by Susan Wiggs
She had arranged to take off an entire day and night from the restaurant, leaving Vince in charge. It was perhaps the third time she’d been absent from Celesta’s. Joey was at work, and Pop was out puttering in his garden, where the tomato bushes were heavy with fruit starting to ripen and the dahlias were bursting into bloom. From time to time, Rosa would glance out the window. The sight of him, bent over a plant or snipping a flower to tuck into the brim of his hat, filled her heart. He was everything to her, and she was eaten alive by guilt.
She spent a solid hour putting things in the trash—junk mail, wrappers, used plastic bags he’d saved for no apparent purpose, rusty paper clips and thumb tacks, empty mason jars. The desk was covered with papers—more circulars and junk mail, mostly, but she also found packets of unopened bank statements, personal correspondence and...bills. The power company, the gas company, subscription services. Some were stamped Final Notice.
Her first inclination was to sit down and pay the bills. That wouldn’t solve the problem, though. The issue was deeper than that. She went out back, noticing as she passed through the kitchen that Linda had it gleaming already and was applying primer to the ring on the ceiling. Rosa caught her father’s attention and showed him the envelopes. “Pop,” she said, “you’ve been forgetting to pay your bills.”
He glanced at one of them, postmarked six weeks before. “Put them on the desk. I’ll take care of them tonight.”
“They were on the desk. Pop, you’re worrying me. You seem to be forgetting a lot of things.”
“What, forgetting?” He waved a hand in annoyance. “I’ve been busy.”
“But, Pop—” Rosa stopped herself and glanced at her watch. “There’s no time to argue. We need to get to your appointment.”
“What appointment? I don’t have any appointment.”
“Yes, you do. As of eleven o’clock this morning. Dr. Chandler says you haven’t been in to see him in three years. Three years, Pop. That’s nuts.”
“He charges a hundred fifty for a lousy office visit. I feel fine. I don’t need to see any doctor.”
“But I need you to.” She took his arm. “Please. For me. Just to shut me up.”
He glared at her, and for a moment she was afraid he’d refuse. Then his gaze softened. “You worry too much.” He smiled and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll go, then. Just to shut you up.”
* * *
Dr. Chandler’s office was adjacent to South County Hospital, and Rosa perfectly understood her father’s reluctance. This was where they’d brought Mamma for her treatments, and they would forever associate this place with gloomy, excruciating futility. Years later, Pop had been taken to the emergency ward here after his accident, and Rosa’s memories of that time were streaked with the violent horror of nightmares.
Today’s appointment took much longer than it should have. She read Rhode Island magazine, Newsweek and Women’s Day. She was trying to decide between Parents and Highlights for Children when she realized she couldn’t remember a single thing she’d read. The wait was too nerve-racking. She stood and went to the window, looking out across the tree-shaded hospital lawn, the busy parking lot.
Everything was such a mess. A few times, she took out her cell phone to call Sal or Rob, but resisted. No sense worrying them, too, until she knew exactly what they were dealing with. She didn’t allow herself to call the restaurant, either. Vince always got ticked off when she tried to micromanage while he was supposed to be in charge.
There was always Alex, of course. She could call him. Since he’d told her his suspicions about their parents, she’d only seen him once, last night when she needed help finding Joey. Alex needed to know he was completely wrong about her father. Best to tell him in person, she decided, tucking the phone away.
By the time Pop came shuffling back to the waiting room, Rosa was frantic. “What?” she demanded.
“We’re supposed to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“He sent samples to the hospital lab and put a rush on them. He wants us to wait here for the results.”
Rosa’s heart pounded with dread. Lab tests usually took a few days. She wondered why there was such a rush. It couldn’t mean anything good. The last thing Pop needed was to see her fall apart, though. She sat down and patted the seat beside her. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. I was fine when you dragged me here,” he grumbled. “I swear, when you got nothing to worry about, you think of something.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he patted her knee. “Your mother was always worrying. You’re just like her.”
She put her hand over his. “I hope so.” Impulsively she asked him something others had asked him many times before, but for Rosa, it was a first. “Pop, why didn’t you ever marry again?”
He didn’t answer right away, but stared across the waiting room, out the window. A courier came in and dropped off a box with the receptionist.
“I was a good husband to your mother,” Pop said. “I would not be a good husband to another woman. It would not be fair, because I gave everything I had to my first marriage. Love is like that for some people.”
It was a lovely, mournful sentiment, Rosa thought. Maybe it was true for her, too. Maybe that was why she’d never really gotten over Alex.
Dr. Chandler came to the door, a file folder in hand. “Mr. Capoletti? Would you and your daughter step into my office, please?”
She nearly hyperventilated on the short walk down the hall. The office was contrived to look homey and warm, with mahogany shelves and plush chairs, but to Rosa, it felt like a prison cell. Dr. Chandler motioned for them to sit down.
“I’m glad you came in,” he said. “The reason I rushed the lab was that I hoped we might be dealing with a fairly simple matter here.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Turns out we are. It’s a pretty severe vitamin deficiency, completely treatable.”
