Clay beat me to the door. I scowled down at him. He patiently looked back at me. After a moment, he shook his neck, jangling his tags. Defeated, I clipped on his leash. He negotiated well without using a single word.
Using my cell, I called ahead for the first ad and provided an estimated time when I’d arrive to look at the car. On the phone, the man sounded a bit brusque as if my planned visit inconvenienced him. Shrugging it off, I led Clay to the address. A rusty car parked on the front lawn with a for-sale sign affirmed I had the right place. A man called hello from the open garage making his way toward us.
As he neared, his demeanor changed and I inwardly groaned. He introduced himself as Howard and looked me over with interest. Clay moved to stand between us, his stoic presence a good deterrent.
Howard talked about the car for a bit, going through the laundry list of its deficiencies. Then he popped the hood so I could look at the engine. In the middle of Howard’s attempt to impress me with his vast mechanical knowledge, Clay sprang up between us, placing his paws on the front of the car to get a good look at the engine too. Howard yelped at Clay’s sudden move and edged away. I fought not to smile at the man’s stunned expression. At Clay’s discrete nod, I bought the car, not bothering with the second ad.
On Friday, when I drove to the bookstore, Clay rode a very cramped shotgun and waited in the car while I made my purchases. No matter what errand I wanted to run during the week before classes started, he insisted on tagging along.
Monday, I put my foot down when I tried leaving for my first class. He bristled, and growled, and tried to follow me.
Thankfully, Rachel left first and didn’t hear me scolding the dog. “Your license only wins you so much freedom. Dogs aren’t allowed on campus and definitely not in the classroom.” I tried leaving again, but he stubbornly persisted. Finally, exasperated, I reminded him that he slept on my bed because of my good grace. He resentfully gave in.
After the first week of classes, I didn’t have time to mind Clay’s constant attention. Maxing out at eighteen credits, desperate to get the general requirements out of the way so I could delve into the clinicals sooner, I spent much of my day on campus in a classroom or in the library. When I actually found myself at home, I spent my time studying. I’d known when signing up for the courses that they would occupy all of my time and prevent me from having much of a life. Other than the fact I couldn’t get a part-time job while taking the overload, I hadn’t minded the commitment.
Even though I ignored him, Clay still stayed close to me. I realized how bored he’d grown when I came home and found one of my books on the couch, the bookmark on the wrong page. After that, I took pity on him and brought back some books I thought might interest him. The one I thought particularly clever, about Flora and Fauna of North America, I included to remind him of home. He eyed the titles dispassionately. The next day, a bookmark nestled between the pages of two of the books.
I woke up one morning with a single word note on my dresser. It said simply, “mechanics.” The first stack of books lay next to the note.
I turned to glare at Clay who still lounged on the end of the bed. “So you can write words to me, just not speak them?” He blinked at me. “Whatever. You’re going to get caught creeping around the house at night.”
Later that day, I returned the books on forestry and wildlife, which I’d thought funny, and checked out several books on mechanics. For fun, I threw in a do it yourself book for home repairs.
The second Friday after school began, disaster struck.
I sat on my bed, closed in my room with Clay lying in his usual spot. He contentedly read a book next to me, his eyes devouring the words on the page. He’d spent enough time reading next to me that I’d grown used to our system, a nudge when he needed a page turned. Trying to turn it with his nose hadn’t worked out well for him, or the first book.
When he nudged me, I absently turned his page not looking up from my own book. When he did it again, I looked up puzzled. He read fast, but not that fast. Meeting my eyes briefly, he turned his head toward the bedroom door. Just then, I heard the front door open, and froze when I heard Rachel talking to someone.
“…and this is where I live. Please, have a seat and I’ll change quickly. My roommate and our dog should be around here somewhere.”
A man answered, “No rush. Our reservations aren’t until six.”
I turned wide eyes to Clay. Rachel had brought a date home. I didn’t have time to think about it further because a knock sounded on my door. I wanted to ignore it, but instead I quickly closed the book in front of Clay and said, “Come in.”
Rachel walked into the room dressed in scrubs. Her smile and flushed cheeks spoke volumes, as did the way she tactfully closed the door behind her.