Holiday Confessions

by Anne Marie Winston

  “Do you have water or milk?” she asked. “Either of those would be fine.”

  “No milk,” he said. “Are you an ice or no-ice person?”

  “Ice, please.”

  What in the world had possessed him to invite her in? As he got a glass of water for each of them as well as a handful of napkins and returned to the living room, he decided it was the voice. He’d already decided that getting tight with the new neighbor could get sticky, but something about that sexy, low-pitched voice had completely overruled his better judgment. Setting his glass down, he reached for the coasters he kept on his coffee table and slipped one under each glass. “There.”

  Tinfoil rustled again and he realized she was removing the wrapping from the cookies. “Your dogs certainly are well behaved,” she said. “When I was a child, we had a cocker spaniel who would eat anything left unattended.”

  “At least he wasn’t a big dog.”

  She laughed, and the sound was a warm peal of music that made him smile in return. “Oh, high places didn’t faze Ethel. That dog climbed onto chairs—and tables—and could leap right up onto the counter. Drove my mother wild.”

  He was used to hearing unusual names for dogs. But…“Ethel?”

  “We had Lucy, too. But Ethel was the problem child.”

  He chuckled. “That’s a polite way to phrase it.”

  “You have no idea,” she said in a dry tone. “Are all guide dogs this well behaved?”

  “For the most part.” He nodded. “They’re still only dogs, though. Just about the time I get to thinking my dog is perfect, he or she reminds me that there is no such animal.”

  “You spend a lot of time training them, though.”

  “We mostly just brush up on obedience on a regular basis and work on any specific commands we want to use. The puppy raisers are the ones who get the credit for the pleasant behavior.”

  “Puppy raisers?”

  “The people who get them when they’re little pups. They teach them basic obedience, they socialize them around lots of people and other animals, and they teach them good house manners.”

  “Like not getting food off the table.”

  “Or out of the trash, or anywhere else they see it, which can be a real challenge, especially for a Labrador retriever. The dog learns not to chase cats around the house, not to jump up on people, not to get on the furniture—”

  She cleared her throat. “Ah, I hate to tell you this, but there appears to be a large black dog lying smack in the middle of your love seat.”

  He laughed. “Don’t ever tell anybody, please, or I’ll get fifty lashes with a wet noodle.”

  “You wouldn’t get in trouble for that?”

  “No. Once we are partnered with a dog, that dog becomes ours. The only time a school might step in and remove a dog from a handler is if they suspect abuse. And I personally am not aware of anyone ever doing anything to warrant something like that.”

  “Feather doesn’t get on the furniture?”

  “Feather,” he said, “is not about to leave my side. She’s never been interested in sleeping on the couch or the bed.”

  “I noticed she went into the kitchen with you and came right back out when you did.”

  “Feather’s having a hard time adjusting to retirement.”

  “Do they have to retire at a certain age? She still looks pretty chipper.”

  “She is pretty chipper,” he said, “for a family pet. But she’s almost ten and she’s getting arthritis. She was starting to have trouble walking as much as I needed her to. And she was starting to hesitate.”

  “Hesitate?”

  “Lose her confidence. She didn’t want to cross the street, even when it was clear. One day she stopped in the middle of a crosswalk and wouldn’t move. I still don’t know if it was fear, if she was in pain or if she just lost focus. But that was the day I realized I was going to have to get a new guide.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “Very.” He still found it difficult to talk about, and he had to clear his throat. “We were partners for more than eight years. I hated it. Felt like I was pushing her aside. I’m sure that it felt that way to her.” He sighed. “Some people keep their retired dogs, some let them go back to the person who raised them. Some are adopted by a family member or friend or someone approved by the training school. I thought it would be too hard to let her go. But now…now I’m not so sure.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. TMI, I’m sure.”

  “It’s not too much information at all. I find it very interesting.”

  He heard the ice clink in her glass as she took a sip. “Have a cookie,” she said after a moment, when he didn’t go on. “They’re always best when they’re still warm.”

  “Twist my arm. Where are they?”

  “On the coffee table. Ah, sort of to your right—”

  “Think of the hands on a clock,” he said. “If I am facing twelve, where would the plate be?”

  “Are you in the middle of the clock or at the six?”

  He had to grin. It was a legitimate question. “The middle.”

  “Two o’clock,” she said promptly.

  He reached out, gauging the distance down to the coffee table, and was gratified when his fingers encountered the edge of a plate. It had little ridges around the edge, and…there. He picked up a cookie and brought it to his nose. “I’m not sure I can bring myself to eat this. I might just sniff it for the rest of my life.”

  “I can give you the recipe,” she pointed out. “It’s not like you’ll never see them again.”

  Instantly he could tell that she realized what she’d said. There was a short, horrified silence.

  “Oh, cuss,” she said with feeling. “I am so sorry. What a thoughtless comment.”

  “Cuss?” He was struggling not to laugh aloud. Most of the people he knew didn’t bother to censor their language.

  Again he suspected that she shrugged. Then she said, “It’s a nice satisfying mix of consonants to mutter when I’m mad. I don’t like to use—or hear—strong language.”

