Bedside Manners (The Breakup Doctor Series Book 2)

by Phoebe Fox

  “Poor Jakie,” I said, imagining him cowering in my bedroom right now, thinking he’d been abandoned again. “I’m just...I forgot how to take care of a dog,” I said guiltily. “But I’ll learn.”

  “My mom’s amazing with him—she’s like the Dog Whisperer. It makes me forget what a pain he can be.”

  I pressed down on the accelerator and edged up past the speed limit down Highway 41, anxious to get home. “I’ll take good care of him, Ben,” I promised. “I want to.”

  “I know you will, Brook. I never doubt you.”

  I vowed to earn his faith.

  “If he gets to be too much, promise you’ll tell me,” Ben went on. “I’ll figure something else out.”

  “We’ll be fine,” I said firmly.

  And we would be. Whatever I had to do.

  “Chip, it’s probably not a great idea for you to call into the show while we’re working together,” I said as we sat across from each other in my home office later that afternoon. I wouldn’t make a habit of it with Chip, but until Jake felt more comfortable at my house I didn’t want to leave him alone. Presently the dog lay sprawled beside me, having finally calmed down after Chip’s arrival.

  Jake had been fine when I got home after the show, sitting in my bedroom waiting for me like a perfect gentleman, as if the night before had never happened. Only the shambles around him gave his previous destruction away. Maybe he was settling in.

  Visitors were a fresh excitement each time, I’d learned with my first client of the day, when Jake heralded his arrival with a crazy spasm of barking that sounded like Cujo. I’d been a little nervous about how he’d react to a stream of strangers, but as soon as someone came inside they became his new best friend, and after a good sniffing (which I fruitlessly tried to curtail and then apologized for profusely), and my verifying each visitor was okay with dogs, Jake would settle quietly next to me for the duration of the session. In a couple of cases, he’d actually seemed to relax my clients.

  Chip looked instantly contrite at my firm admonition. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said we weren’t really working professionally together?”

  “That’s true,” I conceded. “But...” It was hard to argue with my own words. “But I think it’s best if we keep it off the air, okay?”

  “Sure, of course—sorry if I put you in a weird position. I just was a little stuck and hoped you could help point me in the right direction.” That smile. “Which you did.”

  “So what do you have to show me?”

  Chip leaned forward and reached into a back pocket, coming up with a square of paper. “I went old-school,” he said, unfolding it and handing it over for me to read.

  Dear Katie,

  I wish things hadn’t ended so badly with us. I know you probably didn’t mean to shoot me. I never loved anyone more than you, which was probably why I choked you, but I shouldn’t have done it. I hope you’re happy now, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, and I wish I could have told you that then. If you’re willing to talk to me, I’d like to tell you in person, and I want to pay for all the stuff that got broken that night.

  Take care,

  Chip

  It was short, but better than I expected, actually. Chip hit all the right elements of making amends—he took responsibility for specific actions, expressed remorse, and offered to make it right. But there was one key element missing.

  “You didn’t mention your cheating on her,” I said.

  Chip gave an impish grin. “Yeah, I know. She can get kind of nuts. I was afraid to set her off.”

  “But that was what set her off to begin with, wasn’t it? It was what brought on all the other stuff you’re apologizing for. You haven’t apologized for doing the thing that hurt her so much in the first place.”

  His dark eyebrows drew together. “But I didn’t think that was half as bad as the choking.”

  “I’d suggest that, to Katie, it was probably the worst thing of all.”

  “Really?” Chip looked bewildered.

  I leaned forward. “Of course! If your relationship was everything you told me it was, there was something real between you. Katie loved you. And you...” I searched for a nonpejorative way to put it. “You shared yourself with someone else, which must have felt to her as if your love for her was a lie, or didn’t mean as much to you as it did to her. Imagine how that would feel.”

  He slumped over, elbows on his knees and face furrowed. “Well...I guess I can see that.”

  “Look at it this way: How would you have felt if she cheated on you?”

  He looked up sharply, and his furious expression stood every hair on my body on end. “I’d have killed her.”

  I reared back. Jake stiffened and gave a little growl, and I reached down to scratch his head.

  Chip’s face cleared like a passing cloud. “Sorry, buddy,” he said to Jake with a chuckle.

  I didn’t move, keeping a wary stare on him. “That’s a disturbing sentiment.”

  He winked. “Oh, come on, Doc. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Really? This is a woman you choked. You’ve had impulse-control issues in the past. To be honest, Chip, this is a little concerning.”

  “It was a joke.”

  “It was a bad joke.”

  His teasing expression sobered. “I apologize. I know that was in bad taste and offended you, and I wish I could take it back.” A grin lit up his face. “There—see? I’ve got this amends thing down pat.”

  I frowned. “This isn’t really something to take lightly. Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” Chip might not have quite as firm a handle on his temper as he wanted me to think.

  “What? Yeah, of course I am! That’s why I came to you.”

