by Mara Wells
Children raced with their dogs, faces painted at the table Sydney’d set up with a makeup-artist friend. Even now, the woman worked on a young teen to turn her face into a butterfly mask. There were three more kids in line, ranging from ages five to twelve by the looks of it, and another line of kids twice as long at the snow-cone machine.
At the far side of the park, Sydney had set up a temporary gazebo arch with a black banner that read “It’s a Howling Halloween Costume Contest!” in large orange letters. Chewy sat beside her, decked out in a tiny Han Solo costume. Other dogs joined the group, from a Dalmatian dressed as a fireman to Princess Pugsley in her princess finest.
“Let’s gather for the costume parade!” Riley’d gotten hold of a bullhorn. The sound carried across the park, bringing all attention to her.
She was gorgeous, standing there in a fluffy, pink poodle costume. Big bows held her hair in ponytails to make her poodle ears, and a pink tutu completed the look. Next to her on a shiny silver leash, LouLou was dressed as a 1950s teen, complete with ponytail and poodle skirt. Grams stood a few feet away, filming everything on her phone.
Family? Caleb had learned a lot about family during this project, but he hadn’t learned it from Grandpa William. No. He was looking at the only family he cared about right now. Riley, her poodle, her Grams, all her assorted responsibilities to the people around her. She’d brought him in, made him feel part of it, like he belonged. It was a strange feeling, this pressure pumping his heart faster and faster.
Her smile. Her determination. The squeaky sound she made when she first woke up and stretched her arms over her head. She was just so doggone cute. His heart thumped harder and harder.
He loved her.
It wasn’t sudden, like a flash summer storm, but more of an unfolding. It’d been there all along, the bud of his feelings, and somehow Riley convinced it to bloom.
She and Sydney attempted to herd the motley participants into a semblance of a parade, and the group headed out to march around the newly christened dog park. Dogs and owners walked proudly, if not necessarily in an orderly fashion, while onlookers cheered. Riley and LouLou led the way in their poodle-human swap costumes, Grams trailing them with her camera the whole way.
At the agility platform, each contestant hopped up, and Sydney and her expert panel—Mr. Cardoza and Patty—oohed and ahhed over each dog. After dozens of dogs had been seen, Riley handed the bullhorn over to Sydney.
“We’ve got some wonderful prizes today, donated by our generous local vendors.” Sydney went on to explain who’d donated what, but Caleb stopped listening to anything but the beat of his heart in his chest.
He loved Riley. And all the while, she kept up with the event, talking to neighbors, making sure everything ran smoothly. He stood here next to Grandpa William for what? Some kind of familial approval? Some sign that he was worthy of the Donovan name? Why wasn’t he over there with Riley, having a good time?
“You know what?” Caleb turned to Grandpa William. “You’re right. I’m not a real Donovan. Not anymore. And I think that’s for the best, don’t you? I started something new here. I’m building a community for people to live in, to be part of. Not a fantasy getaway vacation or some sort of status symbol for having made it, but a real place for real people. And that means a dog park for the neighborhood and renovating the Dorothy in such a way that the long-term residents don’t need to be evicted for the improvements to happen.”
“And I guess it means doing it without my money.” Grandpa William leaned heavily on his cane. “The deal was you got your brothers involved in the condo conversion or you don’t even get the building. All your so-called plans don’t mean anything if I don’t sign the building over to you. As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t met the terms of our agreement. No deal.”
“No deal?” Caleb staggered back a step. He’d been thinking of the project as his for so long, the words stunned him. He’d expected some resistance from Grandpa William, maybe a lecture, not a declaration of no deal. “What do you mean?”
“I mean”—Grandpa William coughed into his palm—“I’m going to sell the Dorothy to the first person who comes along. I’m disappointed, Caleb. Gravely disappointed.”
“I’ll buy it.” The words flew out of Caleb’s mouth.
“You can’t afford it.”
“What do you want for it?”
“Nothing you can give me.”
