Please Don't Feed the Mayor

by Sue Pethick

  Samuels shook his head. “No, just keep an eye on him. If he starts passing out or you notice his gums turning blue, you’ll want to give him some extra rest. Other than that, I suppose you could try not to get him too stressed out. When the end comes, though, I promise it’ll be quick and relatively painless.”

  Jennifer walked out of the vet’s office with Boomer in tow, as oblivious to the world around her as a sleepwalker. She always knew she’d lose her dog someday; it was realizing how much of his short life she’d already missed that she regretted. While she’d been spending nights and weekends at work, Boomer’s time on earth had been dwindling. Now it felt like every dream she’d put off had been snatched away. When they got back to her truck, she slipped behind the wheel and wept.

  “I’m sorry, Boomie,” she sobbed, hugging him. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Jennifer was back at home, already halfway toward keeping that promise. Dry-eyed and determined, she was working on a plan. She took out a pad of paper and grabbed a pen. At the top of the first page, she wrote: Things to Do with Boomer. If her boy had only a month left, then she was going to make sure that it was the best month of his life. She’d pack the truck, and they’d hit the road, just the two of them, doing all the things she’d planned for them to do “someday.”

  As far as taking the time off from work, Jennifer thought, she was lucky. Her job as an account executive at one of the toniest PR firms in Chicago was a big plus, and with all the overtime she’d been putting in, they owed her. The CEO, Derek Compton, would pitch a fit, of course, but the way she saw it, he didn’t really have a choice. There were two CLIOs, one regional ADDY, and a Cannes Lion sitting in his trophy case that were generally acknowledged to have been won through her efforts. He could give her the time off or she could quit and go to work for one of his competitors when she got back.

  With that problem solved, the question became what she and Boomer should do during their month together. Hildy told her he’d been slowing down the last couple of weeks, and Dr. Samuels said to expect more of the same in the time ahead. Jennifer glanced over at her dog, happily ensconced in his favorite chair and gnawing a rawhide chew.

  “Sorry, Boom-Boom. Looks like hiking the Appalachian Trail is out.”

  She sat back, searching her memory for the times when Boomer had enjoyed himself the most. Like any dog, he loved eating, playing, and chasing squirrels, but what was it, specifically, that made his tail wag?

  Well, she thought, he loved cars—the ones that drove by on their street, of course, and the souped-up NASCAR racers on the TV—and he went wild whenever they took a drive and Jennifer let him stick his nose out the window so he could savor all the good smells that flew by. He loved the roar of loud engines and sniffing the puddles of oil he found in the street. He even had a squeaky toy that looked like Lightning McQueen from the movie Cars.

  “Okay,” she said, writing the number “one” on her list. “ ‘Something to do with cars.’ What else?”

  After ten more minutes of brainstorming, though, Jennifer was stumped. She kept thinking of things they could do, but none that seemed big or important enough to make up for what she felt had been her neglect of Boomer. As her confidence slipped, she began to feel discouraged again. Tears had begun welling in her eyes when she heard Boomer jump down from his chair and start rooting in his toy box. Seconds later, she heard the familiar squeaky-squeak of Lightning McQueen. Jennifer turned and saw Boomer walking toward her with the toy in his mouth, the hopeful look in his eyes daring her to try and take it away.

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “I’ve already got cars on my list, but what else, Boomster? We can’t just get in the truck and drive around the block a hundred times. If we’re going to take a road trip, we have to take a trip to somewhere.”

  And then it hit her: Cars! The movie was about driving Route 66. Which, as it happened, started in Chicago and went west all the way to the California coast. If she and Boomer drove Route 66, they could see some interesting sights, gorge themselves on regional foods, and romp in the Pacific Ocean when they reached Santa Monica Pier. She could probably even find maps and guidebooks showing all the places they could visit along the way. She grabbed the squeaky toy, and the two of them started a tug-of-war.

