by Amanda Tru
“Mike—”
“What? You know I’m in the middle of the Lieberman deal. Plus, it’s Friday. And there’s a Seahawks game. Traffic is going to be a nightmare—”
“Which is why responsible people plan ahead.” Lowering her voice, she swiveled her chair to give her some semblance of privacy. She knew that Becky wouldn’t judge, but it was humiliating just the same.
“Oh. Here we go.” Mike adopted his angry tone that suggested she was the unreasonable one. “You’re always right, and I’m always wrong.”
“Just cut to the chase.” Joy didn’t have the time or the energy for this. “Are you bailing out of the entire weekend this time or just tonight?”
An exasperated breath whiffed in her ear. “Why do you always have to make everything so hard?”
Silently, she counted to ten. Apparently, he was too busy to pick up the kids, but not too busy to try to convince her that it was all her fault. Remembering a technique she’d read in a book about dealing with difficult people, she thought of a fact she could state to keep her mind from getting scrambled.
“This is your weekend with them.” She kept her voice controlled, in spite of the anger that burned in her chest. “We have a schedule that we both agreed to.”
“Why do you always make me the bad guy?”
“I’m not making you anything.” So much for staying calm. “You’re the one who called to tell me you can’t follow through on a commitment then got all self-righteous when I was upset about it.”
“Fine.” He barked in her ear. “I’ll pick them up.”
“No. Don’t tell me you can’t then say you will and leave me not knowing what’s going to happen. You can’t pick up the kids. We’ve established that. Just let me know right now when you plan to show up so I’ll know what to tell them.”
She waited while he held the phone away and spoke to someone on his end. As always, his time was invaluable, but she could be kept waiting. “Mike…?”
When he spoke to her again, it was with that placating tone that implied he was doing her a favor. “I suppose I can try to pick them up at your place tonight. But if I don’t get this Lieberman package put together by the signing—”
“It’ll be all my fault. I know.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she mentally rescheduled her planned evening of Thai take-out and a Ryan Gosling marathon. “Just come and get them in the morning. Call when you know what time you’ll be there.”
He let out a little huff of annoyance, then clicked off the call as if he hadn’t just gotten his way.
Feeling drained, she swiveled back to hang up the phone then ran her finger over the picture she kept on her desk of her with Ty and Charlotte. Those two deserved better than this.
She glanced over at Becky, who was politely pretending to be too busy working on her computer to have overheard. “I have to go pick up my kids tonight after all.”
“Sorry.” Becky stopped typing and turned to her with a concerned look.
“Do you mind if I leave a few minutes early?” Chewing her bottom lip, Joy looked at the clock. “Traffic is a bear whenever there’s a Seahawks game, and if I’m more than five minutes late getting to the after-school care, they’ll charge me an extra thirty bucks.”
“No problem.” Becky looked thoughtful, then added, “Do you know what you need?”
“A massage? A manicure?” Feeling antsy, Joy stood to go tidy up the waiting area. “A week in Aruba?”
“You need someone to help you.”
“My sister helps me when she can.” Joy crossed from behind the reception desk and picked up some pieces to the jungle-animal jigsaw puzzle that had somehow wound up across the room from the puzzle table.
“Your sister’s got her own life to think about.” Becky came around and started rounding up stray magazines. “I was thinking more along the lines of someone living in your house.”
“What, like a nanny?”
“No. Like a husband.”
“Becky. I had a husband. And you see how well that turned out.”
“You might have been married to that man,”—Becky jabbed the air with a folded copy of People—“but according to everything you’ve told me, he didn’t act like a husband. What you need is a real husband.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I’m not even dating again until my kids are grown. That can just get too complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to.” Becky’s look said she didn’t buy it. “My mom married my stepdad when I was three, and he was the best dad a kid could hope for.”
“Well, you were lucky.”
“Not ‘lucky.’ My mom prayed for the right guy, and—”
“Okay, now you’re sounding like my sister.”
Even though Joy was happy about the changes in her sister’s life that included finding both true love and true faith, she couldn’t help but cringe whenever people said things that made them sound like a TV evangelist. It wasn’t that Joy had anything against religion. It just made her uncomfortable when people were so open about it.
But her discomfort never seemed to register with Becky, who had a way of folding faith into conversation like egg whites into cake batter.
“Sometimes,” Becky continued, “all you can do is pray.”
“Honestly, Becky.” Joy knelt down to scoop up the stuffed kittens that had fallen out of the toy cat bed and nestled them next to their stuffed mama. “I don’t think all the praying in the world could change my situation. I just have to tough it out.”
“Prayer might not seem like much, but once you’ve seen what God can do, you realize—”
The sound of the bell over the front door cut her off as one of their senior citizen clients shouldered her way in juggling a cat carrier, a fluffy pink bed, and three large shopping bags.
“Mrs. Simmons.” Becky dumped the stack of magazines she’d gathered onto an end table and hurried over to give her a hand. “What’s all this?” She took the carrier, which was clearly uninhabited, and the bed then carried them over to the counter.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Simmons allowed Joy to take two of the bags, then hoisted the third one onto the counter as well. “I want to donate all of this to your Pets in Need program. Now that my Hopscotch won’t be needing it.” Her face contorted a little at the mention of her beloved cat’s name.
