Third Time's the Charm

by Liz Talley

He wasn’t getting any work done anyway. Besides, it was his fault Sunny had to rely on the kindness of… well, ex-boyfriends to get around town. Or rather it was his kid’s fault. The slight irony that Landry was the reason he’d lost Sunny in the first place didn’t escape him. Of course, it wasn’t Landry’s fault. He hadn’t asked to be conceived from bad drunken sex in a fraternity room in the KA house. That was Henry’s eff up and his burden to shoulder. Still, Landry had torn them apart and then reunited them sixteen years later. Sort of full circle.

  I’m ready.

  But not to forgive him. Not to smile at him the way she once had. No, Sunny Voorhees David wasn’t ready for anything other than forgetting what had been between them.

  Question was—did Henry have a chance at convincing her any different? And did he want to? Sunny coming home wasn’t about a second chance on a meant-to-be, but he now had a chance to get closure. He could finally apologize and get over the past.

  He texted that he was on his way, picked up his keys, and pushed back his chair. “I’m off.”

  Carson looked up, his forehead crinkling. “To do what?”

  “To take the redhead home.”

  Carson laughed. “Damn, you work fast, bro.”

  “Not like that,” Henry clarified, giving a wry smile. “Landry ran over her Harley and that’s why I’m giving her a lift. And paying a, no doubt, huge repair bill to have the bike repaired.”

  “She rides a bike?” Carson asked, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Did.”

  “You’re telling me that hot redhead straddles a hog? Dude, did you raise Landry’s allowance?”

  Henry shook his head. “Just wait. One day you’ll be cleaning up your teenager’s mistakes.”

  Then he pushed out the door of the office and into the cold sunshine. In the distance he saw Sunny standing in front of the main office of the school, her shoulders hunched against the wind. She looked lost and not at all like the sweet blonde who’d charmed him in the hallway of the same school all those years ago. As he climbed into his truck, he watched her light a cigarette and take a few drags, blowing the smoke high into the air. It was as if pain vibrated around her, and she looked so tired and hard.

  This Sunny made his heart hurt.

  He looped around the drive and pressed unlock. She dropped the cigarette, put it out with her high-heeled boot, and picked the butt up, flicking it into a nearby trash can. She looked hard but cool as shit. Like the girl in high school with the dark eyeliner, Bon Jovi shirt, and bad attitude. Like the girl she should have been long ago—tough, hard, ready to battle—but hadn’t been. Because she’d been so heartbreakingly innocent, pure, and… his.

  “Hey,” he said as she climbed into the warmth of his cab. He’d put the seat heaters on because the wind outside was a knife between the shoulder blades. “Everything go okay?”

  “Yeah, though I never knew how much work being an attendance clerk is. Tracking down excuses, reporting truants, dealing with actual kids. Jeez.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I suppose most of us never realize how hard everyone at a school works until we have to do their job. I once volunteered to sub for a teacher who had to go to a conference. Good Lord, it was like trying to train a herd of cats to sit still for a photo. Impossible.”

  “You’re not making me excited about this,” she said.

  “You’ll be fine. You’ve always been good at organization and getting people to do what you want them to do.”

  She clicked her seat belt. “What does that mean?”

  “Relax, it’s a compliment. You’re good with people. Or you used to be. Of course, I haven’t been around you in a while.” He turned out on the highway.

  “No, you haven’t.” Sunny turned to look out the window. “Thanks for putting on the seat warmer.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Nothing but politeness or matter-of-factness sat between them. Sunny wasn’t going to open up to him, wasn’t going to let him in any more than she had to. He might as well be an Uber driver. “You left the dog at your aunt’s. Are we going there?”

  “No, just take me to my mother’s house.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Is Ruby Jean going to take care of the dog?”

  “No, but I can walk to her house. No need for you to run me all over town.”

  “Let me take you. I can wait while you get the dog.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. My aunt has a kennel I can use… as long as I can get Betty on board with keeping the pup until I can find a better situation for it. No way I can keep the thing.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll try to help find a place for it. Maybe a Facebook post? Surely we can find someone who wants a cute dog. Or what will be a cute dog once she grows some hair back.”

