Hideaway

by Roberts, Nora

  “I just can’t stand to see animals mistreated. Anyone mistreated, of course, but we’re supposed to be stewards, caretakers for puppies like these, and their mama.”

  “Is she okay?” Dillon asked. “Their mother?”

  The look Lori gave Dillon showed her heart, and made him forgive the crazy eyes. “She is. My husband took her to the vet today to have her neutered. We needed to wean her puppies first, and give her time to get good and healthy again. We’ve decided to call her Angel, because she has such loving eyes. We’re going to be her forever home.”

  “But you can’t keep the puppies?”

  Lori smiled down at Dillon. “If I had my way, and had the room, the wherewithal, I’d keep every single rescue. But I think it’s a good thing to share them. We already placed her other puppies with good homes.”

  She glanced at Hugh, got the nod.

  “These sweethearts have a whole lot of energy. As best we can tell, Angel’s got some border collie, some beagle in her. So taking after her, they’re good with people, love herding and running and playing. They need somebody who can keep up with them, so I was hoping you’d take one of these home with you, be one of those good homes.”

  “Oh!” Dillon’s face lit again, then he lowered his head, nuzzled puppies. “My mom—”

  “Said yes,” Hugh finished.

  His head popped back up, with all that light shining on his face. “Really? Really? Holy cow! I can have one? I can just . . . but how do I pick?”

  Hugh crouched down, got his share of puppy love. “They’re both great-looking puppies.”

  “They both have a lot of border collie in the look,” Lori commented. “Girl has more brown on her face, but they both have pretty markings, that mix of black and brown and white. And the fluffy tails, floppy ears. And they both, I swear, have their mama’s eyes. Maybe you’re leaning more to a boy dog, or a girl dog.”

  Dillon only shook his head. “But they’re family, and friends, too. You can see how they play together and, you know, kiss each other and stuff. If I pick one, the other gets left behind. It doesn’t seem right to, you know, separate a brother and sister. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  Dillon shot Hugh a look, a quick one before he buried his face in puppies again. But in that instant it filled with one heartfelt plea.

  Blowing out a breath, Hugh stood. “I need to make a call. If you’d excuse me for just a minute.”

  “You go right ahead.” Lori sat on the edge of a chair as Hugh stepped out. “I can see whichever one you take home, you’re going to take good care, be a real friend. That means a lot to me.”

  “It’s hard to give them to other people?”

  “Well, not so much when you know it’s the right person. Then it makes you feel good inside. That’s how I feel now, knowing one of these sweeties is going to have a boy who loves and tends and takes real responsibility.”

  “Won’t the other one feel sad?”

  “I’m going to do everything to keep the one who stays with me happy and healthy until we find just the right person, just the right forever home.”

  Torn between his desperate wish for a puppy and the genuine guilt at leaving one behind, Dillon could only stroke soft fur.

  Hugh stepped back in. “You’re a fortunate boy, Dillon, to have such a wise and loving mother. With your approval, Lori, Dillon has permission to adopt both.”

  “Both? I can have both?” Face shining, Dillon did his best to hug both puppies. “They can both come home with me?”

  “If Ms. Greenspan agrees.”

  “Please?” Arms full, heart in his eyes, Dillon turned his face up to Lori’s. “I’ll take good care of them. We have lots of land for them to run on. When I’m in school, Mom and Gram will look after them, but before and after, they can come with me while I do my chores. I’ll feed them and make sure they have fresh water. I know how.”

  “I think the two of them already picked you. You know these are smart dogs, about as smart as they come. You’re going to be able to teach them lots of tricks.”

  “It’s okay? I can have them?”

