Justine nodded at the linguine and the television. “We are doing something together.”
“No, I mean really do something. Ooh, I know. We could go to a movie.”
Justine shuddered. “No. I can’t abide movie theaters. The sticky floors, the constant ringing of cell phones . . .”
“Okay, we could go play tennis. We’ll wait until the afternoon sun goes down.”
Justine glanced down at her legs as if doubting their ability to support her. “I don’t have the energy for tennis today.”
“Once you get out there, you might surprise yourself.”
Justine sipped her water. “I’ve already asked you once not to patronize me. If I have to ask again, this lunch is over.”
Lara had no choice but to play her trump card. “I’ll go shopping with you.”
This caught Justine’s attention. “Well, well, well. You are desperate to bond.”
“Yep. This is it—your big chance to make me over. I can’t promise I’ll buy anything, but I’ll try on whatever you pick out.”
Justine considered this offer for a fraction of a second, then shook her head. “I cannot go shopping right now. People will recognize me at all the stores that matter: Neiman Marcus, Barneys, Saks.”
Lara held up both hands. “Easy, there. I was thinking more along the lines of Old Navy and Target.”
Justine stared at her as though she had suddenly started speaking Swahili.
“Fine, I give up. You win. We won’t bond.” Lara shoved a bite of salad into her mouth and crunched furiously. “But I’ll have you know that they have some really cute stuff at Target.”
Justine pointed to the drawer of her nightstand. “Open that for me, please.”
Lara opened the drawer with some trepidation to find, where other women traditionally stashed celebrity tabloids or naughty bedroom toys, a sleek navy blue laptop computer.
She handed this to Justine, who powered it up and slid on a pair of stylish eyeglasses. “All right,” Justine murmured, clicking open the Web browser. “Neiman Marcus it is. Let’s start with denim.”
“No, no, no.” Lara shook her head. “I said I’d go shopping with you—as in leave the house. I never agreed to online shopping.”
“You didn’t specify method or venue.” This semantic victory seemed to energize Justine. “It’s time to bring your style into the twenty-first century.”
“What are you looking at? Mom, no. I need jeans that I can train dogs in,” Lara protested. “I don’t want my ass crack hanging out every time I’m leaning over teaching Eskie to stack.”
“How about these?” Justine pointed out a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans.
Lara glanced at the price tag. “A hundred and eighty-five dollars? If you’re going to spend that kind of money, I’d rather you just write the rescue group a check.”
“This is exactly why I don’t send you money for Christmas or your birthday. You never buy anything for yourself. You’d rather run around in those tragic boot-cut rags like a ranch hand and spend your last penny so some flea-bitten husky off the street can get his teeth cleaned. At some point, all this selflessness stops being noble and crosses the line into stupidity. Most daughters would love it if their mothers offered to buy them a whole new wardrobe. What’s wrong with you? Who turns down free designer jeans?”
“I’m sorry.” Lara hung her head. She knew that this disconnect between them wasn’t just her mother’s fault. Both of them had become so defensive that they couldn’t share anything. Bonding would somehow be an admission of weakness.
Justine was still staring at her. “If I can’t go out and you refuse to shop online, then what do you suggest we do?”
Lara glanced at the laptop and said, “We could play a game. You could download Solitaire or Minesweeper, or even Scrabble.”
“Scrabble.” Justine’s deep freeze thawed a degree or two. “Remember when we played up in Paul’s cabin in Sedona?”
During the long, brutally hot Phoenix summers of Lara’s childhood, Justine had exploited every social connection she had to escape the heat. She and Lara would spend a week in San Diego at a client’s condo, or three days in Tucson at a hair coloring seminar. One of Justine’s early mentors at the salon, Paul, had invited them to his summer house in Sedona. The cabin had spotty phone service and no TV at all, just a drawer full of battered old board games. Lara and Justine spent their days hiking and swimming, and in the evenings they played marathon games of Scrabble. Justine had never let Lara win—“The real world won’t mollycoddle you, and your mother shouldn’t, either.” She beat her soundly every time, but Lara always demanded one more rematch.
