Sit, Stay, Love

by Debbie Burns

  He watched her drive off, then headed toward the house, almost swearing he could hear one of Nana’s favorite tunes carried on the rustling night breeze.

  Chapter 17

  It was sunny, bright, and predicted to be a perfect late-September Sunday. Kelsey wasn’t surprised to find the streets of Webster Groves bustling with activity as she and Kurt neared the shelter. He’d driven the Mustang, commenting that he’d had more opportunities to get behind the wheel in the service than he had in the last week.

  He paused on the street outside the shelter parking lot, waiting to make a left turn into it. The shelter wasn’t far from the town center, close to dozens of houses with perfectly manicured lawns, but also within walking distance of a number of shops, restaurants, and a park. It wasn’t uncommon, especially on nice, weekend days, for the tree-lined street out front to be lined with cars.

  But this morning, that area was an unparalleled bustle of commotion. People were everywhere. Wondering if a Webster Groves fall event had missed her radar, Kelsey took in the crowds while Kurt waited for a young couple to cross the street so he could pull into the nearly full parking lot.

  Kelsey gripped the door handle as she looked around. They couldn’t all be protesters, could they? She’d texted Megan earlier, asking if they’d shown up today, and Megan had replied that they had, but not to worry. Everything was under control.

  Kelsey scanned the individual groups of people until she spotted the core group who’d protested in front of the Sabrina Raven estate for a few days. They were here, and their group had multiplied. Kelsey estimated there were close to thirty now. With their camping chairs and rolling coolers, they were making themselves at home on the sidewalk under the tall trees. At least they seemed to be keeping off shelter property.

  However, this didn’t explain the bustle of commotion flowing out from the shelter. Two parking spaces immediately outside the main doors had been roped off, and people Kelsey had never seen before were covering a U-shaped row of folding tables with purple tablecloths. Another man was dumping a giant bag of charcoal into a portable grill.

  “Looks like someone’s having a party,” Kurt said, pulling in and parking in an empty spot at the back of the lot.

  “I saw Megan yesterday morning. She didn’t say anything about this.”

  “From the looks of it, it’s coming together as we speak.” As they got out of the car, Kurt motioned toward two teen girls. They were huddled on the walkway near the main doors, making posters with poster board and marker. Ten feet away, a woman was dumping bags of ice into two large coolers. Two preteen boys were attempting to tie purple and green balloons to the concrete dog statue that stood alongside the big pots near the entryway. They didn’t seem to be making much progress because they kept pausing to bonk each other on the head.

  “It’s like parade day,” Kelsey said, shaking her head. “But that’s in April.”

  Bypassing the strangers, Kelsey hurried inside, determined to go directly to the source. Megan was behind the counter talking to Patrick and dabbing at her nose with a Kleenex.

  “Please tell me that’s a happy sniffle, not a sad one.”

  “I think it’s best to show you.” Megan looked pointedly at Patrick. “Patrick, you’re at the helm.”

  Kelsey noticed the two had been looking at the iPad on the counter below them.

  “Email, Facebook, or PayPal?” Patrick asked as Kurt and Kelsey joined them at the counter.

  “Whichever you’d like,” Megan said, heading around the counter to wrap Kelsey in a hug. “Girl, you aren’t going to believe this.”

  She’s smiling. Thank the Lord. It’s good news. Those are happy tears. Kelsey bit into her lower lip to keep from spouting a million questions as Patrick turned the iPad their direction after pulling up Facebook.

  “We’ve had over twenty-eight thousand likes since last night. You’ve really moved people, Kelsey,” Megan said.

  Kelsey grabbed Kurt’s arm in excitement, pulling him in for a better look. That many likes in one night beat the old record exponentially. “You mean the clip with Zeus and Orzo? That’s incredible! We’re going to get adoption applications for those two boys ten times over.”

  “Probably,” Patrick said, “but they’ve only had a few thousand likes, and they’re riding the wave that this clip is generating.”

