Soft moonlight from a slightly larger crescent moon woke me. It must have been 9 at night, at least. I sat up, groggily, and shiny plastic wrappers and toaster pastry crumbs rolled off my chest. I just felt gross. A little sweaty, my arm itched a little more, and my knee was dangerously close to one of the piddle pads. Would the shower work? I wondered. I stood now, coming to full consciousness and realizing there was a bigger problem... Where was my new dog? I realized I hadn't even given her a name yet, so what would I call out to make her come to me? I shouted toward the kitchen and family room

"Puppy? Come here puppy!"

Silence.

I started up the creaking staircase calling to her through kissy noises and snaps, seeing if anything like that would work either.

Still nothing. The slight rustling of curtains from one of the broken windows in the master bedroom was the only noise that caught my attention. I walked to the only bedroom that was open. Luckily puppies couldn't open doors, I laughed to myself, thinking I'd have found her for certain. I said

"Here, puppy!"

And heard little whines coming from the open closet in the master bedroom. Through the large windows, moonlight poured into the room, illuminating the shape of a bed, chair and dresser which were shrouded by even more white sheets. I'd only removed the sheets from downstairs, and knew that upstairs was a task for another day.

Puppy squeaks and rustling came from the closet, and I found her behind a large painting leaned against the wall. I giggled

"Found you! Come here, girly!"

She ran to me, excitedly, but then back to the painting. She was obsessed with sniffing it. I took the painting out of the closet, and the moonlight illuminated an oil on canvas painting of a large black wolf, standing at the lake's dock. The one with the fiery eyes. I shuddered. It was terrifying. Its gaze commanded mine, and its fur appeared so real, blowing in an imaginary wind that I had simultaneous urges to run, and to stop, and admire its presence.

The memory of my wolf bite re-ignited a twinge of pain in my left forearm, and I decided that my father had for whatever reason lied. The scratches had not been from the neighbor's dog. They had been from this exact wolf. The one my grandfather had a painting of. I shivered, setting the painting down on the bed, and lifting my puppy to take her out to the dock to sit with me and stare out at the water. Before leaving the house, I applied a generous amount of name-brand scar cream.

...

My morning was a combination of sweeping, mopping, shaking out blankets, vacuuming any creepy crawlies out of the corners, taping up the broken windows, and realizing that there was a water generator outside of the house that filtered lake water and would allow for indoor plumbing! The electricity just had to be turned on as well. I felt like I was on a home-improvement channel or something, and my random sick-days spent watching home-renovation shows as a kid really paid off. All the while, I tried to pick out a name for the puppy.

In the kitchen I picked up the wall-phone and called the number for the vet that Fox had recommended. The call picked up on the first ring

"Hello?"

I had expected a few more rings to plan out what I was going to say, and began fumbling

"Um hi, I'm Summer... Summer Wolfe. I just moved into town and I have a new puppy. I was hoping to bring her to wherever you're located and see what kinds of shots she would need. Also, her back leg seems lame. She doesn't walk on it."

The man on the other side said

"Okay, well I make house calls. I can come over today between 9 and 10 a.m. if that works for you."

I said

"Okay my address is, um... shoot let me look it up again..."

I began fumbling through my purse. He said

"Ezekiel's house, right?"

I was surprised he knew, but maybe my last name gave it away.

"Yes, that's the one. Thank you."

He ended the call with

"See you then, bye."

...

I made my way upstairs to the master bedroom. I would need somewhere to sleep tonight, and I didn't want a repeat of last night sleeping on the couch. Just thinking about it made me shrug my shoulders and massage the tender muscles in my neck.

Before I could even begin dusting, I looked at the painting I'd left on the bed last night. Chamomile rays of morning sunshine left streaks of light on the bed, and I saw the painting very clearly. The oil painting was... different. Incredibly different. I lifted it again, and turned it to see if the image of the wolf was on the other side. It wasn't. The painting before me was of a man on the dock. My grandfather, specifically. He stood there with a cane and his standard outfit of blue jeans, a brown leather belt and a white t-shirt, and a white cowboy hat over thinning black hair. I shook my head in confusion, rationalizing that I must have been dreaming about the painting of the wolf... yet, how could a dream feel so real? And how would a painting of the same size and medium get on the dust-covered bed, but have no dust on its surface?

The puppy barked from downstairs, causing me to jump. A man's voice called out,

"Hello?"

I turned swiftly, gently placing the painting on the bed, and rushed downstairs to meet the voice. It was probably the vet. My feet rushed down the familiar screechy staircase and I ran through a spider web down the hall-- that I had meant to clean-- before answering the door. The old brass knob struggled to open again, and I eventually said through the centimeter door

"Hi, come in through the side."

The man replied,

"Sure"

And we met at the stained-glass door that led to the courtyard, which was incredibly unkept, with weeds growing madly between tile slabs. I took the puppy into my arms, who wiggled and made little whines of excitement. The man in front of me, carrying an array of vet equipment smirked at me, and nodded his head in greeting,

"Summer."

I smiled back, extending my hand to shake

"We've met-- at the funeral. You're Dakota?"

He nodded, looking around at the mix of impeccably clean floors and the chandelier that was more cob-web than crystals, just out of my step ladder's reach. Dakota commented,

"I had no idea you'd decide to come out and live here. I'd talked to your dad and he was adamant that you were going to UCSD in the Fall."

I raised my eyebrows and sucked in a breath,

"That would be wishful thinking on his part... I'm really more into my art, and living here. Ever since the incident, I've always wanted to come back... so now, here I am!"

I gave a genuine grin at my decision. Dakota took the puppy out of my arms and placed her on the floor.

He asked,

"What's her name?"

I had been putting off naming her, because it was something she'd have to go by for years and years. It needed to be perfect. But like all my other decision making lately, it was done pretty impulsively. I answered

"Luna."

She walked on all four of her paws, which was an improvement since yesterday, but the back one gave out quickly. His strong, yet gentle hands wrapped around the dog's little torso once more, and he looked up at me. Seeing Dakota in the light, I couldn't help but feel an attraction. Those hazel brown eyes, looking up into mine were intoxicating. His hair was a luscious, soft brown sea of waves... I could picture my fingers combing through it. He said, casting me out of my daydream

"Summer?"

I blinked a few times

"Y-yeah?"

He chuckled

"I was just saying, the puppy's leg isn't broken, she's already using it again, which is good. Fox told me you got her out of a box in front of the GS?"

Oh, 'General Store'. I thought, realizing this was probably only one small fraction of the town lingo I'd be picking up on for the next few months. I smiled

"Well that's great. I'm so glad she's okay! Yeah, yesterday I found her at the GS."

Dakota pulled a few needles out of his bag

"She'll need a few shots, and I'll take a stool sample with me if we can collect one, and yeah, that should be it."

...

When Dakota turned to leave, he offered

"Business is pretty slow, always, so I do home improvement work on the side. I could swing by and help with the broken windows, shutters, fix that stiff front door, if you'd like."

I admitted, slightly smiling

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

He matched my smile, and said

"Well then, I'll see you tomorrow, Summer."

My eyes followed his form as he walked toward his truck. The sun highlighted his broad shoulders, covered only by a thin white tee.

I caught a grip on my imagination, suddenly, scolding myself for the lustful way I had looked at Dakota. My goal here was to focus on my art, not on a man. And besides, he had offered to help with home improvement, not to be my boyfriend. Get a grip, Summer! I told myself.