“Okay, sweetie pie of mine,” Jillian cooed to Boo as she put her in her crate and shut the door. “You get some sleep.”
Boo whined her disapproval, but Jillian stayed resolute and crawled into bed next to Angie. They cuddled up and turned off the lights.
Boo continued to whine.
“It’s okay,” Angie whispered as she felt Jillian stiffen. “She’s just missing her litter. She’ll be all right; she just needs some time.”
The whining went on.
At 11:27, Jillian clamped a pillow over her head.
At 11:43, Angie did the same thing.
At 12:19, the whining became a loud scraping/scratching/rattling sound that made Jillian sit straight up in bed.
“What the hell?” She clicked on the light on her nightstand. “Oh, my god.”
Angie blinked in the light, squinted. “What?”
Jillian pressed her lips together, not sure if she felt like laughing or crying, and pointed.
Boo had messed in her crate. Not only that, but she’d then acted like she was digging with her front paws and there was dog poop everywhere. On the walls, all over the towels and blankets, and all over Boo. She sat still, looking to her new owners like a white dog with brown spots.
“Boo! What did you do?” Jillian stood before the crate in her boxers and a tank top, hands jammed against her hips, head shaking slowly back and forth. The dog blinked at her, all innocence.
Angie came up next to her. “She obviously thinks this is going to get her a spot in our bed.”
Jillian sighed. “Do you want laundry duty or dog washing duty?”
“Duty or doody?”
Jillian laughed. “Either. Both.”
“You bond with your puppy in the tub. I’ll wash this stuff up.”
Jillian reached in and carefully wrapped the dog in one of the least spoiled towels. “You are a piece of work, Miss Boo. Come here.” She held the puppy at arm’s length and strode to the bathroom. “God, you stink.”
By 1:15 a.m., the pup had been taken outside for a pee and Boo was clean (and not all that happy about it), the walls were clean, the crate was clean; there were new towels and blankets lining it, and air freshener had been sprayed liberally.
“Okay,” said Jillian, aching for bed. “Let’s try this one more time.” She put Boo back into the crate. “This time, go to sleep, little one.” She kissed the soft head and shut the door, then fell into bed next to Angie, who was sprawled on her stomach.
“Thank god it’s the weekend,” Angie mumbled, her face half in the pillow.
“You got that right.” Jillian clicked off the light and settled in next to Angie, exhaling in relief.
The whining began almost instantly.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jillian said.
Angie pulled the pillow over her head and screamed into it.
The whining continued.
“I can’t take it,” Jillian said, sitting up.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t take it.” Jillian padded across the room, opened the crate, and pulled Boo out and into her arms. “Come on, you little baby. Mama needs her rest.” She brought Boo to the bed, ignoring the stink-eye aimed at her from Angie.
“She shouldn’t be in the bed with us,” Angie stated, so tired her lips barely moved when she spoke. “It’s a bad habit. I’m telling you.”
“Yeah?” Jillian asked. “Do you want to be right or do you want to sleep?”
Angie looked at her for a beat. “Sleep.”
“I thought so. Me too.” Scooting down under the covers, Jillian turned on her side and pulled Boo close against her belly so they were spooning. She tucked her hand up along Boo’s warm stomach and kissed the top of her head. “Now go to sleep, you bad girl.”
Boo was asleep and snoring loudly by 1:23 a.m.
1994
The Power of Love
Eight
“Isn’t it cool?” Angie grinned as she held the new black device up for inspection, tilting it this way and that, letting the light from the dining room glint off the buttons. It was smaller than a brick, and not nearly as thick or heavy, but it was solid and almost sleek. “Now you can get ahold of me any time you want, Mama.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Alice said with a half-grin, and Angie either missed or ignored the touch of sarcasm in her tone, Jillian wasn’t sure which.
Jillian laughed as she lifted a forkful of pasta to her lips. “Please. I’ve had to hear all about this cellular phone since yesterday. Nonstop. It’s only fair that you share in my torture.”
“I’ve had my cell for a year,” Dominick piped in as he refilled Angie’s wine glass, then his own.
“Yeah, well, we’re not all fancy-schmancy lawyers, are we? Besides, you’re older than me,” Angie stated, and Jillian could almost visualize the two of them as kids, battling over some toy. “I got mine younger than you.”
“Why do you need one of those things?” Joe asked.
“Because I’m important, Pop.” Angie winked at him. “So my customers can reach me. I’m out of the office a lot.”
“Isn’t that what voicemail is for?”
“That’s what I said,” Jillian agreed, pointing at Joe with her fork. “Now she can never get away from those customers.”
“I have hours,” Angie told them, obviously defending her new gadget. “It’s not like they’ll be calling me at night or on weekends.”
Jillian raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Angie was doing really well at work, and the truth was, the cell phone did make sense. Now if she was held up someplace or caught in traffic, she could reach Jillian and tell her. And the look on her face when she brought it home—she was like a child with a new bike. No way did Jillian want to extinguish that light. Angie was proud of herself, deservedly so, and Jillian was proud of her, too.