  “Cuss.” He said it again. Kendra hadn’t liked foul language, either. It was one of the little things he’d loved about her. “Works for me.”

  Thinking of his former fiancée made him realize that he hadn’t thought of her in a long time.

  “Anyway,” Lynne said, “I was in the middle of a major apology.”

  “Unnecessary apology. It’s just an expression like ‘I see.’ You don’t have to censor your vocabulary.”

  He made a show of taking another bite of his cookie and miming pleasure, hoping to get past the awkward moment. Since he’d lost his sight, the only woman he’d gone out with was Kendra. And after they’d broken up, he’d stayed as far away from the dating scene as possible for a while. In recent years, he’d dated some, but it had never seemed right; something within him just hadn’t been interested enough to pursue a relationship.

  “I’m glad you like the cookies,” she said. “Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night? There are more where these came from.”

  “Thank you, but no.” His refusal was automatic. He might have almost mastered the art of eating without seeing his food, but he had a serious dread of making a fool of himself. “I have the dogs and—”

  “You’re welcome to bring them. A little dog hair is not going to ruin my home.”

  “You really don’t have to do that.” She felt obligated because she’d tripped him up in the hallway; he already could tell she was the kind of person who would take something like that to heart.

  “I want to,” she said. “I know virtually no one here. You can tell me about the town.”

  Well, hell. He could think it, even if he wasn’t going to say it aloud. Without telling her an outright lie, there was no graceful way to get out of it. “All right. What time?”

  “Is six-thirty okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any special requests?”

  “No spaghett
i, please.”

  He could tell he’d startled her. Then she laughed. “I guess that is a bit of a problem food, isn’t it? Okay. No spaghetti, I promise.”

  He couldn’t place her accent. The way she’d said, “a bit of a problem” had sounded almost British. But every once in a while he thought he detected in her drawled syllables a hint of the South as well. Maybe tomorrow night he could steer the conversation in her direction. It would be a nice change from his usual routine of answering questions about his vision issues and his dog.

  Lynne finally got the last packing box out of her new home. In just two days, after the furniture had arrived yesterday, she’d gotten most things in their proper places. Not many pictures on the walls or other personal decor, but that was something that would happen eventually.

  The whole place needed a good vacuuming after she was done, and then she made another batch of cookies. She decided to make a chicken and bake some potatoes, and mixed up some honey-and-wheat bread dough. After she got it rising in the bread machine, she rinsed broccoli to steam later.

  Cooking and baking still felt vaguely like forbidden fun. She’d spent almost ten years modeling, worrying about every extra ounce she gained, keeping her body at a weight far thinner than she would be naturally. Since she’d stopped, she’d gained nearly fifteen pounds. But she’d done it carefully and when she’d felt as if she looked more like a normal human being than a scarecrow in stilettos, she’d stopped and concentrated on maintaining that weight. It was ridiculously easy compared to the rigid diet she’d adhered to in the past.

  As she soaked her aching body in a gloriously hot, soothing bath, she worked a cramp out of her calf, wincing as she kneaded the knotted muscle. She had to admit, even to herself, that she’d gotten a little carried away with the unpacking, cleaning and baking today. It would be pretty mortifying if she yawned in Brendan’s face. Or even worse, if she fell asleep!

  With that thought in mind, she drank a soda loaded with caffeine as she set the table a few minutes before six-thirty, then rushed into her bedroom to put her hair up again.

  Her hand stilled as she realized what she was doing. Brendan couldn’t see what she looked like! The realization was a surprisingly freeing thought. Tonight she would be judged solely on her character and conversation, on what she was like as a person. Her looks would never even enter into the mix.

  It might be freeing, but it also was terrifying, she decided. What if she wasn’t an interesting person?

  Two

  Brendan finished washing up the bowls from the dogs’ dinner. He’d already taken each one out, but as he listened to the time, he realized he’d better get moving if he didn’t want to be late to dinner with his new neighbor.

  He was pretty sure his shirt and slacks from the office were still clean, but he wasn’t taking any chances, so he headed into his bedroom to change. Clean pants. His fingers found pants hangers and he chose khakis rather than jeans and pulled out a brown belt, identified by the tiny Braille tag he’d used to label it.

  He passed by the suits paired with dress shirts and matching ties on the metal hangers and felt the plastic ones that were his system for locating casual shirts. Better get a clean shirt, too. Showing up with an ink stain or food smeared on his collar wasn’t the impression he wanted to make.

  He was running his fingertips over the label that clued him in to color when his hand stilled on the knit shirt he’d chosen. Since when did he care about making an impression on a woman?

  Quickly he finished dressing and called the dogs. He harnessed Cedar and put a leash on Feather. She tried repeatedly to shove her way between Cedar and him, and when he finally used a stern tone, she skulked behind him as if he’d beaten her with a stick.

  “I’m sorry, girl,” he told her as he stood in front of Lynne DeVane’s door. “I’m doing the best I can to make this work.”

  “Make what work?” Lynne opened the door in time to hear his last comment.

