Two weeks of volunteering at the vet was now under my belt. Halloween was today, and the clinic was cluttered with mix-matched pumpkins, black cats, and other festive décor. Pets were brought in for appointments wearing costumes. Only ever having had one dog growing up, but having spent much time walking other people's, I understood the pet subculture well. Dogs were an attachment, much like another limb, one that calmed you after a long day and that we selfishly repaid by dressing up in ridiculous costumes for our holiday amusement.
"Delia, you got Biscuit? He never takes his shots well."
The squirrely Saint Bernard's heart was pounding. Trying my best to calm his nerves and keep him steady, I wrapped my arms around his neck and underbelly, scratching his chest soothingly. Just as Veronica injected the first shot into his backside, I drew his ear close and whispered a series of comforting words. Biscuit jolted but did not break into panic.
Three shots later, I released the panting heap of a dog, offered him an actual biscuit, and patted his rump. Veronica was staring at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Do you believe people were made to do things?" she asked.
"Like what?"
"Like work with domesticated animals in a controlled environment."
I forced a laugh. "I don't think I was made to do anything." Except receive death dates.
Veronica frowned. "That's the saddest thing I think I've ever heard." She turned to the computer. "I don't typically administer shots, you know. Only on high-risk dogs, Biscuit here being one." She began typing. "Technically, I shouldn't have had you helping me with him, but I said screw it. You know why?"
I shrugged and continued rubbing behind Biscuit's ears.
"Because I knew you could do it. I knew you could calm him." She was watching me again, her hands hovering over the keyboard.
"I just held him still."
Veronica chortled. "Well, if that's the case, you're even better suited for this type of work than I thought. Dogs get a sense from people. They know you before you've even had a chance to learn their name. They've got social intelligence, they know a good person from a bad one." She swiveled on her stool. "You can argue that many people are good, which, yes, is true, but not all people have this ability."
"What ability?"
"The one you do. I don't know what it's called, but dogs trust you. They see you."
We held eye contact for a few seconds before Veronica turned to finish typing. The soft clicking seemed to emphasize her words. I had never had an epiphany or whatever it was people got before deciding on their careers. A vision of my future self never came to meet me, and with my lingering death date, the notion seemed even further removed.
I liked dogs, and I could admit I was good with them. The last two weeks had taught me a lot, but what stuck out was the enjoyment I experienced walking through the glass door. I easily fell into a routine, one where I was competent yet challenged. Veronica's words burrowed into my brain.
"You doing anything for Halloween tonight?" she asked, still typing.
I stole a breath. "Yeah, going to a party."
"Fun." More clicking. "Dressing up?"
"Unfortunately." I thumbed back a piece of hair. "What about you?"
She laughed. "Oh, I place a huge bucket of candy on my porch, turn off the lights, get drunk, and scare kids by banging on the front window when they walk up."
Two weeks with Hurricane Veronica and I still didn't know how to take her in stride. "I'm sure the kids love you."
"Oh, yes, and so do their parents." She laughed darkly and logged out of her computer. "Have fun at your party. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"I think I can pretty much guarantee I won't do anything you would do."
Hopping off the stool, she cracked the door, wavered, and said, "You should go as a vet. You know, foreshadowing."
I watched her disappear with stitched brows.
xxx
I hated Halloween.
Okay, I didn't hate Halloween. The milder weather, transitioning trees on the outskirts of the city, and fall decorations were welcomed. It was the banal parties I couldn't stand, and yet I found myself at the epitome of one.
When Nick told me a friend on the ship was throwing one this year in Mission Bay, I sincerely considered declining, convinced he wouldn't be too upset by my absence. But Garrett had been around when Nick asked, and his excitement for my attendance had derived from the prospect of introducing me to his girlfriend.
With classic puppy dog eyes, Garrett persuaded me to go.
And so here I was, adorned in a costume and heavy makeup, traipsing my way through a stranger's house, which, I might add, was stocked with people. Left and right they appeared, some granting me looks and others paying me no attention. I was walking through a minefield, every step having the potential to send me into oblivion.
"Hey!"
Nick and I turned around.
"Hey, man!" Nick said, shaking the hand of a narrow-faced guy dressed as a samurai. "Nice house."
"Thanks!" The guy caught my attention, and I prepared for the inevitable.
A charge ignited, drowning out the thumping music and clatter. Buzzing electricity swarmed, wrapping around me tightly before the voice channeled through:
May twelfth, two thousand and seventy-one.
The pounding music and chatter returned, just as the guy said, "Hey, I'm Rodgers – uh, sorry – habit. You can call me DeShawn."
"Hi," I said. "Delia."
DeShawn beamed. "Nice to meet you. Hey, follow me. I'll get you guys a drink." The three of shuffled down the hallway as I tried to avoid contact with anyone else. We soon entered the kitchen and I was pleased when only two others were inside.
"What do you want? Beer, wine, liquor? I pretty much have it all."
"Beer," Nick said, not missing a beat.
DeShawn handed him a red Solo cup. "How 'bout you, Delia?"
