WHERE DID THAT DARN DOG GO TO NOW? I WANTED TO GET HER WALK IN before it got too hot, Mary Margaret thought. “Stella! Stella!” she called, but her calls were left unanswered. She walked over to the side of the garage where her car was parked to see if Stella had unearthed a trea‐ sure and was hiding it for later, but no dog. Mary Margaret went down to pick up a ball that rolled to the back of the garage near a number of empty paint cans left scattered about. Jason, the young guy who mowed her lawn also painted the back porch and didn’t take care of the cans. Mary Margaret wondered if he hid those cans to be taken care of later and forgot about them, but the word “later” had no defined end date. She sighed. Jason was a good kid, he’d pick them up when he had a chance.

Why was it so hard for people to follow through these days? Maybe I should sell the house and buy a condo, I would need so much help getting things done around here. It was more house than she needed, now only her and Stella, except this was the place where her daughter Casey grew up. A place of too many firsts. First steps. First solo bike ride. First spring formal dance, pictures taken with her friends in the shade from the tree out front. She looked at the dent in the wood framing of

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the garage, the first time Casey took the car out after she got her license. Her old car had a matching dent.

Where is that damn dog anyway? She better not be digging in my rose‐ bushes, Mary Margaret thought as she bent to pick up the ball and straighten the cans, when she heard a male voice call out.

NOW THAT’S NOT something you see every day, John thought to himself as he cooled off from his run in the park. He put his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. He forgot his sunglasses and the sweat dripped down his face and stung his eyes. It was barely eleven in the morning, and it was already so hot the heat radiated in waves blurring the blacktop.

John squinted his eyes to be sure and watched as the little dog approached him. The dog had the leash clipped to its collar, the other end in its mouth. The dog was walking itself, no owner nearby. He listened to see if someone was calling for it, but the only noise came from the kids on the playground. The dog walked up to him, dropped the leash at his feet, and panted. John immediately snapped out of his daze and scooped the little dog up.

“Hey,” he said to the dog as he brought it over to a bench in the shade. “How long have you been walking on the hot tar? Did you burn your little feet?” The dog panted in response. John took what he had left in his water bottle and filled his palm, the dog gratefully lapped it up. “Sorry, sport, that's all I’ve got. Let's see if your collar can help me get you home.”

John turned the collar around and read the tag. It said, “Stella, 111 Greenleaf Terrace,” and had a phone number. The address was nearby. John decided to bring her home, it wasn't that far out of his way. By the time he got his phone out and explained finding the dog, he’d be halfway there. John carried Stella over the shady side of the street and put her down so she could walk home.

John found the house with no trouble. The garage door was up and he could see into it. It looked like a normal garage with tools and

 2

 rakes and a door that opened to the back yard. John saw a pair of garden gloves atop an open bag of potting soil. He opted to first try the front door and pressed the doorbell. John rang it a couple of times but nobody answered, so he decided to try the garage.

“Hello,” he called out. “Anybody missing a dog?”

“A scruffy a little mutt with a bad attitude? I think she’s mine,” Mary Margaret yelled back. “I’m in the garage.”

John brought the pup into the garage and unclipped the leash. Stella lay down on the cool concrete of the garage floor. He heard a racket coming from the other side of the car parked there. Someone knocked over a bunch of empty paint cans; one rolled harmlessly away into the corner, the rest rolled around in all directions. Amidst the clatter of the cans, he heard a female voice utter a few choice expletives and a woman’s head popped up.

“Hello,” she said, surprised to see a handsome older man holding her dog’s leash in his hand. He looked hot and sweaty, his face red, wearing running gear. She was afraid he’d overheat and collapse on her garage floor. “You look like you need a drink. Would you like some water?”

“Do you have a hose?”

“Yes. Over there by the driveway.”

She watched him turn the faucet on and soak his head. When he

was done he shook his head like a dog and sprayed droplets every‐ where. “Thanks,” he said and returned the hose. Before he turned the water off he sprayed Stella.

“Hey!”

“What? She looked hot, too,” he said with a laugh. “Oh, yes, your wayward puppy. She took herself on a long walk so she should sleep good tonight.”

John couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. Her hair was medium brown with blonde streaks, either from the sun or a salon. The high humidity caused little tendrils to escape and frame her face. She wore her hair high atop her head in a messy bun, but it only served to accentuate the length of her neck and exposed the tender

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part of her earlobe. I could drive her wild making love to that earlobe. He shook his head to clear the thought.

Mary Margaret’s eyes were large and brown; when she smiled, whatever damage time wrought on her face appeared in little crinkles by her eyes, but rather than age her they only added interest to her face.

“She’s mine,” she said. “Oh, Stella. Couldn't you wait ten minutes? Where did you find her? Sorry about that. If you called, I would have come and picked her up.”

“It was the oddest thing. She had her leash in her mouth and was walking herself in the park.”

“Stella probably wanted to go before it got too hot. She’s smart, some‐ times too smart for her own good.” Mary Margaret looked down and shook her head at the dog, a slight smile on her lips. “My name is Mary Margaret,” she said as she took a step forward, and soon he heard what sounded like her tripping over a loose can, and went down. “FUCK!”

John leaped to her aid. Her head was half under the car, and John was unsure how to help her. Mary Margaret rolled out from under‐ neath; blood covered her face. His eyes opened wide as he looked in alarm at the blood; it ran down her face to her neck, into her ears and soaked her shirt. Stella barked at him and sounded like she was saying. “Help her! Help her, you moron!"

“Oh, no! What happened? Are you okay?” He reached to help her up and changed his mind. “A towel. You need a towel,” John said, his head swiveling around her garage, looking for one.

Mary Margaret pointed in the general direction of a shelf, and he saw the folded pile. John grabbed one and knelt next to her. The blood ran down her face; he wasn’t sure from exactly where. He was hesi‐ tant about putting on the towel over her brow if she was hurt, and he didn’t want to risk hurting her further. Mary Margaret decided for him; she sat up, grabbed the towel, and pressed it over her right eye.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” She pulled the towel away and looked at the bloody mess. “How bad is it?”

She watched him blanch at the sight of her.

4

 “Not good. Not good at all. You’ve got a cut on your eyebrow; it looks pretty deep. You probably need stitches. Keep pressure on it.”

“Would you mind putting Stella inside and grabbing the keys? The ones hanging up by the door? I guess I’ll go to Urgent Care.” Mary Margaret waved towards the door with her free hand.

He did as she asked while Stella whined half-heartedly. The walk must have tired her out; she went to her water bowl and took a long drink, went to her bed, and laid down. He grabbed the keys, said good-bye to Stella, and shut the door. Mary Margaret reached her hand out for her car keys. John pulled them back.

“How are you supposed to drive? You only have one eye. You can’t see. Just keep pressure on it. I’ll drive,” John said and helped her in the car. “Do you need your purse? Your wallet? I.D.?”

“I suppose I need my insurance card. My purse is hanging on a hook by the keys.”

He went back inside and grabbed her bag, handed it to her and got in the driver’s side. John looked at her before he started the car. It was her misfortune to be wearing a white tank top, more red than white now. It looked like somebody tried to gut her like a fish. The blood hardened in the creases of her neck and in her ears. John drove past the turn that would have brought them to Urgent Care. She pointed it out to him.

“Take you someplace staffed by a moonlighting resident after a 48- hour shift? I don’t think so. You’re going to the ER and having a plastic surgeon work on you. You’re much too pretty for some hack job.”

Mary Margaret wanted to give him some wise ass answer like ‘who invited you?” and demand her keys back, except he called her pretty, and it had been a while since anybody called her that.

“Thank you. What was your name again? If you told me, I forgot. I was distracted and I don’t remember.”

“It’s John. John Adams. You’re Mary Ann? You fell before you said your last name.”

“It’s Mary Margaret. Welch. It’s Mary Margaret Welch.” She

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unfolded the towel, found a clean area, and placed it back on her wound.

“How are you feeling, Mary Margaret Welch?”

“All right, but I’m getting a killer headache. A few things. Thank you for helping me, but I have to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?”