“That’s really generous of you.” Becky’s voice was soft and sympathetic as she glanced into the bags. “We can take the food and the litter, but you should hold on to Hopscotch’s bed and her toys.”
“That’s right,” Joy added. “What if you decide to adopt another cat? You’ll be happy to have these things.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Mrs. Simmons’ jaw firmed even as her lower lip started to quiver. “I could never replace Hopscotch. She was my best friend.”
“I know it’s hard.” Becky put a consoling hand on the woman’s shoulder. “But it’s only been, what? Three weeks? It takes time to grieve the loss of a pet. Hopscotch was a part of your life for twenty years. You should see how you feel once some time has passed.”
“Why don’t you sit down.” Joy gestured to the bank of chairs next to the window as she crossed to the coffee and tea station. “I’ll make you some tea.”
Mrs. Simmons hesitated, then took the few steps and sank into a chair. “All right. Do you have that nice chamomile?”
Nodding, Joy filled a cup with hot water as Becky took the seat next to their client.
“I just can’t imagine that it would ever be the same if I got another cat.” Mrs. Simmons clutched her purse with both hands like she missed having something warm and breathing to hold on to. “It would just remind me too much of what I’ve lost.”
“You know, Mrs. Simmons.” Becky leaned forward and took the woman’s hand. “You have to let go of the past before you can move forward. You just haven’t had time to do that yet.”
The expression on Mrs. Simmons’ face eased a little, like she’d found comfort in that thought.
&nbs
p; Joy handed her the cup, then went back to her place behind the desk. She watched with fascination as Becky consoled Mrs. Simmons and got her talking about her memories of Hopscotch. She knew that, somehow, even if Mrs. Simmons had come in earlier in the midst of their chaotic day, Becky would have taken the time to make her feel like more than just a client.
As Joy finished tidying up her desk, she listened to the two women lamenting how loss was an inevitable part of love, and thought about how that was true in her own life. She had loved Mike, or—to be more accurate—she had loved the Mike she thought she knew. But her grief was real even if the marriage hadn’t been. He’d lied and cheated from the start, as it turned out, leaving her to pick up the pieces of the life they had built together.
And just like Mrs. Simmons, she questioned if she’d ever be able to love again. It just felt too risky.
As Kyle Montgomery pulled his Ford Escape into the parking lot next to his apartment building, he reviewed his mental list of what he had accomplished that day. Tying up loose ends at his job while preparing to take the plunge into full-time business ownership made for some hectic days, but today he was actually home early. Now all he wanted to do was take Henry over to Kinnear Park for a nice run, then settle in for a quiet evening at home.
Of course these days, that meant sitting in front of his computer working on his designs, but that was his idea of fun.
His phone buzzed just as he shut off his engine, and he glanced down and chuckled. Wes. Like they hadn’t spent most of the day together going over plans and making decisions.
He had to admire his buddy’s infectious ambition. They’d been friends since Wes’s first day as the mid-year new kid in the fourth grade when Kyle had picked him not-last for dodgeball in spite of his crooked glasses and knock knees. Somehow, the unlikely pairing of the athlete and the bookworm had never seemed strange to him, and they’d been best friends through thick and thin.
True, Wes was a worrier. It was part of Kyle’s job to come up with solutions for all of Wes’s “what ifs,” a dynamic that they’d shared since their first grade-school lemonade stand.
He picked up the phone and clicked on it as he retrieved his work bag from the passenger seat. “Hey. We’re done for the day, remember?”
“I thought of one more thing—”
“That couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I know.”
“What if…” Wes swallowed audibly, as if whatever he was about to say could permanently ground their business before it even launched. “What if our printer doesn’t have the capacity for what we need? We don’t want to get behind on our orders.”
“Hey, when we’re doing that much business, we’ll be able to afford to upgrade. No worries.” He bumped his car door shut behind himself and started for the building. “Besides, most of our customers will want digital files sent to their own print store. It’s easier that way.”
“But, what if—”
“Wes. What are we going to have to talk about tomorrow if you ask me all your new questions right now?”
“Fine. I will write them down.” Kyle could practically hear Wes grinding his teeth before he spoke again. “What are you doing tonight?”
“The usual.” He rounded the corner into the quiet courtyard that fronted the U-shaped building. “Sharing a burger with Henry and working out the kinks with the Bungalow Three design. I’m still not happy with it.”
“What are you saying? It’s great. People will love it.”
“People will love it once I’ve worked the kinks out. And what are you doing?”
“Same. Minus the dog to share dinner with. I’ll be working on more grant applications. And the marketing plan. Still looking for a big contract we can score to really get us rolling. Hey, what if—”
“Whoa. Save it for tomorrow.” Slowing his pace, Kyle peered into the koi pond, noticing that the fish were gathering closer to the bottom now that the weather had turned colder. “We’re a couple of pathetic bachelors, you know that?”
“We’ll be a couple of eligible bachelors once Think Tiny takes off.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears.” Skirting the pond, he noted that the landscape crew had been busy today decking out the courtyard trees in their traditional holiday white lights. “See you tomorrow, bro.”
