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me, some terrible
tension I’ve been holding onto for the last few minutes just dissolves. It can
be difficult to explain Spencer’s condition to people at the best of times, so
having someone take it all in without asking questions like Are you sure
that’s his diagnosis and not just him being an eight-year-old brat? is
refreshing. “He doesn’t like to be touched either?”
    “Either?”
I ask.
    Did
I give the impression that I don’t like to be touched? I may be an exhausted thirty-year-old single mother, but I ain’t dead.
    Just
like that, Jake’s face shuts down.
    Oh.
    He
runs a hand over his beard and glances back at the shelter, like he’s dying for
some kind of interruption. “PTSD, remember?”
    “Right.”
I nod, “And you don’t like to be touched?”
    “No,”
he says abruptly.
    Well
damn. There goes every fantasy I’ve ever had
starring this man, and trust me, there have been a lot. Jake shifts his weight
from foot to foot. Nuke butts his head against Jake’s thigh, and he ruffles the
dog’s fur.
    “You
ever talk about it?”
    “No.”
His tone is sharp, too sharp, and it stings, but I understand a thing or two
about people pushing you to open up when you’re not ready, so I leave him be.
For now.
    Olivia,
Eloise, and Percy emerge from the shelter carrying dog leads and what looks to
be a giant bag of treats.
    “Alrighty
then, gather round, you two,” Olivia says, heading straight for the puppy pen
with her no-nonsense face on. “These pups are nine weeks old. Training for
these guys should have started two weeks ago but the Beasleys ummed and ahhed
so long over their decision to sell or hand them over to me that it’s put us a
couple weeks behind. Now we only have a week with them before I have to ship
them off to the center in Mobile to their foster homes, so we’re gonna train
them hard.”
    She
leans over and picks up one of the pups. “Do not be fooled by these little
faces, people. These dogs will make suckers out of you all, and we need firm
commands and rewards when they do something right. Spencer, you go ahead and
pick your pup; he’s going to be your responsibility in this ring every day for
a week.”
    Spence
looks to me for clarification. Normally, putting him on the spot like this in
front of an audience would send him into meltdown, but it seems his decision is
already made for him because he nods at the puppy that was falling asleep in
his lap and says, “This one, I want this one.”
    “Good
choice, son.” Olivia hands him a green lead and he clips it onto the puppy’s
matching collar.
    We
all take turns choosing a dog and fixing a lead to its collar, and Olivia talks
us through some basic training. Jake’s pup keeps getting distracted, nipping at
Nuke’s heels so the big black dog that Olivia tells me is a German Shephard—and
not a wolf like I’d previously thought—gets to sit this one out.
    The
rest of us work in five-minute rounds of training and play, and then a half
hour later we’re done for the day. We each take off our pup’s lead and carry
them back to the kennels where they’re fed and put to bed in a big puppy pile.
Spence and I watch their eyes close after an exhausting day. I know how they
feel.
    I
leave my son outside their kennel as I go in search of Olivia, who’s inside
cleaning up the mess from the dog’s dinnertime. Percy left five minutes ago and
Jake is helping Eloise with the puppy pen and a few other bits and pieces that
need carrying back to the main building.
    “You
need any more help?” I ask Olivia.
    “Nope,
we’re right as rain.”
    “Alright
then, Spence and I are going to head off.” I let out a tired sigh, feeling the
weight of this week hit me all at once. “Assuming I can tear him away from the
kennel without a meltdown, that is.”
    “He
did well today.”
    “Yes,
he did, thank you.”
    “For
what, hon?” She sets the last of the wet food dishes on the sink and turns to
face me.
    “You
know