by Jane Green
The problem, she has repeatedly discovered, is that her life is simply too busy for a dog; and by the time she finishes work, the whole schlepping up the stairs to the apartment, getting the dog, going back down for walks, and all the rest of it, is just too much. Every dog has ended up being rehomed, usually with friends of her mother.
There was McScruff, the West Highland terrier, who now lives with Florence, her mother’s hairdresser, in Maine. There was Poggle, the Maltese, who was the product of a divorce, and no one mentioned to Steffi that he wasn’t house-trained. He now lives with Arthur, her mother’s lawyer. And last year there was Maxwell, the eight-month-old golden retriever she fell in love with at the rescue center.
She brought him home, only to discover that the reason a beautiful pure-bred golden retriever was in the animal rescue center in the first place was because he was crazy. He was the most high-energy dog she’d ever known, manic, in fact, and within a week every single pair of her shoes had been converted to chews, and not the expensive Jimmy kind.
Maxwell had been shipped out to cousins on a forty-acre farm in Milbrook, where he has apparently decided that the sheep and donkeys are his playmates. They are, understandably, not terribly impressed, but Maxwell is beloved by his new family, and so Steffi considers herself something of a good Samaritan.
But a dog! She has always wanted a dog. Something small and cuddly who would love her to pieces. Or large and scary, like a Doberman, who would actually be a pussycat and her best friend. A companion. Man’s Best Friend—isn’t that what they say?
And wouldn’t this perhaps be a perfect solution? It wasn’t permanent, but would break her in gently.
“How long for?” Steffi finds herself asking.
“A year.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.”
There is Rob to consider. Rob hates dogs. Never trust a man who doesn’t like children or animals. But what does it matter, given that they have neither? But she loves dogs. She wants a dog. She wants this dog. Even though she doesn’t know what it is.
“What kind of dog is Fingal?”
She is thinking: small, terrier type. Big brown eyes. Loyal. Loving.
“Scottish deerhound. But he’s terrifically low-maintenance. Do you want to see a picture?”
“Sure.”
Scottish deerhound? What the hell is that? Steffi hasn’t even heard of a Scottish deerhound.
Mason flicks through the photos on his iPhone and hands it over.
“Jesus Christ!” Steffi yelps. “That isn’t a dog. That’s a horse!”
“He is quite big, but he looks much bigger in that picture because he’s with the kids.”
“He’s not with the kids. They’re riding him.”
“That was just a joke. They don’t really ride him.”
“I couldn’t take care of a dog that size. He’d eat me for breakfast.”
“Actually he’s very lazy. He could eat you for breakfast if he could be bothered, but trust me, he couldn’t be bothered. Mostly he just lies around on sofas all day.”
“Always good to have a dog that’s trained to stay off the furniture.” She peers at Mason. “How does Olivia feel about having a dog lying around on the sofas all day?”
“Not happy. He’s only allowed on two sofas, and she’s covered them with special throws so his fur never actually touches the Fortuny fabric, heaven forbid.”
“Heaven forbid, indeed. God, Mason. I . . . I mean, I was going to say I’d take the dog, but he wouldn’t even fit in our apartment. And he looks like you’d need to walk him eight miles five times a day.”
“He doesn’t.” Mason shakes his head excitedly. “He just needs to be run. He’s basically the same type of dog as a greyhound, so he needs a couple of short bursts of really intense exercise. And you wouldn’t even notice him in the apartment. He’s incredibly quiet and mellow.”
“Really?” Steffi looks at the picture dubiously.
“Really. And you would absolutely love him. He’s the coolest dog in the world.”
“I guess he’d be something of a man magnet,” Steffi muses, handing the phone back to Mason.
“Why would you care? You have a boyfriend.”
“I won’t have if I come home with Fingal. He hates dogs.”
“Oh. Never trust a—”
“Yes, yes. I know.” Steffi sighs. “So here’s the deal. I’ll meet him. Which doesn’t mean yes, it just means I’ll meet him.”
