by Susie Gayle
“Besides, she doesn’t even like the same things I like. She’d probably never—”
My breath catches in my throat and my blood runs cold as a female voice, right in my ear, says, “Who doesn’t like the same things you like?”
CHAPTER 3
* * *
“Oh, Sarah, it’s just you. Thank God.” I sigh in relief and wait for my heart to start again. For a second, I really thought it would be… her.
“Who else would it be?” Sarah asks. “What are you guys talking about?”
Sammy smiles. “Will was just telling me how great you are.” See? What a friend.
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Sure he was. Hi, Holly.”
“Hey, kiddo,” Holly greets as she pours a new glass. Sarah purses her lips; no one in their mid-thirties really likes to be called “kiddo,” but everyone under forty is a kiddo to Holly.
“Anyway, want to grab a table?” she asks me.
“Sure thing. Sammy, you want to join us?”
“No, no, you two go and have fun. I’ll stay here and try to weasel the secret ale formula out of Holly.” He winks.
“Watch it,” Holly warns with a smirk. “I’ve thrown bigger mouths than you outta here.”
Sarah and I grab a table in the corner and sip our drinks. Sarah peruses the menu, even though I already know she’s not going to pass up the ribeye and crab cakes. I’ll likely do the same; I do love animals, but I can’t pass up a good steak. Call me a hypocrite if you must, but lettuce is rabbit food, not people food.
Karen was a vegetarian, might still be, but not for the animal-loving reasons. She read somewhere that humans weren’t evolved enough to digest meat, which sounds like horse manure to me. Plus, she cheated all the time, insisting that eggs and fish didn’t count…
Good gravy. Why am I thinking about her now?
“So, how’s the pooch?” I ask Sarah, eager to think about something else.
“Oh, that poor dog. As I was locking up, he started crying like crazy,” she tells me. “He has so much energy, and I think he’s going to need a lot of attention. Whoever adopts him should probably have some kids, or another dog or two.”
“Definitely,” I agree. “He’s going to be a high-maintenance pup.” To take my mind off of Sammy’s rumored warning, I take a good long look at Sarah. Her emerald-colored eyes, auburn hair with a natural curl. Her pronounced dimples that deepen when she smiles.
“What?” She catches me staring and her cheeks redden.
“Nothing. I’m just… I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“I know.” She smiles. “You tell me that almost every day.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “And business will get better, I know it will.”
I nod. If I’m being completely honest, it’s not just the lackluster tourism and fostering shelter animals that’s hurting business—it’s also me. See, I tend to be somewhat selective about what I sell and who I sell to. I never, not once, got any of my dogs from puppy mills; those places are evil. I buy only from accredited breeders, which reduces my profit margin. And I have a pretty good intuition about people. If someone wants to buy a pet and they don’t seem like the right sort, I won’t sell to them.
For instance, just last month a young couple came in with a little boy around eight years old. First this kid wanted a rabbit, then he wanted a ferret, and then he wanted a guinea pig. Then he gave up on pets altogether and wanted a new toy instead.
The parents told him, “You’re getting a pet, not a toy.”
The kid threw a tantrum in my shop, so I (very nicely) told them that I couldn’t sell them an animal. The kid seemed like the type that would play with something for five minutes and move on to the next thing. That’s not a good loving home.
Oh, they got angry with me. The father swore loudly, and the mother promised that she would trash-talk my shop on her mommy blog. Didn’t matter; they were leaving animal-less.
Take a dog like Rowdy. Sure, he’s up for adoption and not for sale, but that just makes him all the more special of a case. Whoever adopts him needs to be attentive, and like Sarah said, be able to give him the stimulation he so desperately needs. Otherwise, sorry, you’re not getting that dog.
I know it’s not the best business model. My ex-wife made sure to remind me of that often. She’d say things like, “You’re too empathetic, Will. They’re only animals. They don’t care about that kind of stuff.”
I disagree. I think they do.
And there I go again, thinking about Karen.
“Hey,” I say to Sarah, “how about after dinner, we go down to the beach and take a moonlit stroll?”
Her eyes light up and she smiles broadly. “Why, Will Sullivan, that’s the most romantic gesture you’ve made since you stood up to that ferret for biting me.”
***
The breeze coming off the surf is chilly, but neither of us seems to notice as we walk hand-in-hand down the beach. The beaches of Seaview Rock aren’t exactly what usually come to mind when you hear the word “beach.” Our sand is darker and coarser, and the shore is dotted with small flat pebbles worn smooth by the high tide. Even in summer, you won’t find a lot of people lying out on towels, but that suits us just fine. It’s still a beach.
In the distance, the spotlight of the Goose Point lighthouse oscillates lazily over the water. In the daytime, you can see the brown and red bricks of the historic tower from anywhere in town; from the beach at night it’s little more than a tall, thin silhouette, like a black flashlight stuck upright in the sand.
The gentle sound of the rolling surf is soothing, and displaces our need for conversation. That is, until Sarah links her arm in mine, clears her throat, and says, “I can tell something’s bothering you tonight.”
“Oh? Just barely a month in, and already you’ve developed an intuition about me?”
