“Sure.” Together they walked out onto the front porch. She turned and locked the oak door behind them. “Want to take my car?”
“No, I’ll drive. Maverick can ride in the back without drooling dog spit down your neck. Your car is a little small for all three of us.”
“Yeah, I know. You’d be hugging your knees in my car. My brother is the same way about his truck. Guys love their trucks, I guess. The bigger the better.”
“Hey, size matters!”
MJ rolled her eyes at him. “I need to talk to you about something. I don’t think I’ve been fair to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you not to call me MJ. I was bitchy about it. It’s just that it hurt to hear you use the name that Trevor called me.”
“Hey, I understand—”
“Well, it wasn’t fair of me. My family calls me MJ. My friends all call me MJ. Some folks at the library call me MJ. There’s no real reason I should make you call me Mary Jane.”
“Are you sure? I get why it would be difficult for you to hear me call you that.”
“It seems petty, Rob. I don’t want to be that person. You’ve been nothing but nice to me. You’re doing everything you can to help me get used to Maverick and learn how to handle him. You don’t deserve me acting like some spoiled princess, demanding you use my formal name.”
“Okay, MJ, I appreciate it. I’ve been calling you MJ in my head, anyway. That’s how Trevor referred to you, and that’s how I think of you. This way I won’t have to keep correcting myself.” He shot her a grin.
“Thanks. Do you think this vet will be able to help Maverick with his problem?” She looked at the dog furtively as if she’d hurt his feelings by mentioning his PTSD directly.
“I don’t know. I hope so. Maybe she’ll have specific ways for us to help him when he has flashbacks, or whatever is triggering those episodes of fear.”
“Whatever we need to do, I’m ready. Maverick is a sweetheart.”
As if he knew what she was saying, the Malinois stuck his nose over the back headrest and panted into her ear.
“Careful. He’s a warrior dog. He’s not supposed to be a ‘sweetheart.’”
She made a face and rolled her eyes. Marines took themselves seriously. Trevor had been the same way.
They pulled into the parking lot of the Mountain Veterinary Clinic, and Rob hooked Maverick up to his halter and leash and helped him down. MJ jumped down as soon as both were out of her way and joined them as they walked through the door of the small, tan brick building.
“Good morning!” a perky blonde in her mid-twenties greeted them. “I’m Beth. Welcome to Mountain Veterinary Clinic. You must be here with Maverick. It’ll be a few minutes. Meantime, can I get you to fill out this paperwork?” The young woman handed the clipboard to Rob. She stared at MJ for several moments.
“I think I know you. I graduated from Ridgeview High about six years ago, and you look awfully familiar. Are you a teacher?”
“No, librarian.”
“Oh, yes! I know you from the Ridgeview Public Library. I’m Beth Boswell.”
“I remember you, now. You used to come in with your little sister. What was her name? Oh, right. Charity.”
She stole a look at Rob to see what he was making of this trip down Memory Lane. He looked highly entertained. She caught his eye, and he winked at her.
She could almost hear him say, “Typical small town.”
She sat down to help him fill out the form. He knew Maverick’s history much better than she did, but she needed to supply her name, address, phone number, and email as the dog’s new owner. They’d just finished when a door opened and a vet tech announced, “Maverick can come back this way. Let’s get a weight on him.”
The dog looked at Rob for instructions. He gestured for the Malinois to follow the man, and together they made a short parade down the hall to a floor scale. He gestured for Maverick to get up and stand on the scale, and the technician quickly recorded the weight. Eighty-two pounds.
“Looks like he’s holding his weight,” Rob said. “He lost about fifteen pounds after he got injured, but he’s slowly put it back on, and hopefully, it’s coming back in with muscle.”
The tech nodded. “How long ago was he hurt? What happened to him?”
Rob looked like he hated to think about the answers. She could probably tell him to the minute how long it had been, because the dog’s injuries occurred at the same time Trevor was killed. She opened her mouth just as Rob began to speak.
“It was just over eight months ago. He was hit in an explosion in Afghanistan. IED. He was a working dog, sniffing explosives. His handler was killed, and it injured Maverick. Both legs were damaged, and he spent months in rehab at Camp Lejeune. Probably had a concussion too. The explosion was only a couple of meters away. He got battered by rocks and shrapnel.”
“You were there?”
“Yeah. I was okay then but didn’t do so well in the months afterwards. Got shot in my right leg and spent three months in rehab in DC.”
“Thank you for your service,” the technician said, looking at both Rob and Maverick. The dog dropped his head and whined as if he knew exactly what they were saying.
“I’m concerned about PTSD. When I called, the woman on the desk told me that Dr. Waring knows how to treat it in service dogs.”
“Yes, she’s the best. Learned in a deployment in the Sandbox with her own K-9.”
MJ felt her eyes tear again. So much pain. For dogs, for people, and for everybody