“That would be fantastic!” Mason says. “You’ll love him and, honestly, I would feel so much better about his being with someone I know. You could feed him chili spiced with cinnamon! He’d be in dog heaven!”
“What were you going to do if you didn’t find someone?”
Mason’s face falls. “Olivia thinks we’re going to adopt him out. Permanently.”
“Would you?”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to. I love Fingal. He’s my dog.”
“Hey, given that I probably won’t have a boyfriend to come home to if I decide to look after Fingal, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare apartment I could live in as well?” Steffi is joking.
Half.
Mason looks at her curiously. “I don’t have an apartment—we’ve already signed a year’s lease with a couple from Belgium who are moving to New York, but . . . are you serious?”
“It depends. What are you thinking?”
Mason sighs, looks away, then back at her. “You know what? Nothing. It’s silly. You live and work in New York. Forget it.”
“What? Tell me. Now I have to know.”
“I do have a house. Not an apartment, but a wonderful old farmhouse in Sleepy Hollow.”
“Cooooool.” The word stretches out as images of roaring fires and long leafy walks flutter through Steffi’s head.
“I’ve had it for years,” Mason continues. “It’s very old, but beautiful, and with twenty acres. Olivia hates it, so I just keep it rented out. However the last tenants scooted out early and it’s empty. I was waiting to rent it out after Christmas, but . . .”
“Would I like it?”
“I have no idea—I hardly know you.” Mason smiles. “But I love it.”
“Sleepy Hollow’s right by my sister, Callie. She’s in Bedford,” Steffi muses out loud. “It would be amazing, to be near her. One more question . . .” Steffi looks around and lowers her voice. “Do you happen to know if there are any vegetarian restaurants in the area that might be looking for a vegan chef?”
Almost Flourless Orange and Almond Cake with Marmalade
Ingredients
1 orange
3 eggs
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
¼ cup plain flour, sifted
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup ground almonds
½ cup marmalade
Confectioners’ sugar for dusting
Optional: small carton whipping cream, rind of 1 orange
Method
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease an 8-inch springform cake tin and line it with wax paper.
Put the orange in a pan, cover with water and simmer for 1 hour (or nuke in a microwave for around 25 minutes) until soft. Cut the orange in half, remove the seeds and puree in a food processor.
Beat the eggs and sugar until pale and thick. Fold in the flour, baking powder, almonds and orange puree. Pour into the tin and bake for 1 hour.
Melt the marmalade in a small pan, then pour through a fine sieve, pressing to get all the juice out. Spread the rind-free juice over the cake.
When cool, sift the confectioners’ sugar over the cake. Mix whipped cream with the orange rind and serve alongside.
Chapter Two
The phone startles Steffi. She reaches for it blindly, then stumbles out of the room so as not to wake Rob.
“Shit.” She trips over her flip-flops outside the bedroom and kicks them viciously out of the way, collapsing on the sofa and rubbing her ankle.
“Lo?”
“Steff ? Did I wake you?”
“Oh hey, Callie. Yes, you woke me. What are you doing calling so early?”
“Early? It’s ten-thirty.”
“TEN-THIRTY?” Steffi shouts. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
“Oh God. I overslept again. I had meant to go to the farmers’ market this morning to get lettuce and peas for the menu tonight.”
“So . . . can’t you go to Gristedes instead?”
“That’s what I keep doing, and then I end up paying for it out of my own pocket. Dammit. I can’t believe I overslept again. And I’m supposed to be at work in half an hour. I’m never gonna make it.”
“Do you want me to call you back later?”
Steffi sighs. “No. I’m going to be late whatever. A few minutes talking to you won’t make any difference. How are you, sis? What’s up?”
“Steff, I’m worried about you. You can’t afford to lose another job. You have to be careful.”
“I know, I know. But they love me. I’ve totally changed the menu, and we’re getting amazing crowds. I may drive them nuts with my lateness, but they would never fire me.”
