Chapter 3

Three

L uther

“I hate that you two had to get up so early on a Saturday.”

Luther tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel of his truck as he drove through the toll plaza for the Bay Bridge. He snuck glances over at Violet, who had barely gotten home from a harrowing Friday night ER shift, showered, thrown her hair up, and put on sunglasses. Mila, still in her pajamas, was cuddling Terry D’actyl in her booster seat in the rear cab of the truck and bouncing her feet along to the sassy “I’d Rather Be Burned a Witch” by Eartha Kitt, who was Violet’s idol.

“After the state you came home in last time, there’s no way I’m letting you set up by yourself.”

“Gilly and Stu are deployed, or I would have asked them. They helped me take down last time. And Tex is…”

“Unreliable. Your jughead buddies can’t drag their asses out of bed this early on a weekend, so here we are. We’ll get you set up, and then Miss Mee-la-la and I will be back at the end of the day to pack you up.”

“Jarheads.” Luther gave her a bashful smile. He had a couple of buddies he’d served with who lived in the East Bay, but they worked hard during the week and partied hard on weekends. Luther wasn’t about that life anymore. Once again, Violet had come through for him.

“Whatever.” She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her legs, folding her hands over her knee.

“Why we can’t stay all day with you?” Mila asked from the back.

Luther’s smile turned joyful. His foster daughter had made great progress in the past three months. It had started with sewing lessons and the triumphant repair of Terry D’actyl, followed by repairs to every hole in Luther’s clothes—including a pair of his boxers—before he let her know his clothes were just fine as they were.

Now that she was finished with school for the summer, they’d been spending a lot of time together. She liked to work on her new skills in Luther’s studio—the converted garage of the house he shared with Violet—while he completed paintings for the upcoming show. Once she’d mastered basic stitches, she learned to make a simple vest for Terry to wear, how to sew patches on clothes, and this week she’d started a simple embroidery pattern on a pair of her pants.

Luther had taught her that skill. Embroidery kits had kept him from going bonkers during downtime while deployed. He could only put Bunk through his training so many hours of the day. Even his beloved furry partner-in-crime had needed downtime.

He’d thought more about his fallen comrade since sharing space with the Goth Dog folks at his first Treasure Island market. When he’d mentioned the dog rescue to Violet, Big Ears had overheard “foster dogs,” and she’d had so many questions.

“You mean there are dogs like me? They get foster parents too?”

The one that broke Luther’s heart?

“But where do they go when their foster time is up?”

Mila had been distraught when, in one of their meetings with Miss Vanessa, the social worker had mentioned that Mila could stay in foster care until she was eighteen, and then she would transition to independent living. Luther had thought that was a complicated concept for an eight-year-old to understand, and sure enough, a week later, Mila had made a couple of comments about when she had to leave Luther’s house. She’d had tummy aches for a week straight. He’d been ready to take her to the doctor when she’d finally asked where she would go when she couldn’t stay with him anymore.

“Mila, you will be my family as long as you want to be, even after you turn eighteen. Just like Violet. When we left our foster home, we stayed together. You can stay as long as you want. This is your home.”

That had settled her, but then she asked, “Would you ever want another foster child?”

Luther thought about that. “I don’t know. Would you?”

Mila had shrugged, then she frowned. “Would you ever have a foster dog ?”

And that had stumped him. He’d always loved dogs, and when given the opportunity to join the elite working dog handler training as a Marine, he’d jumped at the chance. He’d never had a dog of his own, and the opportunity to bond with one made being deployed a little easier.

He hadn’t realized how much it would break him to lose a K-9 partner. Could he bring another dog into his life after Bunker?

Luther blew out a breath and ignored the stinging in his sinuses as he took the exit off the Bay Bridge for Treasure Island and wound his way around the hill to the site of the market. He’d come to believe the views from this place were the most incredible in the whole Bay Area. From the Oakland Port to the Berkeley Hills, and from the San Francisco skyline to the breathtaking bridges, there was beauty and strength in every direction. You could watch sailboats and windsurfers and watch giant cargo ships passing under the bridge. There had been a military presence here for decades, but between community events like the market, new housing, and a Job Corps center for youth trying to make a life for themselves, the island was reclaiming its identity.

Luther had always loved living in the East Bay, despite his troubled youth. Now he had a different perspective on life here, and he was grateful for the opportunities this area presented.

He pulled up to the vendor lot and put the truck in park. “I can manage it alone,” Luther said quietly to Violet, trying to give her an out.

She lowered her glasses and looked down her nose at him. “Miss Mee-la-la, bring your jacket. It might be chilly out there this early.”

Mila unbuckled herself and grabbed her puffy jacket.

“I owe you, sis,” Luther whispered.

“You know better,” she said with a smile. “Let’s go, team.”

