“Sass. I’m reporting you to whoever sent you.”
“Excellent. But if you don’t get your shot you might not be strong enough to do that.”
He looked up at her from his recliner, blue eyes sharp despite red rims. “That sounds like a threat, Mrs. Gardiner. It’s no wonder you attract a dubious element.”
Mim never enjoyed injections, but today she gave Augustus a bonus shot of B12. “That’ll give you lots of energy for Christmas,” she said.
He slammed the door behind her as she left. “Tell your agency to send someone respectable next time. This is a nice neighborhood.”
Mim’s tension eased even before she got to the car. Jezebel was waiting in the driver’s seat, and she refused to move until Mim hugged her.
The canine loaner had turned into one of Ari’s finest moments.
Mim always felt nervous around Elaine Millerton, despite twice-weekly visits for months. Although she was frail and probably close to 80, Elaine was always elegantly dressed, with her white hair twisted in a bun. She had attendants around the clock but needed an RN to tend to a herniated colostomy.
Elaine had said little about the infection that got her into this position, but Mim suspected she may not have chosen to recover if she’d known it would mean the permanent loss of bodily functions and dignity. She insisted that Mim call her by her first name, perhaps because it made her feel less like a patient.
When her husband was alive, Elaine had been part of the small but powerful Dorset Hills elite. The Millerton house was stately, with marble floors in the foyer and a grand oak staircase. But it was also old and hard to heat, so Elaine usually sat by a gas fireplace in her large bedroom, reading or knitting.
Generally, they said very little and Mim was happy to work in silence, convinced that small talk would lead her to make some awkward gaffe.
Today, however, Elaine spoke up. “I was sorry to hear about George. I assume your son is terribly upset.”
“I think so,” Mim said, glancing up at her. “But he’s 15, so it’s hard to tell.”
Elaine smiled. “I recall that age. Luckily it passes.”
Clement Millerton, her son, was the publisher of a chain of magazines in New York. Although he didn’t make it home often, he called Mim regularly to check on his mother’s condition and seemed like a wonderful man.
“Please let that be true. Kyle can’t stand the sight of me right now.”
“His father isn’t…” Elaine trailed off delicately.
“In the picture? No.” Mim tried not to bristle. In Elaine’s day, women endured lousy husbands for the sake of appearances. She supposed they still did, especially in Elaine’s circles.
“Let me know if I can be of help,” Elaine said, focusing on her knitting. “With George, I mean.”
“Thanks, Elaine,” Mim said. “I’m sure he’ll be home by Christmas.”
“The magic of the season will prevail.” She gave Mim a little smile. “It is Dog Town, after all.”
“You’re late,” Bill Hodgson said as Mim came in. Crossing his arms over his belly, he glowered at her. He didn’t offer to hang up her coat, so she left it on the doorknob and kicked off the pull-on boots she wore for house calls. “Peg’s been fretting the whole hour. She was afraid you weren’t coming.”
“You know I’d call, Bill. I’ve never missed an appointment.”
“I’m just saying you should think about the patient.”
Mim pressed her lips together. She went above and beyond for Peg—for all her patients. Instead of being grateful, they took it for granted. She understood why. When their worlds closed in, any visit became a major event. People who had nothing but time on their hands were often the most inflexible. There was so little they could control anymore.
Bill was particularly demanding. He’d been looking after Peg, who had multiple sclerosis, almost single-handedly for so long that he was exhausted. Two years earlier, Peg had a bad cold that turned into pneumonia, and her doctor didn’t admit her to the hospital until it was very serious. By the time she was discharged, Peg was permanently bedridden and Bill her full-time caregiver. They were in their mid-sixties, and the retirement they’d envisioned was lost. Bill needed to blame someone, and Mim often caught it.
“You missed something last time,” Bill said. “A new sore.”
Mim had given Peg a sponge bath a week ago, and she was quite sure she wouldn’t have missed the beginnings of a bed sore. Another nurse had visited in between, but still, it seemed unlikely anything serious had cropped up in such a short time.
“Let’s take a look,” she said, heading into the dining room, which the Hodgsons had converted into a bedroom. There was a hospital bed in the center of the room, in which Peg was propped up reading.
“Mim, how nice to see you.” Peg handed over the book and Mim saw it was A Christmas Carol. “I read it every year.”
Mim marvelled that she continued with her traditions despite failing health. “We can always use a reminder of what the season’s all about, I guess.”
“It’s about appreciating the people who are good to you,” Peg said, squeezing Mim’s hand and pulling her closer. “I’m worried about Bill, dear. I think it might be time.”
Looking up at her quickly, Mim realized Peg meant time for a long-term care facility, not time to let go completely.
“What are you two whispering about?” Bill asked, coming in with a basin of steaming water. His hair, lanky and unkempt, had fallen over his eyes. Like many in his situation, he took better care of his charge than himself.
“I was telling her what I wanted to give you for Christmas,” Peg said, winking at Mim. “Can you bring me the laptop and your credit card when we’re done?”