Lara nodded. “I’ve gotten a lot better since then. I can spell words besides dog and it.”
“After all those years of outrageously overpriced private schools, I should hope so.”
“Here.” Lara commandeered the computer and found the Web site. “We’ll sign you up for an account and I’ll start a game. We can play on our phones, even. We don’t have to be in the same room.”
“If you insist. I just hope I don’t humiliate you too badly.” Justine took off her glasses and set them on the nightstand. “I look forward to our first game. Right after I take another nap.”
“But you just got up.”
“Good night.”
“But you—”
“Close the curtains on your way out, would you? And please keep the dogs quiet.” Justine burrowed under the covers.
Lara gave up, closed the curtains, and turned off the lights. For now, she would let sleeping mothers lie. She pressed a few buttons on her phone, studied the Scrabble tiles on her virtual board, and started a game with the only word she could come up with: WELL.
She waited for Justine’s countermove. And waited and waited and waited.
Thirty minutes later, as Lara was en route to the adoption fair, her phone buzzed. When she stopped for a red light, she checked her messages and saw that her mother had built a longer, higher-scoring word off of WELL: WAVING.
Game on.
Chapter 15
“We want that one.” A middle-aged couple gazed down at Lara, both of them smiling with anticipation.
Lara managed to maintain a straight face, but Kerry broke into a coughing fit. Weekend adoption fairs were always a lot of work, and today had been especially hectic. They’d arrived at the outdoor plaza at noon with all the dogs in tow. By twelve thirty, it was drizzling, and by the time they put up a makeshift awning over the X-pen holding the dogs, the grass was slick and muddy. Lara was damp, cold, and depressed. Kerry, in the throes of a massive maternal anxiety attack, was checking her text messages and dialing her mother for baby updates every two minutes. No matter how many times Lara urged her friend to pack it in and go home, Kerry refused.
“I’m not abandoning you,” Kerry insisted. “I refuse to give in to the tidal wave of bonding hormones flooding my brain.”
“Cut yourself some slack,” Lara said. “You just had a baby a week ago.”
“Everyone says I need a break from the baby—my mom, Richard, his mom . . .”
“You’re not getting a break; you’re having a nervous breakdown. Two hours away from Cynthia is plenty. Skedaddle.”
“Never.” Kerry got a steely glint in her eye. “I made a commitment to these dogs, and I’m keeping it.” She paused. “Unless I get engorged and have to go pump. Then all bets are off.”
The pit bull puppies had found homes within the first hour, but since then they hadn’t had a single serious potential adopter.
Until now.
“Which one?” Lara prayed that the couple on the other side of the folding table wasn’t talking about the dog she thought they were talking about.
The wife let go of her husband’s hand and pointed. “That cute little white fluff ball right there.”
“Ah.” Lara took a breath. “That would be Mullet.”
The wife turned to her husband and put her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry; we
can change his name.”
“Her name, actually. She’s a five-year-old Shih Tzu mix, and she’s one of our special-needs dogs.”
“She’s cute as a button.” The wife crouched down and waggled her fingers through the wire X-pen in an attempt to coax Mullet to come over. Mullet, already outraged by the indignity of being jailed with other dogs so clearly inferior to herself, curled up even tighter and ignored this overture from an inconsequential human.
“She’s young and relatively healthy, but she came to our rescue group with a few medical issues,” Lara continued. “She’s almost blind in one eye, she hates having her paws touched, and those bare patches on her skin may never grow in.”
“Blind?” The woman melted. “That’s so sad. She must have been abused.”
“We don’t know her history,” Lara said, exchanging a look with Kerry. “And in cases where we don’t know for sure, we try not to speculate. It’s possible her vision problems were congenital, or due to an unresolved infection. In any case, she gets around just fine, and it’s important not to baby her or let her get away with bad behavior.”