“Me. I’m not a very nice person. I find people exhausting. In fact, I’ll push my shopping cart down the closest aisle to avoid talking to somebody. I’ve been called a bitch more than once, and I usually deserved it. I’m not a warm, fuzzy kind of bitch either. Don’t get your feelings hurt if I’m not very nice. Not very nice is my default.”

“Thanks for the warning, but I’ve been called worse.”

“I usually do for myself and try to avoid depending on people. I’m nervous you’re here, and you’re being so nice I feel like there must be some string attached, but my head hurts too much to figure it out.”

“Look at it this way: I came along and was lucky enough to be able to lend a helping hand to a stranger. A Good Samaritan, as it were. Straight from the Bible. I’m endorsed by God.”

“Wow. I’ve never met someone endorsed by God before. Thank you. I’ll try to be gracious, but I can’t promise anything.”

John drove around to the ER parking lot. He parked and went to get a wheelchair. Mary Margaret initially refused, but he told her unless she wanted to wait all day, go with it, so she sat down.

“I’m only sitting because I have a wicked headache.”

“That doesn’t matter. People will think you got stabbed and not mind if you cut ahead of them,” John said as he pushed her towards the double doors. There was no line at the admission desk. After she filled out her paperwork, he parked her in the waiting room and sat down next to her. Mary Margaret pulled her phone out and told John her four-digit code, asked him to find Casey in her contacts, and hit send. He handed it back to her as it rang.

“Yeah. It’s me. What time’s your break? I’m in the ER. Nothing serious. I cut my head. I don’t know, some guy. I don’t know his name. So what? He doesn’t know mine. Okay. See you in a few.” She hung up and looked at him. “So. What is your name, anyway?”

6

 “I already told you. Who’s Casey?”

“My daughter. She’s a nurse upstairs.”

“Shouldn’t you call Mr. Welch and let him know you’re here?”

“Mr. Welch. Why would he care?”

“Husbands usually do.”

“You’re right, except now he’s somebody else’s husband. We’re

divorced and have been since Casey was a little kid.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s no big deal; it happened so long ago.” She shrugged with indif‐

ference.

“I was wondering if you were single. I’m only in town for the next

couple of months and thought someone as charming as yourself must have eligible males lining up outside your door.”

“Did you see any?”

“No.”

“That’s your answer.”

“I was wondering what you do for fun, but it doesn’t seem you to

like to have fun.”

“I don’t. I’m the crazy cat lady. Don’t tell Stella.”

“Your secret is safe with me. Your reputation as a cantankerous old

coot is safe with me.”

Mary Margaret frowned at him. “I wouldn’t go that far. Please be

quiet. My head is killing me and it hurts to think.”

They sat, not speaking while they waited. Soon, a girl in scrubs

and a white lab coat came running around the side closest to the elevators, heading straight for them. Casey pulled up short and looked at her mother’s eye. She knelt to examine her, her touch tender and gentle.

“Mom. What did you do now?” She nodded at John. “Who’s your friend?”

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me his name. But he doesn’t know mine, so it’s okay.”

“Quit lying, Mary Margaret. I know where you live. Stella told me.” He looked at her daughter. “And you, too, Casey. I was just returning a lost dog and your mother took a header. My name is John Adams, and

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I happened to be in the right place at the right time to help your charming mother.”

“Charming mother?” Casey laughed. “She’s been called many things, but charming was never one of them.

“Careful, Casey. You don’t want me to be charming all over you. You’re not too old to be put up for adoption.”

“Don’t forget I get to pick your nursing home.”

“Are you going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life?” “How ever short that may be, Mother.”

John stayed quiet and watched their exchange. Casey strongly

resembled mother, not only in looks but in humor as well. He wondered if Mr. Welch was the kind of guy who’d be annoyed every time he spoke to his daughter, since it would be like talking to his ex- wife. He found them absolutely enchanting. Jesus. It’s like watching two kangaroos box. No verbal punches landed, but the exchange humorous and rapid fire. Enchanting. Where did that come from?

Mary Margaret gave him the once over. He had come directly from his run and hadn’t changed out of his running clothes. He wore typical running gear, short nylon shorts, and a sleeveless jersey. His hair was already dry. It looked like he took running seriously. Mary Margaret didn’t bother to check out his feet; she knew he probably wore expensive running sneakers or shoes. She didn’t know what they were called. The only time Mary Margaret ever ran was after Stella when she got loose.

