Hometown Hero

  HOMETOWN

  HERO

  by Marisol Logan

  ONE

  The chocolate-colored dog whimpered in pain, kicking his free legs in protest to the stitches being placed in his injured one. Mrs. Hayes, the dog's owner, had brought him to the animal hospital, acting more agitated than the wounded dog itself, when Mara had been just getting in to work.

  Mara Raymond, the veterinarian, smiled remembering the picture the two had made walking into her office at sunrise, with the woman practically shouldering the animal’s weight on her left arm. The elderly lady had looked more in pain than the animal itself, with her shoulders slumped and her face full of creases. Mara had almost suggested Mrs. Hayes go to the hospital across town to get the needed medical attention herself—she was obviously shaken up by her dog's injury.

  Mara carefully wrapped a bandage over the fresh stitches on the dog's right limb. The cut had been deep, like one made by a sharp object with rust.

  “You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Hayes,” Mara assured her for the tenth time since they had arrived. “Jimmy here is an old bone; he will get over the cut quickly.”

  “Yes, you have said that before, but my Jimmy is still hurting,” Mrs. Hayes whimpered, unconvinced, giving Mara the impression nothing was going to comfort her except the actual recovery of her dog.

  The air conditioner had spit out its last puffs of cool air about half an hour ago. Since it was mid-August in the plains, the office had a good dosage of the actual feel of hell. An opened window only ushered the active heat outside the building into the room. Mara squirmed in her chair and swallowed back a cuss word. She never thought being hot could make her so damn irritable and out of place with her own skin.

  “Jimmy will be alright,” she assured again for the sake of the woman’s peace of mind. There was an air of weariness about her that made Mara want to keep reassuring her until she trusted her words—though slapping the words right into her brain would work faster and better, Mara thought, feeling Mrs. Hayes' eyes watching every move of her gloved hands like a hawk watching prey.

  She lifted a syringe and pushed the plunger a little to remove the bubbles in the painkiller. Jimmy raised his furry head as though trying to ascertain the doctor’s line of action, and, on sighting the instrument in Mara’s hands, he shuddered and whimpered before replacing his head in the curve of his forearms in defeat. Mara felt her heart go out to the poor animal as she administered the shot beside the neatly wrapped wound. The sniffing sound coming from the woman opposite her gave her cause for concern and worry—she was crying. Mrs. Hayes had not stopped ranting on how she would be left all alone if something was to happen to her dog.

  Dropping the used syringe, Mara caressed the dog, who now seemed to be more relaxed than his owner, silently thanking him for making her job easy. It was an old dog, but with the kindest type of attitude. The paperwork Mrs. Hayes had filled out said the dog was eight years of age—two or three more years left, Mara thought, but that was obviously something Mrs. Hayes wouldn't want to think about or discuss right now.

  “He is ready to go home now,” Mara announced, taking off the gloves that had been protecting her hands. She moved closer to the dog and patted him affectionately on the head. Jimmy, as though on cue, nuzzled her palm and returned to his former position.

  “Oh, please tell me my Jimmy will be alright,” the older woman pleaded, grabbing her handbag that had been lying on the floor beside the exam table. She reached into the sunflower-patterned bag and drew out a tissue, then blew her nose loudly.

  Mara waited patiently for the woman to compose herself. She walked to the sink in the corner of the room and washed her hands. She was not about to pressure the old woman, and she understood perfectly well her hysterics. Some of her patients’ owners were worse than Mrs. Hayes when faced with injury or illness in their pets. People were always very attached to and emotional about their animal companions, which was part of the reason that Mara loved her job.

  “He will be fine, no need for panic, Mrs. Hayes,” she promised through a smile and signaled for her partner to bring the bill.