  He forced a laugh. “Sorry. I don’t usually stand around talking to my dogs.”

  “Really?” Her tone held amusement.

  He thought about it. “Okay, maybe I do.”

  “I don’t blame you. They pay attention to what you’re saying more than people do most of the time.” The direction of her voice shifted and he realized she had stepped back so that he could enter. “Please come in and have a seat. But then you have to tell me what you were talking about.”

  As he entered her apartment, he told Cedar, “Find a chair.”

  “I didn’t realize you taught them things like that,” she said as Cedar took him across the room and he found a large wing chair with his outstretched hand.

  “Good boy,” he said to the dog. To Lynne, he said, “It isn’t a formal command taught by the school, but when I first got Feather, another guide dog user suggested that it might be a useful command, along with things like, ‘find the door.’ Some people use specific commands to find a family member in a large store.” He’d chosen finding a chair for the first thing he’d teach Cedar, and already his big black dog was catching on.

  “How long have you had Cedar?”

  “We just graduated from the training school two weeks ago.”

  “Oh, my,” she said, clearly taken aback. “I assumed you’d worked together much longer than that.”

  He smiled. “He’s a good dog. And having worked with one dog helps. When you get your first dog, both of you have to learn everything together. Speaking of which, where is Feather?” He stretched his hand down to his right side where he’d been trying to teach her to lie, but she wasn’t there.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lynne said. “I was petting her. Isn’t that allowed?”

  “No, it’s fine unless a dog is working,” he said. “She’s probably enjoying the attention. Since I retired her and got Cedar, she’s been getting more and more depressed.”

  “How can you tell?”

  He shrugged. “She’s not eating well. Sniffs her food and turns away. And she just seems kind of…lackluster. Dull. She used to be bouncy and her tail was always wagging. I could always tell because her whole body vibrates from the back end forward when that tail’s going.”

  “It sounds funny to think of a dog suffering from depression, but I suppose it makes sense. Did you say you two worked together for eight years?”

  “Yes. She just had her tenth birthday.” He sighed. “I’m starting to think I should have let her go. A lot of times the original families who raised them as puppies will take them back again, but if not, the school has a waiting list of families who will adopt a retired guide.”

  “How could you give her up, though, after all that time together?”

  She understood. Warmth spread through him. “Exactly. It’s not easy for a blind person like me who lives alone to care for two dogs, but I just couldn’t send her away. She’s a part of my family.”

  “I can imagine,” Lynne murmured. “I don’t think I could do it, either.” Her voice changed as she bent over and addressed his dog. “You’re a beautiful girl, yes, you are. With a beautiful name.” She laughed in delight.

  “Let me guess. She rolled over on her back and has conned you into rubbing her belly.”

  “Oh, so you’re a belly-rub slut,” she said to the dog. “It’s disappointing to hear that you’ll do this for anybody.”

  He chuckled. “In a big way.” He fondled Cedar’s ears as a comfortable silence stretched.

  “I apologize for grilling you,” Lynne said. “You probably get really sick of people asking you questions about your dog or being blind.”

  He shrugged. “You get used to it. It drove me crazy the first year or so, but it comes with the territory.”

  “So you haven’t always been blind.” It was more a statement than a question. “I thought from some of your mannerisms that you had been able to see once.”

  “I was sighted until I was twenty-one. While I was in college, I fell over a balcony railing at a frat party and landed mostl
y on my head.”

  “Holy cow. You’re lucky you survived.”

  He nodded. “Very.”

  “A frat party,” she said reflectively. “I never went to college. Are those as wild and debauched as I’ve heard?”

  He grinned. “I’ve been to a few that fit that description. But I hadn’t been drinking that night. A guy behind me tripped, and it was just sheer lousy luck that he plowed into me.”

  “No kidding,” she said with feeling. “Did you know right away that you were blind?”

  “Not right away.” He hesitated as the memories of those early days in the hospital welled up. Kendra had been with him when he’d asked the doctor about his vision.

  “Let’s change the subject,” Lynne said. “I think it’s your turn to ask the questions.”

  He realized he’d been silent too long, and he mentally smacked himself. He really was out of touch with socializing. Entertaining clients was a lot different from dating. Even if this wasn’t really a date. “Sorry. It brings back a lot of memories. It was…a time of enormous change for me.”

  “I can imagine,” she murmured.

  He decided to take her up on her offer. “What kind of work do you do?”

  He felt a subtle change in the room, a tension that surprised him. He’d expected that to be a fairly safe question.

  “I’m not working right now,” she said. “But I have a couple of interviews this week, so I’m hoping to have an answer to that question soon.”

  “Okay,” he said. She’d probably just lost a job, and since that often happened under difficult circumstances even to the best of people, she might feel embarrassed or humiliated. “Let me rephrase that. What kind of work would you like to do?”

  “My interviews are at a preschool and at an elementary school as an aide,” she responded. “But what I’d really like to do is go to college and learn to teach.”

  “What age would you prefer?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I enjoy little kids, but I honestly don’t know enough about older children or teens to know whether or not I’d also like those age groups. Hence the job choices.”