"I'm fine."
After his first dram, Nick said, "What, c'mon, Delia. It's a party! She'll have a Smirnoff if you have any."
A cold bottle with berry red liquid was thrust into my grasp seconds later. "Thanks," I muttered.
An avalanche of people emerged then, swarming the kitchen. Bombs were all around me. I pinned myself against the counter, wishing that I could somehow move through it to escape, as Nick and Deshawn planted themselves amongst the crowd now erupting in conversation. The explosions didn't take long.
February nineteenth, two thousand and forty-nine.
August first, two thousand and seventy.
March eleventh, two thousand and twenty.
Chest heaving, the bottle fell to the floor splashing ruby red contents around my feet, but it was barely heard over the noise.
"You alright?" DeShawn asked. "Here, let me get you another."
There was no space, and if I couldn't disappear into the counter, I needed a reprieve. A roll of paper towels was to my left, which I quickly nabbed before sinking to the floor. After choking back a few breaths, I wrapped a wad of paper around my hand and soaked up the mess. When I broke into the crowd again, I locked eyes with another stranger.
January third, two thousand and thirty-one.
"Hey, DeShawn is gonna show me the Firebird he's restoring. It's in his garage. You good without me for a minute?" Nick called, already intertwined in the mass of people.
I didn't respond. He had left the kitchen, rendering any words I spoke useless. I had to get out of here. Plucking courage from a place I didn't know existed, I tore through the group, eyes cast on the floor, and after slamming into someone, I flicked my gaze up.
September seventeenth, two thousand and fifty-nine.
I rammed through the remainder of people and fled to the hallway. It was empty. Sighing, I secured my back against the wall. The air was free of electricity, and my aching lungs could finally breath.
"Hey, Delia," a kind voice said. "You okay?"
Snapping my eyes open, I found Garrett dressed as Gomez Addams. Morticia stood behind him.
"Garrett," I breathed. "Hi, yeah, fine. Just a lot of people."
"Yeah, I know. I don't know half these people. Oh, guess who's here," Garrett said, his smile widening. "Delia, this is Raquel, my girlfriend. Raquel, Delia."
The dark and serious appearance of the woman beside him almost made me break into a laugh, because even the heavy-handed makeup couldn't mask the sweetness built-in to Raquel's features. She had full cheeks and a toothy smile that lit the dark hallway; Raquel was very unlike Morticia. She took another step and the air whirred.
July fourteenth, two thousand and seventy-eight.
She would live nearly fifty years longer than Garrett.
"Hi," she greeted as warm as her smile. "Nice to meet you."
My lungs needed more air. "You too." I turned to Garret. "Listen, I'm not feeling great. I'm gonna step outside for a bit."
"Okay, want us to come with you?" he asked.
"No, stay here. Enjoy the party." I broke free from the wall. "She's lovely, Garrett," I added sincerely before ducking around the hallway, finding myself in the living room. French doors shone like a beacon at the far end. Using my practiced agility, I bypassed the clumps of people stuffed inside and avoided any more death dates.
Cool air nipped at my skin. Heart still racing, I withdrew my phone and crammed it to my ear. It rang four, five, six times, and, when I reached voicemail, I hurriedly said, "Vi, it's me. Listen, I know you're studying tonight, but, um, this party sucks. I want to leave. The house is close to yours – maybe ten minutes away. Would you come pick me up? 6615 Riverpark Drive." My stomach flip-flopped. What was I doing? I could handle this without dragging Vi into it. "You know what, never mind," I sighed. "It's alright. I'm overreacting. Sorry, Vi. I'll call you tomorrow." I ended the call.
A fence enclosed the compact backyard concealing a small patio set. Apart from a woman smoking in the corner, the only other living creature was a brown lab sniffing the perimeter. Upon noticing my presence, the dog bounded over. I sunk to my knees, letting the dog sniff my outstretched hand before scratching his ears once I was deemed acceptable.
The dog melted into my hands, his tongue licking at any exposed skin it could reach as though doing so would keep me petting him forever. A soft click and hushed chatter echoed from behind. The woman was gone, and the backyard was now mine and the dogs. I scratched him harder, but when his ebony eyes darted to something over my shoulder, I twisted around.
"Dogs like you."
The soft light of the moon exposed the man's face, but I would have known his voice anywhere.
"Or maybe I just like dogs," I said.
Warner inched closer and extended his hand for the dog to sniff. Tentatively, he did, but he did not let Warner scratch him as readily as he had let me, and, once he remembered I was still beside him, he shoved his snout underneath my hand. Warner's mouth cocked into a grin. "I think I win that argument."
"Enjoy the feeling while it lasts."
Warner was dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie.
"I didn't know you were here," I said.
"Nick invited me."
"Same," I muttered, earning an inquiring look from Warner. "What are you doing out here?"
"Ah, there it is." Warner's half grin persisted. "Needed some air."
"Likewise," I breathed.
Quiet fell upon us, but Warner's inquisitive gaze was breaking down my protective barrier. I stayed crouched, worried if I stood that he would be able to read the anxiety threaded throughout my body. My vulnerability wasn't his to see.