  Lucy sauntered into the room with a no-nonsense attitude. Her thin but full hip swayed in full force, and the legs attached to those hips stretched out so long it looked like they grew forever. Her long, midnight black hair fell freely behind her back, swinging and comfortably resting on her waist. The look on her face was one she had adopted very early in their business venture, after an encounter with a man who had brought four of his puppies for medical care and left them all in Mara and Lucy's care—without paying a dime. Not something that had helped them get on their feet, by any means. But, it had steeled Lucy in all of their business and financial transactions from that point on, so for that, Mara was grateful, because she knew that she personally didn't want to handle those things, and wouldn't be able to stay so stern and business-like when old ladies were sobbing about their hurt dogs.

  “Here you are, Mrs. Hayes,” Lucy said as she slipped the paper into the woman’s free hand.

  The old woman stared at the paper as though she had just been given an order by the senate to allow aliens come for dinner out on her porch. It was obvious she had been thinking the medical treatment was entirely free. “What is this?” she asked in between sniffs.

  “This is your bill ma’am,” Lucy answered touching the letterhead that read ‘Heronville Animal Clinic—Statements and Billing'.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you charged for treating my poor Jimmy.” On mentioning the dog’s name, a fresh stream of tears ran down the woman’s cheek. She opened her purse and took out her checkbook, scrawling the due amount reluctantly and handed the check over to Lucy. “Thank you for taking care of my Jimmy,” she turned on Mara with teary but hard eyes that spoke volumes on how unhappy she was to be paying.

  Sensing the stiffening of Lucy’s spine, which indicated she was getting into full gear to argue with the woman, Mara gave her partner a warning look, with a slight tilt of her head to suggest that she should calm down. Lucy took a deep breath and clenched her fists behind Mrs. Hayes' back, and Mara smiled at the woman: “You're very welcome. It has been my pleasure. Do you need help getting him out to the car?”

  Mrs. Hayes nodded, and Mara slipped her arms under the dog's pelvis and neck, then cradled him out to her car. The pain killers had calmed him enough that he was dead weight, but still only felt like he weighed about thirty five pounds, which was certainly manageable for her. It was the kickers and squirmers and hundred-pounders that were the problem. Jimmy, was none of those, at the moment, thankfully.

  Mara laid him gently in the passenger seat of the Mrs. Hayes' blue Buick and closed the door gently, watching for his tail. She waved goodbye to a still blubbering Mrs. Hayes and headed back inside, bracing herself for the rant she was certain Lucy had cooked up in her absence.

  “What exactly did she mean by ‘oh, I didn’t know you'd charge for treating my poor Jimmy’? Does this look like Lizzy’s Pub?” Lucy fumed as soon as Mara walked into the clinic.

  Lizzy’s Pub was a bar just down the road, and everyone in Heronville knew that town’s men went in there to drink their fill, and usually forgot to pay. It had occurred so often that the mayor of the town, a frequent customer at Lizzy's, had declared it a free-drinking pub for everyone that paid their taxes. Most people still paid, but usually donations at their discretion.

  “Don’t be too hard on the woman, Luce,” Mara cautioned, smiling nonetheless at the irritation clearly smeared across Lucy’s face. “Some people mistake walk-in clinics for free clinics. And we're fairly new in town.”

  “You know me Mar, I could never be hard on poor creatures like Jimmy. But some of these owners don't seem to understand that we have to make a living,
too. The nerve of that woman!” Lucy fumed. Mara swallowed and let it slide; having worked with Lucy for so long she knew when Lucy was stuck in a rant and wasn't going to drop it.

  One year ago, Mara had finished her veterinary degree, but was contemplating completely leaving Heronville for good. The pity from the town following everything that had happened halfway through college...it was just too much. But Lucy, her best friend from school, had come up with the idea of Mara opening a veterinary practice with her new degree. The town's only other veterinarian was discussing retirement, and has been limiting most of his work to making livestock visits.

  Starting a business in the town that still whispered and frowned everywhere she went hadn’t been what she had been eager to take on, but Lucy had been persistent.