“How about a dollar?” A new voice joined the bargaining session.
Both men swung their heads around in an eerily similar gesture.
“Gloria?” Grandpa William was the first to speak. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Well, that’s certainly a lie. You’ve been watching me since you arrived.”
Grandpa William flushed, usually a sign he’d forgotten his blood-pressure medication, but Caleb didn’t think that was the case this time.
“I’ve been watching you, too, Billy. And listening. Talking to your own grandson that way? Shame on you. Makes me glad we never had children.” Grams lifted her chin and stared at Grandpa William.
To Caleb’s surprise, Grandpa William was the first to look away. “Glo, you don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty.” Grams tucked her phone into her bra strap to free up her hands and pointed at Grandpa William. “The Dorothy was supposed to be mine. You promised it to me, and at the first opportunity, you took it back. Holding onto it all these years, pretending like you were doing the right thing letting those idiots at Rainy Day run everything into the ground? What happened to you, Billy? We had our differences, sure, but I never thought you were the kind of man to renege on a business deal.”
Grandpa William’s mouth gaped open, much like one of the fish he was so fond of fishing for, and then snapped shut.
Grams pushed a finger into the center of Grandpa William’s chest. “Do the right thing, Billy. Give the Dorothy back to me. Keep at least one promise you made to me in this lifetime.”
Grandpa William’s color reached an alarming shade of red. “Fine,” he snapped, pushing Grams’ finger away. “You can have it for a dollar.”
Grams reached into her cleavage and pulled out a five. “Keep the change. I’m feeling generous today.”
Grandpa William snatched the bill from her and shoved it in the front pocket of his button-down. “My lawyer will send over the paperwork.”
Grams took a step backward, nodding with satisfaction. “Fine.”
Caleb couldn’t believe what had happened. All his planning, the work on the dog park, learning about the neighborhood, everything, was just a waste of time. Rather than listen to his plans, Grandpa William gave the building away for a dollar.
So much for keeping it in the family. So much for rebuilding the Donovan real estate empire. So much for Grandpa William’s belief the family could be brought back together. He’d sold them out for a dollar.
“Hey.” Riley slipped in beside him, tipping her head to rest against his arm. “What’s going on?”
Grams snapped her fingers. “Our troubles are over, Riley. The Dorothy is saved!”
“That’s wonderful!” Riley gazed up at Caleb with trust in her eyes. “I knew you’d come through, Caleb.”
“No, no, dear, pay attention. I saved the Dorothy. Single-handedly, I might add.” Grams fluffed her already fluffy hair. “And for a darn good price.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“The Dorothy is mine again! Can you believe it? Billy finally did the right thing. I mean, I had to bribe him, but he eventually did the right thing.”
“Five dollars is not a bribe.” Grandpa William’s color was returning to normal.
“He gave you the Dorothy for five dollars?”
“Sold.” Grandpa William corrected her. “You can’t give away anything in business.”
Riley looked fro
m Caleb to his grandfather to her grandmother. “I still don’t understand. What about Caleb’s plans?”
“He didn’t keep the terms of our deal.” Grandpa William folded his hands against the small roundness of his belly. “He knew the consequences.”
“Caleb?” Riley turned those big eyes on him, and he couldn’t take it.
“I’m done.” He pulled away from her. From them. “Done with this family. Done with this building. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.”
“Exactly.” Grams gave a crisp nod. “All the Donovans can pack up and go home now. The Dorothy is saved. Isn’t it wonderful, Riley?”
Riley’s anxious gazed ping-ponged between Grams and Caleb. “Of course, Grams, I’m happy for you.”
Caleb mumbled, “Of course,” and strode away, out of the dog park. LouLou saw him from across the park and came running, bouncing on his leg to be picked up. Instead, he squatted and gave her a good scratch behind her years. “I’ll miss you, LouLou, but it’s clear I’m not needed around here anymore.”
