Fiona,
her eyes sparkling, carried a large straw bag tucked tightly
under her arm. The bag moved suddenly and a bulge appeared
in the side.
Marc
gestured to one of several cushioned wicker chairs grouped
around a glass coffee table. "Sit down."
"I
really can't stay long," she replied, complying. "I
came to ask a favor."
What
could he possibly give her? "You probably think I should
apologize for the way I acted this afternoon," he said.
"I could tell you I'm not really such a jerk but frankly,
I'm not sure that guy isn't the new me."
"I'm
quite sure he isn't." Her bag started moving again. A
tiny whimper came from within and Marc heard the sound of
scrabbling claws against the straw. "I think underneath
you're a deeply caring man who hasn't yet come to terms with
his disability."
Marc
winced at the word disability and his hands tightened their
painful grip on the wheels of his chair. "You're being
a little naïve, don't you think?"
"I
believe people are essentially good at heart," she insisted
over the sounds coming from her bag. "Sometimes though,
they're so unhappy the goodness doesn't have a chance to shine
through."
"Forget
the sermon, Pollyanna. Why don't you show me what's in your
bag?"
The
matter was taken out of her hands, literally, when the top
of the bag pushed open from within and a small wiry dog leaped
out and into Marc's lap.
"What the-!" Marc burst out.
"I'm
sorry. He has no manners." Fiona reached for the dog
who squirmed out of her hands and tried to burrow under the
hem of Marc's sweater. The pup succeeded in hiding only his
head, leaving his brown and white rump sticking out. Fiona
added hopefully, "Isn't he adorable?"
"I've
never seen a more miserable scrap of fur in my life."
And yet, when Marc lifted his sweater, the pooch's woebegone
expression made him smile, the first he'd cracked all day.
"I
thought you might like to have him as a pet," Fiona went
on. "He was abandoned and I can't keep him. He doesn't
look like much but with a little TLC-"
"You
thought I might like a pet," Marc repeated incredulously.
"Do I look like I run a lost dogs home?"
"Pet's
are good therapy for the elderly and disabled. It's a well-known
fact that dogs, especially, give patients a sense of well-being."
She'd
lumped him in with the elderly and disabled. That alone was
enough to make him refuse. That he hadn't an ounce of physical
or emotional energy to give another living creature, not even
a half-dead hound, sealed the dog's fate as far as Marc was
concerned.
"Once
I'm walking again, I'll be back at work. I travel constantly.
I can't take care of a dog. So if that's all you came for...,"
Spinning the chair around, he started back to the front of
the house, "I'll see you out."
Fiona's
heavy sigh rent the silence. "Poor little guy,"
she crooned to the puppy. "I'll have to take you to the
pound."
Marc
glanced back at her. "The pound?"
She
lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an exaggerated fashion.
"Someone will adopt him. I hope."
Marc's
eyes narrowed. He resumed his progress down the hall. "You're
just trying to guilt me into taking him."
Fiona
followed with the puppy cradled in her arms. "Will it
work?"
Marc
escorted her to the door. "I'm not a fit parent for an
impressionable dog. You said you wanted me to do you a favor
when all the time you were trying to do me one."
"Is
that so bad?" she demanded. "Life is a lot easier
if people help each other."
Ever
since Marc learned to tie his own shoelaces he'd pushed away
all attempts to help him unnecessarily. Why should that change
just because he was in a wheelchair?
And
yet...there was something about this woman that made him want
to say yes-to the dog, to her smile, to life itself.