  “What do you say, Boomer? Want to get your kicks on Route 66?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Jennifer’s prediction about her boss came true the next day when she told him about her plan to take a month off. She knew he wouldn’t be happy about it, but she hadn’t expected a flat-out denial of her request, either. By the time she and Derek Compton had finished screaming at each other, the entire office was in the loop. Nevertheless, she’d been right about his not wanting to lose her. When she mentioned that the stress of losing Boomer was forcing her to “reevaluate her priorities,” he’d given in, correctly interpreting it as a threat to quit. As she stepped out into the hallway and headed back to her office, she felt like a boxer leaving the ring: bruised, battered, but victorious.

  Stacy Randall watched Jennifer walk by her desk, feeling something akin to awe. As the department admin, Stacy had been the target of Compton’s wrath on more than one occasion, and the fact that someone was finally getting the better of him seemed like nothing short of a miracle. That it had been Jennifer Westbrook, a beautiful ex-model with a mysterious past, was just icing on the cake. When Jennifer called her into her office, Stacy grabbed a notepad and hurried down the hall, hoping for a gossip-worthy tidbit.

  “By now, I’m sure everyone within earshot knows that I’m taking the next month off,” Jennifer said as she closed the door. “I’m going to need you to take care of a few things for me while I’m gone.”

  “Of course.” Stacy took a seat, her pen poised.

  “Since I’ll be leaving on short notice, anything on my calendar for the next month will have to be either rescheduled or given to one of the other AEs.”

  “No problem.”

  “Mike Kuby can handle the presentation to Bewick’s without me. I’ll email him my notes before I go.”

  Jennifer sat down, looking frazzled as she pawed through the papers on her desk, and Stacy wondered if there were any personal details she’d overlooked.

  “What about things at home?” she said. “You know, like stopping the paper, the trash, having the post office hold your mail. . . .”

  “Oh, God,” Jennifer said, putting her head in her hands. “I didn’t even think about that. I suppose I’ll just have to try and take care of those things before I leave in the morning.”

  “I can do it for you,” Stacy said hopefully.

  “That’s sweet, Stace, but I really couldn’t impose on you like that.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” she said, smiling. “I’d be happy to. You’ve got enough to think about with Boomer . . . um . . . you know.”

  She shrugged, hoping she hadn’t given offense.

  “I could water your plants and stuff, too, if you want. I’ve done it for my neighbors before and they’d vouch for me.”

  Jennifer looked at Stacy’s imploring gaze and sighed. She’d been aware for some time that her admin was a bit starstruck by the high-profile clients who passed through the doors of Compton/Sellwood. Maybe she’d even been foolish enough to listen to some of the wilder rumors about Jennifer that had been passed around the office and thought some of that magic would rub off on her. As much as she could use the help, though, she hated to take advantage of the younger woman’s girl crush.

  “Are you sure?” she said.

  Stacy grinned. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, but only if you let me pay for your time.”

  “You don’t have to,” Stacy said. “But thanks.”

  Jennifer nodded. “I’ve got a second set of house keys in my locker. Make sure I give them to you before I leave this afternoon.”

  With that settled, Jennifer felt instantly less harried and it occurred to her tha
t Stacy’s offer might have solved a problem she’d only been aware of subconsciously. She was about to dismiss her admin and get back to work, when Stacy said:

  “Have you given someone your itinerary?”

  “What?”

  “You know, a list of where you’re going and when. Then if something happens to you along the way, the police will know where to look for your body.”

  Jennifer tried not to laugh. Clearly, Stacy had been watching too many episodes of Law & Order.

  “I don’t really think that’s necessary,” she said. “Boomer and I will be fine on our own.”

  “But what if your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and you can’t get a signal on your phone? You could be stuck for weeks without food or water before anyone even notices you’re missing.”

  Jennifer was about to insist that there were plenty of people who’d notice if she went missing when it occurred to her—with a twinge of sadness—that that might not be the case. Her father had passed away when she was still in high school, and her mother was in a nursing home, barely able to remember what day it was. She and Vic had split up almost six years ago and he and his new wife lived somewhere up in Michigan and wouldn’t bother to check on her in any case. One of her neighbors might notice if she was missing long enough, but like most city apartment dwellers, she barely knew any of them except to say hello. As the reality of her barren personal life sank in, Jennifer felt heat rise in her face. No wonder she spent so much time at work. It was the only life she had.