  Though she had fallen in love with the job from the moment they had kicked off, she still sometimes wished she had gone to a big city, out of the state, and led a low key, anonymous life as a vet tech in a big practice—no one asking her how she was doing with those looks of overacted sympathy, no one trying to dig information out of her that she didn't have...

  Heronville was a small town, and naturally, everyone knew everyone else's business. And her business had apparently been enough rumor fodder to have lasted three years now.

  Mara slightly shook her head, mentally pushing back the memories. Life was good now. She had even moved on a found a wonderful man, who had recen’tly proposed and she had accepted. There was no time to dwell in the past. She had more to be thankful for than to waste her time with regret and self-pity.

  “You look lost in thought,” Lucy noted, carefully, pulling Mara from her thoughts. “Again,” she added. It was a common occurrence.

  “I'm just...you know,” Mara sighed. “Every time life is going great for me, my brain can't help but remind me of my past.”

  “I hear ya,” Lucy replied with a nod. “Not many people go through what you went through. I want you to move on, but, I don't know if I'd be able to if the love of my life vanished in the middle of the night without a word.”

  Mara winced when Lucy said 'love of my life'. Phillip, Mara's fiance, would be here any minute to take her out for lunch. She didn't want him to walk in on Lucy describing her long lost ex as the 'love of her life'. He was understanding of the situation as it was, but that was because Mara had always downplayed the seriousness of her previous relationship. And Phillip was not originally from Heronville—he hadn't known her ex, and hadn't seen them when they were together, like everyone else in the town.

  Mara sighed and checked her watch. Phillip was running late. It was unlike him to be late for anything, especially lunch. What was keeping him? Mara worried, glancing at the clock to make sure it wasn't her watch that was fast.

  “Don’t worry, he will be here soon,” Lucy chimed in, reading Mara's impatient body language.

  As though on cue, Phillip entered, a light dewy sweat glistening on his forehead, mumbling continuous apologies on why he was late—his boss's car had overheated, and he had helped him cool the engine and add more coolant. Though he worked at the bank now, as the loan manager, he had worked at a Grease Monkey shop during high school and college in his hometown in Nebraska. He still could use the services here to make extra money on the side if he wanted, as many young people in town felt more comfortable coming to him than going to the garage, but he preferred to use his knowledge for emergency situations only.

  “How was your morning, beautiful?” Phillip asked, caressing Mara's elbow.

  Mara took a few moments to admire his physique before responding. His crescent moon eyebrows were thin and narrow. He carried an imperious nose well and his angular cheekbones carved down towards a flinty jaw. His ocean-blue eyes were orb round and darted constantly, agleam with delight and the vigor of youth. They were smart, vibrant eyes that swam with joy. They shone brightly, like two sapphires dipped in milky pools. He had a height that announced him anywhere he entered and a lanky body structure to fit.

  “Here comes the groom!” Lucy sang in the “Here Comes the Bride” tune.

  Phillip looked her direction briefly and bestowed her with his hundred-watt smile that could easily light up an entire room. “Hi, Luce,” he chuckled. “Want us to bring something back for you?”

  His voice held the promise of great future to come. He was a soft speaker and always very slow to anger. Most times, Mara wondered what really ticked him off; he was so solid and so very caring.

  “Oh, I'm good,” Lucy answered. “Trusty salad in the fridge! Thanks, though.”

  “Alright, suit yourself. Come on, baby, let’s get going,” Phillip purred, turning his attention back to Mara, making her suddenly feel self-conscious about her appearance. She knew she was probably sweaty, too—had her makeup smudged? Had her hair gone frizzy in the humidity? Hopefully she didn't look too much a mess for lunch.

  She ran her ring fingers along her under lash and smoothed her hair.

  “You look incredible,” Phillip said, as if reading her mind. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and led her to his car.

  TWO

  Heronville had not changed a bit from the last time he had been here, and that had been over three years ago. It had been so hard leaving like he did. But he had done it and he couldn't let the regret and guilt drag him down. He was not the type of man that dwelled on his past mistakes and regrets. He looked on the bright side of every incident, although the hadn't had much of a bright side for many, many years now.