  Forgetting her careful makeup, Lori dabbed at her eyes. “You already do. I have a list of things you have to promise to do. They’re up on their shots, but when they need more, you have to see to that. You’ve got a good vet—your mom told me who you use. I use the same, so I know she’s a good vet. When they’re old enough, you have to promise to take them to the vet and get them spayed and neutered. That’s really important. And I’m going to warn you, while they’re just about housebroken, taking them to a new home usually sets that back. You’ll have to do some work there.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “All right then, I’m going to get that list, and you can sign it. And I have a brochure to help you with tips on care and feeding and training. I always give my adopted humans a little care package—of treats and toys. And I’m sorry to say I’m going to need fifty dollars. That’s to cover some of the expense from foster care.”

  “I don’t have any money with me, but I’ve got allowance saved up. I can bring it to you as soon—”

  “Dillon, this is my gift. My thank-you gift to you.”

  Torn all over again, Dillon had to shake his head. “Mom said—”

  “That this gift was acceptable,” Hugh finished. “It would mean a great deal to me if you said you accept it, too.”

  Hugh held out a hand to seal the deal, smiled when Dillon shook.

  “Thank you. This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

  “You gave me the same. Lori, Julia said the rescue organization you’re affiliated with is called Loving Hearts Animal Rescue. In addition to the adoption fee, I’d like to make a donation to your group.”

  “That’s generous of you, and much appreciated I can promise you. We can take care of the paperwork right back here. Dillon, why don’t you take your puppies out that side door? There’s a little fenced yard. I’d say you’d be smart to take them out, let them do their business before you put them in the car.”

  It took nearly half an hour before Hugh helped Dillon load the puppies—in a borrowed crate—into the back of his SUV. Along with what Lori called a congratulations basket of dog food samples, treats, chew toys.

  Since the puppies seemed happy—for the moment—to share a big blue bone-shaped toy, Hugh got behind the wheel.

  “I guess the next step is for you to name them. Any ideas?”

  “He’s Gambit, she’s Jubilee. They’re X-Men, and pretty awesome.”

  “Gambit and Jubilee.” Hugh glanced back at the dogs as he eased out of the drive. “Good choices. I think we have one more thing to do before taking them home. We should go buy some collars, leashes, beds, what have you. Part of the gift,” Hugh said before Dillon could comment.

  Dillon looked back, then at Hugh. “I’m never going to forget it.”

  Hugh turned, started the drive, and said simply, “Neither will I.”

  PART II

  THE NEXT TURN

  From fame to infamy is a beaten road.

  —FRANCIS QUARLES

  All the world doth practice stage-playing.

  —MONTAIGNE

  CHAPTER NINE

  County Mayo ◾ 2008

  Cate stood by the lake watching the big black dog her nan had loved swim. Ducks scattered, quacking protests, while Lola skimmed through the water like a seal.

  Overhead, the stacked clouds spat out a thin drizzle, but every day was a holiday for Lola.

  Lola had grieved at first when Nan passed—quietly in her sleep like the man she’d loved. The dog had lain at the foot of Nan’s bed for days, inconsolable until Cate tied one of Nan’s scarves around Lola’s neck.

  A comfort in scent, Cate thought, until gradually Lola had regained her always happy demeanor.

  Another funeral for the Sullivan clan—and the world. Another celebration of life for the family.

  While she understood why the loss and the rituals brought back the n
ightmares, the anxiety, that didn’t make them any easier to get through. Even now, with the dog splashing, with so many of her family inside the cottage, she caught herself looking toward the woods on the side of the lake.

  In case she saw movement, in case someone waited.

  She knew better—she wasn’t a child anymore—but still she looked.

  She knew those woods, just as she knew the garden, as she knew every room in the cottage. For most of the last seven years, this had been home. The time spent in L.A. was just visits.

  The trips to England or Italy, just trips.

  For the first year, her father had turned down every script, every offer, shielding her, she understood now, as much from the press as from her fears.

  But she’d had Nan and Nina right there, and G-Lil and her grandfather in L.A. on those visits. Aunt Mo and Uncle Harry and the rest on visits to New York.

  She’d been glad when Nina fell in love and got married, even though it meant she didn’t live in the cottage or the guesthouse in L.A.