Jillian loved Sunday dinners with Angie’s family. They were so warm, open-armed, and open-hearted, utterly different than dinners with her own parents. At her mother’s house, she was tense, always on guard, careful not only of what she said, but of the subjects on which she spoke, avoiding such hot-button issues as politics and religion. Here, she felt welcome. More than welcome, part of the family. Alice Righetti always greeted her with a heartfelt hug and a kiss on the cheek. Joe Righetti teased her just as mercilessly as he did his own kids. She felt a tenderness and a comfort with the Righettis that she’d never felt in her own house. Her mother had never made her feel safe enough to fully be herself, but with the Righettis, she never felt the need to hide anything, to fake anything. With the Righettis, she was who she was, and that was good enough for them.
Jillian watched the family now as if removed, as if she wasn’t in the room. Angie brushed a hank of dark hair out of her eyes and leaned toward her brother Tony, pointing out different features of her new phone. Tony was the wild card of the bunch with his questionable friends, vague employment, and history of drug use—Jillian was reasonably sure he was high now, judging by the redness of his eyes—but today was a good day, and there was no tension between him and Joe, as there was on bad days. Instead, Joe tipped his head nearer to Angie’s younger sister, Maria, as they debated the best method of mixing the ingredients for meatballs—wooden spoon or bare hands. Maria looked nothing like Angie, nothing like Joe. Instead, she was the spitting image of her mother, all light brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin. Jillian flashed to her own brother’s face, so very much like hers, people thought they were twins. Dominick sat at the opposite end of the table from his father and chewed thoughtfully, watching his family. He caught Jillian’s eye and shot her a wink. As he did, his cell phone rang on his hip. Without looking at the screen, he answered it, then rolled his eyes as his sister dissolved into giggles, her phone pressed to her ear.
“You’re ridiculous, Andi,” he said, but he chuckled anyway.
This is my family.
The thought hit Jillian’s mind loud and clear, and it warmed her from he
r heart out. She laid a hand on Angie’s thigh and squeezed. Angie was still laughing and joking with her brothers, but put her hand on top of Jillian’s and squeezed back. Across the table, Alice met Jillian’s gaze and smiled. Jillian scooped more pasta into her mouth, and felt completely, utterly content.
This is my family.
Nine
If Boo could have disappeared into the floor tiles of the waiting room, she would have. The Chihuahua sitting in the next spot over barked—or more accurately, yipped—incessantly as Boo tried her hardest to become invisible, burrowing behind Jillian’s legs and under the bench on which she sat, avoiding any and all eye contact with the tiny dog.
“You are such a baby,” Jillian muttered, unable to hide a grin at the contradiction that was Boo: a dog barrel-chested, strong, and solid, with an intimidating pit bull head, who cowered at small dogs, garbage trucks, and the vacuum cleaner.
Jillian adored her.
A door opened to the left of the front desk, and a young vet tech stepped out. “Boo?”
“That’s us, sweetie,” Jillian said to her dog, then tugged gently at her leash.
Inside the room, Boo was a model patient, which also made Jillian smile. That contradiction again. Whimpering and scared in the waiting room, brave and confident for the vet tech, who poked and prodded and examined, then told them Dr. Jackson would be right with them, and gave Boo a treat.
She was still munching happily when Shay came in and immediately gave Jillian a hug.
“Hey there, good lookin’. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Midwinter break. I’m off all week. It’s good to see you, Shay,” Jillian told her as she looked her friend over and grinned. “I still can’t get over how impressive it is when you walk in here in your lab coat, all doctor-like.” She could still picture high-school age Shay, her unruly hair having gone from afro to cornrows, athletic and always sure of herself. Now she kept her hair short, still colored it a bit so it was light, almost blonde at the tips, and that confidence always radiated from her, drew people to her. Shay was one of those people who always made you feel comfortable, no matter what.
“You look so good,” Shay said, talking to Boo. “You’re such a pretty girl. Let me see those teeth. Ooo, look at those babies, all pearly white. Mommy’s been brushing them, hasn’t she?”
Boo let Shay lift her lips to check her teeth, look into her eyes and ears, play with her feet, even held still for her puppy shots. As she worked, Shay directed her questions to Jillian. “So how’s life? Work okay?”
“It is,” Jillian said, and meant it. “I’m actually liking working with the little ones.”
“Yeah?” Shay stopped what she was doing to look at her friend. “That’s great. I know you were getting antsy there for a while.”
“I was.” Jillian blew out a breath. “And I don’t like the politics. I didn’t expect there to be so much in education. They don’t prepare you for that in college.”
“Newsflash, honey: there’s politics in every business. Every business.”
“I suppose. But I work with some really great people, and the kids are fun. I’m kind of enjoying myself.”
“You know, Laura and I were just talking about you last night, about your whole job situation, and she had a terrific idea. I bet you could volunteer at the art museum. I imagine they’d love to have somebody educated to help out.”
Jillian blinked at her, then slowly nodded. “I never thought of that. How did I never think of that? That’s a fantastic idea.”
“My girl’s pretty creative.”
Jillian bumped her friend with a shoulder. “So? Sounds like things are good.”
