Arturo grunted. “That’s gross, man.”
“Shut up. How’d you get him here?”
“I convinced the captain to let me bring him home.”
Mason lifted the dog to his lap. “That’s great, ’Turo. Your kids will love him.”
Arturo poked his chest with his finger. “My kids? Naw, man. He’s yours.”
“What?”
“He’s your lucky charm. He can be your, whaddya call it, therapy dog.”
The pup opened his mouth, tongue lolling, squiggling as if he wanted to find a comfortable way to sit but couldn’t hold still enough to settle. Mason didn’t know how he’d take care of a dog. He didn’t even know how he’d take care of himself yet in his new reality.
“Are you sure your kids don’t want him?”
Arturo waved his hands in front of him as if warding off evil. “No dogs. You don’t want him?”
The dog finally wore himself out and slid to the ground.
Mason chewed his lip, thinking. “No. I want him.”
He said the words before he saw them coming.
Am I crazy? What am I going to do with a puppy?
Arturo elbowed the ensign. “Told ya. Big softie.” He turned his attention back to Mason. “When you getting’ out?”
“Monday. Can you keep him until then?”
The grin on Arturo’s face folded like a cheap tent. “Me? I dunno...”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’. I mean, ain’t you got a girl or somethin’ who could—”
“Oh right. I’ve been dating up a storm here in recovery.”
“I saw the way that nurse looked at you. She’d do anything—”
“’Turo...”
Arturo sighed. “My kids would love it. It’s just Josefina’s not really a dog person...”
The ensign snickered and Mason locked on him. “Something funny, Ensign?”
“Sorry, sir. It just seems big bad Arturo’s scared of his wife.”
Arturo’s face flushed red. “I’m not scared of her, I’m respectful. You better learn the difference or you’re going to be a lonely man.”
The ensign laughed louder, defending against Arturo’s attempt to swat him.
Mason stared at the stump of his leg. He needed to get skilled with his prosthesis fast if he was going to be running around after a puppy.
He also needed to find out what happened to Mick.
Jelly would have to go to his funeral, right? Stick around? Get his affairs in order maybe?
He fingered a hard lump beneath the rugged skin on his left bicep.
He’d been looking for Mick’s daughter, on and off, for almost thirty years. He hadn’t found her, and yet somehow she’d been there, standing between him and every other woman in his life, walking through his dreams like she owned him...
Yeah. She’d have to come home if Mick was dead.
Suddenly, he felt better. Lighter.
A man with a plan.
He looked down at the dog.
Or maybe the puppy’s a therapy dog, after all.
He looked at Arturo. “So you’ll take him for the week for me?”
Arturo nodded his head side to side. “Yeah, sure. I guess I can’t dump the mutt on you and run. Josefina will deal.” He flashed a warning glance at the ensign, who squelched a grin and looked away.
Mason started a checklist in his head. “Can you get some stuff for him, too? I need his crate for my truck.”
Arturo’s brow knit. “Why? You takin’ him to Disneyland?”
Mason smiled.
“Closer to Disney World.”
&&&
Chapter Nine
Thirty-Five Years Ago
“Listen to me, baby. I need you to pack your things.”
Mason rubbed his eyes and blinked at his mother. “What?”
Even in the dim light cast from the neighbor’s porch light through the slats of his shutters, Mason could tell she’d been crying. Though, he hadn’t heard the screaming that usually preceded her tears.
Something felt different.
She opened his closet. “Pack some clothes.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just do like you’re told.”
She pulled his backpack from the closet and put his favorite sneakers inside. He shook his head, pointing.
“I want to wear them.”
“Wear your other pair.”
“But—”
She put a hand on his cheek. “Mason, listen to me.” Her eyes were wide and wild. She’d never looked like that before. Not when looking at him.
“Wear your other pair. Don’t touch those.”
Something about her tone made him stop arguing. “Okay.”
“Pack. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
“Is Daddy going?”
“No.” Her answer was faint. She was already in her bedroom. He heard the sound of drawers opening and closing.
Mason scanned his tiny bedroom, the desaturated colors of his baseball posters making the players feel even less alive.
Sliding out of bed, he felt the clothes he’d worn the day before beneath his feet and put them back on. He packed his favorite pair of shorts, two t-shirts and three pairs of underwear with the shoes his mother had put in his school backpack.
When it came to slipping his feet into his old sneakers, he hesitated. Torn canvas and ragged threads spilled across grass stains and holes.
“I hate these,” he muttered. He looked back at the pair in the suitcase. It didn’t make any sense he couldn’t wear his good pair.
Mason reached to pull the good pair from beneath his underwear. He jerked them to the surface as tires screeched in the driveway. Headlights glowed outside his window.
Daddy’s home.
A familiar dread roiled in Mason’s stomach. His mother was acting crazy. His father had pulled into the driveway too fast.
All bad signs.
His mother burst into the room.
“We have to go.”
“But I’m not done packing—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll buy new things.”
“But—”
His mother’s eyes flashed when she spotted the sneakers in his hand.
Uh oh.
She snatched them from his grip, dropping one shoe and then the other from trembling fingers. Frantic, she tied them together, lifted the pair by the locked laces, and took his hand in hers.
