Fern snapped her fingers and hurried over to the cage just next to the one where Mercedes was squatting. “We’re supposed to check on this one mama dog. I got a text this morning.”

“Pregnant?” Carlo asked. He was starting to catch his breath. Man, his stamina was totally gone after just a couple of weeks of this wretched tropical fever. But he needed to pull himself together and show he was a hard worker, a man who could protect and care for others. That was how he’d get custody of his daughter, not by wheezing on a bench like a ninety-year-old with lung disease.

“No, she’s not pregnant. She had puppies and all but one died, so they put the one in with another litter to socialize it and...aw, Mama, you’re lonely, aren’t you?”

Carlo walked over to where Fern was kneeling and peered into the kennel. A large chocolate-brown dog lay in the back corner, head on paws.

“C’mere, come on, Brownie, I’ll give you a biscuit,” Fern coaxed, but the dog stayed down, emitting a low whine.

“That’s not good. They said she needs to eat.” Fern frowned. “I wonder if it’s good for her to be right next to her puppy like this. Where she can see her, but not be with her. That would be hard.”

No kidding. Carlo found himself identifying with the mama dog. “Is she feeding the pup?”

“Apparently not.” Fern nodded toward the next kennel, where five or six puppies played and rolled and nipped each other. “I guess that mama dog over there is feeding all of them. And they say it’s better for a puppy to be with other pups, but I feel bad for poor Brownie.”

“Mama Fern, look! The little one is hurt!” Mercedes’s voice sounded distressed.

Both Fern and Carlo stepped over to where Mercedes knelt by the cage full of puppies. “Over there, Mama! Help him!”

In the corner of the cage, a small brown-and-white-spotted puppy lay alone. Carlo felt his heart constricting, looking at Mercedes’s face, wondering if the little guy was dead and if so, how that would affect Mercedes. “Is there a flashlight?”

“Mercedes, run get our flashlight from the desk,” Fern urged, kneeling to see the little dog. “He’s not moving,” she said to Carlo in a low voice.

“Here, Mama!” Mercedes handed the flashlight to Fern and she shone it on the puppy. Its eyes were closed, its breathing rapid, but at least there was breathing.

There were also a couple of open wounds on his side and back.

“Oh, wow, I don’t know what to do,” Fern said. “That’s the one that doesn’t belong. It looks like either the mama dog or the other pups have turned on him.”

As if on cue, the chocolate-colored dog began to whine from the next kennel.

“Should we put him back with his mama?” Carlo asked.

“I don’t know. Let me text the people who normally take care of them,” Fern said. “And meanwhile, I’ll get the others fed.”

“I’ll stay and watch over him,” Mercedes offered.

“Okay, that will be great. I think Carlo will stay with you and help. Right?” Fern gave him a stern, meaningful stare.

“Um...okay.” Man, this diminutive, shy librarian had a spine of steel. There was no disagreeing with her.

This time, Fern didn’t linger with each dog, but moved rapidly from kennel to kennel, letting dogs out into the runs if they’d go, pouring food from large canisters. Carlo marveled at how hard she was capable of working, and he handled the dogs two or three kennels to either side of the problem dogs, trying to lighten her load while also keeping an eye on Mercedes, making sure she wasn’t seeing something upsetting.

When Mercedes cried out, he was glad he’d stuck close. He rushed back over in time to see one of the other puppies jump on top of the spotted pup and nip at it. “He’s hurting the little puppy,” Mercedes cried. “Stop him!”

Carlo didn’t know if it was normal puppy play or something more aggressive, but he could see that the little guy wasn’t in any shape to play rough. “Step back, and I’ll pull him out,” he told Mercedes, and then he went in and picked up the puppy.

“Oh, no, oh, no, is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” He needed to keep Mercedes calm as well as help the pup. Which meant keeping her busy. “Can you find a towel we can wrap him in?”

Fern was all the way down at the other end of the kennel, so Carlo got Mercedes to help him wrap the puppy in the towel she’d found. “We’ll be really careful,” he said, watching Mercedes. His daughter. Wow.

“Mama Fern said kids can only touch a dog with two fingers, so you better hold him,” Mercedes told Carlo gravely.

So he sat cross-legged on the floor and held the dog, and Mercedes petted the pup with two fingers, and somehow she ended up sitting in his lap, leaning her head against his chest and chattering every thought that came into her four-year-old brain.

Just keep breathing, Carlo told himself.

No matter what happened, he’d have these moments with his daughter to cherish forever. He could enjoy the fruity smell of her hair and the pink of her cheeks and the confiding, sweet tone of her voice. He could look at her dark eyes and realize that those came from Kath, but her strong chin probably came from his side of the family. He got a sudden memory of his sister, Angelica, when she was small, and realized that Mercedes had her flat cheekbones and cute nose.

Fern came up behind them, a heavy bag of dog food in her arms, breathing hard. “Oh, man,” she said, “you took him out. Is he okay?”

“I think he’s going to be.” Carlo looked up and tried to communicate with his eyes that he had no idea, but was putting a positive spin on things for Mercedes’s sake. He felt like a cad for just sitting here while she worked, but on the other hand, he could clearly see that Mercedes needed nurturing. So maybe this was how you managed it with two parents—you dumped gender stereotypes and played whichever role needed playing at the time.

Fern was studying her phone. “They said to take him out if he’s being bullied, that sometimes the rest of the litter turns on a puppy.”

The sad mama dog came up to the front of the cage and sniffed and whined her agitation.

“Do you think she knows it’s hers?” Angelica asked.

“Sure looks that way. What else did your friends say?”

“Oh, they’re not my friends, they’re just people who help out here. I don’t...” She trailed off, waved a hand, leaving Carlo curious about what she’d been about to say. “Anyway, they said maybe we should take the mama and the pup up to the house, and see if she could still feed him some. Apparently, they just moved him over a day or two ago. She might still have her milk.”