Freckles

by Amy Lane

  Carter suddenly desperately wanted to share this with someone who had promised to understand.

  He got out his phone and took the picture, then sent it to the number Sandy had given him. While he was at it, he forwarded it to Brenda for good measure.

  Oh dear, Sandy replied almost immediately. What was on the other side of the door?

  Carter blinked at the text.

  I have no idea. Hold on a second.

  He opened the door.

  Freckles hopped up immediately from her crouch of shame and ran inside the bedroom. With a few bounds, she jumped up on the bed and ran to the center of the bed to curl up in her cushion and gnaw on the rope toy she’d chosen the night before.

  Oh hell.

  Carter took another picture, this one captioned with: You’re right. It’s not the dog’s fault.

  Nope. Not the dog’s fault. Well, next time you’ll know—move the cushion out of the room or make sure she’s got two, both of them with toys.

  So simple. Carter actually felt a twenty-pound weight lift off his chest, just knowing the answer was that simple.

  Thanks, Sandy. He walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed wearily. Alexis the dog walker was supposed to get here in ten minutes, and Carter only wished he was the kind of guy who could take a power nap. He reached out and rubbed Freckles’s ears and let her lick his hand. Very carefully he examined her little feet, and she whined. Uh-oh—her paws really were tender.

  He took another picture. Should I bring her in?

  No—but maybe don’t send her out for another walk today.

  Well, fine. Today was supposed to be a get-acquainted day anyway.

  In the meantime, Carter could just sit here and let the tension flood out of him. No Jacobsen, no clients, just him in the quiet of his own house with a creature who was absurdly easy to please.

  The knock at the door startled him from what was about to become a full-blown nap, and he scooped Freckles up and hustled to the door.

  “Mr. Embree?”

  “Alexis Vaughn?”

  The girl wasn’t pretty, exactly—her features were bold, with dark, plucked brows; a long jaw; and a nose that made no apologies. She’d done one of those things with the short wedge in the back and the long, curved swords of hair around her face, and then she’d dyed the whole thing the color of cherry cola. Lipstick: loud. Black denim miniskirt and jacket: tight. Platform sneakers: impressive. But she smiled at him cheerily, and he thought that unlike himself, here was a child who had never been told she was too plain or too ordinary to accomplish big things.

  He loved people like that. “I’m glad to meet you,” he said sincerely. “Come on in.”

  Alexis be-bopped in, looking around with polite interest. The only thing that really held her attention was the dog.

  “Oh yeah, you’re a princess.” She smiled directly into Freckles’s bangs. “You’re a princess. You own the joint, don’t you? Oh yes, you do!”

  Without thinking about it, Carter found himself handing his dog over to this amazing creature who had just sort of appeared on his doorstep.

  Freckles didn’t lick her hand—or her face—but she did wag her fringed little tail just as fast as it would go.

  “We,” Alexis said soberly, “are going to be the best of friends.” And with that she tucked the dog under her arm, disregarding her black denim, which probably sucked up dog hair like the backside of Scotch tape.

  Carter loved this kid!

  “So,” he said, feeling a sense of relief sweep him—he wasn’t in this alone. “Her paws are a little tender—I’m afraid I locked her bed in my bedroom and she tried to build a dog door.”

  “Oh! Oh no!” Alexis made a big deal over the poor abused paws, and then Carter got to the point.

  “So, I would really like your services. I work long days, and I can’t always make it back for lunch. I would love it if she had a break in her day whether I could make it or not.”

  “Oh yeah.” Alexis nodded. “You can’t expect her to go a ten-hour day with no chance to pee, right? I mean . . .” She looked around and spotted the pee pads—but no crate. “Yeah—if you’re not gonna crate, she needs as many trips outside as she can get, especially when she’s a baby. So, you walk her in the morning?”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to get her to three miles—”

  “She’s a baby!” Alexis laughed.