  Now Cate couldn’t live in the cottage either. Her nan was gone; her father had work. So now she’d live in L.A., and her time here would become visits.

  At last Lola climbed out of the lake, shook off a wild torrent of water. Then she rolled around on the wet grass in pure joy.

  “You’re getting as wet as she is.”

  She broke out a smile—she knew how—for her grandfather. “It’s barely a drizzle.” When he put an arm around her shoulders, she dropped her head to one of his. “I know she was ready to be with Grandda. She talked about him so much the last few weeks. Sometimes . . .”

  “Sometimes?”

  “She talked to him.” Looking up, she saw the rain adding yet more shine to his hair, that shining silver hair. “I’d hear her talking to him, half expected to hear him talking back. I didn’t, but I honestly believe she did.”

  “They loved a lifetime.” As always surprised that her head reached his chin now, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s hard on us being without them. I know it’s hard for you to leave here now. You’ll come back. I promise.”

  It wouldn’t be the same.

  “I know I can’t take Lola. This is her home, and it wouldn’t be fair. She loves Nina and Rob and the kids, so she’ll be happy with them.”

  “What can I do for you, Catey? What can I do to make this a little easier?”

  “Don’t let Dad turn down good scripts because he’s worried about me. I hate when I know he does. I’m seventeen. I need to know he trusts me to . . . to just deal.”

  “What do you want, for you?”

  “I don’t know, not exactly. But, well, I’m a Sullivan, so I think I should try, again, to do what we do.”

  “You want to act again?”

  “I want to try. I know it’s been a long time, but it’s in the blood, isn’t it? I mean, just some little part, some little thing. Get my feet wet.”

  “I might have just the thing. We’ll talk about it on the flight home.”

  Everything inside her tightened and clutched. “Is it time to leave?”

  “It’s getting close.”

  “I—I want to walk Lola over to Nina’s. Say goodbye to everyone.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll tell your father. Caitlyn,” he said as she started toward the dog, “life’s a series of turns. This is another one for you.”

  She stood, dark hair damp with rain, eyes as blue as a summer sky. And as sad as a broken heart. “How do you know where it’s going to take you?”

  “You never do. That’s part of the adventure.”

  What if she didn’t want an adventure? she thought as she hitched on her backpack holding Lola’s favorite toys. What if she wanted the quiet, the ordinary?

  What if she didn’t want to turn in a new direction?

  With no choice—it grated to always have so little choice—she called the dog, and with Lola started down the path that skirted the woods.

  The familiar path, one she’d walked countless times, often with Lola for company, sometimes just alone with her thoughts. Wasn’t she allowed to hate leaving the familiar?

  Where would she find these damp, green scents in L.A.? That simple pleasure of walking a narrow dirt path in a soft rain?

  She heard the quick call of a magpie before she saw him dart into the trees. Just one more thing she’d miss.

  Her turn happened when she’d been ten. Nothing had been the same since.

  “No one talks about it, Lola.” At the sound of her name, Lola scrambled back from sniffing at the fuchsia dripping from the hedgerow, danced back. “Not even me anymore. What’s the point? But I can count, can’t I? I know she’s coming up for parole.”

  Shrugging, Cate shifted the backpack. “Who cares, right? Who gives a damn? If she gets out, she gets out. It doesn’t change anything.”

  But she worried it would, if her mother walked out of prison, it would be one more change she couldn’t control, would have to accept.

  Maybe, just maybe, acting again would give her some control over her own bloody life. As much as she loved her family—and God, she did, both here in Ireland and back in the States—she needed her own.

  Her own life, her own choices, just her own.

  “I miss it,” she murmured to Lola. “I miss acting, miss letting myself be someone else, miss the work, and the fun of it. So maybe.”

  And in a year, she reminded herself, she could make all her own choices. She could act her ass off, or she could come back here and live by the lake. She could go to New York, or anywhere. She could . . .

  Take another turn.

  “Well, shit, Lola, that’s exactly what Grandpa meant. I kind of hate when they end up being right.”