Bill just grunted as he got into position to help Mim gently roll Peg onto one side. There on her left hip was a tiny sore about the size of the head of a match, and just as red. Bedsores could be small but mighty for someone with a depressed immune system. An infection might steal what Peg had left: her simple joy in living and being with her husband.
Mim found Bill staring at her from close range. His bloodshot gray eyes narrowed as he read her expression. They said nothing for the next half hour, as Mim carefully dressed the sore and went through her usual routine. When Peg was settled with her book in her lap, Mim said, “I’ll get the doctor to stop by later. The new sore is tiny, but I think you’ll need a round of antibiotics. In the meantime, if you could spend more time lying on your right side, it will help.”
Peg managed a smile. “I’m sure it will be fine, dear.”
Bill followed Mim outside. “How could you miss that?” he blurted.
Mim was careful with her tone. “Bill, that sore was not there a week ago.”
“They don’t just appear out of nowhere.”
“Sometimes they do. We’ll get her on antibiotics today.”
“A week too late.” Now he was yelling. “You’re a sad excuse for a nurse.”
Peg’s faint voice came through the screen door. “Bill, please.”
It only inflamed him. “Do you know what that woman has been through? And now you’ve set her up to suffer more.” He leaned in so close that spittle flew onto Mim’s cheek. “Get off my porch. Right now. And don’t come back. You’re fired.”
Chapter 11
Ari’s bright face was a beacon in a gloomy day when they met at Puccini’s on Friday evening. It was strange to see her without Hugo, but there was no telling how long they’d be tromping about outside. Mim had left Jezebel at home for the same reason.
“You know your life sucks when putting up posters about your lost dog is the highlight of your weekend,” Mim said.
“It’s good to see you too,” Ari said, standing to hug her. “Anyway, this might cheer you up.”
She pushed a stack of fresh posters toward Mim. Under the photo of George, it now read, “REWARD: $2,500.”
Mim looked at Ari blankly. “Two thousand dollars more? Where did that come from?”
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“Merry Christmas,” Ari said.
“Last year all you bought me was festive underwear,” Mim said. “This is a major upgrade.”
Ari laughed. “Right, the Christmas set! I thought it would bring you luck.” After a pause, she added, “This year, getting George back is the best gift we could give each other.”
Leaning over to give Ari another hug, Mim said, “I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate the thought, but I can’t accept this, Ari. It’s coming out of your expansion fund.”
Despite the fact that Ari had a waiting list for her dogs, and claimed to want to breed on a larger scale, there always seemed to be a reason why she couldn’t or shouldn’t. Mim didn’t want to be another obstacle preventing Ari from achieving her dream.
“Two grand isn’t going to stop me from expanding,” Ari said.
Scraping the foam off her latte, Mim asked, “Then what is stopping you? If you have the client demand and the money, why not go for it?”
Ari pretended to search for something in her bag and came up with lipstick. “The timing isn’t right. I’ll know when it is. Breeder’s intuition, remember?”
“What’s wrong with now? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“Hello, I’m 31. Hardly over the hill.” Glaring at Mim, she applied fuchsia lipstick with a sloppy hand.
“You’re scared,” Mim said.
Dropping the lipstick back in her purse, Ari reached for the sugar and emptied a packet into her tea. “Why would I be scared?”
“You’d be silly not to be scared of sinking a bundle of money into a business where most people barely break even.”
“I have a business plan. The bank’s willing to back me.”
“But you’re still scared.”
Ari stacked three more packets of sugar together and poured them into her tea, stirring so briskly that it slopped over onto the table. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because I’ve seen you apply lipstick in death-defying situations with more precision than you just used. You look like a two-bit—”
“Never mind,” Ari said. Rising with dignity, she covered her mouth with one hand and muttered, “Sweeten up by the time I’m back from the restroom, or the money goes into your hospital Christmas party.”
“Then pick up some sugar on the way back,” Mim said. “You used it all.”
Clapping mittened hands, Ari squealed, “So the panties did bring you luck!”
Mim wrapped tape around a pole to secure the poster. “Luck? My dog got stolen.”
“Lingerie luck is romance-specific. I knew Carver was into you.” She looked happier than she had been since George went missing.
“Did you miss the important part of the story? The part where I found George’s dog tag in Carver’s yard?”
“Did he really untie your boots for you?” Ari asked wistfully. “That is so sweet.”
“Ari. Focus. How do you explain the tag?”
“I can’t. But I can tell you that a man who unlaces your boots wants to unlace more than that. And when that man is as hot as Carver Black, he doesn’t need to steal your dog to make an impression.”
“There’s something odd about him,” Mim said, moving on to the next pole. “His place is Spartan.”
Ari took the tape from her hands. “You could use a dose of Spartan. In fact, you could use a bulldozer to clean your place out.”
“You can get that for me next Christmas,” Mim said, following her out of the café.
“Carver will have you sorted long before that. Mark my words.”
“He doesn’t have a dog, or appear to want a dog. You know that’s suspicious.”
“He’s just waiting for the right woman to settle down and expand. Very few of my clients are single men.”
The crowds got dense as they approached Bellington Square, but they persevered because signs posted there would have the best visibility. The self-anointed Christmas police would keep pulling down their posters, and all they could do was replace them and hope that that right people would see them and spread the word.
