by Debbie Burns
Now, at thirty-five, those words came to mind again. For the first time, Craig felt a tired wistfulness from deep in his gut rise up in agreement. Someday, he’d be finished making mistakes. Someday, he’d embrace more reflection than action.
Just not today.
He punched in the door code to the sprawling home that had been his the last eight years but was now about to be listed for sale. The door swung open. Instead of going in, Craig studied the outside entryway. The tall columns and imposing portico didn’t suit a rocking chair. The massive urns and topiaries looked like watchmen at the column’s sides, standing guard over a wide lawn that had been more formal than playground these last few years.
This was never intended to be a home for quiet reflection. It was meant to provide all the spaces a bustling family of five would ever need—and arguably a few spaces they didn’t. Who needed dedicated spots for crafts, gaming, movies, exercise, and meditation? Whatever happened to simple finished basements and all-purpose rooms?
Well, there was no need to argue over what constituted a waste of space any longer. No need to argue over anything. Jillian, Sophie, and Reese would live here until the house sold. Jillian had her eye on half a dozen smaller homes nearby. He’d stay holed up in the corporate apartment he’d rented until at least something in life made sense again.
Inside, the house was unnaturally quiet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone here. It was silent and expansive and reminded him of a cave. No wonder Jillian always had something calming from Pandora playing over the speakers.
Sophie’s and Reese’s schedules required them to be out all afternoon, which was why he’d been asked to come to do it today. Though with the storm blowing in, if Jillian had any say-so, she’d cut the day short before the roads got messy. She hated driving in bad weather.
From across the room, there was a jostling and an almost inaudible yawn. His gaze flicked to the crate and the brown, silky ball curled in its corner.
“Give me a few minutes before you get antsy, little guy. There are a few things I need to grab.”
The puppy dragged one paw against the crate door but allowed his head to sink back to the fuzzy bed he was curled up on. The little guy kept one eye open, focused on Craig in a way he couldn’t help but feel was suspicious. As if he knew why Craig had come today.
Craig headed to the study, his gaze landing on the impressive wall of refurbished walnut bookshelves that flanked the far side. They were imported from Florence, from a mid-nineteenth-century hotel that had been torn down on Via del Parione. They were adorned with impressive hand-carved appliqués and were the thing he’d miss most about the house.
He was surprised how many framed pictures still adorned the shelves. He almost never even glanced at them anymore, but today he allowed himself to take them in, to feel the wild mix of pleasure and pain they stirred awake. Sophie and the twins. Always smiling. Always laughing. Always playing. Pumpkin patches, Christmas tree lots, school plays, sandy beaches, snow-covered mountains. The real estate agent had asked Jillian to take them down before the house went on the market. Buyers needed to notice those shelves, he’d said, not be distracted by their beautiful family.
Family. The word reverberated through Craig’s head. Sophie and Reese hardly resembled the happy, carefree kids in those photos. He hadn’t thought of it until now, but they’d all but stopped taking pictures during the last three years. Who wanted to sit for photos now? They’d gone from a family of five to a family of four to not even a family at all.
Releasing a deep breath, Craig headed over to his desk. The puppy’s paperwork was on top as promised. Just as he was picking it up, the sound of a door opening and shutting broke the silence. It came from the direction of the kitchen and was followed by a familiar shuffling.
Inez, their housekeeper. He’d know the sound of her walk anywhere.
Back before their world fell apart, he used to like listening to her move about, shuffling as she went. She was short, under five feet, but not overweight enough to warrant all that shuffling.
Taking the paperwork, he headed for the kitchen. She was slipping out of her coat, and an overnight bag was on the floor beside her. He didn’t need clarification of why she’d come on a Sunday afternoon. She’d driven in now to avoid the worst of the storm. Jillian would happily give her a day or two off, but that wasn’t Inez’s way. She’d stay over in bad weather rather than risk not being able to drive in. She simply wouldn’t miss work unless there was no way she could avoid it.
“Inez, good to see you.” He nodded and slipped his hands into his pockets after dropping the paperwork on the counter.
“I heard you were coming today, Mr. Williams. It’s been an awful go with the puppy the last few weeks.”
“So I’ve heard. Soph’s called me in tears a few times.”
Inez hung up her coat and tucked her bag in the mudroom closet before joining him in the kitchen. “In the long run, it’ll be for the best.”
“So Jillian assures me.”
“Can I fix you something to eat, Mr. Williams? Something warm before you head out into this weather.”
“No. Thanks though. I should be out of here before they get back. Jillian thinks it’ll be easiest on Soph not to see him leave.”
“How about something simple? It doesn’t look as if you’ve been eating well.”
He sank against the granite countertop and wrapped his hands around the beveled edge. “I won’t starve.”