  She took out her phone, framed a photo of the fuchsias, bloodred against the drenched green. Another of Lola, tongue lolling, eyes full of fun. Then another, another.

  The old gnarled tree—under which she’d gotten and given her first kiss. Tom McLaughlin, she remembered, a fourth or fifth cousin, so somehow still all in the family.

  The cow stretching its head over a stone wall to crop grass on the other side. Mrs. Leary’s cottage, because Mrs. Leary had taught both Nan and herself how to bake brown bread.

  She’d take all that with her to look at anytime she felt sad or lost.

  Barely a half mile from the cottage, she turned down the bumpy lane. Knowing where they were headed, Lola let out a happy bark and ran ahead.

  “Goodbye,” Cate said, and let the tears come because Nina would understand them. “Goodbye,” she said again.

  She stood a moment, slim and straight, long black hair flowing down her back. Then followed the dog to make it official.

  L.A. poured sunshine. The streets and sidewalks baked under it. Flowers bright and bold pulsed hot. Beyond the walls and gate of the Sullivan estate, traffic snarled and bitched.

  In the trendy restaurants, beautiful people talked business over their organic salads and quinoa while beautiful people who hoped to break into the business served them.

  The guesthouse had its advantages. She had a beautiful room, full of soft colors and shabby chic, her own bath with a generous shower that pumped out hot water as long as she wanted.

  She even had her own entrance so she could slip out, night or day, without going through the main part of the house—a habit she developed and kept up even when her father was working.

  She enjoyed the gardens, and seriously loved having a pool.

  She could make her own meals if she wanted—Mrs. Leary had taught her how to make more than brown bread—or wander over to the main house to join her grandparents. If they had a dinner engagement, she could sit in the kitchen with Consuela, their cook and de facto housekeeper, beg a meal and conversation.

  When her grandfather gave her the script for the part he had in mind, she read it, then devoured it. Then got busy on the work to transform herself into Jute—the quirky, careless best friend of the daughter of the single mother in a sharp little
romantic comedy.

  She’d only have a handful of scenes, but they counted. Because she respected his opinion, and she’d need his permission, she passed the script to her father.

  When he knocked on her bedroom door, she stopped practicing Jute’s walk, called a “Come in.”

  Her palms actually got sweaty when she saw he had the script in his hand.

  “You read it.”

  “Yeah. It’s good, but your grandfather’s careful about projects. You understand they’ve already cast Karrie.”

  “I don’t want Karrie. Not that it isn’t a good part. I don’t want to take that much on, not now. Not yet. Jute’s better for me. She plays off Karrie’s need to be perfect, and the way the mother’s always overcompensating. She brings a little chaos in.”

  “She does,” Aidan agreed. “She’s got a mouth on her, Cate.”

  In response, Cate did a slow roll of her shoulders, eyes rolling up as she dropped into a chair, slouched. “Jesus, she’s just, you know, like fucking expressing herself.”

  She saw his eyes widen, that instant shock, and wondered if she’d gone too far putting Jute on for size.

  Then he laughed. He sat on the side of her bed, set the script down beside him. “It’s no wonder Jute’s parents are a little afraid of her.”

  “She’s smarter and braver than they are. I get her, Dad.” Cate leaned forward. “I admire that she doesn’t care about fitting in. I think, I really think, if I can get the part, I’ll be good in it. And it’ll be good for me.”

  “You haven’t wanted any of this for a long time. Or . . .” He looked away, toward her glass doors to where twilight crept. “I kept the door closed. Not locked, but closed.”

  “It’s not on you. I never asked if I could open the door, and really only thought about it once in a while. Now I just want to see if I can, and how I feel if I do.”

  “You have to be prepared for questions, for the ones who’ll rehash what happened in Big Sur.”

  She said nothing for a moment, just sat, held his eyes with hers. “Do I have to give up everything because of what she did?”

  “No, Cate, no. But—”