  “Well, so far one is good,” Carter told her dryly. He was going to have to cut down on his calories if he didn’t get more exercise! “But I walk her around seven in the morning, and I can take her for a spin around the block when I get home at six thirty—”

  “So one or two would be best,” she said, nodding. “That’s good. I’ve got three other clients on this block in the early afternoon. I’d have my fri—uh, employee, Alondra do it, but Sandy was real firm on this one. He wanted me. So I’ll be here tomorrow, if you don’t mind leaving me the key!”

  Carter had his hand in his pocket before his legal brain had a complete meltdown and seizure.

  “Uh,” he said, trying not to be rude. “Don’t you have anything for me to sign? A disclaimer? A breakdown of services and prices?”

  To his dismay, Alexis’s confident demeanor cracked and flaked, falling around her like dandruff. “I don’t,” she said apologetically. “See—I just started doing this for my friend! Her mom was going to make her get rid of her dog if it didn’t stop crapping in the house, but Alondra had work and school, right? So I took Fritzi for a walk once a day, ’cause I was out of work, right? Anyway, she paid me a little, and then I stopped and talked to a lady who’d just driven home to let her dog out—that’s Janet—and she became my first client, and then word got around and now I’ve got like thirty dogs, right? Alondra quit her job to work for me, and our friend Kat is on board the puppy bus—but it’s all, you know, one person tells a friend, and that person calls us up and . . .”

  She trailed off, lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sort of a business flake, you know? But . . . but it’s paying my bills right now and—”

  Carter nodded encouragingly, his insides torn right in half. The part of him who worked for Marc Jacobsen wanted to run away screaming and find an accredited dog walker, who had paperwork and a pricing breakdown and some sort of legal protection for owner and business owner, because, damn it, this was his dog he was turning over!

  But a part of him really liked this confident, sassy kid who’d fallen in love with his dog. Yes, she was apparently promiscuous that way, but there was no moral stigma attached to loving too many pets—witness crazy cat women who were regarded with affectionate befuddlement and very rarely institutionalized.

  “Look,” he said after a moment of feeling horrible. “I’ve got an idea.” He did? Oh, wait! He did!

  “Sure,” she said, apparently game for anything.

  “See, I’m a lawyer, and I specialize in small-business contracts, and civil suits if they’re violated. Anyway—I haven’t had lunch and Freckles needs a break in the yard. How about I start some soup, you take Freckles out and get to know her, and when you get back, give me a breakdown of your schedules and pricing. I’ll draw you up a contract that you can have clients sign, and maybe one for your employees—”

  “Why do they need contracts?” Alexis seemed completely surprised. “I mean, we work on trust, right? They know I’d never cheat them, I know I’d never cheat them—”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but, you know. If they break their ankle while walking a dog, they’re entitled to state benefits and stuff—but that doesn’t work if they’re being paid under the table. And you need tax forms and . . .”

  He watched her eyes glaze over, and just like that, he had something to do that weekend.

  “Look—give me your price breakdown, and I’ll put it all together, get you a file folder, show you your shtick. I mean, you’re running a thriving business—this will help it get better.”

  That seemed to surprise her. “A thriving business?
” Her bold grin came back, big teeth making for a super-extra-stunning sucker punch of a smile. “So, like, a success? Not a fuckup?”

  He shook his head. “Not a fuckup. Honest. A little organization, a little work, you’ll be able to say you’re a small-business owner. You can expand your base of operations—”

  “Maybe hire Justin, Alondra’s boyfriend? He’s been dying to get in on the dog action!”

  “Exactly.” He was a little in love. He was going to have to text Sandy and tell him that his niece was fantastic.

  “But—” Her face fell. “But you’re a lawyer. How much is this going to cost me?”

  His chest got tight and glowy, and he couldn’t exactly say why. “Well, it just so happens that I need a dog walker, and my dog is going to be left alone all day. Maybe . . .?”

  She closed her eyes and did a little happy dance, and Freckles remained tucked in the crook of her arm, content just to let the joy wash over them both.

  “Mr. Embree, if you draw up all the papers and walk me through it and keep me honest, I swear she’ll get the special empress package. We won’t just take her walking once a day, we’ll stop by another time to let her out to pee and give her a snack!”

  “Excellent! And I like that—you think up what you’d charge someone for the ‘empress package’ and we’ll work down from there.”