“No, but not eating and not sleeping takes its toll,” Inez said, pulling out a frying pan from one of the bottom drawers. “I haven’t seen you looking so poorly since…”
As her words trailed off, she stood straight and smoothed out the front of her crisp blouse. “I will make you some eggs, Mr. Williams. You always like them. And some coffee too.”
“Thank you, Inez.” He knew better than to argue with her over a meal. He crossed to the island and splayed his palms on the cool granite, wishing it was cold enough to sink in and quiet his insides.
Inez’s unfinished sentence rang in his ears, burning them, and making his throat and neck feel as if they were on fire. Since Andrew died. Three little words that were never spoken. They were tucked up and put away alongside feelings that were never felt.
“If you are changing your mind, it is never too late to try again.”
He pressed his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose. “It’s been too late for a few years now, Inez.” When she stayed silent, he added, “It’s just going to be rough during the transition. It’ll be better on the kids in the long run.”
Who was he reassuring, Inez or himself?
Inez pursed her lips but remained quiet as she cracked an egg over the frying pan. He’d expected her to disapprove of the divorce. She was a devout Catholic, and she loved Reese and Sophie like her own.
“Have you decided where to take the puppy?” she asked when she broke the silence.
The anxiety curdling in his stomach seemed to bubble. Try as he might to stop it, their wake of destruction was still growing. “No. Jillian gave me a list of acceptable shelters. Any preference?”
“When my son had to get rid of his Rottweiler,” Inez continued, “he took him to a nice shelter in Webster Groves. He said it was a happy place. My heart tells me you should take the puppy there.”
“All right.” He sighed. It seemed the puppy was just one more thing getting trampled in this divorce.
As if on cue, the puppy began to whine from the adjacent room.
Inez cracked a second egg as the smell of frying butter filled the room. “It’s been a few hours since he’s been out of his cage. He might have to make water.”
“From what I’ve heard, he does that in the cage, doesn’t he?” Craig said, even though he stood up to take the dog out.
Inez nodded approvingly as he turned to go. “I�
�ll keep your eggs hot for you, Mr. Williams.”
Craig walked into the family room, unhooked the cage door, and caught the mass of silky brown fur bounding out like he was catching a pass in football. It wiggled and squirmed, whipping its head back and forth in an attempt to latch its razor-sharp baby teeth into anything it could grasp.
The puppy caught his shirtsleeve and began gnawing away. Craig extracted his sleeve as he headed outside. He was surprised by a blast of freezing rain stinging his face. So the storm was picking up.
Lowering the puppy to the ground, he watched it squirm down the slippery steps and tear around the yard as if it were a lit firecracker, yapping and bounding all the way. The pup’s unbridled joy brought forth a rush of memories.
How many times had he stood here over the years, watching his kids play in the yard, pulling wagons, tossing balls, blowing bubbles? How many times had he chased them around, roaring as they screamed in delight?
The puppy continued to run back and forth and chase its tail. It was a shame they couldn’t have gotten him years ago when his joy and wildness would’ve blended right in.
Craig turned his face toward the blanket of leaden clouds and sucked a breath deep into his lungs. It numbed his insides a bit, but not as much as he’d hoped. The bitter-cold rain pricked his cheeks, ran down his neck, and soaked into his shirt.
“Sorry, pup, you’re a day late and a dollar short for this family.”
Chapter 2
It would take more than one bath to rid Sledge of his smell. Megan could only hope it wouldn’t linger in her car. By the time they reached the shelter, she was fairly certain it had seeped through the blanket she’d tossed over the backseat and into the fabric. It wasn’t the first time since buying her RAV4 that she wished she’d gone for the leather package. But the shelter operated on a shoestring budget. With her salary, leather was too much of a luxury.
It took close to an hour and what felt like a game of musical chairs to get Sledge set up. He’d be in quarantine a few days, and tomorrow, a Monday, she’d call Dr. Washington to schedule an exam and Sledge’s neutering. It was the shelter’s policy, ensuring that all animals they adopted out were spayed or neutered.
Images from the morning flashed through Megan’s mind as she worked, cleaning the other kennels in quarantine. She was bending over a bucket of bleach water when Patrick tapped on her back.
“I just made five dollars, Megan. Five dollars off old Marv.”
She stood, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans. “How?” She moved to the side a foot as she turned, knowing he’d be right behind her. He stood close to everyone he trusted, and avoided people he didn’t like the plague.
Patrick had Asperger’s and was hands-down the shelter’s most unusual employee. With things that piqued his interest, his memory was infallible. This included the shelter animals that came and went, baseball stats, and all things chess. He also understood the unspoken language of animals better than anyone Megan had ever met.
“We’re getting our first Christmas puppy,” he answered. “Marv thought we wouldn’t get one until next week. But a mean-looking fellow just came in with one.”