  “You still seem to have some residual anger toward Katie. I’m not sure that’s the best time to try to make amends. You might want to do some more work with your anger therapist before we—”

  “No, Doc, listen—I’m so sorry.” His face softened into repentance. “You know, sometimes I feel like I know you so well, I can be really relaxed with you. And I tease hard like that with my best friends. I just...I forgot we aren’t friends, not really. You always feel like one to me, rather than just some therapist.”

  I chewed my lip. Maybe he was right—God knew I’d overreacted to a perfectly innocent comment he’d made on the radio this morning. I was a little hypervigilant with Chip, and perhaps I needed to ease the reins, give him the benefit of the doubt. “That’s a nice thing to say,” I offered finally.

  “I’m not just saying it. I’ve got a handle on my anger now. I really want to do this. Please, Doc. You know I need your help.” Chip’s eyes were on me, and they were earnest.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “But, Chip, if you get to talk to Katie, and you truly want to make this right and show her you’ve changed, you can’t make jokes like that. They’re disturbing.”

  “Right, right, my bad.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I’ll remember, Doc. I was just teasing with you, and I shouldn’t have. And I won’t with her. I promise.”

  I nodded and gave him my careful professional smile. “Okay. Let’s talk about what you want to say if she gets back to you about the letter.”

  fourteen

  By Thursday, it was plain that I was going to have to kill Jake.

  He’d stopped chewing things up in the house—but possibly only because I literally almost never left him unattended. He stayed at my side from the time I woke up and throughout my client appointments during the day.

  At night I remained glued to the house, unwilling to trust him alone with my textiles. I’d replaced my bedspread with a cheapie from HomeGoods (because I didn’t want to drop a wad on something that might end up in Jake’s intestinal tract), and bought him a blankie of his own for beside my bed, hoping th
at if his fabric-eating pica struck in the night, he’d at least focus on the bedding nearest to hand (or paw).

  But that wasn’t what Jake did at night. No. At night Jake apparently lay vigilant, alert to any moment I slipped into REM sleep. At which point he set up a deep, full-chested barking that yanked me, terrified, from slumber. He would keep it up long enough for me to say, “Jake, stop it! Jake, be quiet!” over and over until I was good and truly awake; and only then—once he was assured that I’d be up for at least an hour trying to fall back to sleep—did he deem it right to flop over and start his instant snoring.

  As if taunting me.

  For the first time I understood what it might be like to be a new mother. Jake’s regular clarion calls kept me up every couple of hours, and by the time I finally drifted back into sleep he’d start the cycle up again.

  I tried everything I could think of: extra chew toys, treats, a bowl of food, and taking him outside (I’m sure the neighbors loved me for that, as he continued barking at the apparently dangerous air). Then I attacked the problem from the other end, with earplugs and sleeping pills for me, neither of which was a match for the Death Bark.

  After a few days of this I was at my wit’s end. And I couldn’t ask Ben what to do about it when he called, because he was already so worried and apologetic about Jake being any kind of imposition, I didn’t want to add to his concerns.

  But today I had a battle strategy.

  Lying exhaustedly awake last night during the dog’s small-hours alerts, I’d had plenty of time to ruminate about my problem. And then I remembered Ben’s words about his mom: She’s like the Dog Whisperer.

  Adelaide had asked whether I might bring the dog over for visits. And she seemed not to have had any of the troubles I was having with him. Maybe, under the guise of a visitation with her granddog, I could pick her brain for what the hell to do.

  She’d sounded delighted when I called, and we’d agreed to meet tonight at seven. I was more nervous than I expected as I rang her doorbell. I hardly knew the woman, and here we were having an evening together, just the two of us.

  Well, three, I amended as Jake leaned his entire body against my legs.

  But Adelaide didn’t answer the door. I rang the doorbell again, and when there was still no response, pressed my ear to the door.

  Which was of course when Ben’s mom threw it open, and down I went at her feet like a carnival duck. Which Jake thought was a great game, and he hurled all hundred pounds of himself on top of me, wagging his tail and grinning up at Adelaide as if to proudly show that he’d pinned her some prey.

  “Oh, my goodness!” she said, herding Jake up and off me. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, yes—I’m fine,” I babbled. Jake sat at attention beside her, looking at me as though for the life of him he couldn’t fathom what I was doing on the floor.

  I pushed myself to my feet. “Never let it be said I don’t know how to make an entrance,” I joked weakly.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? That looked like quite a tumble.”

  Waving off her concern, I leaned over to take the leash from Jake’s neck. “It was my own fault. I was a little worried when you didn’t answer, and I was listening at the door like an old spy film. It was stupid, really.”

  “Not at all. Sweet of you to be concerned. I’m just not moving as fast as I’m used to at the moment.” She indicated her knee, swollen to twice the size of the other one, but I could see the frustration behind her smile.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “It does, actually. But it won’t forever.” She gestured me inside, and as I watched her limp in front of me toward the kitchen, I marveled at her easy acceptance of the pain. It was the opposite of my family: Our way of dealing with pain was to deny its existence. I’d learned the hard way that that was only a temporary solution.

  Jake trotted obediently after her like a damn show dog. Either he was the greatest con artist on earth, or he was actually a pretty good dog, and it was only me who couldn’t control him.

