Yesterday's Tomorrows

Chapter 5

Holt

"Holt! What's up, man?" Callum called as he stepped out of his car.

My older brother had pulled in the driveway a moment ahead of me. Both of my siblings were coming for a Sunday gathering followed by a family dinner. My mother understood her children lead their own lives, but she planned these dinners at least twice a month and expected us to attend. If any of us couldn't make it, we'd better have a damn good excuse.

My father had always been the breadwinner, but it was my mother who ruled over hearth and home. She could be as soft and fuzzy as the thistle flower of her native Scotland, but if anyone crossed her or someone she loved, she was just as sharp and prickly as the briars that lay hidden beneath the bloom. She loved her family fiercely, and anyone who chose to become part of it had to accept Sunday dinners as part of the package. Growing up, there had been a lot of grumbling from my brother, sister and me when we wanted to do something else, but our mother's persistence to create a close family had paid off. There was nothing we wouldn't do for each other. I knew that firsthand since I'd been the one who ended up putting them to the test.

I fist-bumped my brother, then bypassed him for his wife, Sara. "Hey, beautiful! How are you feeling?" I helped her out of the car and pulled her into a hug and swung her around. She squealed until I set her down and kissed her cheek. Cal had managed to find a wonderful girl who I considered just as much a sister as I did my real one.

"Tired, but happy." She returned the affection and leaned her head on my chest, beaming at the car carrier her husband pulled from the backseat. I peaked at Cara, my two-month old niece who was snuggled to the point of almost hidden beneath a pink blanket. Undisturbed by my gentle kiss, she slept soundly through the commotion.

My brother and his wife had tried for three years to have a baby and had about given up hope when they found out Sara was pregnant. Now they were ecstatic about all the baby paraphernalia they toted with them everywhere they went.

A 'woof' and excited panting alerted me that I was about to be ambushed. I turned in time to be greeted with giant paws on my shoulders and a wet tongue slobbering across my face before I could call out the command to sit. Buddy, my loyal black lab, immediately responded to my voice, but his tail continued to swipe side to side, flicking up loose leaves and dirt.

"Hey, boy! Did you miss me?" I knelt down and scratched his ears until one of his back legs thumped by his side. I sure missed him. He'd been a gift from my sister, Carol, after I'd been injured in Afghanistan. At the time, I hadn't felt like there was much to come home to, so I wasn't doing much to pick myself up and live. I was healing physically, but not emotionally.

Carol had the idea that he might be something like a therapy dog. Although not trained as one, she thought I needed something to be responsible for. At first, I was furious with her. Initially, I cared for Buddy out of obligation since I couldn't allow him to starve and no one else would lift a finger to do it. Even his name was a random pick with little thought.

But it wasn't long before waking up to a cold, wet nose in my neck and a warm tongue lavishing puppy kisses on my face became something I looked forward to. His constant playful mood drove me to take him outside, first in my parent's yard, then eventually for longer and longer walks and hikes as I felt more like getting dressed and leaving home. During those solitude moments, my thoughts became less about the all my lost hopes and dreams and more about what I was going to do next. And at night, when memories became overwhelming, Buddy would curl up by my side and rest his head on my knees, keeping my silent tears his secret.

Cal stood next to me and held his hand toward Buddy. My dog took one sniff and gave a polite lick, then shoved his head under my hand, demanding more attention. Cal laughed at the snub. "Damn, I don't think I've ever seen a dog so devoted before."