Shay stopped what she was doing, took a big breath, and let it out loudly. “Things are amazing. Really. She’s smart and funny and sexy. I never thought I could be so happy.”
“We did good, didn’t we?”
“We sure did. How’s your girl? Doing pretty well at work, I hear.” Shay tugged at her lab coat, which was embroidered with her name and the animal hospital’s logo. “She did these for us.”
“I remember her telling me she’d done a job for you. Thanks for getting her the meeting.”
“I was happy to.”
“I think she’s much better at this job than she expected to be. She’s developed quite a sizable clientele, and I think her boss has been pleasantly surprised.”
Shay cocked her head to the side slightly and studied her friend. “What’s that look?”
“What look?”
An arched brow. “Don’t mess with me. I’ve known you since you were a kid. What’s wrong?”
Jillian sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t get to see her as much as I’d like, that’s all. She works a lot.”
“Honey, I know what that’s like,” Shay said with a snort. “She’s doing well, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re proud of her?”
“Very.”
“And when she comes home, is she happy to be there?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then relax. It won’t be like this forever. She’s still making her way.”
Jillian grinned at her old friend. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I went through a billion years of school, remember? I know what it’s like to try to juggle a career and a relationship. I think she’s doing okay.”
Somehow, just hearing Shay’s positive tone made Jillian feel better—this was the first time Jillian had given voice to her concerns. “You’re right. She is. We are.”
“Good. Now take this gorgeous mutt home, and when you get a minute, call my girlfriend and set up a dinner date for the four of us.” Shay kissed Boo on her white head and gave her another treat from the jar on the counter. A parting hug for Jillian, and Dr. Jackson was on to her next patient.
“Come on, Boo. Let’s go home.”
“I just want to thank you, Matt.” Angie lifted her wine glass.
“Is that why we’re drinking at lunch?” Matt Jones asked her with a grin. “So you can thank me?”
“Exactly.” She clinked her glass against his beer bottle. In the three years since Angie began her sales career, Matt had remained a loyal customer. As his business grew, so did hers. Jones Tree had gone from a small handful of employees to nearly thirty. Matt and Angie had become surprisingly good friends along the way and they tried to meet for lunch or drinks—or both—at least once a month.
“Cool. What are you thanking me for?” Matt’s brown hair was neatly combed, and though his regular attire consisted of jeans, a T-shirt, and work boots, he always looked tidy. She liked that about him. Presentation was important to him. Like she was always explaining to Jillian, image mattered.
“For being my first customer and for continuing to be the customer who is the least of a pain in my ass.”
Matt laughed, a loud guffaw that surprised Angie even though she’d heard it a hundred times before. “Well, you are very welcome.”
“Seriously,” Angie said, leaning in over the table they shared. “You are a dream. You’re rarely in a rush. You understand that shit happens, and that if something of yours is late, it’s not because I’m trying to screw you. You pay your bills on time. And you don’t give me an ass ache.”
Matt’s bushy eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “Wow. Somebody been giving you a hard time?”
“Understatement.” Angie sipped her wine. “You have customers you can’t stand?”
“Oh, god, yes. Everybody does. It’s part of doing business.”
Angie shook her head and watched as people mingled, sifted in and out of the restaurant. “This is not what I went to school for.”
“No? Join the club, sweetheart. I have a psychology degree,” Matt said.
Angie blinked at him. “Really?”
“Scout’s honor. I fell into the landscape business, liked it enough, and decided to stay.”
“Ever regret your decision?”
Matt he
aved a breath, gazed out the window. “Once in a while, maybe. When I have more money due in collections than I do in my checking account. Or when my crew works its ass off on a job only to have the customer say they don’t like it or it isn’t what they expected. But”—he swigged his beer—“I love the freedom. No time clock. I’m outside much of the time. Makes it almost all worthwhile. I would like to see my wife a little more often.”
“Oh, I so understand that. Jillian’s been great and super supportive, but I know she gets frustrated with my hours. Did I tell you I had a customer call me last week on my cell at eight o’clock?”
“At night?”
“He was on the west coast, so it was only five for him, but he didn’t seem terribly apologetic when I explained to him that I was home with my family. Jillian was not happy about that.”
“I know. Beth can be the same way.”
“I do love the freedom, though, that’s for sure.” It was true. As long as Angie was making sales and writing orders, nobody lurked over her shoulder. She could come and go as she pleased, be out of the office all day long, and nobody questioned her. She’d never expected to be so autonomous so early on in her career, but she liked it. “I have a communications degree, but I minored in business.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Angie nodded. “I think I could run this company, easy.”
Matt’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great. Is Guelli looking to sell?”
“Not that I know of,” Angie said with a shake of her head. “But he’s no spring chicken. He’s got to be at least thinking about retiring in the next five or ten years.” The idea of actually running Logo Promo had been rolling around in her head for several weeks, but this was the first time she’d spoken aloud about it. To anybody. As the owner of a small business himself, Matt seemed like the perfect sounding board. But even as she spoke to him, she felt guilty for not talking to Jillian first.
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