Page 27 of Wishing Hearts

It’s late when Carl takes off. I stay a while longer, heading into the area of the building that houses adoptable pets. We’re closed to visitors at this time of night, but I walk along the rows of cages, stopping to say hello to the dogs we have on site. Some of these animals were picked up from abusive situations. Some were abandoned. And some were found and simply never claimed.

“I wish we had homes for all y’all,” I say quietly, rubbing behind the ears of a German Shepherd who’s leaning up against the wire door at the front of her run. All of the cages in here are open at the top and separated by cement blocks with chipped yellow paint. They’re long and spacious enough, but it’s no cozy house. “I’d take you all if I could.”

“That’d be a neat trick in that tiny apartment of yours,” Tilda says, surprising me with her presence.

“And what’re you doin’ here this late?” I ask, turning to my coworker.

“Could ask the same of you,” she retorts.

“Just catchin’ up,” I say, giving the German Shepherd one more scratch behind her ears before walking on. Tilda follows along.

“Why’re you still in that apartment, Sammy?”

I huff, looking over my shoulder at the woman. Tilda is in her mid-sixties, her bobbed hair sleek and silver-gray, and her face has a good many wrinkles. She works in this division of Animal Control, with the adoptable pets.

I’ve always liked Tilda, ever since I got this job and she swooped me under her protection as if I were hers. As if I had been all along. The woman has invited me over for every holiday and special occasion in the past eight years, and I’ve accepted more often than not. Her family is as familiar to me as, well… I’d say my own, except I don’t have one.

Tilda and Carl—they’re my family now. And Tilda, for as sweet as she can be, is not afraid to get tough with me at times.

“You know I’ve been savin’ up,” I tell her in regards to my living situation.

Yes, my apartment is tiny, but it’s not a shithole. And yet it’s also…not really a home.

“You’ve set aside enough by now,” she replies, stopping to coo over a terrier mix who’s wiggling in excitement. The little thing can’t hold still long enough for her to give him a good pet through the wire.

Sure, I have. I’ve banked a good savings at this point. But…

“Sammy,” Tilda says, equal parts stern and tender. “It’s all right to set down some roots. You know that, don’tcha?”

I swallow around the ball in my throat. I never had roots. Never had a home that lasted longer than a year and a half.

I guess, maybe, I’m still waiting to plant my own. Waiting for it to feel right.

Or maybe I simply want someone to help me dig into the dirt.

“I’m in no hurry,” I tell Tilda, avoiding the heart of the matter. “My apartment is fine.” For now.

“Yeah, well,” Tilda says, sighing a little. “If you had a place of your own, you could bring a few of these cuties home with you.” She scratches behind the little terrier’s ear, and he practically vibrates. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

“Prob’ly best I don’t, then,” I joke. “You know I’ve got no impulse control. I’d be up to my eyeballs in fur.”

Tilda chuckles, standing upright. We head out of the adoptable dog wing, and the sound cuts off a little when the door shuts behind us.

“What about that Doctor Bailey?” she asks. “Bet he’s a dog person.”

I snort. “I see what you’re doin’, Tilly. You’re not subtle.”

“Not tryin’ to be, hun,” she shoots back. “He seems like a nice man. Gonna call ’im?”

“I’m gonna do one better,” I say, not bothering to mention I can’t call him. At least, not yet. “I’m gonna pay him a visit.”

Tilda hums at that, patting my shoulder. “I wish you the best, Sammy boy.”

“Thanks, Tilly. Have a good night, you hear?”

“You, too,” she replies, giving my shoulder a squeeze before letting go.

I watch Tilda head into the parking lot, and once she’s secure in her car, I grab my things from the employee lockers and make my way to my own truck. It’s a short drive to my apartment, and once I’m inside, all I want is to strip out of my navy-blue uniform and drop into bed. But there’s something I have to do first.

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