  “I’ve learned the hard way that most people don’t want to take on someone else’s problems. It will be harder than you think. Rescues are usually at full capacity. Too many homeless animals out there and not enough resources. It’s a shame Morning Glory doesn’t have an organization to help strays.”

  “Maybe you can do something about that,” he said.

  Sunny shook her head. “Not me. I’ll help this one pup because you nearly made her roadkill, but I’m not the person to do something like that. I’m not hanging around any longer than I have to. By summer’s end, I’ll be gone.”

  “Sure, but you’re here now,” he said, for some reason hating the idea Sunny would disappear once again, even though he shouldn’t have any reason to feel that way.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Bathing the stray dog was almost as traumatic for Sunny as it was for the mutt. The thing was covered in fleas and ticks. Who knew fleas actually jumped? And when she’d picked the horrible things from the fine little hairs on her forearms, the damn dog had jumped from the old tub, soaking her and shaking dirty droplets all over the bathroom.

  “What the…” Sunny clamped down on her anger. At her ire, Fancy had slunk down between the toilet and wall, looking as if she wanted to blend into the 1950s pink tile. Her tail was tucked so tight against her belly it looked painful.

  “I’m sorry, girl. I’ve never bathed a dog before. I did the admin stuff for the rescue. So let’s try again, shall we?”

  She carefully approached the pup, muttering sweet nothings to the frightened thing. Lifting her stiff body, she set her back into the tub filled with warm, now-dirty water. Squirting the medicated wash into her hand, she scrubbed the dog’s sides, noting that a lot of fleas had died as a result of the shampoo. Thank God.

  “That’s a good girl. We’ll get you all clean and then dry you in a big fluffy towel.”

  She eyed the folded towels on the toilet lid. “Okay, they’re not fluffy, but they are dry and somewhat warm.”

  Her mother had a handheld shower attachment that was perfect for rinsing the dog. She pulled the plug and let the tub drain while she blasted warm water to rinse the flea carcasses from the permanent ring around the old tub. Five minutes later, she had Fancy, still stiff with fear, sitting on the periwinkle bath mat, flea spray coating her fur. She couldn’t let Betty glimpse one single flea or tick. Her mother had already coldly informed her that if she could get to a gun, she’d put the mutt out of its misery.

  Thankfully, there were no guns in the house.

  Betty had given her two days to find the dog a home. Sunny wasn’t exactly sure what Betty could do about it if Sunny couldn’t rehome the dog, but she respected her mother enough to agree to her dictates. That was pretty much the limit of her respect for Betty.

  “You do smell better, girl.” Sunny rubbed the dog’s head, earning a cautionary wag of the bushy tail. The dog’s feet were tipped in white, the clumpy gray fur speckled in black, and her coat held enough tan to mark her Australian cattle dog. Sunny only knew that because her neighbor when she’d lived in California had raised the nippy breed. “And your hair will grow back once the medicine starts to work.”

  Another tail thump.

  “Wonder w
here you came from? Poor girl. Maybe I should give you a more fitting name than Fancy. ’Cause honestly, you ain’t that. Well, it can’t be Fluffy,” she said, studying the rashy-looking bumps on the mangy patches. “Hmm, Cookie? No, maybe something Australian. Mathilda? Alice? Sydney? Crocodile Dundee?”

  That made her laugh.

  The dog’s tail thumped again, even as her eyes watched Sunny warily.

  “I get it. You’re set on being Fancy.” Sunny dropped the dog shampoo, and Fancy jumped and tried to hide in the bathroom corner. Sunny plopped onto her bottom and reached out a hand. “I’m sorry. Come on, girl, come to me.”

  The dog trembled, and Sunny’s heart nearly broke apart.

  “You’re a sweet little girl. Come on, Fancy Pants. Come see me.”

  The dog turned one ear toward Sunny but didn’t move.

  “Here, little girl,” Sunny singsonged softly.

  The dog turned around and sank onto her belly. Sunny wiggled her fingers. “Come on, Fancy.”