  Patrick hit Play and opened the video clip into full screen. Kelsey was surprised to be staring at herself. The video footage had been taken yesterday afternoon. She was squatting in front of Frankie, swiping tears off her cheeks as Frankie licked one palm. Then the clip switched to her swearing to Frankie that life for him was going to be really good from here on out. Patrick had been recording when she hadn’t even realized he was there. He’d had the foresight to zoom in on Frankie’s sweet face as Kelsey made those declarations. Frankie was staring straight at her and his mouth was open in a light pant, but with his stitches, he seemed to be grinning a lopsided grin.

  Even in a state of mild shock—she’d never been a fan of seeing or hearing herself on video—Kelsey could tell the clip was immensely touching. Frankie was the star, and he’d be the one people would really notice.

  The clip was simple and quick, only about forty-five seconds long. When it finished, Kelsey glanced at the number of likes. Megan was right. Just over twenty-eight thousand. Her heart fluttered. “How many online adoption forms have we gotten for him?”

  “Almost seventy-five, the last we counted,” Megan said, squeezing her arm.

  Kurt closed his hand over her elbow. “Way to go, Kelsey. I knew it was going to be good, but I wouldn’t have predicted it’d take off like that.”

  “It’s our most powerful post yet. Patrick, click over to PayPal, will you?” Megan said. “We’ve not transferred anything yet, because it keeps growing so fast.”

  “What keeps growing? Donations?”

  “Look here,” Patrick said, as he switched screens and logged into the shelter’s PayPal account. “We hit nineteen thousand dollars, and it’s not even ten o’clock.”

  Kelsey’s knees felt weak. “So all those people in the parking lot? It’s because of this?”

  Megan grinned. “Yes. The protesters arrived in bigger numbers this morning too, but they’ve been quieted by this enormous show of support. We’ve had so many calls that I can’t even keep the groups straight anymore. It’s a Kiwanis club that’s out front setting up for an afternoon barbecue, and a librarians’ group is preparing a bake sale. Can you believe it? Oh, and Channel 3 called. They’d like to do a follow-up interview whenever you guys feel ready.”

  “I really can’t swallow it all,” Kelsey said. “It’s awesome.”

  A bustle of commotion erupted in front of the building, catching everyone’s attention. Beside her, Kurt visibly tensed as a high-pitched scream carried through the glass. The small group made for the front window, Kurt taking the lead.

  Kelsey watched two teen girls jump up and down and clap their hands as they squealed. The preteen boy beside them was frozen in place, staring toward the parking lot, his mouth agape.

  Kelsey followed their stares. A glistening red Dodge Ram was idling in front of the tables. The driver’s-side door was open, and a man had stepped out. He was in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, wearing a Red Birds cap. His grin was all charm, and he was shaking his head as he talked.

  Kelsey had seen him before, countless times; she was just having trouble placing him. She stared hard, willing herself to remember. Something was off, and she couldn’t place it. He was tall, fit, and classically all-American. Poster-worthy almost.

  And nearly everyone in the parking lot was gawking in his direction.

  That was when it hit. She looked to Patrick for confirmation. Patrick couldn’t not know. His love of baseball nearly surpassed his love of the shelter. In the fall, like now, when it was nearing playoff season and the en
tire city population seemed clothed in red, she suspected sometimes it did.

  Patrick’s mouth had fallen open wide enough to catch flies.

  “What am I missing?” Megan asked, clearly not having figured out that Mason Redding was standing in the parking lot of the High Grove Animal Shelter. “Why is everyone staring at that guy like he just stepped off the moon? Or at least out of a boy band.”

  “Tell her, Patrick,” Kelsey managed to squeak. Knowing Patrick, he probably had a Mason Redding trading card in one of the pockets of his cargo pants.

  “There’s a game starting in three hours and fifteen minutes” was all that he managed.

  “Oh shit,” Kurt said. “Is that Mason Redding?”