  And now she was losing Boomer, too.

  “No, if I had an itinerary, I’d have to stick to it and I was thinking Boomer and I would just wing it. Besides,” she added sheepishly, “I really don’t have anybody to give an itinerary to.”

  Stacy looked up from her notepad. “You can give it to me.”

  Jennifer shook her head, trying not to let her irritation show.

  “I appreciate your concern, but there’s really no time for me to make one up, thanks.”

  “Well . . . maybe you could just take pictures of your trip and send them to me. That way, someone will know where you are and you won’t have to write anything. Please,” Stacy said. “I’d feel a lot better if you did.”

  Exasperation was quickly souring Jennifer’s mood. Nevertheless, she had to concede that Stacy had a point. She’d already been planning to take pictures of Boomer to remember their trip by and forwarding them to her admin wouldn’t take any extra time. Plus, she had to admit that the thought of being on the road with no one back home even knowing where she was gave her a creepy feeling. A woman alone—even if she had a dog with her—could still be pretty vulnerable.

  “All right. If it makes you feel better, I’ll send you some pictures along the way, but that’s it. I promised myself that this trip was just for Boomer and me. For the next few weeks, I’m off-line: no email, no text messages, and no social media. If there’s an emergency, I’ll have my cell with me, but don’t you dare call me for anything less than a nuclear war over the North Side of Chicago.” She paused. “And not even then.”

  Stacy grinned. “What if there’s a nuclear war over the South Side?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t live on the South Side.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Once word got out that Jennifer Westbrook would be incommunicado for the next few weeks, every team member with a question and every client who wanted his hand held called, texted, or barged into her office demanding attention. Stacy ran out and brought back a kale salad so that Jennifer could eat at her desk during a conference call from Boston and tried to redirect the flood of people demanding to speak to Ms. Westbrook now. By the time Jennifer walked out of her office at six, she was vowing to kill anyone who stood in her way. She grabbed her purse, tossed her spare house keys on Stacy’s desk, and sprinted down the hall.

  Derek Compton was waiting for her by the elevator.

  “So, you’re leaving us,” he said.

  “Don’t make it sound so final,” Jennifer said, pressing the down button. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind about firing me.”

  “Of course not. I’m just not looking forward to the next few weeks without you. Stacy tells me you won’t even be online.”

  “That’s right,” she said, wishing the elevator would hurry up.

  He nodded, working his mouth in a way that suggested he was holding back a string of expletives.

  “Well, the circumstances aren’t the greatest, of course, but I hope you and Boomer have a good time.”

  Jennifer nodded. The numbers above the elevator doors were counting down very slowly. The darned thing must be stopping at every floor.

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you said Boomer likes cars”—he reached into his breast pocket—“so I got you both a little going-away present.”

  She glanced at the envelope in Compton’s hand, and her eyes widened. It looked like a VIP ticket to the Chicagoland Speedway.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yep. Cal Daniels invited me, but when I told him about your dog, he agreed to let the two of you watch Sunday’s race from his private box. He even offered to have his limo driver take you there and back.”

  She opened the envelope and took out the ticket, watching the hologram on the front flash the letters “VIP” in gold. The speedway was right on Route 66, and Boomer would adore watching the stock cars whizz by, she thought. And if they went on Sunday instead of tomorrow like she’d planned, that’d give her an extra day to get packed up and ready. As she tucked the ticket back into the envelope, Jennifer had to fight to keep from spilling her tears. Say what you want to about Derek Compton, but the man had a good heart.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “From both of us.”

  Author photograph by Christopher Pethick

  Sue Pethick is an award-winning short story writer whose lifelong love of animals inspired her to write The Dog Who Came for Christmas, Boomer’s Bucket List, and Pet Friendly. Born in San Diego, California, she now lives with her husband in Vancouver, Washington. Please visit Sue online at www.SuePethick.com.