Page 46 of Dear Pink

“Homer’s easy to like,” she says but doesn’t pressure me further. She sits silently while I talk to Mr. Homer, the turtle.

After a deep philosophical conversation, I place him in the box. “It’s nice to meet you, Homer.” I glance over at Green T-shirt, but she’s distracted. I follow her head and watch a lady in yoga pants, two feet from us, bouncing a ball. Green T-shirt chews her fingernail. We both stand. Yoga pants bends over, and I recognize the giant dog lying at her feet, studying her every movement. Lolly. The woman beams at him and throws the ball.

“No,” Gabe yells behind us. “We’re too close to the street. Lolly, come. Come, Lolly.”

Lolly doesn’t hear anything. She focuses on the airborne yellow ball and runs. It bounces towards busy McKinney Avenue where cars whip by at forty miles an hour. I peer left and spot a trolley car heading our way.

“Damn it.” I run. I’m closer than Gabe, and Green T-shirt is frozen. I have to make a quick decision. Do I catch the ball or go after Lolly? She’s a much larger target. Plus, who am I kidding, I can’t catch a tiny tennis ball.

A huge playpen blocks Lolly’s path, slowing her pace. She ducks left, so I change my direction, hoping to cut her off if I don’t fall on my face first. Gabe yells for her to stop. Lolly is a dog on a mission. No way she’ll stop herself before she hits the street. There’s a ball, and it demands a dog chase. The crowd around us goes quiet as I close in on her. I run in slow motion.

“Lolly,” I scream and grab her thick red collar. Momentum’s got a hold of her, and she hauls me with her a little. I fall forward onto my knees but don't let go of her collar. I speak to her even though the words are really for me. “It’s okay. We stopped. Let the ball go.” Lolly slows and turns around, giving me a huge lick across my face. I stumble onto my feet and find my knees are beaten to a pulp.

“Hannah.” Gabe grabs Lolly’s collar from me. His other hand touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

“A car. The trolley.” The adrenaline pumping through my veins prohibits any rational speech.

“You saved her.” He hugs me. “Thank you so much.”

A Green T-shirt runs over, panting. “Dr. Russo, I’m sorry. I thought her leash was secured.” The woman’s face gleams bright red, and tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

He pats her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll put Lolly in the clinic. I shouldn't have brought her outside today, but she loves the action.”

He turns to me. “I’m gonna . . .” He gestures to the building. I nod my head and watch him walk away.

Well, this is awkward. Can I still leave? Are my knees bleeding? I take in the scene before me. Everyone has returned to cuddling animals. The festive energy vibrates back in full swing. I should definitely leave.

I turn to flee when a hand taps on my shoulder. I spin around and smack straight into Gabe. “I’m not here for you.”

He lifts one eyebrow.

“I mean I’m here for a pet. I need to adopt a pet.”

“Youneedto?” he asks with a strange expression on his face.

“That’s not correct either.” I must sound insane. Why do I act crazy when this man is near? Should I explain how a pet is on the bucket list? Wait. He hasn’t heard Libby’s story. A deep discussion about the bucket list in the middle of a parking lot doesn’t seem fair.

“Okay?” he says and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. He scarcely touches me, and tingles reach to my toes. Damn, this man brings me to my knees.

“I want Homer,” I blurt instead.

“You want the turtle?”

“Yeah, I kinda love him already. Is he available for adoption? Do I apply?”

We walk over to Homer’s sad little cardboard box. “Turtles are a huge commitment,” he says. “I don’t mean in care necessarily. I mean in time. They have a super long life span. I think Homer isn’t much older than five or six.”

“Exactly. I love his age. Homer won’t die anytime soon.”

Gabe chuckles. “Okay.”

He picks up the turtle and speaks to his sweet little face. “Well, Homer, you are one lucky turtle.”

My heart beats faster watching Gabe’s conversation with Homer. He talks to animals too.

“Is a cardboard box a proper home?” I ask.

“Definitely not.” He checks his watch. “I’m done here in thirty minutes. Why don’t we go to PetSmart? They have suitable turtle supplies, and I happen to be an expert on pet care.” He bites his lower lip, stifling a laugh.

---