There is a new photograph on her credenza. Marley and Spike and Meghan and Shark, a foursome captured by a friendly stranger as they sat eating ice cream in Central Park. A fairly normal-looking foursome if you don’t consider the several disparities of height and color and scars and breeds. She and Marley are wearing sunglasses. Their smiles are a little broader than usual in the way that saying “Cheese” will do. What she likes about it, and why she got it printed in a five-by-seven size, is the way Marley’s arm is casually draped over her shoulder. What it doesn’t show is her hand on his thigh. Familiarity, fondness. But not yet intimacy. It’s forecast but not confirmed.
She doesn’t know if she can take the next step. Years ago, in a lifetime far away, Meghan fell in love in the usual way, a nice young man, worthy of being her first lover. He wasn’t in the military and wasn’t willing to be the spouse left at home, so they parted ways, although they kept in touch via social media until she cut off all communication with nonmilitary friends after her injury. It was too hard to be the object of uncomprehending pity. They couldn’t get that she didn’t regret being where she was; as much as she wished her injuries away, she’d never wish away having served.
It’s why she feels close to Marley. Even though his injuries aren’t physical, she doesn’t have to explain to him why she gets angry or silent. He gets silent, too. And then his dog presses herself up against him and licks his nose. Meghan has such respect for him that she always turns away when he starts shaking, letting his dog do her job. Lately, though, she’s put her hand on his even as she averts her eyes. He now squeezes her fingers in response. If she worries that she has no sensation where it matters, she knows that she has feelings.
Don Flint sticks his head into her doorway. “We’re going in to make a decision on which case should be the next special project. You ready?”
“I am.”
Shark gets to his feet as she pushes herself away from her desk. His tail wags, and he waits for some command to obey. Meghan accommodates him, “Lights, Shark.” He taps the light switch down as they leave the office. She throws his ball down the hallway and he is rewarded for his work.
“So, what do you hear from Rosie?” Carol Baxter-Flint sets a glass down in front of Meghan, pours her a nice Riesling. “How’s her project coming?”
Meghan’s come home with the Flints for the weekend. She almost said no, but then she accepted the invitation. She’s spent both days of every recent weekend with Marley and maybe it’s a good idea to take a little break. “Rosie thinks it’s going to cost a bit more than anticipated.” She turns the stem of the wineglass, watches as the “legs” of the wine appear like tentacles. “You should know that.”
“Is she asking for more money?”
Meghan shakes her head, “Oh, God no. She’s just mentioned the contractor and his penchant for finding new problems.”
Carol reaches across the counter, touches Meghan’s hand. “Meghan, you haven’t told her, have you?”
Meghan sips the wine, shakes her head. “No. There’s no reason to.” She sets the glass carefully on the granite. “It would change things if she knew.”
“Between you?”
“Yes. Right now, we’re pals, friends. Two damaged girls who have very little in common except that we both love this dog and that our lives have been upended by circumstance. If she knew that I had anything to do with her change of fortune, it would alter her opinion of me.”
“I think you underestimate friendship.”
Meghan lifts her glass, considers her answer. “It would make the friendship unequal. She might view herself as beholden, and I can’t have that.”
“There’s a lot of strain in keeping secrets.”
“Maybe so, Carol, but I’m keeping this one.”
“I’ll talk to the rest of the family. See if we can stretch the budget a little bit.”