Page 45 of The Cutting Edge
MARISSA:
You are NOT saying no. You’ve been dreaming of a silver Vera Wang skating dress for as long as I’ve known you. Logan is making millions of dollars a year. He can afford it.
ME:
It’s so extravagant, it’s too much.
MARISSA:
Millions of dollars. I know this costume is like half a year’s rent for you and me, but it’s a blip for him. He clearly feels guilty about the concussion, and we both know how much he likes you. Let him do this.
I’m just about to return her text when a member of a big box electronics store’s nerd herd arrives, bearing a brand new iPad preloaded with subscriptions for practically every streaming video & music service, from Netflix, HBO Max, and Disney Plus to Spotify and iTunes — not to mention both the Kindle and Nook apps, each with a $250 credit to buy books. Brandon, aka the nerd, brings out one more surprise gift for me — installing a 20-foot HDMI cable that connects the iPad to the TV in my hospital room so I can easily watch movies on the big TV screen. Brandon takes special care to inform me that he’s also installed the National Geographic app, which will allow me to watch the Madrid airport show that Logan and I had watched together —To Catch a Smuggler.
A pizza from Solarzono’s in Sarasota arrives just before lunchtime: sausage, onion, and mushroom – my favorite. I’m shocked that Logan even remembered the name of my favorite pizzeria, let alone my favorite toppings; I only mentioned it once in passing. Although, I remember his favorite too — only because it’s such a horrifying way to ruin a perfectly good pizza. Who likes EVERYTHING, including anchovies and pineapple? I wonder how he finagled the perfectly timed pizza; the hospital is at least 45 minutes outside their delivery area. Is there anything rich and famous hockey players can’t get at the snap of their fingers? I suppose not. By some miracle of wealth and privilege, it’s still hot and delicious as always.
Around two pm, a twenty-something woman with shocking raspberry hair and a double nose piercing arrives in my room with a giant rolling crate she pulls behind her like a wagon. On the outside is a hand-painted sign that reads PUPPY MOBILE.
“Puppy delivery!” she says enthusiastically as she pulls the crate into my room.
She wheels it around so the door with the grate faces my bed – and inside are four of the cutest, most roly-poly chocolate lab puppies I’ve ever seen in my life. And also,whaaaaat?
“What is this?” I ask. Did Logan actually send mepuppies? I mean, they’re super adorable and everything, but I’m never at home and dogs like these get really big, plus they need a lot of attention and long walks and I spend all my time at work or training. I absolutely love dogs, and I definitely see myself as one of those ladies with a whole pack of shelter dogs at some point in the future – but they’re definitely not in the cards for my life right now.
“I’m Lyndsey from Southeastern Guide Dogs. We train service dogs for veterans and others who are differently-abled. I’m here because Logan Rivers, one of our generous supporters, arranged a puppy play date for you. These are service animals in training, so the hospital allows us to bring them in for socialization training.”
“Socialization training?” I ask.
She winks, “It means you get to play with the puppies if you want to. So they get used to being around people.”
And in an instant, I’m filled with delight. “Really?”
She nods, “Really. Are you ready for some play time?”
“Oh yeah. Bring on the puppies.”
She opens the door and scoops out the first one. “This is Nate. He’s a little lover, this one.” She sets him on my hospital bed, and instantly he’s falling over his own feet and climbing up my body like I’m Mount Kilimanjaro. His little brown tail is wagging a million miles a minute and in seconds he’s made it all the way to my face. He’s licking my chin so enthusiastically, you’d think it was slathered in gravy.
“I’ve passed your billboard about a million times on I-75,” I say. “I had no idea people could play with the puppies.”
“We have socialization hours on the weekends. Logan, I mean, Mr. Rivers, and his daughter Poppy come to play with the puppies at least once a month, maybe more.”
“Really?” I say. It’s a tiny little window into his private life with Poppy, and the image of this great big, manly guy sitting on the floor with his little daughter playing together with puppies climbing all over them is so heartwarming and sweet that it turns my insides to mush.
“Mr. Rivers is one of our most generous supporters.”
“Yeah? Does he send a lot of puppygrams?”
“Oh! That’s a cute name! I might have to steal that from you,” she laughs. “But no, as far as I’m aware, you’re the only person he’s ever asked us to send the puppy mobile to. Usually, he does things for us, not the other way around. You must be pretty special.”
I can’t help but smile in response – Logan keeps surprising me. I hate to even contemplate it, but is it possible he might be a truly decent guy?
Puppy number two is Nate’s brother, Chuck, who’s even more rambunctious. He’s running all over the bed, trying to jump off the side, attempting to burrow under my pillows.
“Chuck is a bit of a troublemaker,” she says. ‘He gets all the other pups all riled up and misbehaving – don’t you Chuckie?” she says in a playful voice, rescuing Chuck just before he makes a death-defying leap to the rolling hospital tray table.
“This is Serena,” Lyndsey says, pulling the smallest of the puppies out of the crate and setting it gently at my side. Serena is calm and quiet, unlike the others, and walks up and down the left side of my body, then climbs right into my lap before curling into an adorable chocolate ball and falling asleep.
Puppy number four is whining inside the crate as Lyndsey scoops her out and sets her gently on the bed, “and this little sweetie is Blair.”