The woman wasn’t even pretending to listen. She was too busy oohing and aahing. “Poor widdle baby. She just needs someone to love her.”
Mullet lifted one corner of her mouth in a silent snarl.
Lara gave up trying to reason with the wife and appealed to the husband. “Tell me a bit about your situation. Why have you decided it’s time to add a new dog to your family?”
He scratched his neatly trimmed gray beard and inclined his head toward his better half. “Pam’s a real animal lover. Cats, rabbits, horses, you name it. And we had a dog for a long time, a little fluffy one like, uh, Mullet here.”
“My precious Petty.” The woman’s eyes went misty. “What a doll. That dog could read my mind, I tell you. She went into kidney failure and we had to put her down, and I swore up and down that I was done with dogs forever.”
The husband winked at Lara. “That was two months ago.”
Pam waved his comment away. “Cats just aren’t the same. And this little cutie, there’s something about her that reminds me of Petty.”
When Pam leaned over the top of the pen to pet Mullet’s ear, Mullet pulled away with a haughty headshake. Then the dog leaned forward, tongue out, but instead of licking Pam . . .
“She spat on me!” Pam snatched her hand away.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her husband said. “Dogs can’t spit.”
Mullet flounced over to the other side of the pen and settled back down.
“Total brat,” Kerry muttered.
“Tell me about Petty,” Lara urged. “What was special about her?”
Pam hesitated for a moment, her smile turning sad and nostalgic. “Everything. She was so smart and funny. She could do all kinds of tricks. But mostly, you know, she was my snugglebug. She watched TV with me, kept me company while I crocheted, listened to me.”
“So you’re looking for a cuddly dog that enjoys social stimulation.”
The couple nodded in unison.
Lara turned to Kerry for backup, but Kerry was suddenly preoccupied with refilling the portable water bowl. “Here’s the deal. Mullet can be a bit . . . aloof. She’s very slow to warm up, and she’s not much of a cuddler. If you want a true-blue sweetheart, though, you might want to consider Zsa Zsa.” Lara clapped her hands and the poodle immediately trotted over, eyes sparkling and tail wagging.
Pam didn’t even glance at the larger dog. “Oh, I know what I want. I’ve had lots of Shih Tzus over the years. They can be temperamental, but I adore the breed. Poodles just can’t compare.”
Her husband regarded Lara with a steady, open countenance. “We’ll give her a good home. I can give you references, if you want. Our vet, our groomer—they’ll tell you.”
Lara shoved the wet, curling tendrils of hair out of her face and went in search of Kerry.
“This perfectly nice, normal couple is asking to adopt Mullet. What do I do here?”
Kerry shrugged. “Let ’em fill out an application and schedule a home visit.”
“But they’re not the right match for her. You saw the way she was giving them the stinkeye.”
Kerry put down the water dish and stepped back as the dogs swarmed in to drink. “Let me ask you something: Why did you make me drag Mullet out here if you have no intention of letting anyone adopt her?”
Lara floundered. “It’s not that I have no intention of letting anyone adopt her, but she needs a very special owner. I honestly don’t think these two are prepared for Mullet and her mind games. They’re too nice. Too normal. She’ll end up right back on our doorstep in two weeks. You know she will.”
“Oh, give them a chance.” Kerry rubbed her eyes. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m overwhelmed and sleep-deprived and Mullet keeps barking right in my ear two minutes after I finally get to sleep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mullet gets a family; I get peace and quiet. Win-win, baby.”
“Ooh.” Lara glanced at her cell phone. “It’s my turn to make a word.” She explained about her online game with Justine.
“And that’s your idea of mother-daughter bonding?” Kerry marveled. “Each of you in your separate corners, trying to beat each other at Scrabble?”
Lara nodded. “Fun, free, and educational to boot.”
“Good Lord. No wonder you prefer dogs to people.”
