Page 71 of Devil's Due

“Where’s Max’s food?”

“Prospects brought it. Load of shit lying over there. Collar and lead. No harness, but he won’t be up to working for a while yet.”

“I know that. But at least he’s here and with me.”

She’s still pleased and excited, while I view Max with a frown. I’m delighted she’s happy but seeing Max on the road to recovery just reminds me that as soon as he’s able to guide her again, it will be time to say goodbye. I don’t say anything though. The dog’s still got some way to go yet. I can enjoy this idyllic interlude for a while longer. It’s just an unwelcome reminder that I’m one step closer to losing her.

When we’ve finished eating, she insists on taking our plates and washing them. I watch her walk away, accepting at some point she’ll disappear forever.

My arms itch to hold her again, but I can’t. If it’s that difficult to imagine her leaving as it is, if I allow myself to get close to her again, I won’t want to let her go at all.

Stevie wants to do everything she can for Max herself. She knows about his needs far more than I do. After cleaning up, she takes him outside, the dog limping along by the side of the woman finding her way with the stick I’d made, while I’m hovering close by in case she needs help. I’m intrigued by the practicalities.

“Get busy,” she says.

Max immediately squats. Stevie reaches her hand down and strokes his back.

“I thought male dogs cocked their legs,” I observe, having seen Grunt water the plants back in Tucson more times than I can remember.

“Guide dogs are trained to squat.”

“And you touch him, why?” It seems overly invasive to me.

“So I can tell whether I need a bag. I know he’s peeing now as his back is straight. If he was having a poo then it would be curved, and I’d be ready to scoop it up. Normal dogs don’t like being touched when they’re doing their business, but he’s been trained to accept it.”

Clever. I nod admiringly.

“This is why not all blind people want the hassle of having a dog. Owning a dog anyway is a responsibility, but it is harder when you can’t see. Max pays me back a thousand times over. If cleaning up after him is my payment in return, it’s the least I can do.” She raises her head, and sniffs the air. “Storm coming. I can smell the ozone.”

I glance up. Clouds are gathering, darkening the light from the moon. She could well be right.

“Best get back inside. Max should be off that leg anyway.” We’re not long back in the warmth of the cabin before raindrops start to hit the roof hard.

There’s something comforting about sitting in front of a log-burning stove while lightning flashes, and the sound of rain hitting the cabin vies with the rumble and crack of thunder for which can be loudest. Stevie jumps when there’s a loud crack right overhead, and again my arms ache to hold her.

Max, completely unperturbed, lies at her feet.

Ignoring the elements outside, we put on a DVD and watch it. Well, I view and describe. It seems the most natural thing in the world now. Then it’s time for bed. Not wanting to strain Max’s healing leg, Stevie goes up alone, satisfied with my promise I’ll look after her four-legged friend tonight.

She doesn’t know I’m observing her take every step, recognising her reluctance to leave him and to sleep alone. But it’s for the best. She knows it is too.

As the days pass I notice there’s a change in Stevie now she has her dog back with her. She seems lighter, happier, and her smile comes to her face quicker. It’s as if he completes her, as thought he was a missing limb. Max stays glued to her side, staying so close I catch myself feeling jealous of a fucking dog.

Demon keeps in touch, I make sure to give him a list of things that we need which the prospects will bring up in a few days and reassure him all’s as it should be on the cabin front.

Max is walking better as every twenty-four hours pass. I checked with James and the vet told us we could remove his bandage now, and his cone if he doesn’t worry the stitches. Carefully unwrapping his leg, I describe it to Stevie. The operation scar is quite small, looks good and clean, and the stitches are dissolving just as they should. Being a good dog, when his cone is removed Max licks the wound then ignores it when told.

I continue searching for parts of the Indian I’d unearthed. I find a box of treasures and start sorting them out and cleaning them; the oil pump, the engine. Why someone stripped it down and left it I’ve no idea. The thought grows that they hadn’t come back because they couldn’t.

I decide I’ll do the work, put it back together again; I’ll finish the job they started as a tribute to an unknown biker. Maybe Hellfire would know who it was? I’ll ask next time I see him.

If Stevie is bored with our simple life, she doesn’t show it. She finds pleasure in small things, like sitting in the sun with her dog by her side, her hand ruffling his fur as she listens to me tinkering with the bike. I’ve grown used to hearing her giggle when I swear at something that’s not going the way I want it. Her lack of complaint, her amusement at my frustration rather than fearing my outbursts are yet more things I admire about her. Despite her disability, living with her is easy, comfortable. Things I have now were exactly what was missing with Sally. Stevie’s independence shows in everything she does. I don’t think I’ve ever admired a woman more in my life.

Why is it when I’ve found someone who seems perfect, I can’t keep her?

Briefly I toy with the idea of going wherever she goes. Taking on a new identity, giving up everything I am. Leaving the brotherhood of the Satan’s Devils. Much as I admire Stevie, I’m not sure that would be fair to either of us. I’d be restless, lost. I’ve been a Devil most of my adult life, and don’t know if I’d be the same man without the patch on my back. Despite Stevie’s hopes of returning to her old life, I’d have to take that step knowing the chances are it could be permanent. I’m not ready to commit to that.

Damn it.

---