  Megan had enough time to suck in a breath as the Red Birds player who might possibly be in the running for MVP this year waved off the crowd and headed toward the door. And though they were no more than six feet away, not one of their group moved to welcome him in.

  Mason Redding pulled the door open, and the bell jangled loudly in the suddenly silent room. “Hey there, folks. I’m, uh, looking to make a donation. The kids outside said to ask for Megan.”

  “I’m…I’m Megan,” Megan said, stepping forward and shaking his hand. “And that would be wonderful.”

  He grinned a grin that Kelsey was willing to bet had its own insurance policy, like the legs of supermodels. “I keep hearing bits and pieces about what your shelter’s doing to help those dogs. It was absolutely the right thing to do.” Suddenly, his gaze landed on Kelsey, and he pointed confidently her direction. “And you’re the girl from the video I saw last night. I want you to know, your promise to that pit was pretty damn touching. I woke up thinking about it, and before I knew it, I was headed to a pet store. I wasn’t sure what all you guys could use, so I threw in a little bit of everything.”

  Mason Redding had seen her on Facebook. And he’d been moved to make a donation. “Thanks,” Kelsey managed, feeling her cheeks flame fire-hot. It seemed not everyone was only watching Frankie. “He’s a great dog. Even sweeter in person.”

  “That’s really thoughtful of you,” Megan added. “We’ve been blessed with an outpouring of support from the community. Did you need help carrying everything in? And would you like a donation receipt?”

  “Not for the toys and stuff, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take one for this.” He pulled a check from his wallet and passed it Megan’s way. “But if you give it to me now, I can tell you I’m going to lose it. If you can mail it to the address listed, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” Megan took the check and stared at it a beat too long. “Oh wow. That’s awesome. Thank you. Absolutely.”

  “My cell number is on top if you have any questions. I’d stick around to see some of the dogs you’ve got here, but I’m running late for the stadium as it is.”

  “Of course. This is awesome. Thank you so much.”

  Kelsey—who was standing next to Megan and had seen the figure on the check—offered her thanks as well. Mason Redding was giving the High Grove Animal Shelter forty thousand dollars. Out of nowhere.

  Kurt, who seemed the most unfazed by a famous St. Louis baseball player’s sudden appearance, followed him toward the door.

  “Can we post this?” Patrick asked. “Not the amount; that would violate privacy rules. Just that you donated.”

  Mason shrugged. “Certainly, as long as you say it’s a personal one.”

  “Then I should take a picture,” Patrick said, pulling his phone from a pants pocket.

  In a blur of commotion, Kelsey found herself, Megan, and Kurt being filed against the south wall under the newly painted shelter logo for a picture with Mason Redding. When she ended up flanked by Kurt and Mason, with Megan on Mason’s other side, she leaned close to Kurt and whispered, “When this over, I’m definitely going to let you pinch me.”

  Chapter 18

  Time and again, there were two aspects of Ida’s life that her acquaintances found peculiar. The first was her Camaro. She didn’t blame them on that one. Not many women her age would still get behind the wheel of a Camaro Z28. She knew her reaction times weren’t what they used to be, though in no terms did she consider herself a danger to anyone. She planned her errands at times of low traffic when navigating the busy city streets was easier. But getting behind the wheel and flipping on the engine gave her a rush that was unlike anything else she experienced in daily life, so she wasn’t about to give it up. And she was okay that her 2002 Camaro wasn’t as reliable as it once had been. She didn’t intend to replace it. If it conked out before she did, she intended to look into that Uber thing people kept talking about.

  She’d bought the car a few years after moving to St. Louis in memory of her late husband. He’d been driving a 1967 model when he picked her up for their first date. The purchase had been her way of saying that she wasn’t settling into a quiet widowhood like everyone expected. Perhaps after living quietly through her youth while her sister lived loudly, it was also a form of self-expression Ida finally needed.

