Somewhere Out There(43)

“Have a seat,” Randy said, gesturing to the chair across the table from him. He sat down, and I joined him. “So,” he continued. “How much do you know about our program?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Okay, then!” he said, with so much cheer it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. You’re inside a prison, you idiot, I thought. What the hell is there to be so happy about? Then it hit me. He got to leave. He had a life outside of these walls. I looked at his left hand and saw a gold band. He probably had a family, too. Kids, even. He wasn’t anything like me.

He reached down inside a black leather bag next to his chair and pulled out a large blue binder, then pushed it toward me on the table. “This will be your bible,” he said. “Everything you need to know about how to raise and train a guide dog, like Bella here.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” I asked. “I don’t know anything about dogs.”

“That’s what the bible is for. And me.” He looked at me expectantly, but when I didn’t speak, he went on, ignoring my disinterest. “I own a vet practice in town. We train guide dogs as a community service, as well as providing free obedience training for local rescue shelters. Part of this program, after you’ve worked with me here and earn approval for work release, is to come to the clinic and get some basic, hands-on training as a vet tech. You can even start working toward a two-year degree in veterinary sciences, if you want.” He glanced down at a folder in front of him. “I understand you need to get your GED, but as soon as you do, if you want, you can start taking college courses.”

I scowled, wondering what else that file had to say about me. “Is this supposed to be some kind of f*cking rehabilitation bullshit?” I wanted to shock him, but my foul language didn’t make a dent in Randy’s jovial demeanor.

“Only if you let it,” he said. “What you get out of this is entirely up to you. If you don’t buy into learning all you can, doing all you can do with the dogs, I’d be happy to tell Mr. Myer that you’re not suited for the program.”

I stood up, pushing my chair away from the table with a loud screech. “You can tell him that now,” I said. I wasn’t interested in being rehabilitated. This man was crazy if he thought working with dogs would fix whatever was wrong with me. My head began to buzz again as I flashed back to the moment in the park, to running through the woods with another woman’s child, thinking that child was mine.

“Jennifer, please,” Randy said, as he stood up as well. He was only a few inches taller than me, and his stomach strained the buttons on his ridiculous pink shirt. He picked up the binder and held it out to me. “Just read through it. If you’re still not interested, fine. I’ll talk with Mr. Myer. But this is a new program here. You’d be the first inmate I’d get to work with. I’d hate to be a total failure right out of the gate.”

I stared at the binder, then back at Randy. “Bella, door,” he said, and the dog, who still hadn’t moved, got to her feet and trotted over to the room’s entrance. She jumped up and, using her front paws, pushed down on the silver handle and slowly walked on her hind legs until the door was fully open. She looked back at us, waiting, it seemed, for someone to come toward her.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, and Randy smiled again.

“Impressive, right?” he said. “And that’s only a basic skill. There’s so much more to it than that.” He shook the binder in the air. “So what do you think? Are you in?” he asked. “Will you give it a chance?”

I glanced over to Bella, who stood on her hind legs, motionless. I reached out and snatched the binder from Randy’s grasp. “I’ll read it,” I said. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said, and then I walked out of the room, past Bella, reluctant to admit I just might be holding a tiny scrap of hope.





Natalie


By the time Natalie said good-bye to Gina at her apartment and made it home, it was four o’clock and she only had an hour before Hailey and Henry were due back from their playdates. She considered using the time to get started on the order prep for the party she was catering the next night, but after her conversation with Gina, she couldn’t think of anything else but trying to find her sister. Work would have to wait.

She grabbed her laptop from her desk in the den, opened a search engine, and typed in her sister’s name. The first link that came up was for Facebook, suggesting that Natalie search for Brooke Walker on the social media site. Natalie clicked on it and logged in to her personal Facebook account, which she really only used to post pictures of the things she baked, then typed in her sister’s name again. A list of over three hundred women came up, all living in various cities across the United States. Natalie had no way to know where Brooke might be living. Had she stayed in Seattle, or did she flee the area when she turned eighteen? She scanned the list and then filtered it by adding the modifier “Seattle, WA” to the search field with her sister’s name, and the results came up blank. Similar searches of Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, and Tumblr came back empty, too. If her sister was in the Seattle area, she certainly didn’t spend any significant time online. Of course, she could be married, Natalie thought. She could have been adopted and have an entirely different last name. If that was the case, it was a pointless endeavor to search on social media platforms for the name her sister had had when she was four.