“That’s what you said the last time.”
“Right. But I was getting really bored there. It was time to move on.”
“So how do you feel about Joni’s?”
Steffi hesitates. “Bored.” She breaks out in a peal of laughter.
“You are a disaster,” Callie says, laughing. “What’s the record for holding down a job? Six months? Seven?”
“Nooo. That’s not fair.” Despite being on the phone Steffi pouts, just as she has always done when teased by her big sister. “Almost a year at the Grain Market.”
“A year? Are you sure?”
“Okay. So it was nine and a half months, but you always round up for your résumé. And actually, I was kidding about being bored. I’m not bored, I love it. But if a new challenge presented itself, I’d be willing to look at it.”
“Right now you’re going to have to start praying for a new challenge,” Callie says sternly. “And what about Rob? How’re things going with him?”
Steffi drops her voice to a whisper. “Would you be surprised if I said it wasn’t going particularly well?”
“No.” Callie tuts. “It’s what I would expect. Oh Steff. When are you going to settle down?”
“Callie!” Steffi reprimands. “Now you sound just like Dad. You’ve always been my supporter. Don’t start giving me a hard time now! Anyway, this isn’t my fault. I’m just getting fed up with the whole rock-chick lifestyle, and frankly, if I were to settle down, it wouldn’t be with someone like Rob. Plus, I’m only thirty-three so I’ve got plenty of time. Just because you were married at this age doesn’t mean that’s the right path for me.”
“You’re right. I just . . . I guess I just want to see you happy.”
“I am happy,” Steffi says. “It’s just not the same kind of happiness as you, with a perfect husband, two perfect children and a perfect house.”
“If it makes you feel better, the husband is never home, those children ain’t so perfect—the daughter, for example, is soon to turn nine and is developing a serious attitude that is making my hair stand on end—and the neighbors’ septic tank has just exploded all over our yard.”
Steffi cracks up. “I totally shouldn’t say this, but yes, that does make me feel better. So I guess things aren’t any different with Reece?”
“Different, as in does he get home before nine at night and does he ever stop traveling? Nope. Things are no different.”
“But you love it, right? The independence?”
“Yeah. I do. I guess I’m more like Mom than I realized.” Callie drifts into silence as she thinks about her solitary evenings, when Reece is still at work and the kids are in bed.
It is a time she loves. The house is entirely peaceful, and she can drift in and out of her office, Photoshopping pictures if she chooses, making herself tea, curling up on the sofa to watch some TV. It has become her favorite time of day—the hours when the phone doesn’t ring, other than Reece to say what time he’ll be home, and no one is demanding anything of her.
“How about the kids? Are they like you, or Reece?” Steffi smiles, thinking of the niece and nephew she adores.
“Eliza’s just as strong willed and stubborn as I am, and moody as hell. God, Steff, I don’t remember ever being this rude to Mom when I was young. Sometimes it just takes my breath away.”
“My perfect niece is rude? Seriously?”
“Not for the past couple of days, thank God. She’s liking me this week because I just donated a family photographic session to the school auction, and apparently she overheard one of the ten-year-olds saying her mom was desperate to have me take their pictures. So this week I’m cool again. Jack, on the other hand, bless his soul, still adores me unreservedly. God,” she sighs, “I love that boy.”
“Favoritism!” Steffi points out. “And by the way, despite what Eliza may think this week, you’re not cool,” she says. “You’re a total Stepford Wife.”
“Steff, if you weren’t my sister, I’d kill you.”
“But it’s true. How many times do I have to tell you there are wardrobe choices other than Gap shorts and FitFlops?”
Callie laughs. “How do you know I have FitFlops?”
“I don’t, but I took the train out to stay with Lila a couple of weekends ago, and every single woman I passed on Main Street was wearing those damned things. It’s obviously some weird suburban Stepford thing.”
