Page 78 of Interference

“Ugh. If you take an animal out in public, children are going to want to pet it. That’s just how society is.”

“And if you take a child out in public,” I threw back, “they’re going to hear ‘no’ now and then. That’s just how society is.”

Her face started to turn red. Then she grabbed her daughter’s arm, muttered a colorful name in my direction, and stalked away as her daughter said, “But Mom, I want to pet the dog!”

I felt bad for the kid. I really did. Most kids were pretty good about understanding if I said no, but when their parents told them they could and then I said they couldn’t, that confused and frustrated them.

Beside me, Anthony watched them go, a puzzled expression on his face. I cringed inwardly, sure he was going to chastise me for not just letting the little girl pet Lily. When he turned to me, though, he said, “Are people always that pushy?”

I sighed with both frustration and relief. “Not always, but more often than you might think.”

“Jesus.” He shook his head. “I think I’d blow a damn gasket.”

“Eh. If I do, then it just gives service dog handlers a bad name. Can’t really win.”

“That’s some bullshit,” he muttered.

“Tell me about it.” I looked at my dog. “Lily. Stand down.” She came out from between my legs, dropped onto her haunches, and looked up at me, tail wagging. I leaned down to pat her neck. “Good girl.”

We started walking again, and as we did, Anthony said, “Out of curiosity, what’s the ‘watch my six’ thing?”

“One of my triggers is activity behind me. Like if I’m in a restaurant, I have to sit with my back against a wall. And if I’m in a crowded place, I can get panicky if someone comes up behind me or there’s a sudden noise or something.” I gestured at Lily. “So when I give her that command, she keeps an eye on everything behind me. She’ll let me know if there’s someone coming or if there’s a threat.”

“Oh. Interesting.” He chuckled softly. “It seriously blows my mind, the things they can be trained to do.”

“I know, right? I was really skeptical that she’d be able to tell when I was about to have a panic attack or a flashback or something. Like, once they really get going, there’s only so much anyone can do, myself included. But I figured, hey, it can’t hurt, right?” I smiled, glancing at Lily. “I can’t tell you how many times she’s alerted early enough that I managed to calm down before the flashback or the panic actually set in.”

“Wow.” He paused. “Is that—she did that in the vet clinic, didn’t she? The night we met?”

Some heat rose in my face, and I nodded. “Yeah. I, um… I kind of started freaking out, thinking they wouldn’t be able to help me, and she alerted. Settled me down pretty fast, too.”

Shame wound behind my ribs. I knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, but no one came out of the military without some of that toxic, bottle-it-all-up bullshit beaten into them. I always expected people to say I was weak or soft because I couldn’t function like a normal human being after experiencing things most people couldn’t imagine. I always expected the playful punch to the shoulder and, “Dude, you need to toughen up.”

But Anthony just nodded and said, “That’s good. That she recognizes it and keeps you calm, I mean.”

I met his gaze, my face still burning. “Yeah. It is. Honestly, I don’t know how I’d get through the day without her.” I patted her neck, smiling despite that habitual shame. “Even after seeing her in action, it’s still crazy what they can do. Like, her trainer was also working with a dog who alerts for seizures. That just blows my mind.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “She explained how it works, or at least how they think it works—like how the dogs can pick up that someone’s about to have a seizure—and it’s just…” I whistled, shaking my head. “It crazy.”

“Sounds like a game changer, though. For a person with seizures or someone with…” He gestured at me.

“It really is. She made such a huge difference for me, even while we were still getting the hang of each other.” I tousled Lily’s ears and smiled down at her. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

She looked up at me, happy and content as if everything in her world was perfect. Right now, it probably was.

God, I wish I could tell you it’s going to stay this way.

I shut off that train of thought in a hurry, and I cleared my throat as I gestured down the trail. “Keep walking?” I motioned toward Bear, who was getting ready to pounce on Moose’s twitching tail. “Maybe before they get bored?”

Anthony laughed, making the whole day a few degrees warmer. “Yeah, we should keep moving.” He tugged the leashes. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go.”

The cats continued their stroll along the trail, and the two of us followed with Lily between us. Our conversation wound to lighter topics, but my mind kept tugging me back to that brief exchange about Lily. He never seemed to bat an eye at any of the reasons I needed her or any of the things she did for me. He never gave any indication he thought I was weak or that I should be able to function without her.

And honestly, I wasn’t surprised by that. At every turn, Anthony was nothing but kind and understanding. About Lily. About our situation. About everything. More than most people I’d encountered since my disabilities and my living situation had knocked me on my ass, he’d been curious like someone who wanted to understand, not gawk. When we weren’t talking about those tender subjects, he didn’t handle me with kid gloves or talk down to me. He shot the shit with me the same way he did with his teammates. He interacted with me like I was a real, normal person. That shouldn’t have been a novelty, but in my shoes, it definitely was.

At the end of the day, I’d have been grateful to anyone who’d scraped Lily and me up that night at the vet clinic, but I couldn’t lie:

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