My Brother's Forbidden Touch::Ch-2

I didn't blame her for being scared. Boston was her first service animal, but he just turned eleven and a retriever's expected life span was only twelve years. His age showed, not just in his appearance, but there were times he struggled a little getting around.

"They have a home for him..."

"Danny, just shut up!"

Raven stood up and dropped her book in the chair. Boston groaned, but stood up beside her and looked up at her face.

No one would notice if they didn't already know it was happening, but Boston guided her with his side against her leg toward the stairway. He never stopped working, even after Raven had taken his harness and vest off.

"Raven, please, can we talk about it?"

"Not tonight, Danny," she told me softly without stopping.

She did stop though, on the second step.

"Boston?"

I was glad that Raven couldn't see her dog, stopped before he took the first step up, looking back at me with sad eyes. He was asking me to come and carry him up. He didn't ask every night, or even most nights, but the frequency had picked up the last few months.

The seventy-five pound dog was almost nothing in my arms, but nobody in their right mind would have expected my sister could ever carry him herself. She barely weighed more than he did.

Raven paused for me to catch up at the top of the stairs, and Boston licked the tears off her face when she took my arm and hugged it.

I put Boston down on the floor at her doorway while she waited. When I stood back up, she wouldn't raise her face.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, Dan. I promise, but that wasn't what you were going to say to change my mind because it's the other thing you want to change my mind about. Isn't it?"

I heard the pain in her voice, and hoped it wasn't because of the other thing she knew I wanted us to talk about.

"Yes, it's the other thing."

I leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"We can talk about that again tomorrow, too," she whispered.

"Good night, Raven. I love you."

"I love you more, little brother."

I heard her giggle as the door closed, and had to chuckle, too. I was happy that she could make a joke in spite of her having to make the decision tomorrow to give up her best friend.

Nothing about her wasn't little, and nothing about me was. My pretty, black-haired, fair-skinned sister was almost two whole minutes older, but she stood five foot nothing and tipped the scales at under a hundred pounds. Her "little" brother was six-six, two hundred twenty pounds, and just three years past a full basketball scholarship to a Division One powerhouse that almost won the national championship his senior year.

Our parents insisted she was born first because I refused to leave her in our mother's womb alone. To them, that also explained why I followed her into the world so quickly.

####

I sighed when Boston whined and licked my hand. I probably should have understood how he always knew when I was sad. His disability was that he's a dog, and mine was that I couldn't see.

He licked my face when I knelt and tried to hug him. He usually loved hugs, when he was off duty, but he must think if he licks away my tears, he's licking away the reason for them too.

"It's okay, Boston. You'll make somebody -- probably some old dude who smells like cottage cheese and tapioca pudding -- really happy the last few years of their life, and yours."

I was probably being selfish imagining he wouldn't be happy. I hoped I was wrong.

I tried to be angry to hide my sadness. Dan and I had argued earlier, but just briefly. I tried to convince him Boston could retire and stay with us.

I knew he couldn't.

Boston could never retire around me. He couldn't even take an hour off. He hovered, and reacted to any move I made, even when his halter and vest were off. He couldn't just be my pet; I would always be his responsibility.

The people who gave him to me, the same ones with my new dog, wouldn't allow it either. Most likely their reasons were the same.

I knew, in the next few days, Dan, Boston, and I would get on an airplane to California to give Boston back to the people who had trained him to be my eyes, and pick up a new dog, barely full-grown, to be my new pair of eyes. Boston would be placed with someone that needed less help than I did. They promised.

Dan didn't need to go; Boston could get me safely through both airports and any situation that came up wherever we went. Even at his age, he was as flawless in his performance as always, and that's why it was time for him to retire, before his performance deteriorated and risked my safety.

I would miss him, and that's why I needed Dan with me on the trip.

Mom had gone with me, the spring Dan and I were fifteen, to get Boston nine years ago. We would be there for three weeks. I needed to be trained, they said.

To me, and Dan, it was a last-minute thing. Mom and Dad sat us down and told us after dinner the day before we left. Dan was mad. Angry just doesn't say it well enough.

As far back as I can remember, Dan was my rock, my protector, my go-to. He never said "Sorry, Raven, I was" anything as an excuse for anything not going right or him not being there. He never needed to apologize for not being there because he always was.

Laying there in my bed that night, scared out of my mind almost, at the thought of having, depending on a dog instead of my brother, I thought Dan was right that he should be the one going. At least half my fear was him not being there with me.

I had never heard my family fight like they did that night. Their angry voices pierced the floor of my bedroom to reach me. I knew Dan, and his temper, especially when it came to something about me. He was already bigger than Dad, and had probably always been bigger than Mom, and I was terrified somebody was going to get hit. He had done it before, to other people.

I crept as silently as a blind girl shaking in fear, without her cane could, down the stairs. When I got to the living room, it was silent.

"Hey Rae," Dan greeted me, then Mom and Dad each said "Hi" in turn. They knew that would let me know who was where in the room.