  The airport was over an hour away, and the drive to Heronville had been dead quiet. He had forgotten how peaceful and quiet the streets of the town could be. It was the perfect place for an escape from almost any kind of life. It calmed and refreshed him, the ripping of the golden wheat pastures threatening to lull him to sleep as he drove.

  Mark Mitchell sighed, shifting uncomfortably to try and keep himself awake on the drive, the long, tiring flight and the hypnotic wheat fields fighting him in his efforts. Finally, he pulled up to the rental house he'd arranged. His new home.

  Home. He loved the feel of that name. He had been far away from home for a long time and he’d missed everything that came with the home package. It had been the longest three years of his life and, most recently, the most horrible six months of his life. Hopefully, all that was behind him now. He was home now and he was home to stay.

  Two pedestrians, obviously in love with each other, sat by a little garden along the street staring into each other’s eyes. Mark swallowed hard remembering when he had been at that same spot with the only woman he had ever loved. They'd had dreams and aspirations together. They had lived like the other’s half, acting as a true partnership, despite their youth and naivety. It had been a wonderful feeling. A feeling he would give his whole life’s savings to get back.

  He shook his head and released his breath slowly, feeling the familiar shooting pain in his chest. He deserved whatever pain he was going through now. He had left her without a word and never had found the courage to reach out to her and tell her where he'd gone, or why.

  Mara. What would be happening with her now? Was she married, in a relationship or with kids of her own? She had always wanted kids with him and she would make a wonderful mother and a great wife. The man who finally won her would be a lucky one. She deserved to be happy. He hoped she was happy with whomever she had finally decided to give her heart too—if she had recovered from what Mark had done to her.

  Mark pulled his two duffel bags out of the trunk of the rental car. At some point, he'd have to return the rental car and see about getting his motorcycle back from his mom's garage, if she had kept it.

  “Mark? Mark Mitchell?” came a woman's voice from the little green-space park next to Mark's rental.

  The eyes that took him in had a full dosage of disbelief in them. The way the name was spat out of the older lady’s lips like he was the cause of all the world's problems made Mark stiffen his spine.

  “Yes,” he answered slowly, almost reluct
antly, bracing himself for a lecture about how he'd let the whole town down.

  “Oh dear heavens! I knew it had to be you!” she cried, abruptly abandoning her disapproval and wrapping her wiry limbs around Mark in a big hug. “We never thought we would see you again!” She held him at arm's length and stared into his face as though trying to memorize every new detail about him. “You’ve grown more handsome than before, son. And you've quite filled out—did you run off to become on of these Cross Point bodybuilders?” she joked.

  “I think it's CrossFit,” Mark chuckled, recognizing the woman as Belle, or "Bellie" Trent, who used to run the donut shop, but had passed it on to her nieces when Mark was in high school.

  If his memory served him right, Bellie was the town gossip. Soon, everyone in Heronville would know he was back, starting with all the ladies in the knitting circle, then working to the donut shop and the men's coffee group, then the guys at the garage, and then...sooner or later it would reach Mara. His stomach flipped with the nervousness of finally being confronted with what he'd done to her.

  “Oh, whatever it's called,” Bellie waved her hands in front of her in nonchalant dismissal. “You look healthy, that's what matters! Before your surgery, well—I mean, we could all tell it was rough on you, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Trent,” he murmured softly.

  “You do remember me, Mark!” she said almost at the brink of tears. “Oh, well I am glad to know you didn't forget Miss Bellie when you became a big college star. You know, when you were at Midwest State, I told my nieces they better have the television in the donut shop on ESPN everyday, just in case they said something about our Heronville Hero!”

  Mark chuckled lightly, and patted her shoulder, which sat a good foot and a half below his. “I know you and remember you perfectly well,” he said with a smile. “Who wouldn't remember the best donuts West of the Mississippi?” about