Luther led them over to his booth and was relieved to find that the Goth Dog folks weren’t setting up yet. He didn’t want an embarrassing repeat of having to be rescued by the confounding Senior Airman Doug.

His tummy gave a little flutter at the thought of Doug’s strong arms coming to his aid not once, not twice, but three times at the last market. Funny how he and Mila had the same nervous ailment. He’d been humiliated, but then Doug had made it so easy to accept the help. And he’d been so damned helpful. When he’d fixed a fallen panel, when he’d accepted payment from a customer…when he’d smiled.

Face it.

Airman Doug was mouthwateringly gorgeous.

Until he’d made it clear how he felt about the military and those who willingly served.

What a crushing disappointment.

Unlike Doug’s wish to cut and run as soon as possible, Luther had planned to make the Marines his career. The Corps had been his life. He loved the purpose the Corps gave him, and he loved his friends. He’d always believed in helping people and had been willing to make sacrifices for his country.

He’d just never allowed himself to dwell on what that sacrifice would entail. After twelve years of service, he received a medical discharge. It became clear that eight months of rehab hadn’t fixed him enough to continue to serve. He couldn’t run, much less complete the physical requirements to remain, and there hadn’t been any paper-pushing opportunities for him, either.

Thank you for your service, Lance Corporal Sorenson. Good luck.

The two years since had seen the development of a bulging disk, bouts of sciatica, and terrible osteoarthritis. He was now thirty-five years old and moved like he was eighty. What would he be like at fifty? Seventy? His disability payments were enough to pay his share of the mortgage on the house he and Violet had purchased together, thank God, and his basic needs. The stipend he received for taking in Mila was plenty to cover her basics, but he wanted more for them. He wanted a savings for emergencies, he wanted to take her on a vacation.

The painting had been something he picked up to keep from going stir crazy. He’d been artistic as a kid, and as a teenager he’d discovered he had a knack for painting. He was self-taught, and after the accident, he’d had nothing but time to improve. Between YouTube videos and practice, he was pleased with his schtick. Violet and Mila had assured him others would be too.

“You can’t just fill up our house with your art,” Violet had said. “Other people deserve to enjoy it too.”

Selling his art was the next step, and hopefully he’d make a decent amount of money to cover the supplies as well as start socking money away for Mila.

The art was one thing, but he was starting to think about getting a part-time job in the fall, something he could do when Mila was at school. Miss Vanessa said she’d help him when he was ready. He needed to be ready.

“This is you? Oh, look at that. Goth Dog Rescue. I’ve seen their flyers around downtown Hayward.”

Luther frowned as hard as he could and clenched his jaw, hoping Violet would cease and desist.

“Rescue? Are these the people who put dogs in foster homes?” Mila asked. She stood staring at the sign with her fists on her hips, which would have carried more weight, but she had Encanto pajama pants on and, much to Luther’s chagrin, her werewolf-feet slippers for shoes. In his haste to get out of the house, he hadn’t reminded her to change. Now he’d have to figure out how to clean fake fur. Mila loved those goofy things, and he’d bend over backwards to make sure she was surrounded by things that made her happy.

“It sure looks like it,” Violet said, ignoring Luther’s jaw clenching. “And they’ve got a pen set up. I wonder if they’re going to have dogs here today?”

Luther shrugged. The Goth Dog booth had been on a different aisle the past two markets, and while he’d been glad to avoid more awkward interactions with Doug, he’d also missed the entertainment his neighbors had provided.

Doug never quit moving that day they’d met. He’d created masterpieces with his airbrush, helped customers, and danced around the booth singing along to whatever vaguely familiar music was playing.

Luther had always been a very visual person, and he hadn’t stopped thinking of the way Doug moved as if he had a live wire running through him, the way he casually wore intricately applied makeup on a sunny Saturday, and the way he smiled with so much joy anytime he spoke to, well, anyone. The whole time Luther was being his usual serious self, Doug had acted as if he were in his favorite place in the world doing the things he loved most.

Luther envied that type of enthusiasm. He used to have some. That was before his life was irrevocably changed on a dark night in a foreign desert.

Imagine his surprise when he heard singing and gravel crunching beneath the wheels of a cart, and his heart gave a little hiccup.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Doug said, giving him a wave as he approached. “I see you brought reinforcements.”

Luther opened his mouth to speak when Violet blocked his path and held out her hand.

“I have you to thank for helping my brother before?”

Luther saw the briefest glimpse of confusion before Doug’s black-lipsticked smile spread wide. They got that a lot, with Violet being a gorgeous Black woman and Luther being an ordinary white boy with dark blond hair and pale hazel-green eyes.

“No need to thank me,” he said, gazing mischievously over her shoulder to Luther. “Pleasure was all mine.”

Now, why did Luther’s face feel hot all of a sudden?