“Caleb!” Riley called, but he ignored her. It had all worked out how she wanted, hadn’t it? Grams got the building. Everything could go back to how it was before, except now it had a premiere dog park to draw in more residents and finally fill those empty units. How would they pay for the renovations required for the forty-year inspection? Who would they hire to do them? Not his problem. He’d been an idiot to think he could win his family’s approval, an even bigger fool to think Riley would want him to be part of hers. Whichever way he looked at it, Caleb was a fool. Grandpa William set him up to fail, and in that regard, he’d fulfilled his expectations. Everything about this project was an epic failure, including Caleb himself.
Chapter 30
“I do not understand what just happened.” Riley’s rigged-up poodle-like ears drooped, and she scratched her waist where the tutu dug in.
Grams took her through it one more time, and of course Riley was happy for Grams. She knew she should be totally happy. Wasn’t this everything she’d wanted since Caleb first set foot on the Dorothy’s property? But things had changed since then. She’d changed. Frosty reception from his mother or not, she’d started thinking of Caleb’s plans for the Dorothy as their plans. Our plans.
“Grams, what’re you going to do with the Dorothy?”
“First”—she checked off her points one finger at a time—“I’m going to fire those lazy, no-good property managers at Rainy Day. Second, I’m going to hire you to run everything. Third, I’m throwing a party the likes of which the Dorothy hasn’t seen in decades. Fourth”—she turned to fix a glare on Grandpa William—“I am not inviting him.”
“Okay, that sounds like a really thought-out plan.” Not as thought-out, of course, as Caleb’s with his blueprints and architect consultations and brother the contractor. And of course, Caleb’s plan lacked the glamour of a major party. That was how Grams was, though, very big picture. So big she hadn’t maybe thought out issues of financing and renovations, but Grams was looking so smugly happy that Riley decided now was not the time to bring up real-world considerations. There’d be plenty of time to pop that bubble later.
For now, Sydney was calling everyone over to announce the costume contest winners, a job Riley was happy not to have. How to choose between the pair of whippets dressed as race horses with plush jockeys on their backs or Lady in her Viking helmet complete with horns and long orange braids? The Pomeranian dressed as a cheerleader or the midsize mutt with a dinosaur costume? Truly above her pay grade. While Sydney talked about how amazing every dog looked, Riley pulled out her phone and texted Caleb.
Hey. Come back. Don’t you want to know who won?
No response.
“Of course,” Sydney was saying, “none of this would be possible if not for the generosity and work of a few key people. Riley, come on up here. And where’s Caleb? Caleb Donovan, everyone, let’s thank him for our wonderful new Fur Haven Dog Park!”
Sydney’s thanking you. Everyone’s clapping. You should really come back.
Delivered, but not even a blinking three dots to indicate an attempted response. Just her own words staring back at her.
“Riley, want to say a few words?” Sydney thrust the bullhorn at her.
“No, I don’t.” She shoved it away, but Sydney was insistent. “Okay, then a few words. Thanks to everyone who helped make today possible. And Sydney is right; Caleb deserves the lion’s share of praise. Or should I say doggy’s share? Unfortunately, he was called away a few minutes ago, but I know he’d want you to enjoy the day. Have you had one of those caramel apples? My goodness.” She shoved the bullhorn back at Sydney and checked her phone again. Still nothing.
She marched over to Grandpa William, poking him in the chest like Grams had. “I hope you’re happy. This is all your fault.”
“Isn’t it always?” he mumbled, leaning on his cane. “Young lady, enjoy your grandmother’s building. It has a lot of potential.”
“So does your grandson, but I’m not surprised you’d give up on him. You handed the Dorothy over for five bucks. You’re clearly not a man who values anything but your own convenience.”
Grandpa William blanched, and Riley felt a twinge of guilt. He was an old man, after all, and she’d been pretty harsh, but as she walked away, she heard Grams saying, “That’s my granddaughter. She has a good point, don’t you think, Billy?”
