A Christmas Home: A Novel (13 page)

“It was pretty good. The way Julie got the dog to pull the
wheelchair was excellent. I like how she pointed out that the tugging and retrieving moves are the foundation for so many routines. Watching her makes me appreciate what you’ve done with Gracie and what Gracie does for me.”

Todd threw the pizza box in the trash. “Do you want some ice cream?”

“Are you kidding? I’m stuffed.”

Todd hesitated, wondering if now was a good time to discuss an issue that was troubling him. He set his right hand next to Laura’s left hand so that they barely touched. It was silent in the room for a few seconds before Todd said, “There is something I want to talk about.”

Laura wasn’t used to Todd framing a discussion so seriously. Usually he just dove in without a drum roll. She took her right hand away from Gracie and used it to push the hair from her face. “What?”

He looked at Laura and tried to gather his nerve. This was largely unexplored territory for Todd. He felt like he was blindfolded and walking on stepping-stones across a deep and dark lake. One misstep and he would go in, headfirst. At the same time, he trusted Laura. With her, the stones always seemed to be exactly where he needed them to be. Time and time again he had put his foot out, trusted, and found solid ground.

It was hard enough to say, so he didn’t embellish it. “I get my words confused a lot. Some people call that a disability.”

The words were short, but the pain was long-standing. Although he had been told his whole life that he was
disabled, he didn’t often see himself in such terms. He squirmed about on the sofa, trying hard to find a comfortable position. His chin drooped slightly as he looked away from Laura and stared at the blank television screen, trying to keep his composure. He moved his hand slightly closer to hers—hoping she would not pull away and leave him stranded all alone with the unfortunate reality of his limitations.

Laura knew that Todd was trying desperately to be honest with her. She appreciated how vulnerable he was at that moment. She leaned in closer to him and rested her hand on top of his. Laura knew that she might very well have been the first person he had opened up to about this, his most sensitive of subjects. She wanted to respond carefully and to be just as honest. “I know, Todd. I’m disabled, too. We both are. That’s okay.”

It took all the courage he had left to finish the point. “I’m not smart, like you.”

Laura knew this was hard for Todd, and she felt his pain stab at her own heart in a very palpable way, almost making it skip a beat. She sighed and squeezed his hand gently. “Todd, listen to me.” She reached up and held his chin so he could not avert his eyes. “You’re smart in all the ways you need to be smart.”

Todd tried to probe deeper into the blurry realm of his disability. “I don’t know if I’ll ever make a lot of money or get another good job.” He looked around his cabin and
smiled. “Even with my mom helping me, I’m messy. That’s part of my disability.”

Laura leaned her forehead on Todd’s shoulder and muttered, “Sometimes when I think people are watching me walk, I turn red and want to be invisible. I feel broken. Not whole. It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Gracie, Christmas, and I think you’re perfect.”

She lifted her face to look up at Todd. “Thank you. You accept me the way I am, and, Todd, I accept you for who you are. You’re the best person I know in the whole world.” She squeezed his arm. “I don’t care that you can’t do calculus or recite Shakespeare. Lots of people can do that, but I don’t know anybody who does what you can do with animals, and people, too. Every day you make my life a better place. You make the whole world a better place. No one can do that like you do.”

Todd beamed and looked straight into her eyes. “Thank you.”

“That’s why you’re my best friend.”

“And you’ll always be mine, Laura.”

Todd felt reassured enough to reach his foot out again and hope that he would find a solid stone to support him on his journey across his deep lake of fear. “Laura, I have to make some decisions soon and I don’t know what to do. Can you help me?”

“Of course. I’ll try.”

“I have an interview out at the dairy next week. I like
cows, but I’d rather work with dogs. I don’t know that I want to work there.”

Laura pulled him closer. “Todd, I’m so proud of the work you do at the shelter. You’re good at it.” She removed her hand from his and said with all the conviction she could muster, “If working with dogs is what you want to do, then, Todd, you must do it.”

“But that would mean I may have to work at a shelter in a different town. Hayley and I are sending out our résumés all over.”

She took his hand back. “I wouldn’t like it if you moved.”

“Me either. That’s why I don’t know what to do.”

“People go off to other places or away to school all the time, and their friends … best friends … even their boyfriends and girlfriends—they all wait for them. They talk on the phone; they visit. We can do it.”

Todd’s eyes dropped. “I’m not sure I can move. It’s not just you. My parents would hate it. I might, too. With my disabilities, maybe I need help sometimes. The only place I have ever lived is on this farm. I don’t know anything else.”

She held him closely. “I guess that leaving home would be scary. I understand that.” Laura looked up and saw that the sun was setting. She checked her watch. It was nearly 5:30. She had promised her parents she would be home by six so that she would not be driving on country roads after dark. “It’s getting late. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Yes. I better.”

Todd stood up and offered Laura his hand.

“What! That’s Gracie’s job. I don’t know if it’s the right thing, but I’ll let you in on a secret. Even when I don’t need the help, when my arthritis is in remission, like today, I still let her help me. Gracie just loves to serve—to help—so I never deny her the opportunity.” She kissed Gracie lightly right between her affectionate eyes before giving the white retriever the first in a series of commands. “Stand.” Once Gracie was up, she gave the next order: “Stay.”

Todd had taught her to be very firm when giving this second command. Gracie had to know that if she balked, Laura could fall and hurt herself. When Gracie was stable, Laura completed the last part of the command, “Brace,” and she rose out of the chair. “Good girl!” Once up, she held her arms open wide, inviting a hug from Todd.