“Bedford isn’t the suburbs, it’s the country.”
“That’s just what you tell yourself to make yourself feel better. Hey, by the way, this guy who comes into the restaurant may let me use his farmhouse in Sleepy Hollow. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
Callie lights up. “Sleepy Hollow? That’s so close! That would be amazing. What would it be, a weekend place for you or something?”
“Something. Not sure yet. I haven’t seen it but I’ll keep you posted.”
“Hey, how is Lila, anyway? And how come you went out there? That’s just sad. She’s my best friend and you get to see her more often than I do.”
“I totally don’t, but this boyfriend of hers, Ed, had his son staying, and the boy’s a fan of Rob’s so we came out to meet him.”
“That’s adorable! She never told me!”
Steffi sniffs. “Some kind of best friend . . .”
“No, it’s my fault,” Callie says guiltily. “I’ve been so busy with life, I’ve barely had a chance to speak to her, and she’s terrible at email. So did you meet Ed? What did you think?”
“Yes. He seems like a great guy.”
“I think he is. In fact, for all the times Lila has said that this time she’s met the one, this is the first time she hasn’t actually said that. It seems more real than the others. Very measured and balanced. I think she may actually have found the guy.”
“She seems happy. They do seem right together, and she was calm around him.”
“That’s exactly it,” Callie says excitedly. “He calms her down, and that’s what was always missing. Lila always got so completely amped up about her boyfriends that you knew it couldn’t last.”
“Also, he does have that amazing English accent.”
“I know!” Callie giggles. “If I close my eyes I can think of Hugh Grant.”
“So,” Steffi says, “although, darling sis, I would love to talk to you all day, they might very well kill me if I’m more than about twenty minutes late, so did you just call to chat or is there a reason?”
“Both. I called to chat, and to say that I’m kind of worried about Dad.”
“You are? Why? Is he sick?”
“God, no! Nothing like that. It’s just that he’s started calling me every day, which, as you know, isn’t like him at all, and I just worry that he’s really lonely.”
“That’s because he’s a bad-tempered old bastard and the minute all those lady friends reali
ze it, they’re off.”
“I don’t think he has any lady friends right now. I think that’s the problem. He’s never been great at friendships, has he? And now he’s sixty-nine and on his own, and I’m just worried about him.”
“So what should we do? Go up and see him?”
“That would be a start. Or maybe you could invite him to stay in New York with you. He loves the theater and the opera and he probably wouldn’t even be at the apartment much.”
“Callie? Have you been to this apartment? Dad would hate it here. And he totally wouldn’t understand Rob’s hours. It would drive him nuts that Rob stays up all night and sleeps all day. He’d probably shove him out of bed at six a.m. and force him to go for a run or something. Why don’t you have him stay with you?”
“In Bedford? What’s he going to do here? He’d have a much better time in the city.”
“So suggest he come in and stay in a hotel. I’d take him out. I just don’t think I can have him at the apartment. But anyway, it doesn’t solve the larger problem. If he’s lonely, what can we do?”
“I suggested online dating services but he freaked out, which I guess is still the aftermath of Hiromi. Then he just said he’s not the slightest bit interested in dating anyone. I even joked that he didn’t have to date them, he could just sleep with them.”
“Ew. Gross. Do you have to bring that up?”
“Sorry. I was kidding.” Callie laughs.
“You know what I wish?” Steffi says. “I wish that he and Mom would somehow find a way to be friends.”
“No you don’t,” Callie counters. “You wish that he and Mom got back together.”
“Not really. I mean, there’s a part of me that always wanted that when we were growing up, but now I just think they’re both on their own, neither of them is exactly a spring chicken, and it would be so nice if they became, I don’t know, friends. Wouldn’t it be great?”
“Except you’re forgetting that Dad’s a starched right-wing, rigid, grumpy bastard who likes everything done his way, and Mom’s a laid-back, left-wing, scatty free spirit who floats through life like a fairy.”