His next words startled me more than any snide remark I had been anticipating. "Are you okay, Delia?"
Our eyes collided. He stood still, looming above me as I tried to recover from the sudden wave of current his words had wielded.
"Yeah, there's just a lot of people in there."
Warner nodded solemnly. "So, who are you supposed to be? A zombie from Woodstock?"
Tilting my chin, I scanned my costume. I had forgotten we were at a Halloween party. I was wearing an ivory peasant blouse tucked into a paisley skirt that grazed the ground when I stood. Bangles and bracelets rode up my arms, and I'd wrapped a thick band around my forehead to keep my copper hair in straight curtains. On top of this, I had covered myself in gray-black makeup.
"Close enough," I said. "I'm a zombie hippie."
"Right."
"No need to tell me who you are," I quipped.
Warner arched a brow. "Let me guess – an asshole?"
The door flew open, a bolt of noise penetrating our brittle exchange. Warner and I spun around to find a gorilla – or, once my eyes adjusted, a guy dressed as one – standing halfway outside. "Hey, are you Delia? Someone's here looking for you."
I jerked upright. "What? Who would be –" The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. "Oh, um, thanks." I trotted for the door and heard Warner's footsteps close behind.
Squeezing past the gathering in the living room, I successfully ambled to the hallway, spotting Vi's shiny, dark head immediately. She stood by the door and she wasn't alone.
"Vi," I called, dodging around an oncomer.
The two guys around Vi were red faced and spouting laughter. With each step, the pieces fell together, and whereas I had been worried about hearing two death dates before leaving, anger now pricked my skin.
"Have you ever been to a party?" one of the guys asked, bursting with amusement. He took a shallow swig of his drink.
"What's wrong with her?" the other guy asked. "Hey, what's wrong with you? Loosen up a little, huh?"
"I have ASD, autism spectrum disorder. Nothing is wrong with me. My brain just works differently from yours. If anything, I could say there's something wrong with your brain, because it's obviously more disorganized than mine," Vi retorted just as I approached. Her eyes were glued to the floor; more anger pumped through my veins, even as I was proud of her for standing up for herself.
Together, the two guys broke into another round of laughter, mocking her between draws for breath.
"Hey!" I said, arms straight as daggers. I was so angry I didn't even feel the usual sensations that precede a death date reception, but I was only a little caught off guard when I heard their death dates pronounced in unison.
November thirtieth, two thousand and sixty-six, May fourteenth, two thousand and fifty-seven.
"She belong to you?" the sturdier of the two guys asked. "You bring her around for entertainment? If so, I owe you one."
Hands clenched, I threw myself as close as possible to him without touching. "Piss off, asshole. Are you really that full of self-pity? What was it, did mommy not pay you enough attention or something?"
A snarl carved into his mouth, and, leaning forward, he spat, "Shut up, bitch."
I had their death dates and I had rage. I didn't need anything else. "Make me."
"Hey!"
Warner was suddenly between us. I didn't budge. The guy flicked his gaze to Warner before settling back on me, lacking the same confidence. "You might want to tighten up that leash a little."
I hurtled towards the guy but was stopped short by a firm hand pressing against my collarbone.
"Time to go. Now," Warner instructed the two guys.
The stockier one choked on a laugh. "Your girl brought some entertainment. We were just appreciating it, man. She's got quite the mouth on her. Like I said, shorter leash next time."
Warner's hand flung from my chest to pin the guy against the wall. He situated himself directly in front of him and growled, "Ready to leave yet?"
Their amused smirks and laughs vanished. After swapping a look with his partner in crime, the guy broke free from Warner and the two fled the scene.
I could feel Warner's eyes burning a hole through the side of my head, but I avoided him with all the self-control I could muster. I still felt the heat of anger burning throughout my being. On any given day, I may be considered mild mannered, but the years of torment Vi suffered had depleted my tolerance for bullies. No one brought her down on my watch anymore.
"Hi, Warner," Vi stated evenly.
Warner swayed in place. "Vi."
"Are you okay?" I said, rounding on Vi.
She nodded.
"I'm sorry I called you. I feel so--You didn't need to come get me."
"Can we go?"
"Yeah." I gulped back a figurative flame. "Yeah, let's go."
Another person entered the hallway. "Delia? What's going on?" After scanning the scene, Nick asked, "Are you leaving?" He was dressed as the Brawny man, and, while I wasn't one to strictly abide by the couple's costume rule, the sight of him made the fire return to my throat.
"Yep. Not feeling well."
"Okay, well, call me tomorrow, okay?" Nick said.
"Yeah," I said, cracking open the front door. Vi and I stepped into the night air, but the heat didn't dissipate. Warner's intent gaze was the last thing I saw before the door slammed shut.
xxx
A/N: Well, there you have it! Another Delia and Warner scene - which I totally had a blast writing ;) Also, just a quick THANK YOU to all of you sticking with this story. It means so much! Don't forget to vote if you've been enjoying. I would love to hear from you!!