Remember Tuesday Morning (27 page)

T
WENTY
-N
INE

H
olly had been sitting in the waiting room a long time, too long. By now someone should’ve come out and told her that the dog was okay, that he was out of surgery and they’d stitched him up. The silence couldn’t be a good sign. But since she had no one to talk to, and since she was worried sick that Alex was stuck in the fire at the top of the mountain, she used the time to pray.

Funny how she’d resisted a relationship with God for so many years, how she’d let her faith grow cold to the point that she no longer wanted to go to church and sometimes doubted God even existed, but here … in the face of intense tragedy, surrounded by the greatest fear she’d known since 9/11, prayer came as easily as her next heartbeat.

She prayed for Bo and for Alex and for Alex’s friend — the other sheriff’s deputy. Once she’d done that, she felt fresh tears on her cheeks and she did what she should’ve done long ago. She asked God to forgive her for walking away, for letting her love for Him grow cold.

Of course I believe in You, God …
she uttered the words silently, and as she did they cast a flicker of light in the dark halls of her soul, where the sun hadn’t shone for far too long.
I’m sorry, God … I need You here with me. Please, God … let me know You’re here.

As she finished that part of her prayer, a janitor entered the otherwise empty waiting room. Holly felt awkward, sitting by herself and crying. She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed it beneath her eyes. There was something peculiar about the janitor, something in his stature or mannerisms. Holly watched him, trying to figure it out. The man was small and hunched, with white thinning hair that poked out from beneath a Yankees baseball cap. A name tag on his flannel shirt read only “Max.”

Holly was drawn to the man, but she had no idea why. He didn’t seem to notice her as he set to work, lifting the mop into a bucket of water, wringing out the excess, and then flinging it onto the floor. She watched him intently, trying to figure out why he looked so familiar, why his actions seemed so peculiar. He was five minutes into the job when he suddenly stopped and looked straight at her. “You … you’re a believer?”

Holly was startled by his question. She was tempted to look over her shoulder, in case he was talking to someone else, but she recovered long enough to point subtly at herself. “Me?”

“Yes.” The man smiled, and again there was something different about him, almost otherworldly. “Are you a believer?”

“I am.” This time Holly didn’t hesitate. “I was just praying.” Emotion spilled into her voice. “It’s been a long night.”

“You were involved in the fire.” It wasn’t a question. He rested on the handle of his mop, his eyes looking almost through her.

“Yes. I was.” Holly wondered how the man could’ve known that detail. Did she smell that strongly of smoke? Or was her face smudged with ashes? She searched the man’s face, trying to figure him out. Maybe she’d seen him before, at the townhouses where she lived or at the market.

He smiled at her, his eyes boring into hers. “The Lord wants you to know something … He’s never going to leave you or forsake you. No matter what happens, no matter how long.”

Holly sucked in a quick breath, and it stuck in her throat. A dozen questions came at her, but before she could voice a single one, the janitor tipped the rim of his baseball cap and shuffled off down the hallway.

As soon as he was gone, she realized something had changed — she wasn’t afraid anymore. Sad for the injured dog, deeply concerned about Alex, but she could feel the presence of God with her, and she remembered something her mom had told her not long ago. You don’t have to feel God to know He’s with you. The Bible tells us God is with us, and that’s all the proof we need to know. It’s a fact. Feelings or no feelings.

For years God had been with her, but Holly hadn’t wanted to feel His presence, hadn’t sought Him out or thought to talk to Him for any length of time. Even so, God had been with her — the same way He so clearly was with her now. She had asked God to let her know He was here, and he’d sent Max, the janitor.

She glanced at the check-in desk, at the two women and one man in white coats working on various computers. The doctor and his assistant hadn’t been seen since Bo was wheeled in, and again that told Holly the situation couldn’t be good. There had to be some kind of news on Alex’s dog, but still no one had come out to talk to her. She prayed some more, but then her prayers did something she hadn’t expected them to do. They took her back to the time before 9/11, when she and Alex were sure about life and love and even forever.

A door sounded at the other end of the waiting room, and Holly looked up to see the doctor enter. He was moving slowly, his face grim, and he stopped a few feet from her. “Ms. Brooks?”

She was on her feet, her heart pounding. Like everyone involved in the fire, she was exhausted and drained. As she watched the doctor she felt faint, and she steadied the back of her legs against the sofa where she’d been sitting. She looked into the doctor’s eyes and she knew, she knew before he said a word.

“About Bo … the news isn’t good.”

Holly wanted to stop him there, because if something happened to Alex’s dog, then maybe Alex would never recover. She remembered the newspaper article, the stoic, cold look on Alex’s face and the dog at his side. Holly had no idea how long they’d worked together, but Alex’s love for Bo had been obvious tonight. She wanted to run, leave the waiting room and let the news fall on someone else’s ears. Because hours ago she’d allowed herself the faintest hope that in finding each other again, Alex might also find himself. That together they would both find the God who would never leave them nor forsake them. But that hope would be gone forever if something happened to Alex’s dog.

No matter what Max the janitor had said.

Bo was going to be okay. By the time Alex wheeled his Dodge into the parking lot of the veterinarian hospital, he had convinced himself. Dogs bled out much faster than people, so if the bullet had gotten him in one of his major organs or an artery, he would’ve died long before they reached the ambulance. As he drove, Alex thought about calling for an update, but he didn’t have Holly’s number, and there was no time to grab his phone and call information.

Better just to drive and get there.