  “Ooh . . .” He watched Alexis’s enthusiasm start her gears moving. “So, like, the Empress Package and the Queen Package, the Princess Package and . . .”

  “The Duke or Duchess Package?” he supplied.

  She squealed. “Oh my God! This is gonna be awesome! Hurry—go make food! I got me some mulling to do.”

  “So, uh, tomato soup and grilled cheese?” Because it was bitterly cold outside, and that sounded like a nice idea.

  “Thank you so much! You’re, like, my hero! But I didn’t expect any less, you know. Uncle Sandy’s sort of amazing. He’s going to be a veterinarian—I’m so jealous. Go, go make food!”

  She turned around and trotted for the sliding glass door then, as comfortable in his house as she apparently was in her own skin.

  Carter started gathering supplies from his stainless-steel refrigerator, thinking about her uncle Sandy. Wow, that kid really seemed to think he was special—and Carter felt the urge to text him again.

  He started the soup, put a grilled cheese sandwich on sauté, and pulled out his camera. The day was grim and fog-ridden, but Alexis’s bright, bottle-fed hair stood out in all of that like a search light. Carter took a picture of her, throwing a treat for his yappy dog. I like her very much. Thanks for the rec.

  His phone dinged while he was flipping the grilled cheese.

  Welcome. Are you taking her for a walk tomorrow night?

  The girl or the dog? He was genuinely confused.

  The dog! Geez!

  Oh. Yeah. Why?

  Tomorrow is Friday and my last class is at five. I have no plans. Want company?

  Carter stared at the text, a sudden suspicion thrumming in his chest. Uh, sure. I’m sort of boring though.

  Sandy, with all of his excitement and happy babble and sarcasm—what exactly would be the fun in hanging out with Carter? Greg had been happy and flirty too—but apparently not even Carter’s bankroll could keep him happy and flirty over the course of a relationship.

  Excellent! Gotta go, class. Text me address! Bye!

  Carter stared at the text, feeling the drag of a strong undertow pulling him under the surface of his normal, everyday life to a completely surreal landscape, where happy girls wanted to be part of his daily routine and gangly, handsome vet techs were hitting him up to be part of the world’s most basic . . . date?

  He put in his address and added, It’s a date.

  But Sandy didn’t answer. Class. Yeah.

  Maybe not a date. Maybe just a friend thing.

  Determining that, Carter went back to the grilled cheese and tomato soup, his legal mind—which he’d always considered the best part of him—already working on Alexis’s contract and business papers. He was going to make sure that girl’s future was firmly and legally drawn up so Alexis and only Alexis could change it.

  Jacobsen left early on Fridays. He liked to rub his employees’ faces in it too, giving little jabs before he left about how he was going to Tahoe or San Francisco or somewhere, and saying that someday, when they earned their stripes, they’d get to leave early, just like him.

  Carter actively daydreamed about the perfect murder on those days.

  But not this Friday. As soon as Jacobsen was out the door, Carter was across the tiny, beige office space with the papers he’d written up for Alexis. Yeah, he was supposed to be working on the Hausen/Hufsen case, but honestly? Unless his boss was going to behave ethically and disclose all the elements of the case, there was nothing for Carter to do. Jacobsen always overestimated how long it would take Carter to get something done—he was pretty sure the guy considered him mentally deficient in some way. It was like just because he wasn’t great in the courtroom, he couldn’t draw up a basic brief in less time than it would take to file a Supreme Court motion.

  “Brenda?” he said cautiously, hating to impose. “I, uh . . . Well, it’s not actually firm business, but I could use some copies and one of those accordion folders and some organization on this. Are you up for it?”

  Brenda looked up from her stunningly fast typing. “So, uh, getting paid by our boss, but not doing our boss’s work. Is there a downside? You’re not planning to defend a circus that imprisons elephants and tortures ponies, are you?”

  “No!” He tried not to fidget. “I’m helping a friend . . . or a friend’s niece. Or a dog walker, really. She’s a nice kid. She’s giving me dog walking for free—”

  “You cheap bastard!” Brenda said, laughing. Carter didn’t get to see her laugh that often—her plain, farm-wife face was suddenly animated and pretty when she laughed. Was that the secret to keeping a mate, Carter wondered suddenly—laughing with enthusiasm?