“Don’t you need to go home and take a shower? Put some clothes on? I’m surprised you’re not cold; this air conditioning is freezing. You can take my car. I’ll be here a while,” Mary Margaret said.

“You can’t let a stranger take your car,” Casey said.

“It’s a piece of shit. If he wanted to steal a car, it wouldn’t be that one. The Lamborghini is in the shop.”

He noticed her looking at him, her expression unreadable.

“Are my clothes making you uncomfortable?” he said with a smirk. “No. Your lack of clothes is making me uncomfortable.” She

smirked back.

“Here,” John said. “Give me your phone.” She handed him her

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 phone. Mary Margaret was curious as to why he wanted it. He unlocked it, put his name and number in her contacts, and gave it back. John stood up and dangled her keys.

“I’ll go home and take a shower. I’ll even change my clothes. I should be back soon. If you need me for anything, my number’s in there.” He turned, walked out the exit, and left.

Casey grabbed the phone. “Give that to me.” She looked at the blank screen. “What’s your code? Wait a minute. How come he knows your code, and I don’t? You won’t even tell me.”

“I gave it to him so I could call you. I must not be thinking straight. Maybe I have a concussion from when I hit my head.” Casey snapped into her medical mode and grabbed a penlight from her pocket. She reached towards her mother’s face.

“Here. Let me look at your eye.” She shone the light into her moth‐ er’s face .Mary Margaret pushed her hand away.

“I’m fine. I hit my head on a metal shelf. I didn’t lose consciousness.”

“You’re definitely not fine. You gave some guy your access code. He’s driving your car. He can get in your garage and rob the place. Some guy whose name you don’t even know, for goodness sake. He could be lying about his name.”

“I know how to find out. The number’s 1013. Look under contacts.” Casey followed her mother’s direction and searched for his entry. She smiled. October thirteenth was her birthday.

“Shoot. He just put in the name ‘John.’ It’s probably fake. I have to go now. Bye, Mom. Call me if something new happens; otherwise, call me when you get home.” She ran off in the direction of the elevator. Mary Margaret heard her call out, “Hold the elevator, please.” She smiled to herself; at least her daughter remembered her manners.

Mary Margaret sat there and waited. For her name to be called, for John to come back with her car, for people to stop staring at the bloody mess that covered her. Mary Margaret took the towel off her eye, turned it around, and looked for an unsaturated area to put back on her injury. She hoped she was called next because she was running out of clean towel.

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Mary Margaret looked around the waiting room at her competi‐ tion. Triage, Casey called it. One guy came in on a stretcher, and she figured he’d move up ahead of her. A young couple came in; they were looking for someone who’d already been brought back to the exam rooms. Her headache felt better if she closed both eyes; otherwise, it made her dizzy. She leaned back in an attempt to get comfortable but couldn’t. Mary Margaret’s eyes were closed when John returned.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up.”

She opened her eye and squinted at him in the harsh fluorescent light. He was wearing regular clothes, khaki shorts and a striped golf shirt.“Wake up? I wish. I’m stuck in this nightmare thinking this is the ER and it’s really the DMV. Would you please check at the desk and see how much longer? It feels like I’ve been here forever.”

“No.”

“No? NO? I said ‘please,’ that’s more than most people get. Look, I don’t know you. You’re really getting on my last nerve. To be honest, I don’t know if I even like you. Give me my keys and go. There’s no reason for you to stay. I know you probably feel guilty because you’re the reason I fell in the first place, but I forgive you.” She took a twenty out of her purse and handed it to him. “Call an Uber. You were very kind to help me, but you can go now.”

“No. We’re waiting for someone. By the way, we’re here because you’re a klutz and you tripped. I’m not responsible for that. I didn’t push you,” John pointed out with a slight smile. “Blame Stella. She’s the reason I was at your house in the first place.” He put the money in his pocket.

“That damn dog. She probably brought you home on purpose to piss me off.”

“Does she usually pick up guys in the park?”

“No. You’re the first.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. She once brought home a dead squirrel.”