Todd stepped into her arms and said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I’d like to be able to stay. Don’t worry, Todd, we can work this out. We have time. I’m excited for Sunday.” She mimicked the baritone voice from Channel Six: “The Problem Solver!”

Todd allowed their embrace to linger longer than he ever had before. He could feel his heart leaping in his chest. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and said, “Thanks for coming out and watching Julie Bradshaw with me.”

She blushed a little and smiled, then bent down and patted Christmas. “I’ll see you both on Sunday.” Gracie wagged her tail and walked by Laura’s side to the door.
Christmas paced about anxiously, as if not at all happy about the departure of his two friends.

Todd walked alongside Laura and Gracie to the car and made sure Laura got safely out onto the road that led back to town. The sound of her car leaving the driveway seemed to hang in the air like the rumble of distant thunder. Once back inside his cabin, Todd sat on the sofa with Christmas for a very long time trying to make sense of his rapidly shifting life. The sun slipped slowly behind McCray’s Hill, and the room became dark, but still he did not move. What Laura had said to him was nice. He appreciated it, but he still wasn’t convinced she understood. His heart felt heavy and ached. He did not like the feeling. He could not imagine a world where he had to go months without being with Laura. Nor could he imagine a world where he did not work with dogs. Something was seriously wrong with his having to choose one or the other. Todd pulled Christmas closer to him so he could fill up the empty space that Laura had left behind.

As was their habit near bedtime, his parents called to make sure Todd didn’t need anything. Once he assured them that he was fine, he got up off the sofa, put on his hat and coat, and walked outside with Christmas. The air was cold and damp, and the wind blew gently from the north. The sky was clear, and he could see the dense band of stars that his father called the Milky Way.

All the things he wanted—a good job, independence, more time with Laura—they all seemed far away like the
stars. When he was convinced Christmas had had sufficient time to finish his outdoor business, he let out a sharp whistle. Christmas joined him and they both went back inside and got ready for bed. Once in his flannel pajamas, Todd picked up the dog-training DVD and put it back in its case. He decided to visit Heartland’s Web page. He’d seen some T-shirts he liked in their Web store and decided they might make nice Christmas gifts. After he ordered one for Laura and a slew of smalls for his numerous nieces and nephews, he decided to type a quick note to Julie. He navigated to the Contact Us page of their site and typed in the little comment box.

After making sure there were no red warnings from his best friend the spell-checker, Todd located his résumé from his saved documents, attached it to the e-mail, and hit the Send button.

Once he was situated in bed for the night, Todd turned off the lamp, closed his eyes, and said a prayer, asking that
Sunday’s event would go well, better than planned, that Laura and his family would stay safe, and that more dogs would find homes. Most of all, he prayed that all the things in life that did not make sense might finally make sense.

He rolled on his side and extended his arms around Christmas. The black dog felt good. He could smell the fresh night air still clinging to the dog’s coat. Christmas exhaled heavily and gave out a snug little whimper of gratitude. His tail swept back and forth twice and then all was quiet inside Thorne’s cabin.

EARLY SATURDAY
morning, George was leaning against the corral fence that flanked the north end of their old red barn, and he was feeling the wind move across his face. He read its message: cold and brisk. Even with the first snow falling days earlier, he had been slow this year to accept the arrival of winter. That morning he had swapped his regular jeans for the flannel-lined ones that waited for him on the top shelf of his closet like a trusted friend, another year older. It was a comforting treat, feeling the warm cotton around him.

George had been up for a long time. He had done the milking chores for Hank at dawn and then returned home to do his own work. George’s conversation with Ed Lee had made him realize what a dinosaur he was when it came to milking. Hank was even worse. His equipment was antiquated. He and Hank had worked in the business
long before the advent of modernization, globalization, corporatization, and a long list of other “izations” that had put an end to most family dairy farms. At the time, George had been pleased to let the business go. It’s hard to pour your sweat and soul into a financial enterprise when you can do little more than break even. More than that, it’s hard to make an effort at something that others don’t seem to value. For all these reasons, it surprised him that he was so enjoying his brief return to dairy farming. Helping Hank brought back a lot of fond memories, although he wondered if time was causing him to romanticize the whole business just a little.

An impulse swept over him and he went inside the red wooden barn, built just after the turn of the last century by his great-grandfather, and walked to a dusty and dark corner where he had not ventured for a very long time.

George tried to shake an old pain out of his right leg as he made his way to the far end of a cluttered aisle. He flipped on a light and surveyed the old milking equipment, machinery, tools, and boxes that were still stored beneath tarps and on pallets to stay dry and protected. Many of the things that represented George’s past were seemingly waiting for him, suspended in time.

It was a painful realization that Hank and his fading dairy operation were, in a lot of ways, like this old equipment—something treasured and valued before but now obsolete. With his poor health, there was no way Hank could continue in the business without finally hiring
some help. George knew that Hank—no matter how much money he had—would never spend it on hired help or anything else that might make his life easier. Soon Hank would sell his small herd and that would be the end of it.

George lifted one of the tarps and surveyed more of the old dairy equipment. It had been a long time since he had rummaged through these memories. The 1960s—and then the ’70s, the ’80s, the ’90s, and the first decade of the new millennium—had slipped by so quickly. He remembered the cold winter mornings when he had milked with his father and grandfather, his treasured boyhood dog, Tucker, and the hours the two of them had spent exploring the banks of neighboring Kill Creek.