  Fancy belly-crawled toward Sunny, stopping just inches from her outstretched hand.

  “Good girl. I know how you feel. Banged up and missing a little hair. I know what it’s like to have fleas. Not real fleas, but things that drain the life from you. I know, Fancy girl.”

  The dog lowered her head between her paws and sighed.

  Sunny set her hand atop the dog’s head, slowly stroking so as not to scare her. Fancy’s sweet brown eyes, still suspicious but also hopeful, lifted to watch Sunny.

  Sunny had once heard that petting a dog increases serotonin levels, flooding a person with satisfaction and contentment. A bunch of baloney was what she’d told Alan when she’d read as much to him from a Facebook post over breakfast one morning, but now she understood the inclination. Something about the easy glide of her hand over the damp, trembling dog soothed her. It was as if the simple act of kindness eased over her like a cozy quilt. Or maybe she wanted to believe the nonsense because it was something she needed.

  Sunny gave the mutt one last pet and slipped the old collar her aunt had found under her bathroom sink over Fancy’s head, cinching it tight enough to keep her from pulling loose. Then she clipped the leash to the collar and opened the bathroom door.

  “About damned time,” Betty grumbled from her wheelchair in the hallway. Her mother’s chair was electric, and the woman got around pretty well considering she had the use of only one side of her body. Not that anyone would know just how capable Betty was. Her mother liked being waited on hand and foot. “I’m hungry.”

  “Your physical therapist said you were to work on simple skills, so tonight let’s give that a go. The milk can be opened with one hand, and there’s prepackaged oatmeal or macaroni and cheese. The microwave is now on a stand you can reach.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  Sunny gently tugged on the leash. The dog wasn’t budging from the bathroom. “Yes, you can. Eden spoiled you and kept you from practicing autonomy. The therapist has asked you to use your body so you strengthen it. Go do that.”

  “That woman is crazy if she thinks I can fix my own meals, and that dog is going outside. I told you I don’t want no fleabag in my house.” Betty’s eyes gleamed in the bad hallway lighting, reminding Sunny of Cruella de Vil.

  Sunny looked back at the dog, which refused to move. Fancy’s tail was tucked tight, and she regarded Betty with fear. “Stop being ugly, Mama. The dog’s clean. No fleas. She’s staying inside because it’s too cold outside. I have a kennel in my room, and I’ll find someone to take her soon.”

  “I don’t like dogs,” Betty said, the good side of her mouth curving downward, making her frown overly exaggerated.

  “Why not?” Sunny asked the question before she could think better of it. Betty didn’t like much in life. At least not since the stroke. Probably had no good reason to dislike a dog.

  “They’re dirty. And they have sharp teeth.”

  “Well, so do you and we still keep you,” Sunny said, trying for lightness.

  “Ha ha.” Betty snorted, expertly whipping her chair toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, make me some mac and cheese while you’re at it,” Sunny called.

  Betty flipped her off.

  Sunny looked down at the dog. “See what I have to deal with? Bathing you is a piece of cake compared to dealing with her,” Quick as rabbit, Sunny stooped and scooped the damp pup into her arms. The dog struggled briefly but then stilled. The dog’s wetness soaked Sunny’s sweatshirt, but she didn’t put the pup down. Instead, she hummed a song by Dolly Parton and nuzzled her chin against the still dog, hoping to ease its fear.

  Minutes later, Sunny had Fancy resting on a fluffy old pillow inside the kennel her aunt had loaned her. When she’d showed up earlier with the dog, Aunt Ruby Jean had looked at the mutt Henry held in his lap in the running truck and said, “Don’t get too attached.”

  “I’m not.”

  “They’re easy to get attached to when they need you. If you’re not sticking around, you better not open up your heart. They’ll wriggle inside, and before you know it, they’re sleeping in your bed,” Aunt Ruby said, running a thin hand over Sunny’s shoulders, giving her a quick hug.

  “You are talking about the dog, right?” Sunny asked.