“There’s Bridget and her crew,” Mim said as they merged into the crowd. “Let’s go say hi.”
Ari held her back. “Let them initiate. They call themselves the Rescue Mafia, you know. And they prefer to keep a low profile.”
“Huh. I kind of liked them. I mean, they’re sort of scary, but I still liked them.”
“I know. Me too.” She looked over at them. “They used to give me a hard time because I breed dogs instead of rescuing. But we’ve made peace. I’ve helped them out a few times and I guess we’ve agreed to disagree.”
“It’s the only way to survive in Dog Town,” Mim said.
“Oh my god!” Ari was staring up at the stage in the middle of the square outside City Hall. “We’re just in time.”
Mim followed her gaze and groaned. “Not the nativity scene.”
Every year, on December 20th, Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus joined the three wise men and various barn animals on the stage for a tableau. What was unique about this event was that the main roles were assigned to some of the key influencers of Dorset Hills. Mary was always played by Laura Bravura, a real estate mogul, and Joseph was City Councillor Morty Gains. Laura had to be in her early seventies by now, and Morty was older still. The wise men actually needed their prop canes. Baby Jesus was the only role that was recast yearly, unless you counted the livestock.
Mim couldn’t resist grinning as the town “elders” filed onto the stage and took their places.
“At least we don’t have to witness a re-enactment of the actual birth,” Mim said. “If Laura lay down, she might not be able to get back up.” Ari giggled and Mim shushed her. “We could probably get fined for irreverence.”
The tableau only lasted eight minutes this year, as baby Jesus took issue with his straw- filled manger. His howls likely carried for miles, and his real mom hovered at the bottom of the stairs wringing her hands. The star players exchanged disgusted glances before filing off the stage to a round of applause.
The next act, on the other hand, was designed for laughs: the barking choir. One of Dog Town’s more resourceful trainers—not someone Cori Hogan would ever endorse—had worked all year long to get her dogs to bark on cue. The pack of six yelped and yipped its way through what sounded to Mim like Jingle Bells but turned out to be Joy to the World.
Mim laughed throughout all three “tunes,” and her heart lifted in spite of herself. How, in a town so devoted to dogs, could George not eventually surface? She only hoped it would be by Christmas Eve. George’s gifts were already wrapped and under the tree. In truth, they were the only gifts she’d bought so far.
“He’ll be back,” Ari said, wrapping her arm around Mim’s waist. “We’ve papered this town and someone is going to want to pay off their credit card debt with that reward.”
“I hope so,” Mim said. “Let’s go back to my place and open a bottle of wine.”
“You got it. But we might as well stay for the choir now.”
The Dorset Hills Choir truly was something special, and as such, they were given annual star billing. A celebrated soprano and a retired tenor came home from New York to solo and spend the holiday with their families.
Tonight, as the strains of Ave Maria rose into the dark sky, the heavens obliged and released fluffy flakes of snow.
“Wow, snow on cue,” Ari said.
Mim snickered. “Our taxes just went up.”
Both fell silent as the soprano launched into O Holy Night. Mim linked her arm through Ari’s and stared up at the few stars gleaming down through the clouds.
As the last note faded, they turned to each other. Each had tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” Ari said. Her face was alight with joy. “I love Christmas.”
Mim nodded, but her heart had dropped back to her stomach, where it had rented space since the night George went missing. That was the essential difference betwe
en them, she thought. Ari was a glass half full gal, and Mim sometimes wondered if there was any water in the glass at all.
Mim was glad Ari was with her as she entered the dark house. Kyle had protested being cast off to friends again with Jezebel, but Mim thought it was best for him. The way things were going, she wondered if she’d be able to keep her promise of getting George back for Christmas.
If not, they’d have to find a way to celebrate. It would be different this year, but they’d survived a change after Andrew left, as well. In a way, this felt worse. Although Mim’s heart had ached for Kyle when his dad moved out, he was old enough to understand, at least in part, why it happened. At that point, they’d both assumed Andrew would keep in touch. Instead, he’d dropped off the face of the earth, either out of shame or to avoid paying child support. Mim assumed he’d surface eventually and try to reconnect with Kyle. When that happened, she wouldn’t stand in his way. In her view, he’d been punished enough by missing out on watching his son grow.
Flipping on the light in the front hall, Mim flung her coat onto the pile on the antique bench. Ari did the same, saying, “Carver has his work cut out for him, cleaning this place up.”
“Says the woman with two litters of pups crapping in her dining room right now.”
“True. Which is why you found a new guy first.”
Mim looked around for any sign of a card on the floor before heading into the kitchen. “This isn’t the time for me to be starting a relationship, Ari.”
“Why not?” Ari headed to the wine rack and checked out the options. “What’s wrong with now? You’re not getting any younger you know.”
Mim recognized their earlier script and smiled as she took two glasses from the cupboard. “Hello, I’m hardly over the hill. I’ll know when the time is right. Nurse’s intuition.”
Setting a bottle on the counter, Ari directed the pointy end of the corkscrew at Mim. “You’re scared, that’s what.”
The Dog Town Collection Page 38