He mumbled something in reply, but Riley didn’t hear. She was already texting Sydney to ask her to keep an eye on LouLou while she went Caleb hunting.
* * *
“You were robbed.” Grams’ grip on her elbow surprised Riley and kept her from sprinting out of the park in search of Caleb. Grams’ pumpkin-colored nails with black cobweb designs on the thumbs and ring fingers dug into Riley’s skin. “No one was cuter than you and your little poodle. A visual pun! What were those judges thinking, giving it to some mutt in a ladybug costume?”
“French bulldog puppies are the cutest things ever.” Riley tried to peel Grams’ fingers off one by one, but Grams wasn’t having it. She leaned on Riley’s arm as if she needed support. Riley suspected it was an act, but what if it wasn’t? Grams’ fall wasn’t that long ago, and it had been a tiring day. “Do you want to go home?”
“And miss all this? Not for the world. Walk me over to the booth with Dr. Morrow’s daughter running things. What does she do again? Something with those old racing greyhounds?”
Riley slowed her pace to match Grams’, her silent phone burning a hole in her pocket. “She’s the rescue coordinator. After the tracks were closed, thousands of dogs needed homes. She’s been rehabilitating and training them at the rescue center. You want to meet a few of them? They are the sweetest things.”
“I suppose.” Grams walked even slower, either a ploy to keep Riley at her side or a genuine sign of fatigue. Riley wasn’t sure anymore what was drama and what was aging. Those hours in the ER waiting room had changed everything. She needed to keep a close eye on Grams to make sure she didn’t overdo it. Caleb was a big boy. He would either text her back or not. Maybe he needed some space.
Riley’s gut clenched at the thought. In her experience, needing space was a precursor to breaking up. Were they even really a couple? Sure, he’d been staying over more nights than not, but it’d barely been a month. Did what they were doing count as dating?
“Gloria! Riley!” Danielle stepped around the table to hug both of them. Danielle had been a few years ahead of Riley in school, but her petite stature, barely topping five foot three, and rounded cheeks always made her look younger. Danielle’s father had been the veterinarian for Grams’ many cats over the years, and Riley had grown up sitting in his waiting room to learn diagnoses for various feline illnesses. Danielle’d spent most of her high-school and college summers working for her dad. “How’s the Prince? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He
says hello,” Grams said with the authority of someone who knows her cat is perfectly capable of speaking English but simply chooses not to. “He is not fond of the new diet your father put him on, though.”
“I bet! Riley, how have you been?”
“Good, good.” Riley’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She snatched it out of her pocket, eager for Caleb’s response. But it was only the CVS robotext reminding her to pick up Grams’ medication. She thought about pretending it was something more serious back at the Dorothy, but before she could form a vague response that would give the impression she was needed elsewhere while not telling an outright lie, William Donovan walked up to the booth.
“What do we have here?” He pointed at the array of photos spread across the table, tapping one of an older greyhound with a graying muzzle and obviously crooked knees.
“These are our retired racers ready for adoption. That guy is a special one. A retired champion. Unfortunately, his advanced arthritis makes it difficult for him to get around, and they were going to put him down. My dad and I got there in time to save him.”
William’s eyes scanned the table but landed back on the old dog. “What’s his name?”
“We’ve been calling him Pops. He’s eight years old, which is getting up there for a greyhound.”
“And people can just adopt them?”
Danielle smiled and picked up Pops’s paper, putting it in William’s hand. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. We do a home visit to make sure it’s safe for the dog, interview the potential owner, that sort of thing. But if everything checks out, yes, people can just adopt them.”
“I’ve never had a dog.” William studied the paper, even taking out a pair of reading glasses to read the small print under the photo. “What kind of home does a dog like this need?”
“Usually, greyhounds need lots of space to stretch their legs, but his arthritis, especially in his knees, pains him, so he’d be happy in a low-activity household. To tell you the truth, I think he’d be the perfect companion for someone older, someone who might understand the challenges of his condition.” Danielle gave a pointed look to William’s cane.