  “I made supper—hope that’s okay,” Adelaide was saying from the oven as I entered the kitchen. “Just an enchilada casserole. I hope you like Tex-Mex?”

  “Love it. I eat anything. Literally.”

  Pulling out a casserole dish, she hobbled toward me to set it on a hot pad on the counter. Cheese bubbled on top of something that smelled spicy and delicious. “Isn’t that refreshing! I love food. I can’t fathom all these young girls starving themselves.”

  I thought of Sasha, who was as gorgeous a hardbody as I’d ever seen, but lived on sprouts and tofu. I shuddered.

  “Me either. Pass the cupcakes.”

  Adelaide laughed. “I knew you’d be funny from your columns. I just love them. Wish you’d been around in my dating days.”

  These could be her dating days, I wanted to say. But Ben had told me his mom had no interest in dating.

  It was too bad—in her mid-sixties, she still seemed young, in both appearance and attitude. If she wanted to get back out there, Adelaide would be a catch—especially in Florida, where she was a hot little spring chicken in the snowbird demographic.

  “What can I do?” I asked, standing uselessly at the edge of the kitchen.

  “It’s all done. I’m sitting around enough with this knee that I’m actually glad to be up and around. You can have a seat there at the breakfast bar and keep me company. Any chance you also enjoy an occasional cocktail?”

  A grin spread across my face. “One might say so, yes.”

  “Fabulous! I made margaritas. Jim and I lived in Texas for a bit and got spoiled for them made from scratch, with lime juice—now that’s the only way I can drink them.” She pulled a glass pitcher from the fridge and poured into two martini glasses on the counter. “Oh—hope they’re okay straight up? Another Texas carryover.”

  “Sounds great. So Ben grew up in Texas?” It was funny that I didn’t know that.

  “Not that he’d remember. We moved all over. Jim and I liked to see other places, and we’d always get a seven-year itch—with where we were living, not each other,” she said. She raised her glass to me. I tinked the edge with mine and we sipped.

  “Wow!” I said. “That’s literally the best margarita I’ve ever had.”

  Adelaide nodded. “Once you’ve had them from scratch, you can never drink sweet-and-sour again. I’m sorry—I’ve ruined them for you now.”

  “That’s quite all right. I’d love the recipe.”

  “Done. Now I will trouble you to carry the enchiladas into the dining room, if you would, and we can eat and then I’ll visit with Jake so you’re not stuck here all night long. I know you didn’t come here to chat with your boyfriend’s mother.”

  I wanted to protest that I was happy to be here, that she was good company, but I was so tripped up on boyfriend that I was tongue-tied.

  Ben and I hadn’t used the word yet. We hadn’t defined what we were at all—which I liked. But had he told his mom we were something more?

  And if he had...did I mind?

  “How are you doing with our Great White Terror?” Adelaide interrupted my thoughts as I stepped over the dog and put the dish on the trivet between the two place settings.

  “Oh, he’s a good dog. We’re doing fine.” I scooted Jake out of the doorway with a foot so he wouldn’t trip Adelaide. She followed me into the dining area with our drinks and we sat.

  “Brook, I’m a pretty straightforward person, so you don’t have to sugarcoat things for me.” Adelaide extended a hand for my plate and I passed it over. “I love Jake dearly, but he’s a Pyrenees.”

  My brows furrowed as I watched her cut and serve me a square of the casserole. “What?”

  She looked up. “You don’t know?”

  “No, I know he’s a Pyrenees, but...what does that mea
n?”

  “Oh, my.” A rueful smile curved her lips as she cut a piece of the casserole for herself. “They’re willful. Stubborn. Independent-minded to the point that obedience is an uphill battle—they’re bred to think for themselves, as herd dogs. Oh, and that also means they’ll herd you—by leaning, pushing, pawing, and generally having no regard for your personal space. And they’re bred to guard, so they have extraordinary hearing and they bark to alert—at everything, and fairly nonstop.”

  I gaped at her. “You just described Jake exactly. You mean they’re all like that?”

  “Pretty much. We had one when Ben was little, and he adored her—and vice versa. Pyrs are wonderful with children, and she was big enough to stand up to an energetic little boy. I’m sure Alexandra was why he got Jake.”

  I grinned. “Alexandra? That’s a lot of name for a doggie. Did Ben name her?”

  “Yes. Alexandra the Great...Pyrenees.”

  I laughed. “Clever little boy.”

  “He was that,” she said with a fond smile. “And still is. I’ve been very lucky to have Ben.”

  So am I, I almost said, but didn’t.

  As we ate she asked me about my Breakup Doctor practice, and how I’d gotten into it. She listened attentively, laughing in all the right places as I related how my old practice got demolished and told her about my initial efforts. The evening felt easy and fun—as if I were with a friend, rather than someone’s mom. It was certainly more comfortable than it would have been with my own mother, when I’d have been on the defensive all night against whatever advice she wanted to hammer at me, and mentally editing my every word to avoid saying something that would yield her pointing out whatever I could and should be doing better. The thought gave me a pang of guilt. I loved my mom, and I was trying to work on a relationship with her. It was just so hard when we’d spent a lifetime picking at the same scabs.