Page 35 of Scout Takes the Lead
“But we were using Scout to help you with your PTSD. In the military didn’t you use a lot of different weapons, depending on what you were doing?” He stared at me. “Guns, mortars, tanks, right?”
“I guess.”
“This is the same thing. You’re fighting a different battle, with different weapons. Scout is one of them. The stuff you’ve learned about how he can help you. But what if only one weapon isn’t enough?”
“I understand what you’re saying, but I’m still not sure I want to start up with a therapist again.”
“I know you had a bad experience with one,” I said. I took a deep breath. “And I probably threw this idea at you without thinking about how you’d react. I had a couple of sessions with Hazel myself. We traded services for a while as I trained her Doberman, and she helped me work out some of my issues.
“Hazel helped me talk through some problems I had with my parents, and gave me some exercises to do, just like D’eriq has given you.”
He still didn’t look convinced.
“Just think about it, please?” I asked. “Think of it this way. You’ve been using a flat-head screwdriver to undo every bolt you’ve found. But in some cases, a Philips head could be an additional tool.”
He laughed. “How many more metaphors are you going to come up with?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Give me time.”
“I should probably say the same thing,” he said. “Give me time.”
“Well, I’m glad you came by,” I said. “And for the record, I don’t think you’re a jerk.” I smiled, then I turned, put my key in the lock, and walked inside. I let the door close behind me.
19: Starting Over: Alex
After Scout and I left Grace’s apartment building, I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t want to go home. So I stopped at Java Boys. I needed the caffeine, and I was desperate to talk to another human being, too. It was almost eleven o’clock, when the café closed for the night. A new barista was on night duty, one I didn’t recognize. When I walked in, he was singing an Abba song to the customer in front of him. “Can you hear the drums, Fernando?”
“Like I’ve never heard that before,” the guy grumbled. “Can I get my change?”
“Not a music lover, I guess,” the barista said. He handed Fernando his change and took the next guy’s order. “What’s your first name?”
“Billy.”
“Billy, don’t be a hero,” the barista sang, and the guy, a beary type in his forties, nodded approvingly, and stuffed a couple of bills in his tip cup. There was one more guy in line ahead of me. When he’d ordered, he said, “This one’s going to be a challenge for you. “Rudy. And no reindeer, please.”
“Hah,” the barista said. “No challenge.” He began to sing the Barenaked Ladies song, “A message for you, Rudy,” and the guy applauded. After he paid the guy turned to me. “See if you can come up with a name Tristan doesn’t have a song for.”
“It’s kind of my thing,” Tristan said. He was skinny, with shaggy blond hair. “I know like a million songs.”
“Sorry I can’t challenge you too much,” I said. “My name’s Alex.”
He really had a nice voice. “Come on and hear Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” he sang. Then he smiled and asked, “And your order?” I ordered my coffee and moved down the line to wait for the purple-haired girl behind the espresso machine to make it.
“I give him a different name every time I come in,” said the guy who’d given his name as Rudy.
“Next time tell him you’re Spartacus,” I said.
“Like the movie!” he said. “Yeah. That’ll stump him.” He grabbed his coffee and walked out. I listened to three more snippets of song as I waited, feeling proud of myself for being able to manage some human interaction.
With my cup in hand, I walked outside, got Scout, and we started walking. I wasn’t paying much attention to where we were going. I needed to walk, so that I could think about Grace.
I was torn. She clearly believed that therapy could help me, and I didn’t agree. I’d already been doing everything a therapist could suggest, and while it was working, the going was slow. If Grace wasn’t willing to wait, then that was on her. I couldn’t spend my life trying to please a pretty woman I’d had sex with once.
I finished my coffee, crumpled the cup, and looked for a garbage can. I couldn’t see one, and that’s when I realized I had walked far out of my normal range. It was very late, and I hadn’t even noticed.
The neighborhood looked sketchy, with broken-down cars on the grassy verge in front of run-down houses. I heard Latin music coming from somewhere, and people shouting. I turned around and headed back the way I’d come. A glance at my watch showed it was after one o’clock in the morning—-not a good time for me to be out on these streets alone.
I was passing an old Spanish-style house when suddenly gunfire erupted from inside. I dropped to the ground and huddled around Scout. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling how he had grown so much bigger and stronger in just a few weeks. I rested my head against his, the soft fur there against my cheek.