“I’ve worked for you for more than a year now—”
“With me,” I tell her. “You’ve worked with me.”
She smiles. “Sure. But still, I can tell. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m here to listen.”
I sigh. Should I tell her? She knows that I was married before, and that things ended badly, but I never went into details, nor have I ever really talked about mine and Karen’s relationship—not that I’m about to start now. But even if I just told her about Karen coming back to town, how can Sarah really understand my concerns about seeing her again if she doesn’t have a perspective on the relationship?
“You really want to know?” I ask her, half-hoping she’ll say something like, “Nope, I was just kidding. Don’t dump your problems on me.”
“Of course I do.” It was worth a shot.
“Okay. A long, long time ago—like four years or so—I was married, and…” Something catches my eye in my periphery and I trail off, and at the same time stop walking.
“Will? What’s wrong?”
“What in the world…?” I murmur as I glance up the crest of the hill where the sand turns to gravel, where a two-lane road runs parallel to the beach.
Sarah follows my gaze and she lets out a light gasp. “No way,” she says.
Right there, for everyone to see, is a red and blue billboard with big white letters that say: COMING SOON! PET EMPORIUM, INC. WHAT YOUR PET NEEDS, AT PRICES YOU WANT!
CHAPTER 4
* * *
“Pet Emporium! Can you believe it?!”
“No, I can’t. Hold still.” Sammy grips the back of my neck firmly with one hand to keep me from shaking my head in dismay, which I’ve pretty much been doing the whole time he’s been trying to cut my hair.
“I mean, how? Seaview Rock doesn’t let chain stores in. We never have! Heck, even the Sprawl-Mart had to be built outside of city limits.” I try to shake my head again, and a moment later a silver pair of scissors flashes in my vision as Sammy waves them in front of my face.
“Look
, I’m bummed about this too, but if you don’t stop squirming you’re going to be an ear short.”
“Sorry. I just… Pet Emporium! How does this even happen?”
Needless to say, whatever romantic mood we cultivated the night before had quickly died once Sarah and I spotted the billboard. She was just as upset as I was, and we spent the whole walk back to our cars, parked at the Pet Shop Stop, complaining about how this could happen.
And though it hasn’t yet been said, we’re both keenly aware of what this could mean. My shop already isn’t doing so hot; competition from a recognized name in pet supplies could put me under.
“And practically downtown, too!” I complain to Sammy. “It’s going in only six blocks from my shop.”
“Sounds like you ought to talk to someone on the town council,” he advises. “I haven’t heard a peep about this, so you can bet it’s been kept very hush-hush.”
“Sarah’s so mad she told me she’s going to start a protest,” I tell him. “She said she’ll chain herself to the doors if she has to, so they can’t renovate.”
This time, it’s Sammy that shakes his head. “Protests don’t often yield results. Against a corporation like that, I doubt it’ll get off the ground…”
Just then, we hear a commotion outside. We both turn and look through the storefront windows of the barber shop to see a sizeable crowd, at least a few dozen people, marching almost in unison down the street, many with signs in the air. From here, I can’t see what they say—but I can clearly see that the mob is being led by Sarah, who holds a bullhorn to her mouth as she marches by.
“What do we want?” Her voice reverberates through the bullhorn.
“Mom-and-Pop!” the crowd chants back.
“Where do we shop?”
“Pet Shop Stop!”
I groan. Sammy grins. “You gotta admit,” he says, “it’s pretty catchy.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face, pal, and finish this up quick.”
***
Sammy finishes my haircut and I pull on my jacket as I’m running out the door. I catch up to the protesting crowd several blocks later, gathered outside an old warehouse that used to be a textile mill that is clearly in the midst of renovations. Sarah leads the crowd in the chant, and when she sees me edging my way through the crowd, she smiles and passes the bullhorn off to another protester, who eagerly plucks it up and continues their chanting.
“Hey!” she says loudly over the din. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s great! But the chant could probably use some work…”
“I know, but nothing rhymes with ‘emporium.’”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “This is amazing. Thank you. I—”
Over Sarah’s shoulder, the doors to the warehouse open and a woman in heels storms out. She wears a pencil skirt and a red blazer, a bubble of dyed blonde hair on top of her head. As I watch, she snatches the bullhorn from the protester and addresses the crowd.
“This is private property!” she says loudly. “You people need to vacate the premises immediately!”
Sarah turns toward the new voice too, and we both say at the same time, “Sharon?”
Sharon Estes is a local real estate agent that specializes in commercial property. She’s also on the town council, and as far as I know, has always been one of Seaview Rock’s leading proponents of maintaining the town’s historic value and charm.
Sarah and I both seem to come to the same conclusion at the same time: it would seem that Mrs. Estes is involved in facilitating the Pet Emporium’s presence. “I don’t believe it!” Sarah mutters, and her radiant, smiling face scowls and her eyebrows knit in the middle of her face. I’ve never seen her this angry. I wish I could say she’s cute when she’s mad, but she’s actually pretty scary.
Sarah shoves through the crowd toward Sharon and points at her accusingly. “How could you do this? To Will, and to the town! Does the rest of the council know about this?”
