Running Wild(Wild #3)(104)

But I’m no fool, and Liz will soon have a house with three grandchildren to watch. That has to be more exciting than seeing the lights still on in the clinic, forty years later.

My father is wearing a walking cast to get around, and progress with physical therapy has proved far slower than the doctor hoped. Each day, my mother makes a comment about the ache in her arthritic bones, and how this place is getting to be too much work. With every year that passes, their aging bodies will only rebel more.

Maybe the clinic is tying them down from experiencing new, better things.

Vicki clears her throat and then casts a look at Oliver, her elbow not so subtly jabbing into his ribs.

His eyes widen with understanding. “So, Marie, Steve called me today about something. Remember? My boss? Anyway, he asked if you were still single. Now that the season is basically done and he’s not working so much, he was wondering if—”

“Sure. Give him my number.”

Oliver falters. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” I shrug. “It’s just a date, right?”

But more importantly, it’s closing a chapter and moving on.





*



The brown-and-white puppy bounds toward Mabel, stumbling several times in its unbalanced rush. Her giggles border on hysterical as she watches it. It’s an unbridled sound that hints at the little girl I used to know who chased chickens and rambled nonsense.

“They’re all so cute.” Her face pinches. “I can’t pick!”

I smile. “You have another hour to decide before your mom comes back.” It’s Sunday afternoon, and we’ve parked ourselves on the floor in the clinic lobby, each leaning against a wall as Mrs. Perkins’s three Husky Jack puppies run in circles. She surrendered them to me on Friday—a week earlier than I’d prefer to take puppies from their mother, but they were taxing the old woman. Having spent the past two nights with them, I understand why.

“Which one do you think she should take, Roy?” I ask.

He holds his level against the shelving unit he spent the morning installing. “The least annoying one.”

At the sound of his voice, the all-white female puppy, smaller than the other two and with shaggier fur, darts to him, tripping over his boot in her attempt to sniff his pant leg. Roy pauses in his tinkering to watch her tug at his bootlace, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Maybe that one?”

Roy realizes I’m watching him, and he sets back to his task, ignoring the pup. “How’d you get roped into this, anyway?”

“One of my older clients needed help.” And when Jonah mentioned that Agnes was thinking about getting a dog, inspiration struck. “How’d you get roped into that?” I nod toward the unit he’s been securing to the wall studs. It’s different from his usual craftsmanship—an industrial feel, with rustic pine boards and black pipes—but it looks far nicer than the gray metal shelves that used to line that wall for dry food goods.

“Trust me, I’m still askin’ myself that same question.”

“How much am I going to owe you?”

His chuckle is deep, grating sound. “That’s between you and Calla. I’m just the jackass pullin’ the cart.”

I can already guess the answer. She’ll tell me the wood was going to be burned and the pipe was salvaged from the dump, or something along those lines. The girl is so resourceful, sometimes I don’t know whether to believe her.

But she was right. I take in my neglected little lobby’s face-lift. It’s like her website design breathed air and came to life. The bright splashes of yellow mixed with earthy greens and crisp whites have completely transformed the space and the mood. It didn’t take much. A weekend of painting and wallpapering, and another to change out the light figures and move in small details that add personality and charm, including several fake plants to add texture, and sleek new chairs in forest green.

But I think my favorite change is the full gallery wall of ornate, golden-yellow frames, showcasing the history of our little clinic in the woods, along with fresh pictures of Cory and me, and even my father.

None of the alterations are earth-shattering—to do that, we’d have to tear down this building and replace it with a new one—and yet the change was good. I feel a bit more pride as clients walk in and remark on the improvements.

“Here.” I toss a ball to Mabel, who tosses it back. All three puppies give chase. Back and forth we go, playing a game of keep-away, the gray one faster than the other two. Even Roy struggles to hold his scowl, but I can’t tell if it’s because of the puppies or the jarring way that Mabel’s face takes on Agnes’s mannerisms when she laughs.

He shakes his head, as if catching himself watching her. “Muriel and Teddy are havin’ their annual big wing night next week.”

“I swear, is there any food group they don’t throw a party or a competition for?” The annual fish fry, the annual chili cook-off, the annual rib “rub-off” that has me chuckling and Toby’s face turning red every time his mother mentions it.

“Right?” Roy snorts. “You gonna be there for that?”

“Depends on what the guy I’m seeing wants to do.” Steve loves microbreweries and hates my taste in beer and is determined to expand my horizons. Since he called, we’ve been on four dates, all of them landing in local breweries. He doesn’t mind driving, and I don’t mind his company. He’s kind and handsome and doesn’t pressure me to do anything beyond trying his favorite lagers. He’s kissed me good-night a few times, and I haven’t minded that, either.