“And who might you be?” Doug asked, crouching down to Mila’s level.

She tilted her head slightly, and Luther waited to see how she’d react.

“Mila,” she finally said. “I like your makeup. ”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a big smile. “I like your pterodactyl. What a cool vest!”

She looked down and tugged on the vest to make it lay smoothly. “I made it with Auntie Violet.”

Doug glanced up at Violet. “No kidding. I make vests too. Want to see?” He looked to Luther for permission, and he nodded, knowing full well he could see them the entire time.

As Doug led Mila to his booth next door, Violet came to stand next to Luther.

“You conveniently left out of your description that this man is all kinds of fine. I mean, look at those legs. They’re works of art.”

Luther had tried very hard to ignore the fact that Doug was wearing a black utility kilt today, topped off by a sleeveless black tee with silver studs along the collarbones. He had on a little less eye makeup today, but he’d drawn some intricate swirls with some sort of rainbow glitter along the tops of his cheekbones. He also wore rainbow socks over the tops of his Dr. Martens.

“Feel free to go over there, then.”

Violet hip bumped Luther. “I’m here to help you set up,” she said, frowning at him. “And I’m not exactly dressed for flirting purposes. You, on the other hand,” she said, her gaze traveling up and down Luther’s body. “You know I love that color on you. I think you’re more his flavor.”

Luther had grabbed his last clean, decent t-shirt today, which happened to be a faded red one that clung tightly to his chest. He’d stuck it at the bottom of the drawer for a reason. He hated anything that showed off the fact that he was no longer in excellent condition.

“Yeah, well.” What else could he say? Sure, he was intrigued by the guy, but he’d gotten a stick up his ass when Doug mentioned he hadn’t wanted to be in the military.

Luther needed to get over himself, and he knew it. The Marines had chewed him up and spit him out—he knew that, too—but they’d also given him a purpose and confidence when he was a young, scared kid with nowhere to go. He’d made good friends, learned important skills, saw more of the world than he’d ever thought possible—even if a lot of it was places he never would have gone intentionally—and it had given him four years with Bunk.

As if he’d manifested them into existence, Doug’s partner came walking up with four dogs on leashes. They weren’t quite pulling her, but it was a chaotic sight. Doug hurried over and opened the pen door in time for her to herd them in.

“Mila,” he called out. Luther was unsure how she’d react to the dogs, but she merely stood there and watched with interest while Doug introduced them all to her.

“That’s Joey, Marky, Dee Dee, and Tommy,” he said, pointing to each of the youngish mutts in the pen. “Like The Ramones. They’re all from the same litter. My friend Dinah here rescued them,” he said, gesturing to the woman with him. She was wearing a black halter and red high-waisted pants with black polka dots and buttons up the front, with bright red lipstick. These two made quite a pair. “Dinah talks to animal shelters all over the state, and when they get too full, they ask her to take some of their dogs because she’s really good at finding the perfect homes for them.” He was bent over with his hands on his knees, talking to her on her level. It was unexpected. And hot.

Mila’s eyes widened. “She’s a social worker?”

Doug stood up straight and gave me a surprised expression.“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said with a shrug toward me. “But I guess that’s a good description. Hey, Dinah? Are you a doggie social worker?”

Dinah turned from where she was hanging dog collars on a hook and smiled at Mila. “I suppose I am. I like taking in strays,” she said, winking at Doug .

He rolled his eyes at her. “Strays. Ha ha.”

Interesting.

Luther wondered if Doug would have questions for him later. Luther wanted Doug to have questions. He wanted to talk to him more; he could only hope that he’d worked up enough courage over the past two months of thinking about him to hold a pleasant conversation.

At first, he’d thought no, he had his hands full with Mila, and besides, what could they possibly have in common?

Then he realized, duh, they were both visual artists. He hadn’t had another artist friend before unless you counted Violet, who was art personified. Besides makeup and sewing, she designed clothes and interior spaces. Occasionally she also picked up discarded pieces of furniture, turned them into something wonderful and unique, and then sold them online in her Etsy store.

And after a conversation with a fellow disabled veteran at physical therapy, he realized he hadn’t been real fair to Doug. Everyone had their reasons for enlisting, as well as leaving the service. It was the fact that they’d served that made them all a part of something bigger, and whether you had a good or a bad experience, it was still a shared experience.

So when Luther saw the map for this weekend’s market and saw that Goth Dog Rescue would be next to him once again, on the end of their aisle, he decided it was a sign that he should apologize, maybe try again to make a connection.

It appeared all he’d needed to do was have his daughter with him to get Doug’s attention.

“Let’s get this set up and I’ll get her out of here so you can, you know, sell stuff.” Violet had obviously caught on to Luther’s distraction.

“Copy that.”