“Hasta la bye-bye.”
Kyle chuckled as he put his phone in his pocket and picked up his pace again. He was anxious to get to Henry. Funny, he’d only had him for a couple of months, but already he had a hard time remembering what life had been like without him. It sure beat living alone.
Of course, living in an apartment with a dog, especially one as big as Henry, hadn’t been easy. Sometimes he felt guilty leaving him cooped up on the days he didn’t work from home. At least he had Nicole to check on him when she could, so that helped. But he’d been thinking more and more about getting a house. Then Henry could have a yard and more space.
Looking up as he approached the grand front entrance of his building, he smiled. Not that he didn’t love this place. The location on Queen Anne Hill—just north of downtown Seattle—couldn’t be beat, and old brick buildings that still had charm and character were getting harder to find. Of course, he had Nicole into consider. She’d be pretty unhappy if he decided to move out of the neighborhood, and there would be the custody to work out.
When he pulled open the heavy glass and metal door and stepped inside, a rush of warm air welcomed him home like a hug. He saw that the mostly white and gold lobby was dotted with vibrant red poinsettias, and an orchestral version of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” played softly over the decades-old speaker system. Obviously, Mrs. Kendal—the building’s manager—had been busy today too.
One of his older neighbors, Mr. Jenner, stood at the mailboxes that lined one wall of the ornate entry.
“Afternoon, Mr. Jenner.”
Jarring a bit like he hadn’t heard the door, the older man turned. “Well, hello there, son. Nice to see you.”
“You too.” He slipped his key into his own mailbox. “I see the Hawks are playing the 49ers tonight. You watching?”
“I never miss a game. Having something to root for keeps a person young.”
“That’s a good philosophy.” He removed what looked like a fair mix of bills and ads, then shut his mailbox and started for the elevator.
By the time the door opened to the seventh floor, he’d separated out half his mail to drop into recycling. As he made his way down the hall—to the customary sound of the TV blaring in 7B and the smell of curry coming from either 7E or 7G, he could never tell which—something felt off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but he quickened his pace and hurried to unlock his door.
As he swung it open, he braced himself for the burst of canine energy that generally met him, but was surprised to be met with…nothing. That was strange. Henry always greeted him like a fan encountering his favorite rock star at the stage door. Something wasn’t right.
“Henry?” Hearing a soft whimper, he dropped the mail and his keys on the table by the door and hustled toward the kitchen. “Hey, buddy. Where are you?”
The whimper grew louder. More urgent. Kyle entered the kitchen to find Henry sprawled on the floor, trying to raise his head.
Suddenly, Kyle’s heart was in his throat. “Henry!”
As he rushed over to him and knelt down, something across the room caught his eye. The cupboard under the sink was wide open and the trash can lay on its side, its contents strewn across the floor.
He looked at Henry, who was still whining and drooling. His glazed-over eyes looked up at Kyle, pleading for help.
His heart raced as he scooped the dog into his arms and prayed for the strength to get him out to the car.
Even with her arms full of the empty cat carrier and the fluffy pink bed, Mrs. Simmons managed to give Becky one last hug before making her way out the door.
“Well, you sure made her feel better,” Joy commented as Becky watched out the window
to be sure Mrs. Simmons made it to her car okay.
“I don’t think she really came all the way here just to donate her leftover cat food.” Becky gave Joy a knowing look as she crossed to the counter. “I think she just needed someone to talk to who understands what she’s going through.”
Nodding, Joy glanced at the clock. She had a little over an hour until she’d have to leave. If things stayed this quiet, she’d actually be able to finish her filing and maybe even restock the shampoo shelf before calling it a day.
No sooner had she completed that thought than the door flew open and a man burst in with a very large dog in his arms.
Becky snapped to attention and was by his side in a flash. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I think he ate something he shouldn’t have.” The man’s voice shook. “And now he’s having trouble breathing.”
“Do you know what it was?” Becky started toward the door that led to the exam rooms in the back.
“He got into the trash.” He followed, seeming surprisingly unencumbered by the weight of the animal in his arms. “I found him this way when I got home.”
“Joy, take them to room one. I’ll get Dr. Collins.”
Becky disappeared through the door and the man paused, waiting for Joy to take the lead. But Joy still sat in her chair as if she’d been glued to it. She’d gotten used to having to move fast around here, so what was wrong with her?
The alarmingly handsome features of the man standing there looking at her—that was what. The epitome of “tall, dark, and handsome.” A GQ cover come to life.
Snapping to her senses, she bolted from her chair and hurried the short distance to the first exam room.
“I haven’t had him for long.” The man gently set the dog on the exam table and ran his hands over his plush red coat. The poor dog seemed to be fighting for air. “I should have dog proofed my place.”
Joy just stood there twisting her fingers together like this was her first day on the job and she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Then she stepped forward, placed a hand on the dog’s side and felt his racing heart. She looked up, meeting the eyes of Mr. GQ and wanting to say something consoling. Her mouth opened, but before she could speak, Dr. Collins entered the room followed by Becky, who spoke to Joy as both women flew into action.