“I should have known a tree-hugger like you was behind this protest,” Sharon says, snarky. “Grow up, would you? Do you think this town can be your idyllic little village forever? Tourism is down! We need some commerce coming through here.”
“Well, we won’t stand for it! Right, Will? Tell her!” Sarah looks over at me expectantly, but to be honest, I’m struck speechless. I’ve always known Sharon to be a kind woman that cares about her town. To hear her talk like that really throws me off.
“Do what you think you can while you can,” Sharon warns. “I’m calling the police.” Then she repeats into the bullhorn, “I’m calling the police!” She shoves it back into the protester’s hands and spins on a heel—a little too sharply, losing her balance and almost falling over.
I leap forward and catch her by the arm just in time. She scowls at me and yanks her arm free. Then, for just a moment, her gaze softens and she mutters, “Thank you.” She storms off back into the building.
“Can you believe that?” Sarah asks quietly. “Why would she do this?”
“I don’t know, but…” I rub the back of my neck and notice something brown and leather lying on the ground near my feet—a wallet. I pick it up and open a flap and Sharon’s ID stares back at me. She must have dropped it when she nearly fell.
I’m about to head into the building myself to give it back to her when a car pulls into the lot, a sleek black town car that has every head turning to get a look. A driver gets out and opens the rear door, and a tall man in a three-piece suit emerges, his dark hair slicked to the side, looking every bit as greasy as his personality. He glances over the small crowd of protesters and grins.
“Now who’s this clown?” Sarah asks.
My grip on Sharon’s wallet tightens. “Derik Dobson,” I tell her. “The CEO of Pet Emporium.”
“Do you know him?”
“Sort of.” A few years back, shortly after the divorce when I wasn’t doing so well, Pet Emporium offered to buy my shop and turn it into one of their locations. They told me I could stay on as the store manager, and wouldn’t have to deal with all the issues that come with being an owner. I hate to say it, but I nearly took them up on it, until Sammy intervened and snapped me out of it. Derik Dobson once visited my store in person. To him, Seaview Rock was the brass ring, the white whale; getting his claws into the town that kept all other corporate chains out was more important than money.
Dobson walks slowly and deliberately toward the doors to the warehouse, and then pauses to address the few dozen protesters. “Folks, I know you’re eager, but the store doesn’t open for at least another month. And I promise you—it will open.” He scans the crowd, and his eyes settle on me. He grins and points. “I remember you… Bill, was it? Something like that? How’s the shop?”
“Just fine,” I tell him as casually as I can muster. “And it’ll continue to be just fine.”
“We’ll see.” To the crowd again, he says, “The police are on their way. I suggest you all disperse.”
With a second threat of police presence, the crowd begins to evaporate. “Don’t worry, Will,” Sarah tells me. “I’ll start a petition this afternoon. It’s far from over.” She spins on Dobson as he opens the door to the warehouse and shouts, “You should be ashamed of yourself!”
He shrugs. “It’s just business, darling.”
“I’ll show you business!” She lunges forward, and I have to actually grab her around the waist and hold her back. I’m not sure what she would do to him, but I’m not sure I want to find out, either.
“Sarah, not worth it,” I tell her. “Come on, let’s just go back to the shop.”
Dobson flashes us one more self-satisfied grin before he disappears into the warehouse. Sarah calms herself with a deep breath as I realize I’m still holding Sharon’s wallet. I tuck it in my jacket pocket. I’ll get it back to her… later. I know, it sounds spiteful, but the idea of her panicking for a few hours makes me smile.
“I’ll d
raft up a petition,” Sarah says as we retreat from the warehouse. “And I’ll go door to door if I have to, get every resident to sign it. I don’t doubt they would. Maybe we can talk to Holly about doing an event at the Runside, something to raise awareness and…”
Sarah keeps talking, but I don’t hear the rest. A figure catches my eye on the corner of the departing crowd, a familiar face that quickly turns away and walks briskly up the road.
“Will? Are you listening?”
“Yeah, all that sounds really great. Listen, I have to just run a quick errand. I’ll meet you at the shop?”
“Okay,” she says, confused.
“Thanks.” I give her a kiss on the forehead and hurry off in the direction of the figure that I’m pretty sure is my ex-wife.
CHAPTER 5
* * *
I follow the woman up the street and around the corner and watch as she ducks into the coffee shop, Better Latte Than Never. Instead of going in, I mill around on the sidewalk outside the shop, waiting for a few minutes until she comes out, and then I step directly into her path.
She looks about as surprised to see me as I do her—which is to say, not at all.
“Let me guess… large chai latte with cinnamon?”
“Hello Will,” she says flatly.
Aside from her hair being cut to just above her shoulders, she looks the same as she did three years ago—petite and stern, like an angry little terrier. I imagine she’s sizing me up at the same time, and I hope I haven’t aged too horribly in the last few years. I know the gray at my temples is new, but otherwise I like to think I’m still boyishly handsome. That’s what my mother says, at least.
“You’re going gray,” she tells me.
“Nice to see you too, Karen. Why are you here?”
She frowns. “I’m allowed to visit my hometown.”