  “No!” he protested, suddenly realizing she had the wrong idea. “I mean, yes, I’m getting the dog walking for free, but no, that’s not why I’m doing it.”

  “Then why are you helping her—” Brenda scanned the sheaf of papers he’d printed out for her “—set up a small business?”

  “Because that’s what we should do, right?” He wanted to be the good guy, damn it! “And she was all . . . you know. Naked and helpless. She could have gotten sued by a client, or an employee, or a homeowner who saw her letting a dog crap on his lawn. She was just nice to me, and I really needed her help for Freckles, and she jumped right in. I mean, I was going to pay her for it but—”

  “No, no, I get it,” Brenda said, spreading the papers out on her desk and starting what looked like a Gin Rummy player’s card re-org. “It’s like you’ve got these skills, and usually people sort of take them for granted or shit on them, but really, you got them to help people. And someone comes along who’s nice to you, and you’re like, ‘Look! Watch me help you! It’s awesome!’”

  Carter laughed, but he felt some sadness too. “Yeah, I mean, contract law is boring as hell. But when you take the classes, you’re sort of thinking, ‘Look! I can help people make businesses!’”

  “Yeah.” Brenda sighed, her hands stilling their purposeful shuffling. “And then you realize you’re working for a douche-nugget who mostly wants to bleed you for all your worth so he can go to Tahoe and fuck his potential partner’s wife.”

  Carter wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Ugh—really? Kaplan’s wife, Tracy?”

  Brenda nodded, both of them on the same page. Tracy was a sweet woman, but Kaplan was working his ass off trying to please Jacobsen, and Jacobsen was apparently using that time to move in on her.

  “Yeah.” She made one more adjustment to the stack. “So this? This feels like . . . spa day. We’re, like, cleaning our moral pores.”

  “So an ethics facial?” Carter mulled. “What’s next? A backbone impla
nt, since Jacobsen’s apparently ripped ours out in our sleep?”

  Brenda cocked her head and looked him over. “Yours is there,” she said after an uncomfortable assessment from her average brown eyes. “It just needs a little stiffening in places.”

  A part of Carter relaxed, glad he hadn’t lost her good opinion forever. “I’ll do my best. Do you need me to do anything else for that?”

  “Yeah. Go to the office supply closet and fetch me one of the really good accordion folders, with the tags. I’m going to set this up right. Your dog will be able to run her business when I’m done.”

  “She needs to concentrate on potty training. I’ll just give these to the dog walker, and we’ll hope for the best.”

  Brenda’s laughter followed him down the beige hallway of the beige offices. He came back, pondering, “Hey—do we decorate for Thanksgiving or anything?”

  Brenda slid him a sideways glance. “Nope. Jacobsen won’t spring for the decorations.”

  “Then I will,” Carter said rashly. “I just . . . God. Beige. Don’t you think some color would do something for this place?”

  “Knock yourself out.” Brenda shrugged. She pointed to the turkey made out of a pinecone that vied for attention on her chaotic desk. “I obviously have my happy at home.”

  Carter shrugged. “Can’t have enough happy,” he said philosophically, and then left her to work her magic.

  He’d get her a thank-you card and a nice gift this weekend. She was doing him a solid—and she’d sort of forgiven him for the Clayburghs’ dog. He could deal with that too.

  Carter got the OMW text just as he was pulling into his driveway. Dark had already fallen, and the air was damply cold. He thought he should probably go put on some jeans and a sweatshirt before Sandy got there because . . .

  Well, because he wanted to be comfortable, right?

  And maybe because Sandy in his scrubs had seemed so cocky and at ease, and Carter wanted to be seen as more than a “douche-nugget” in a suit.

  But first he had to greet Freckles, who jumped up and down and barked and barked as soon as he opened the door. He caught her in his arms, a wriggling, furry, licking, excited little mess of a dog, and she licked his face and his hands and the lapel of his suit.