Rosa slumped with relief. “A vitamin deficiency?” She turned to her father. “Did you catch that?”
He nodded, his eyes bright with tears. For the first time, Rosa realized he’d been as petrified as she.
“Your neurological changes—the numbness and tingling in your hands and feet, difficulty maintaining balance, digestive upsets—are classic symptoms of vitamin B-12 deficiency. You’ve had some other symptoms, too, the fatigue, confusion and poor memory.”
Rosa dug herself even deeper into guilt. How could she not have noticed all those symptoms? “My father doesn’t have a poor diet,” she said. Then she turned to him. “Do you, Pop?”
“My diet’s fine,” he stated.
“That could well be,” said the doctor, “but you have a helicobacter infection. It blocks B-12 absorption. Fortunately the treatment’s simple—a course of antibiotics. Once we eliminate the infection, the symptoms will go away.”
Rosa looked at her father to make sure he understood. He nodded. “You’ll write me a prescription, then.”
“Right away. This infection can lead to ulcers, so you’ll want to take the whole course. In ten days, you’ll be good as new.”
* * *
In the now-immaculate kitchen, Linda greeted them. “I got a huge shock changing a lightbulb upstairs,” she said.
Rosa nudged her father. “I thought you were going to get the wiring checked. You promised.”
“I’m gonna do that next week, all right?”
“Pop—” She heard a car in the driveway. “Someone’s here.”
She and Pop went around the side of the house to see a silver Miata and a white Explorer parked at the curb. Alex Montgomery and a strange woman with a small dog both arrived at the same time. She watched her father’s face and caught the exact moment he spotted Alex.
“Son of a bitch,” he said under his breath.
Given what Alex believed about her
father, she couldn’t figure out why he would come here. The short, heavyset woman looked vaguely familiar, but Rosa couldn’t place her. The woman set the little dog down and it ran straight for Pop. It was a terrier mix, brown and white with a clownish face. Pop regarded it in confusion.
“Hello, Rosa,” Alex said with a slightly formal air. “Mr. Capoletti,” he said, nodding to her father. “This is Hollis Underwood and Jake. Hollis is with Paws for Ability.”
Rosa got it right away. She looked at her father to see if he realized what Alex had brought. Pop was glaring at Alex with deep dislike. Hollis scooped up the prancing dog and stepped in front of Pop so he didn’t miss what she was saying. “I’m a friend of the Montgomerys from way back,” she said. “Alex thought you might want to see what an assistance dog can offer.”
“I don’t need any dog,” Pop said stolidly, watching the squirming, exuberant terrier, which strained toward him, licking frantically.
“Jake is a rescue dog,” Hollis said, then set him down again so she could sign as she spoke. “We found him when he was a puppy, and he’s just completed his training as a signal dog. He’s ready for adoption if we can find the right home for him.” Without asking permission, she headed for the back door, then turned to address him. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you some of the things he’s trained to do.”
To Rosa’s amazement, Pop went along with her. She could hear Linda greeting them and exclaiming over the dog. Stunned, she turned to Alex at last. “What the hell is going on?”
“How about ‘Hello, Alex’? Or ‘How are you, Alex?’ Or ‘Thanks for helping me find Joey last night’? Or, here’s a thought, ‘Sorry I ditched you after dragging you out of bed’?”
“Are you finished?”
He laughed. “I’m just getting started.”
“What are you doing here? What’s up with the dog lady?”
“Joey said your dad might be able to use some help,” he said simply.
Offended pride rose up inside her. Joey had a big mouth. “It wasn’t his job to tell you.”
“No. He decided to do that on his own.”
“It’s none of your damned business.”
“Maybe not.” He jerked his head in the direction of the house across the way, where Mrs. Fortinski just happened to be watering her plants in an open window. “Is it the neighbors’?”
Rosa lowered her voice. “You have a terrible opinion of my father. Why would you try to help him?”
“This is for you. If training with an assistance dog helps your father out, then it helps you out.”
She hated that logic. She hated any logic that worked against her. “He won’t go for it. He’s never had a dog, or even a cat or goldfish. It’s not his style.” She realized they were talking around the real issue. “I told him what you said, Alex. He categorically denies what you said about him and your mother.”
“Of course he does.”
“He said she called him that night, and he went to see her because she seemed...upset.”
“Drunk, you mean.”
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“The thing you should remember and hold on to is that she didn’t do...what you’ve thought all these years. I’m sure she believed she was doing what’s best for you. And if you want to change your mind and take that dog home, I’ll understand.”
“I won’t change my mind. And thank you for...what you just said.”
That night in her apartment, he’d told her plenty about the past. Yet now it occurred to Rosa that the biggest thing he was holding back was the way he felt about his mother’s suicide.
Which was probably the most important thing for her to know. “Alex—”
“I need to go. I’ve got some papers to file at the courthouse.” Then he did the unthinkable. He bent down, kissed her lightly on the cheek and said, “See you, sweetheart.”
She felt like she was on fire as she followed him out to the truck. “Just a doggone minute.”
