The dog pulled him into a patch of shadow, nose practically pressed to the ground, turned in a circle and finally did his business.
“Happy birthday to me,” Aaron muttered, looking up into the twilight sky. “Somebody up there must like me.”
He dragged the greyhound back to the animal hospital, his mind reviewing the strangeness of the day. The business at his locker with Vilma and her friends crept back into his consciousness, and he felt a queasy sensation blossom in the pit of his stomach.
Had he been mistaken? he wondered as he pulled open the door. Had they suddenly switched to English from Portuguese? No, he thought, no, I was definitely hearing Portuguese—and understanding it. But how is that possible?
Hunter pranced into the cheerfully decorated lobby, his toenails happily clicking on the slick tile floor like tap shoes, excited to see Michelle, the veterinary assistant, standing there.
“So,” she asked the big dog, hands on her hips, “did we have success?”
She stroked the dog’s pointy snout and rubbed at his ears. The dog was in heaven as it pressed itself against her and gazed up lovingly.
“Well?” she asked again.
Aaron realized she was no longer speaking to the dog, and emerged from his thoughts.
“Sorry,” he said. “Yes, the mission was a complete and total success. We’ll probably need some heavy construction equipment to clean up after him, but he did what he had to do.”
Michelle wrinkled her nose as she went around the corner of the reception desk. “Yuck. Remind me not to go out back for a while.” She pulled a folder from a wall rack behind her and opened it. “I’ll make a note for Dr. Kris, and our long-legged friend should be sprung tomorrow.”
Aaron barely heard the girl, who was as close to a friend as he’d ever had. He was again lost in his thoughts about the impossibility of what had happened at school. There had to be a rational explanation. Maybe it had something to do with his headache.
“Earth to Corbet,” he heard the girl say. Her hands covered her mouth to make it sound as though her voice were coming over a loudspeaker. “This is mission control, over. It appears that one of our astronauts is missing.”
Aaron smiled and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been a long day and I’m wiped.”
She smiled back and returned the folder to the rack on the wall. “It’s cool. Just bustin’ yuh,” she said, pulling her colorfully dyed, shoulder-length hair away from her face. “Bad day at school or what?”
The two had started working at the clinic around the same time and got along quite well. Michelle had said that he reminded her of a boyfriend she’d once had: tall, dark, and brooding, the first of many to break her heart. She was older than he by five years, and explained often that her high school days were some of her most painful, so she fancied herself an expert on teen angst.
“You remember how it was, old lady,” he said with a laugh that she reciprocated. “Let me get Hunter back into his cage so we can get out of here.”
He hauled the greyhound out from around the counter, where he had been sniffing around a wastepaper basket, and toward the doors to the kennels in the back.
“Hey, Aaron,” Michelle called after him.
He turned. “What do you want now?”
For a moment she seemed to be studying him. “You sure you’re okay? Anything you want to talk about?”
The idea of sharing the bizarreness of his day was tempting, but he decided against it. The last thing he needed was Michelle thinking that not only was he “dark and brooding,” but the equally appealing “psychotic” as well.
“I’m fine, really,” he assured her. “Just tired is all.”
He pushed through the door and led the greyhound to the kennel. It was a large room filled with cages of all sizes, big cages for the larger breeds and tiny cages for what Dr. Bufman lovingly referred to as the rat dogs. Aaron returned Hunter to his current accommodations, said hello to the other dogs, then went to the staff area where he kept his things. He removed his blue work smock, hung it on a hanger, and put on his street shirt.
He was so tired he felt as though he were moving in slow motion. Is this what it’s like to get old? Just imagine what it’ll feel like to be thirty, he thought. He slung his bookbag over his shoulder and forced himself back through the kennel toward the lobby door, looking at his watch again. It was a quarter to nine. If he made it home by nine, had a quick bite and did the bare minimum on his assignments, maybe he could be in bed by ten thirty. Sleep: It sounded like a plan.
The image of a dark-skinned boy being viciously torn apart by angels appeared before his eyes, and he jumped, startled by the sudden flash of recollection.
Maybe I’ll just skip the homework and get right to bed, he thought, a bit unnerved by the dream flashback. Give the brain a chance to rest.
He reached the lobby and as he rounded the reception desk, noticed a woman standing there with a German shepherd puppy at her heels. Michelle had a file in her hand and looked at him. From the expression on her face he had no doubt she was annoyed.
“This is Mrs. Dexter,” she said, hitting the edge of the folder on the open palm of her hand. “Sheba is being spayed first thing in the morning. Mrs. Dexter was supposed to bring Sheba earlier but forgot.”
Aaron closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He could see his hopes of getting to bed at a reasonable time slipping away.
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Dexter began. “I completely lost track of time and…” The dog had begun to sniff around the floor, straining against her leash, practically pulling the woman off balance.
Aaron stopped listening to the woman’s excuses and set his bag down on the floor. He reached across the desk and took the folder from Michelle.
“You get out of here. I’ll take care of this,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Michelle asked, already taking her purse from the back of a chair. “I could stay a little longer but I’ve got this thing tonight and…”
Aaron shook his head. “I got it. Get out of here. You can owe me.”
Michelle smiled briefly and moved around the counter. “Thanks, Aaron. Everything you need should be right there. Have a good night.”
He waved as she went out the door, then returned his attention to the open folder. “Okay,” he said, removing some papers from inside. “Fill these out for me, please.”
Mrs. Dexter took the forms. She let go of the leash and let her dog explore the open lobby. “I’m really sorry about this,” she said as she removed a pair of glasses from her purse and put them on. “I was hoping there’d still be someone here.” She began to fill out the first form. “Lucky you, huh?”
Sheba approached him cautiously, tail wagging, ears back.
“Lucky me,” he agreed as he held out his hand for the young dog to sniff. She licked it and he began to pat her.
It took twenty minutes for Mrs. Dexter to complete the appropriate paperwork and be on her way.
“Sheba will be fine,” he reassured the teary-eyed owner as he opened the door to let her out. “The doctor will do her surgery first thing in the morning. You can call around noontime to find out how she did and when she can go home.”
The woman squatted in the doorway and gave her dog a last hug and a kiss on the head.
“Thanks for everything,” she said as she stood. “I’m sorry for keeping you so late.”
Aaron felt a twinge of guilt. It was hard to be annoyed with anyone who showed so much love for a pet.
Sheba began to whine as she watched her master getting into the minivan without her.
“It’s all right, girl,” Aaron said as he gently tugged on the leash. “Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ve got some lovely accommodations, and you certainly won’t be lonely.”