  The second thing Ida’s acquaintances were most apt to comment on was her love of a porterhouse steak. An eighty-one-year-old woman and porterhouses didn’t go together, she’d been told. And even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud, the mouthwatering steaks hadn’t been easy on her stomach for over a decade. Knowing how they messed up her system for a few days after eating one, she only gave in to the craving once or twice a year. And to stave off some of their effects, she’d stick to oatmeal for breakfast and a brothy soup for dinner a few days before and after.

  But today, a quiet Thursday afternoon framed by newly turning yellow, red, and gold leaves and a crisp, cool breeze that carried the promise of the changing season, she found herself with a craving for red meat that only a good porterhouse would cure. And since steaks were best with company, she drove by her sister’s old place before heading to the grocery store to invite the busy young couple to dinner.

  It gave her a chuckle to see the way Kurt cocked his head at the sight of her shiny black Camaro idling in the driveway when he answered the door. To his credit, he didn’t comment aloud. And like the gentleman she suspected he was, after politely accepting, he asked what they might bring.

  “Your time and company is all I’ll ask for,” Ida had said.

  From there, she’d headed to the butcher shop that Sabrina’s late husband, Jeremy, had claimed carried the best meat in St. Louis. After choosing three steaks that were each big enough to quell the appetite of a hungry grown man, she headed for the Soulard Farmers Market. There, she strolled through the open, high-roofed brick building for fresh salad fixings. Before she knew it, her basket was heavy with a head of iceberg, endive, watercress, and a few sprigs of dill, as well as a fresh cucumber, radishes, and cherry tomatoes. She also chose three baking potatoes that were handsome enough not to be undone by a porterhouse.

  In those first months after her sister’s death, she couldn’t recall having tasted a single thing. Now, her mouth watered at the sights and smells of the bustling old market that was as much a tourist destination as it was a staple for those who lived near enough. She released a happy sigh as she headed back to the Camaro. How nice it would be to enjoy a good meal and charming company!

  As she headed home, the purr of the Camaro’s engine was so strong that she felt it vibrating through her thin fingers and down past her hands, all the way to her elbows. Sixteen years ago, when she’d bought the car, she hadn’t needed to sit on a pillow seat to see over the hood.

  Ida remembered being young and proud and hoping the frailty that came with a long-lived life would somehow not find her when old age did. How silly she’d been not to realize it was all part of a beautiful circle.

  She’d been considering it for a while, but she knew the time had come to put the house on the market and head home to Connecticut where her children were waiting. Her sister was gone,
and there was nothing but memories holding her here.

  And she was almost ready to announce this decision to her family. Her sons had been in their twenties when their father died and she’d left to join her sister here in St. Louis. Her older boy had been living in South America, teaching English at a Brazilian elementary school. Her younger son had been in LA. She hadn’t expected them to return home when they started families of their own years later. But they had. They’d been hoping she’d come back ever since, though it was something they’d never pushed for before Sabrina passed.

  Ida had held off on announcing her intention to return to her childhood home and her family, knowing when she did, her kids would be anxious for her to start the process. But doing that would be leaving behind Sabrina. And before she was ready for that, she wanted to make sure the cogs her sister had set in motion would continue turning.

  Though Ida had first been skeptical, she saw how right her sister’s decision to leave her house to the shelter had been. During the long months it had sat abandoned with no life but Mr. Longtail and the mice he neglected to hunt, she’d had her worries.

  But now she fell asleep lulled by the happy energy radiating out of it once again. Not only was her sister’s beloved house essential in healing those dogs, but something very important in the lives of two humans seemed to be happening as well.

  Ida was hoping that after dinner tonight, she’d be more certain of this.

  * * *

  If Kelsey kept a bucket list of the zillion things she wanted to do during her life, canning fresh fruits and veggies would’ve been on it. The urge to try canning stemmed from trips she could hardly remember to her great-grandparents’ house. She’d only been five when they died, months apart, so her memories were sporadic. But one of them involved her great-grandmother’s garden and the canning she did in late summer. The small farmhouse counter had been lined with glass jars, and a large pot had been simmering long enough to steam up the small kitchen window over the sink.