  Aunt Ruby Jean merely smiled. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, I’m not keeping either one. I have no need to have something to take care of.” Sunny said it but knew even at that moment she told a half truth, because at one time she’d wanted to keep one of the things her aunt spoke of.

  Sunny studied the sad dog Henry struggled to contain behind the wheel of his truck. Taking care of something other than the crotchety woman who’d given birth to her years ago would be a temporary distraction that she likely needed at the moment. Odd how the need to nurture something seemed embedded in a woman’s DNA. When she’d been younger, she’d not thought too much about having something so vulnerable in her care, but as she’d gotten older, as the insanity of marrying a man she’d barely known had waned, she’d started longing for something to tend. Having a baby had become a near obsession. It was as if Sunny thought having a child could give her purpose.

  Five times she’d held the promise inside her. She’d cherished the tenderness in her breasts, the way tears sprang to her eyes at the oddest moments, and browsed websites filled with nursery paint colors and tiny pinafores. Five times that promise had disappeared, slipping bright red and horrible from her womb, dropping her to her knees, teeth clenched against the sobs, pieces of herself flying to dark places never to be seen again. A dog wasn’t a milk-drunk, sweet-smelling baby, but this dog needed someone.

  Her aunt brushed a hand against her hair and nodded toward the man and dog in the truck. “Baby girl, you need something. Not sure it’s either one of those things.” Through the windshield, they could see Henry murmuring to the frightened animal. Sunny felt something inside her plink like a taut cello string surrendering to the inevitable.

  Fight it.

  Now, standing in her room, her mother in the kitchen grumbling loud enough to be heard and a beaten-down little dog eyeing her with suspicion, life seemed even harder than any other time before. Because she had nothing good on the road before her. She had a temporary job, no future, and she currently slept in a bed she’d left long ago. And now she had to find someone willing to take in a sad little dog.

  Maybe Henry?

  She’d not even thought to ask him. He had kids. Didn’t they always want a dog? Yeah, kids always wanted pets. Maybe she could talk him into taking the dog home to wherever he lived.

  Call him?

  No. She didn’t want that much intimacy with him. Still, this was something better asked face-to-face. He would pick her up Monday morning to take her to work. Bright and early. She had to be at the school office by seven thirty. Henry had never been much of a morning person, but then again, neither had she. How open would he be to her suggestion with the rising sun hitting him
in the eyes?

  A dog was a lot of work.

  Fancy whimpered at that particular moment. In agreement or protest?

  “What’s wrong, girl?” Sunny asked.

  Fancy looked up, brown eyes so sad. But she made no further noises.

  “I’m going to make sure Betty didn’t blow up the microwave. You rest.” Sunny turned out the light, catching sight of her suitcase still sitting in the corner of her bedroom. A reminder that she wasn’t staying.

  Sunny closed the door and moved toward the kitchen where her mother grumbled words that would make a virgin blush. Hell, they’d make anyone blush.

  Definitely not staying.

  She needed to get the painting done and find cheap light fixtures. Fast.

  Henry hated mornings.

  “Dad, Landry took the pens you gave me,” Katie Clare screamed though the Bluetooth in his car. “They were mine.”

  “I had a test, stupid,” Landry said in the background.

  “Do not call your sister stupid, Lan,” Henry said, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with squabbling kids. He’d spent all of last night tossing and turning in the bed above his parent’s garage. Dreams of past regrets and, oddly enough, a dog chasing him clogged his sleep, rendering him a virtual zombie. He’d nicked himself shaving and then spilled coffee on his shirt while driving out of the driveway. With a full day ahead, he didn’t have time to pick up Sunny and take her to the school, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to rent her a car. The bike would be repaired as soon as Deeter got the part he’d ordered in. Who knew how long that could take?

  Long, he hoped.

  “But you bought those for me. He had no right to take them,” Katie Clare insisted.

  “You’re right. He should have asked, but you need to be more understanding. Sharing with your brother is something you should be willing to do.”

  Silence met what he considered to be sage advice. Surely he’d just scored a goal in the game of parenting.

  “I don’t have to share. Not when they’re mine,” Katie declared.