Joan Kilby - Family Matters

“Forget the sermon, Pollyanna. Why don’t you show me what’s in your bag?”

He thought for a moment she might refuse but the matter was taken out of her hands, literally, when the top of the bag pushed open from within and a small wiry dog leaped out and into Marc’s lap.

“What the—!” Marc burst out.

“I’m sorry. He has no manners.” Fiona reached for the dog who squirmed out of her hands and tried to burrow under the hem of Marc’s sweater. He succeeded in hiding only his head, leaving his rump sticking out. She added hopefully, “Isn’t he adorable?”

“I’ve never seen a more miserable scrap of fur in my life.” And yet, when he lifted his sweater, the pooch’s woebegone expression made him smile, the first he’d cracked all day. He put a hand out and the puppy cowered away from him, his thin body trembling.

“He was found in a burlap sack by the river. I think he’s been abused,” Fiona told him. “He’s sweet natured, though. With a little TLC he’ll bounce right back.”

Marc noticed a dark patch begin to spread through the fabric of his blue jeans and his glimmer of good humor vanished. “He peed on me!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Fiona exclaimed. “He’s excited after being cooped up too long.” She snatched the puppy away, shoved him back in her bag then got the wet cloth sitting by the sink. “I’m really sorry,” she apologized again and started to scrub at the stain on Marc’s upper thigh.

“Stop!” He pushed her hands away. “Why did you bring the damn dog here, anyway?”

“I thought you might like to have him as a pet. He was abandoned and I can’t keep him. He doesn’t look like much I know but once he’s gained a bit of weight—”

The sound of the bag falling over cut her off. The puppy escaped, skittering across the floor to hide behind a large potted plant. Fiona picked him up and held him close to her chest to try to calm him.

“You thought I might like a pet,” Marc repeated incredulously. “Do I look like I run a lost dogs’ home?”

“Pets are good therapy for the elderly and disabled. It’s a well-known fact that dogs give patients a sense of well-being.” She cradled the puppy protectively against her chest. “Please consider taking him. If your aunt and uncle don’t mind, that is. I must confess I didn’t stop to consider them. It’s their house, after all.”

She’d lumped him in with the elderly and disabled. That alone was enough to make him refuse. That he hadn’t an ounce of physical or emotional energy to give another living creature, not even a half-dead hound, sealed the dog’s fate as far as Marc was concerned.

“They hate dogs,” he lied. “Especially rambunctious puppies.” He hoped she wouldn’t notice Rufus’s food bowl near the back sliding doors. Leone and Jim’s Irish setter slept outside but evidence of his existence was around. “Besides, once I’m walking again, I’ll be back at work. I travel constantly. I can’t take care of a dog. So if that’s all you came for—” Spinning the chair around, he started back to the front of the house “— I’ll see you out.”

Fiona’s heavy sigh rent the silence. “Poor little guy,” she crooned to the puppy. “I’ll have to take you to the pound.”

Marc glanced back at her. “The pound?”

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an exaggerated fashion. “Someone will adopt him. I hope.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed. He resumed his progress down the hall. “You’re just trying to guilt me into taking him.”

“Will it work?” Fiona followed with the puppy cradled in her arms.

“No. Too obvious.”

“It was worth a try. If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

They passed the living room. Jim glanced up from his newspaper and Leone put down her book to call out, “Leaving so soon?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fiona paused to reply. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Come again, anytime,” Leone said from her seat on the leather sofa. “What a sweet puppy. Look, Jim, isn’t he gorgeous? We just love dogs,” she confided to Fiona.

Groaning, Marc dropped his head into his hand.

“Who wouldn’t love a pup?” Fiona said without a trace of reproach in her soft voice.

Marc escorted her to the door. “So now you know I’m a liar as well as a lush,” he said. “Not a fit parent for an impressionable dog. But then, you lied, too. You said you wanted me to do you a favor when all the time you were trying to do me one.”

“Is that so bad?” she demanded. “Life is a lot easier if people help each other.”

Marc had nothing to say to that. Ever since he’d learned to tie his own shoelaces he’d pushed away all attempts to help him. Why should that change just because he was in a wheelchair?

Fiona dropped into a crouch in front of him and put her hand on his forearm. In a low voice not meant for Jim and Leone’s ears she said, “Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t really mean that about killing yourself.”

“I didn’t really mean that about killing myself,” he parroted back, deadpan.

With an exasperated sound, she rose, wincing slightly. Her feet probably hurt after being on them all day, Marc thought. He’d give anything to feel pain in his feet.

From the doorway he watched her walk back to her car and waited until she’d driven off before going back inside. The adrenaline buzz induced by her presence drained away and he wheeled slowly back to his room, brushing off his aunt’s suggestion to join them.

His room, virtually unchanged since he’d left home after high school, was plastered with posters of snowboarders soaring above snowy peaks and rock climbers moving like spiders up sheer rock faces and impossible-looking overhangs. The shelves of his bookcase were lined with sporting trophies instead of books and his closet teemed with specialized equipment and clothing he might never use again.

Going to his dresser he opened the middle drawer. Away at the back, beneath his socks and underwear he found the vials of pills he’d been saving since rehab. Pain pills, sleeping pills and God knows what else. They were his safety hatch for that hypothetical day when the doctors told him there was no hope. Without action, movement, adventure, his life would be unbearable.

He opened one vial and let the tablets flow through his fingers. How many would be enough? Leone would know but he could hardly ask her.

Marc put the pills away and shut the drawer. He was feeling low but not that low. Yet.

Wheeling over to the window he watched the street-lights wink on in the growing dusk. His unlit room became darker and darker compared to the outside illumination, reflecting his thoughts. For weeks now he’d ricocheted between anger, self-pity and despair.

And worst of all, sheer excruciating boredom.

Imagine Fiona bringing him a puppy. It was a silly, impulsive thing to do. Damn cute little dog, though. He almost wished he’d had the guts to say yes.

Free: Jack Russell–cross puppy to a good home.

Call Fiona 555-6283.

Fiona got permission from Jason’s hairdresser to put a notice in the salon’s front window when she dropped Jason off for a haircut. She had a whole sheaf of them which she’d photocopied at the drugstore that morning and was now distributing around town. Her heart wasn’t in it—she was attached to the little dog already—but she didn’t see any other option.

“I’ll meet you back at the drugstore in half an hour,” she called to Jason who was draped in a black gown that hung down the sides of his wheelchair.

“Make it an hour,” he said, twisting to speak to her. “I want to go to the Electronics Shop for some components.”

Fiona paused at the door. “I noticed Jeff put an ad in the local paper for help wanted. Why don’t you ask him for an application form?”