And after this afternoon’s crazy experience, Orzo deserved to be bumped to the front of the line.
Kelsey shut the back door and sank into the driver’s seat. Orzo circled a few times, then plopped down with a sigh. Before turning on the ignition, Kelsey checked her phone. Megan had texted to see if Kelsey would still be stopping by the Sabrina Raven estate to feed the cat who, along with an entire estate, had been bequeathed to the shelter upon Sabrina Raven’s death eight months ago.
Kelsey replied that she was headed there next. She was a bit surprised when Megan texted she’d meet her there. Odd, Kelsey thought. The Raven estate was a twenty-minute drive from the shelter, but close enough to Kelsey’s apartment that she’d taken on the task of feeding the cantankerous cat each morning and evening. The fact that Megan wanted to meet there on her day off had to mean there was some sort of news.
Wondering if the news might involve the estate itself, Kelsey flipped on the ignition and buckled her seat belt. Whatever it was, it certainly couldn’t be as eventful as her and Orzo’s afternoon had been. After all, what topped a life-size feather-filled snow globe?
* * *
Hands down, it was the weather that Kurt Crawford was most looking forward to on coming home. There’d been enough times over the last eight years when he’d found it impossible to recall the sensation of a cool breeze against his skin. Scorching heat had been an all-too-constant companion during his long military service.
After completing his military training as a working dog handler in Texas at the Lackland Air Force Base, he started his enlistment in the army doing customs support on the U.S.-Mexican border. A couple years later, he was granted a transfer to the marines and found himself committing to multiple tours in Afghanistan and being paired up with new dog after new dog. Winters had offered a splash of reprieve from the unbearable desert heat. He’d even been in Kandahar during the one snow they’d had in thirty years. It was an experience he’d never forget. The snow had been thick and clumpy, yet dry, as if the endless desert sands had had a role in making it.
Most recently, he’d been stationed in Honduras, training Honduran troops’ dogs to detect IEDs. There, the weather went from hot and sticky to hot and incessantly rainy.
With his sixty-pound military-grade duffel hoisted over his shoulder, Kurt dodged through the crowded St. Louis airport and headed outside to passenger pickup. Fortunately, for a midwestern day in the middle of September—which could’ve seen any temperature extreme—today didn’t disappoint. As the flight attendant had announced, this afternoon St. Louis was pleasantly cool and partly cloudy. A light breeze blanketed Kurt’s skin, welcoming him home.
He was tempted to close his eyes and savor it—and would have if it wasn’t for the other passengers milling about. He suspected that closing his eyes on purpose in a crowd wasn’t something he’d be comfortable doing for a long time. His edginess in the packed baggage claim area ten minutes ago had been proof enough. While waiting for his duffel, he kept catching himself scanning the crowds for signs of hidden weapons. It would take more than a signature on paper and a handshake for him to be able to let down his guard.
In the throngs of people waiting for rides and shuttles, Kurt spotted a working guide dog. The black Lab, who was old enough for her muzzle to be sprinkled with gray, sat patiently at attention beside an older man with stooped shoulders and Coke-bottle glasses. As if sensing Kurt’s attention, the dog turned her head and met his gaze. Her brown eyes were soft and intelligent. An unexpected calm loosened Kurt’s stiff-from-traveling muscles. The Lab may not have been trained for combat, but dogs were instinctively good at sensing danger, and this one was decisively calm.
He gave her a wink, and the dog pumped her tail before turning to look longingly at two small kids nearby whose ice-cream cones were getting drippier by the minute.
Things Kurt had once taken for granted stood out starkly. Ice-cream cones. All-terrain strollers. Bulky SUVs whose sole purpose was to transport children from school to the park to play dates. Patient service dogs. Well-marked handicapped zones. Kurt was undeniably stateside. He was home. His eight-year military career was over.
Less than 150 miles away, in his hometown of Fort Leonard Wood, he had a grandfather and mother he needed to face, and he would. Tomorrow. Maybe even tonight, depending on how hard jet lag kicked in.
For this afternoon though, he was going to hang with his buddy Thomas and savor the other thing he was most looking forward to on coming home: his newly renovated ’69 Mustang Boss.
A few years ago, while on leave and hanging out at a bar with friends, Kurt had overheard a guy trying to off-load the car. Even though it needed work, Kurt was a sucker for Mustangs, especially late-sixties models. The drunker the guy got, the more willing he was to haggle. When they shook hands on a price, Kurt thought he’d gotten the better end of the deal.
Seeing the car in daylight the next morning, he wasn’t so sure. The original paint coat had been more rust than red, the tires were threadbare, the leather interior was ripped and in disrepair, and the car went little more than a quarter mile before overheating. But that was where Thomas came in. Kurt’s Mustang was Thomas’s biggest and best restoration yet. Thomas had sent him enough
