A Daughter's Homecoming. Ginny Aiken

She shuddered at the thought of an encounter of the rodent kind.

      “Hey, Miss Carlini.”

      She jumped inches off the ground. “Dylan!” Her heart pounded like a bass drum. “You shouldn’t sneak up on anyone like that, you know?”

      “Sorry, ma’am.” The lanky nineteen-year-old with a painful-looking stud through his eyebrow and a map of crooked roadways carved through his quarter-inch-long buzz-cut hair came close. Then he waved toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry about what happened earlier. I never knew how soon all that food would go bad, plus when the delivery truck brought new cheese and sausage and stuff...well, I guess Kirstie and I didn’t think about using the old stuff up first. If there’s anything I can do...”

      Feeling about a thousand years old every time he called her Miss Carlini—or worse, ma’am—Gabi let the fridge door close. Dylan had already apologized five times that morning. “Tell you what. First, call me Gabi. Then you have to remember that sauce spoils in five days, even in a fridge. And then you can make it up to me by emptying the last bin under the counter. We’ll figure out the next step in our plan of attack after that.”

      Dylan darted his gaze toward the dining room, the bin and her. Gabi wondered if he might be weighing the merits of bailing on his part-time job. But then he squared his shoulders and gave a tight nod. “I’ll go get a trash bag.”

      Thank You, Lord! Although she wished she didn’t need to recruit the teen for the unpleasant task, she had little chance of getting the job done quickly without his help. They had to clean it all up before health department authorities showed up for a random check of the premises, which they were known to do. That could spell disaster. For Tony’s...and for her family.

      As she opened the refrigerator, she heard a sound behind her, near the kitchen door. She paused, listened.

      Nothing.

      “Strange.” She must have imagined it.

      After taking—and holding—a deep breath, Gabi opened the crisper drawer.

      The faint noise rang out again.

      Then yet again.

      Ears alert to any further sound, she glanced toward the dining room. Three teenage part-timers were setting up for lunch, so she was on her own in the kitchen. Obviously something had made that noise...but what? Shoulders squared, she closed the refrigerator, then headed toward the back, pausing when she reached the door, praying for protection from rats. The rapid-fire metallic tap-tap-tap, scratch-scratch-scratch started up again.

      Braced for whatever she might find, she very slowly pressed the door handle, then yanked.

      “Oh, my...”

      The sight on the other side stunned her. She never could have envisioned the little dog, part Jack Russell terrier, part unidentified shaggy, with long floppy ears, luminous brown eyes and, as a finishing touch, a thin C-shaped tail, which it immediately tucked between its legs. It shivered.

      Even on this hot June morning.

      * * *

      As Gabi stared down at the filthy, bedraggled mutt, unsure of what to do next, the poor animal shook harder.

      She took a step forward.

      It dropped, then rolled onto its back, four paws in the air, still quaking without pause. That’s when she realized how undernourished he was. Every rib tented saggy skin that showed blotches here and there, where patches of fur had either fallen or been yanked out. She didn’t want to think along the latter lines, to imagine what kind of altercation might have caused the bare spots.

      “Easy, boy,” she crooned. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Let me come closer, now, to see what’s up with those sores. I only want to help.”

      She dropped to her knees, aware that even her five-foot-two height would intimidate the little guy. Scooting closer, inch by inch, she continued cooing softly to keep him calm. After a couple of minutes, once she’d reached him, she noted how even more of the angry red blotches mapped his belly and scrawny chest. A blood-encrusted scrape on his right rear thigh looked like it might be the result of another animal’s bite.

      After a silent prayer, she extended a hand, not touching the dog, waiting to see if he would accept her. He froze. The shivers stopped. His brown eyes stared at her with laser focus. As she lowered her fingers to just a whisper away, he reached out and licked her palm.

      “Hello there,” she murmured. He licked again. And again.

      Then he flipped up onto his four paws and went for her face, apparently intent on returning her show of kindness with a multitude of kisses. She backed up just out of his tongue’s reach, not knowing the state of his health. She did, however, rub him under the side of his chin. He melted again at her touch.

      From this close vantage point, he looked worse than before. He was half-starved, filthy, his coat matted beyond rescue by a good groomer, and all the skin she now saw between clumps of scruffy hair appeared red and irritated. She had to do something for the little guy.

      “But I can’t take you home with me,” she said, more for her benefit than his. She sat at his side, taking a momentary break in the rubbing caresses. “Mama has enough on her hands with Papa’s recovery, and I’m going back to Cleveland as soon as possible. My landlord made a huge deal on the lease about pets—none allowed.”

      The dog nudged her hand with his moist black button nose. From deep in his throat came a string of growly conversational sounds, at the end of which he cocked his head to one side and stared.

      When she didn’t respond as he seemed to want, he let out a whiny whimper. His killer stare never let up.

      “What am I going to do with you?”

      He again nudged her hand, then began to lick fingers she figured stank of the garbage she’d dumped. “You’re beyond hungry, aren’t you? And...you know what? I can do much better than smelly fumes on my hands.”

      She settled him back on the floor and headed for the refrigerator. She rummaged inside, grabbed one of the five-pound chubs of hamburger she’d kept front and center after she’d disposed of the spoiled stuff, and verified the expiration date on the plastic wrapping.

      “Perfect.” She glanced at her new buddy. “You’re going to love a chunk of this. Trust me.”

      In a few minutes, the scent of browning wholesome meat filled the kitchen. A clean, stainless-steel mixing bowl would do well as the pup’s new dish. He piped up, letting out a handful of excited yips as he bounced in the air like a dirty, four-legged bouncy ball.

      Gabi marveled at his spirited display. How could a creature as forsaken as this one muster so much energy? He was little more than stretched skin and sharp bone. As she smiled, the word indomitable came to mind.

      When the meat had cooked through, she served up the dog’s savory meal, stirred it to cool enough to make it safe for consumption and then set it down on the back stoop. After all, health ordinances did forbid animals in commercial kitchens.

      She had to decide what to do with the half-starved stray. The half-starved stray who at that moment was eating hamburger as fast as he could, letting out appreciative grunts as he wolfed it all down.

      She sat next to him to think through her dilemma.

      “Hey, Miss...er...Gabi— Whoa!” Dylan caught the door he’d flung open to keep it from slamming into Gabi. And the dog.

      The dog surprised her when he quit licking the now-empty bowl and scurried into her lap. He then growled a low, deep warning at the teen.

      Dylan respected the threat with hands-to-shoulders in the universal sign of surrender. “All right. I got it. It’s okay.” Without looking away from the tiny canine, he spoke to Gabi. “Where’d he come from?”

      “He scratched at the door. He’s starving—literally.”

      The