He stopped on the front sidewalk, keys in hand. “Now what?”
“You kissed me and I wasn’t ready.”
“You are now.” Without warning, he kissed her again, this time full on the mouth.
Across the way, there was a splat as Mrs. Fortenski misfired with her watering can.
“And that’s just for starters,” Alex said, releasing her. Then he strolled to his truck, waving as he pulled away from the curb.
“Well, well, well,” said Linda, bringing a black plastic bag out to the curb for garbage day. “Alex the wonder boy strikes again.”
“He kissed me,” she said, wondering if the neighbor got a snapshot.
“You don’t say. Should I dial 911?”
“Come on, Linda.”
“Come where? The guy is crazy about you, Rosa. Why not relax and enjoy it?”
“Because I don’t trust him,” she blurted out.
“And you don’t trust yourself with him.”
Rosa bit her lip. “I simply don’t see the point of getting involved with Alex Montgomery.”
“Why does there have to be a point? Just be with him. See where it goes.”
“I’m not letting it go anywhere.”
“Then you’re an idiot.”
“No, I’m protecting myself.”
“You’ve been doing that for years. Don’t you think it’s time to let him in?”
“For what?”
“Rosa, if nothing else, for the sex. You don’t get laid nearly enough.”
“How do you know how often I get laid?”
“Maybe you should lower your voice,” Linda said, nodding toward the neighbors’ window.
Rosa threw up her hands and headed for the house. She and Linda stepped inside just in time to see Jake sniffing the mail on the floor under the slot.
Linda frowned. “What the—”
“Hush,” said Rosa. “Watch him.”
The dog paused to look at them for a moment, then went back to the mail. He managed to pick up a mouthful of envelopes along with a grocery circular and a catalog; then he trotted off with them.
Rosa and Linda followed the dog to the den, where Pop sat in his easy chair. Hollis sat quietly observing. She said nothing when Rosa and Linda showed up, but motioned for them to wait and watch. The dog dropped the mail and went back for more, twice. After three trips, all the mail lay beside Pop’s chair. The dog gently lifted up on his hind legs and brushed his front paws with gentle insistence against the cuff of Pop’s pants.
He picked up his mail and said to Hollis, “He did good.”
“Remember what I said—reward him.”
Pop bent and patted the dog on the head. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Good Jake.”
Hollis nodded approvingly. “Well done, both of you.”
“Now, how can I get him to pay the bills for me?”
She laughed. “That’s not in his job description, but there’s a lot more to learn. Jake knows forty commands. He can alert you to bells, alarms and timers, dropped objects. And if your computer makes a sound when you get mail, he can tell you about that, too.”
“No kidding.”
Rosa was amazed. Pop readily claimed he didn’t like dogs. Too many of his clients had ill-behaved pets that ruined gardens and soiled yards. She stepped into the room. “So you like that dog, Pop?” she asked.
“Yeah. A dog’s a big responsibility, though.”
“You don’t have to make a commitment right away,” Hollis said. “We need to be sure you and Jake are compatible. There are forms to fill out, a visit from a social worker. Then the training begins.” She paused, and Jake did, too. He tilted his head to one side, watching Pop with total absorption. “So what do you say, Mr. Capoletti? You up
for it?”
He looked right back at Jake. “How else am I going to learn?”
“This is how it works?” Rosa asked Hollis.
“Yes,” said Hollis, watching as Jake sprang into Pop’s lap and settled into the crook of his arm. “That’s how it works.”
thirty-five
Alex awakened to the crunch of car tires on gravel. Damn, he thought. What time was it? According to the antique clock on the wall, 6:30 a.m.
Then he remembered with a groan of misery. Portia van Deusen had called to say she was on her way to the Newport Jazz Festival; she planned to drop off some of his stuff. But why would she do it herself rather than sending someone? And why at this hour?
Two things came to mind. She was best friends with Hollis Underwood, who had probably filled her in about Rosa. And Portia must still be mad at him about the broken engagement. Let her be, he thought. She’d brought it on herself, even though he’d agreed to let everyone believe she had dumped him and not the other way around. Only Gina Colombo, his assistant, knew what had really happened.
Yawning and scratching his chest, he went to the window, squinting at the white sunlight streaming in.
He paused in mid-yawn and mid-scratch when he recognized his visitor, and his scowl changed to a smile. Rosa was rummaging in the trunk of her car, and emerged with a large wicker basket covered with a red-and-white checkered cloth. She wore a red polka dot halter top, red clamdiggers, gold hoop earrings, big sunglasses and ruby-colored finger-and toenails. The adult-entertainment version of Red Riding Hood.
“Oh, man,” he said and ducked into the bathroom. There, he stuck a toothbrush in his mouth and rolled it around while simultaneously splashing water on his face. No time to shave. Then he stepped into the nearest presentable clothes—a pair of swim trunks. He finished brushing, grabbed his Red Sox T-shirt from a hook behind the door and sniffed. Not too bad. He tugged it on over his head, then finger-combed his hair as he went downstairs to answer the door.