They went about hanging up this month’s paintings. Luther had focused on summer themes and he’d mixed it up. He not only had his usual wood cuttings, but he’d also found some wooden trays and boxes at local thrift stores he’d thought he could do something with. Violet had helped him sand them down so he could turn them into new pieces of art that could spruce up any space.

He’d even been inspired to make something for Doug. It was corny, true, but now he needed to work up the courage to present it to him. It was the least he could do for the kind way Doug had helped him last time. Of course, that was why. No other reason.

When all of the panels were hung, the paintings displayed, and the tables covered with the new trinkets Luther had made for this event, Violet raised an eyebrow at him.

“You be careful today. Rest. Stretch. Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Luther said, standing at attention. He could do that now. Two months ago, he’d started an anti-inflammatory diet, a Hail Mary endeavor to try to get some relief, and it was helping. He’d noticed he had a tad more stamina and flexibility. The pain wasn’t quite as intense. It wasn’t a lot of help, but it was enough to give him some relief. It had improved his mood, as well.

Perhaps it had also opened his eyes to the possibility that he’d been an ass, and that maybe he could use a friend.

“Come on, Miss Mee-la-la,” Violet called. “Time to go.”

Mila pulled Terry to her chest and stared at Luther from her spot next to the dog pen. She hadn’t tried to touch the dogs, but she’d been watching them closely.

Whoa . Luther wasn’t sure he was ready to even think about adding more chaos to their chaos, especially with his physical limitations. Puppies needed chasing. They were loads of work.

Memories of his first days with Bunk took his breath away. The German Shepherd had already been through basic training, but he was a young dog and full of energy. Even when they weren’t training, Bunker needed stimulation. He was the most enthusiastic dog he’d come across in the service. His devotion to Luther had made their time together while deployed much more tolerable. He’d had something to focus on other than the hairy situations they dealt with daily as part of the force deployed to protect the US Embassy in Kabul and the airport, so Afghans with ties to the US could escape the Taliban.

Bunk hadn’t made it home from that mission.

Luther shuddered and let out a breath as his chest started to get tight, and he felt a twinge in his lower back.

“Luther?” Violet said, putting a hand on his arm. “You okay?”

He nodded and gestured for Mila to come to him. She took the smallest, slowest steps possible away from the dog pen until she was out of the Goth Dog Rescue booth, and then she quickened her pace until she was standing in front of him, her gaze on Terry.

“You like the puppies?” he asked her.

She nodded.

Luther looked at Violet, and then bent down as best he could to get on Mila’s level.

“Would you like Auntie Violet to bring you back a little early so you can see them again?”

Her gaze finally met his, and she nodded vigorously. He didn’t quite get a smile, but that was okay. She had come so far in the past couple of months. He had faith that they would continue growing closer.

A dog would be a great way to bond with her. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Maybe he needed to deal with his own ghosts for her sake.

“I think we can do that,” Violet said, squeezing Mila’s other shoulder. “We’ll see you later, LuLu.”

“Bye, Daddy. ”

Luther smiled at Mila and touched his heart. That was a recent change as well, one that let him know she was finally warming up to him and the idea that they were family.

He waved with his left hand as they walked away, his right still over his very full heart.

“She’s awesome,” Doug said, coming to stand beside him. “How old is she?”

“Eight. She’s my foster daughter.”

Luther noticed that Doug’s blue eyes brightened, and the lines beside his eyes deepened as he smiled.

“That’s so cool. My cousin and his husband fostered and then adopted their daughter Nell. She’s coming to help out with the dogs in a bit. That’s…really great, man.”

Luther realized this would be the best opportunity to make his presentation. Ugh, that sounded so corny in his mind.

“I…you have a second? I brought something for you.” His palms grew clammy as he waited for Doug to answer.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Great.” Luther turned for the back of his booth and opened a large plastic bin. He bent at the knees and lifted out the wine crate. He was careful to stand straight before he turned and put the black lacquered wooden box on the end of the table.

Doug’s eyes bugged out. “What is this?”

And here was where Luther grew self-conscious.

“I, uh, I noticed last time that, uh…your airbrush machine…you carried it in a bag. I thought, maybe this might be sturdier. I could make a cover for it if… Here.”

He turned it around and Doug covered his mouth with a hand.

“Oh my God. Luther! That is… I can’t believe you did that!”

Luther had the idea for the painting when he was going through a stack of vinyl at the last flea market he’d gone to, looking for boxes. He’d noticed the RCA logo and thought it would be perfect. He’d painted it just as it appeared on their albums, but he’d added a black mohawk to the dog and on the large horn of the Victrola, he’d painted their Goth Dog logo.

Doug lifted his gaze to Luther’s with a questioning expression, and Luther wished it wasn’t quite so warm already. He was sweating and worried he’d have sweat stains soon. Had to be the heat. He hadn’t totally lost his ability to keep a cool head in a tense situation. Had he?