Alex parked and ran from his car up a few steps to the front door. The place wasn’t very big, and the waiting room was empty except for Holly and …

He stopped and stared at the scene taking place before his eyes. Holly was crying, her fingers covering her face, and the doctor had his hand on her shoulder.
No, God …
he took a step back, because this couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t the end. He could run back out to his truck, drive home, and there would be Bo, sleeping near the front door waiting for his return. The whole thing was a mistake, right? It had to be.

Holly must’ve heard him, because she turned and looked at him, her eyes red and swollen, her face twisted in sorrow.

“No …” he shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and shook his head as he looked from her to the doctor. “Not Bo … don’t tell me.” He briefly noticed the workers behind the front desk discreetly leave for some back part of the building. They were giving him privacy so that … so that …

“Alex.” Holly’s arms were crossed and she was gripping her elbows, her whole body shaking.

“Mr. Brady,” the doctor was walking toward him.

Alex shook his head again and turned toward the door. He wasn’t here, not in a vet hospital with Bo on the other side of the waiting room. He squeezed his eyes closed and grabbed a fistful of his own hair. He wasn’t here. He was at headquarters, and his sergeant was ushering him into a small room where a striking young German shepherd was standing at attention, his ears forward, and the sergeant was saying, “Alex, I’d like you to meet your new partner.” He blinked and shook his head, refusing to hear anything from anyone, and there he and Bo were at the far end of a grassy field at the training center, seven hundred and ten hours into training. A dozen officers were giving hand signs to their respective K9 partners, and every dog was messing up. Every dog but Bo. Then he was at home a few months later, looking for the TV remote so he could watch the Dodgers game before he went to bed, and there was Bo trotting into the room from the back of the condo, the remote in his mouth, and he was cocking his head, looking at Alex as if to say, “I’m here for you, friend. Anything you need, I’m here.”

“Mr. Brady?”

Alex dropped his hands to his side and shook his head one last time. He could feel Bo beside him still, his dog’s coat brushing against his legs as they jogged the hills at Pierce College a few weeks ago. He wasn’t sure how, but he found the strength to turn around. “I’m sorry …” he looked into the doctor’s eyes. “Tell me.”

The doctor frowned and his eyes shifted to the floor. When he looked up, there was no question what he was going to say. “We tried everything we could. The bullet pierced one of Bo’s lungs and perforated his liver. By the time he got here, he’d lost a lot of blood, but even if we’d operated on him at the scene he wouldn’t have made it. Just too much damage. We’ve been in surgery since he got here, but — “ The doctor pressed his lips together, as if he understood that no explanation was needed. No words would help now. He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Holly was still standing where she had been when Alex walked into the hospital, tears streaming down her cheeks, and quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. She dropped back down to the sofa and put her face in her hands. Alex couldn’t think about her, about the conversation he needed to have with her. Right now he had to take care of the matter at hand.

Bo was dead. “Can I …,” he swallowed, struggling. “Can I see him?”

“Yes.” The doctor moved somberly, the way people moved around in a funeral home, and again the moment didn’t feel like it matched the reality. Bo wasn’t dead … not his Bo. He was riding in the backseat, barking at the fire and ready for action, and he was heeling at his side, his partner. His friend.

“This way.” The doctor walked through a set of double doors to a room at the end of a short hallway. He opened the door and allowed Alex to step inside by himself. “Take as long as you need.”

Alex nodded, but already his eyes were on Bo, lying on the table. He heard the door shut behind him, and Alex stayed in that spot, not moving. Because from here, Bo was only sleeping, the familiar blacks and browns and tans that made up his back spread out just the way they’d been a few hours ago at the foot of his bed when Alex first heard the call.

He was probably cold and lonely up there on the sterile examination table. Alex went to him and put his hand on Bo’s side. A gathered sheet was pressed against his chest, covering the area where he’d been shot, but otherwise he looked fine and whole, his expression the familiar one of loyalty and trust.

Alex put his hand on the dog’s side and patted him, slowly and steadily. He was still warm, still full of the life that had driven him to do whatever Alex asked of him. “Bo … you’re a good dog, boy. Good dog.” He moved his hand up to Bo’s head and ran his fingers through the softer hair beneath the dog’s ear. “Good boy.”

A flood of sorrow was rising in his heart, and Alex didn’t try to stop it. Alex had been driven to get the REA guys at any cost, and Bo had paid the price. More than that, he had done it willingly, rushing at the suspect with the gun even before Alex had seen him. Bo’s heart had beat with one singular concern — the safety and well-being of his partner.

Alex’s tears came then, and he was hit by the certain reality that he had failed. He hadn’t stopped evil — not in the city of Los Angeles, and not at the Oak Canyon Estates, and not in his own life. Evil had found him, anyway, and now his dog was dead. He wanted to yell, rail at the collective bad in the world that would allow a dog as good and true as Bo to take a bullet. But he couldn’t yell here, because the sound would frighten Bo. The dog hated when Alex was angry for any reason, and there was no need to upset him now.

He patted Bo’s head again, and once more a host of yesterdays came over him. He was at the beach watching the surf, trying to find himself and failing, but grateful because Bo was his friend anyway, Bo right beside him, his ears back, eyes alert to any danger that might come Alex’s way. Bo was there in the middle of every good memory he’d had over the last three years, Bo dashing out along a suspect trail and knocking to the ground one bad guy after another. Bo riding in the backseat behind him for what felt like a lifetime of calls and adventures.