“People have their advantages,” Lara allowed, wincing as she saw her mother’s latest move: BOXY, with a double-word score. “Dogs aren’t very good at spelling. You’ll hardly ever see them playing queenly for a triple-word score. Well, maybe a Border collie.”
“So what’s the verdict?” Pam called from the other side of the X-pen. “Can we take her?”
“I’m getting the application forms together right now,” Lara replied.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you. I know I’m the one she’s been waiting for.” Pam knelt down and called to Mullet.
Mullet sauntered across the pen until she was directly in front of Pam. Then she pivoted, showed Pam her backside, and used her hind legs to rake the ground, splattering mud and grass in Pam’s face.
Pam gasped and reeled back.
“I’m so sorry.” Kerry was right there with a roll of paper towels.
“Don’t take it personally.” Lara scooped Mullet up in one arm and gave the little hellion a warning look. “As I told you, she’s slow to warm up.”
Zsa Zsa, sensing Pam’s distress, nosed her hand and gazed up at her with compassionate talk to me eyes.
“Zsa Zsa is our nurturer,” Lara said. “And she’s a perfect lady. She would never kick mud at you.”
“Never,” Kerry agreed. “In fact, I’ve caught her cleaning the other dogs’ paws.”
Pam wiped the dirt off her face while her husband gave Zsa Zsa a little pat. Zsa Zsa pressed her head into his palm and closed her eyes.
“I like her,” he declared.
“Well. She’s bigger than my other dogs, but she does seem sweet.” Pam turned her attention to the poodle while Mullet snorted with discontent in Lara’s grasp.
“Don’t let the long legs fool you. Zsa Zsa’s a lapdog in disguise,” Lara assured them. “She’ll follow you anywhere. You can even let her off leash, and she won’t wander.”
Pam hesitated, still shaken from Mullet’s callous dismissal.
Zsa Zsa dropped into a sit-stay, nose up and ears forward. She lifted one paw in an offer to shake.
Pam knelt in the wet grass, opened the gate to the pen, and threw her arms around the dog. Zsa Zsa rested her snout on Pam’s shoulder.
“Hey, what about me?” demanded the husband. “She’s my dog, too!”
Lara felt the unmistakable zing of a match well made. She could practically hear the click of puzzle pieces snapping into place.
She stepped back, dusted off her hands, and let the newfound soul mates have a little alone time. “My work here is done.”
As she drove back to Mayfair Estates, still basking in the glow of success, her phone rang. Her warm fuzzies turned ice-cold when she saw the name on caller ID: Evan.
She’d been assuring herself for the past two weeks that she didn’t care if she never heard from him again, but her nervous system told a different story—suddenly she was sweaty, short of breath, and surging with adrenaline.
She made herself wait a few rings before answering with a cool “Hello?”
“Lara? This is Evan.”
She paused a few beats. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” He didn’t have to sound so chipper and energetic.
“Glad to hear it.”
“So listen. I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I packed up the rest of your stuff, and I wanted to know when you could stop by to get it.”
The nonchalance with which he delivered this blow stunned her. “You packed everything up?”
“Yeah. I went through the closets and the drawers and boxed up everything of yours I could find. All the dog toys, too.”
She struggled to recover her composure. “So you opted not to flush them?” She managed to sound as casual as he did. “I’m impressed at your self-control.”
“It wasn’t self-control,” he shot back. “I’m just too cheap to call the plumber again.”
“Ah. My mistake.”
“So do you want your stuff or not?” he asked, pressing her.
“Yes, I do. Why don’t I just swing by Monday morning and let myself in after you’ve gone to work? I think that would best for all involved.”
“No,” he said, a bit defensively. “That’s no good. I changed the locks.”
“You did? Would you mind telling me why?” Her face burned at the memory of her little drive-by last week. Maybe he really did think she was stalking him.
He ignored her question and said, “What time are you working on Monday? I can leave the boxes on the front porch and you can pick them up on your way home.”
“I’ll be there at six thirty.”
“Great.”
The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service Page 12