Her heart sank. She’d almost forgotten it was the time of year—nearly the middle of February—that was notorious for failed-Christmas-puppy surrenders. But they barely had room for Sledge. They couldn’t make room for another dog today. It was a reality they faced as a no-kill shelter. They’d fill up and stagnate until adoptions picked up.
“It’s that kind of day, isn’t it?” She squeezed Patrick on the shoulder.
“It’s a Lab too. A chocolate one. Last year, the first three Christmas puppies were Labs. But the first two were yellow…”
“Patrick,” she interrupted. He’d go on and on unless she stopped him. “Did you send him on? Did you tell him we don’t have any room?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She reached into the bucket for the rag and started to wring it out. But Patrick didn’t leave. He hovered expectantly. Twisting the rag, she stood back up. “Is there anything else?”
“Marv called every place on our list, and the only other shelter that’s open in the storm is in North County. Marv whispered that he doesn’t think the man will drive that far. He thinks he’s a dumper.”
She dropped the rag into the bucket and let out a sigh. “Marv worries that everyone we send away might be a dumper. Let me guess. Since we’re out of kennels, he thinks we should use one of the big travel crates for a few days.” It wasn’t ideal, but they’d done it before in a pinch.
“We have four that could work. If you don’t take height into account, the large crates are only six square inches smaller than the small kennels.”
It wasn’t something they could make a habit of, but there was a terrible storm raging outside. And with any luck, they’d get the puppy adopted or into a foster home in the next few days. In case Marv was right, they should take the puppy. If the man was in fact a dumper, the poor thing could freeze to death in this storm before anyone found it.
Megan wished Kelsey hadn’t called in sick and was here to do the required paperwork. She felt like hiding out in back and avoiding anyone else today. Her nerves were just plain frayed. She’d nearly wiped out on the slick roads on the way back from picking up Sledge. Then she’d opened the mail from yesterday and discovered the electrician’s repair bill was twice as much as they’d been expecting.
But if someone was here with an animal, she couldn’t just hide out. Kelsey was out, Marv was a volunteer, and Patrick didn’t have the people skills to get all the information they needed.
Patrick was still talking about crate dimensions as they headed through the glass doors into the main building. The man was standing near the front by the gift shop, holding the puppy. She lost a beat in her stride as she took him in. Patrick had said mean-looking, not trip-on-your-tongue striking.
Her best friend, Ashley, was always telling Megan that lingering fears from her former failed engagement had stripped her of her ability to find men attractive. But not him. He was undeniably gorgeous. And well dressed, though she knew very little about high-end men’s clothing. And fit. Very fit. Clearly. Even underneath a long, tailored coat.
And tucked in his ogle-worthy arms was a round and fuzzy—perfect—chocolate Lab puppy.
She glanced out the wide front windows. There, parked in front of the door, was a large silver Bimmer. Of course he was rich. What else would someone who looked like him be?
The judgmental side of herself—her abiding sin—reared its ugly head with full force. She wondered if he was here on behalf of a child who’d decided Christmas puppies chewed too much on other Christmas toys or a wife who’d decided Christmas puppies pooped and peed too many times where they shouldn’t.
She sucked in a breath, attempting to rein in her feelings. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. There was a storm raging overhead, and this puppy needed shelter. It was so cute that they’d no doubt find it a home quickly and easily. A forever home.
She reminded herself that for every bad news story, there was a good one. A plus for every minus. It was something she repeated over and over in moments like this. Moments when she knew she’d have to reach deep to keep her composure.
Seconds passed, and no one said anything. Even Patrick stopped talking. In the ominous silence, Megan reminded herself she was the boss. The onus was on her to talk, to welcome this man, this holder of the first Christmas puppy.
But she couldn’t make herself do it.
Maybe if it’d been someone else. Someone not struggling with so much perfection.
The one to break the silence was Marv, good old Marv, who was puttering in the gift shop. “Think we can squeeze the puppy in, Megan?”
The puppy was squirming in the stranger’s arms, full of energy and wanting to play.
Finally, Megan found her voice. “I t
hink we can make it work.” She motioned toward one of the tattered adoption-and-surrender desks in the middle of the room. “Have a seat over there. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
* * *
Craig sank into the worn plastic chair where he’d been directed and tried, but failed, to calm the brown wiggling ball on his lap. He watched the girl walk into a cramped office and sift through a filing cabinet.
Her faded jeans were soaked from the knee down, and she smelled of bleach when she passed by. She had chestnut-brown hair knotted into a messy ball at the back of her head. Wisps had fallen loose in places, clinging to her face and neck like a silken frame for an exceptionally pretty face. She had it all. Smoky-green eyes, full lips, good skin, and a body he had to force his gaze not to linger on.
Although she’d caught him off guard, he wasn’t in the space to be looking at a woman. Not now. Besides, he hadn’t missed the disdainful way she’d dissected him. And he’d overheard that strange guy’s comment through the closed doors. The old man thought he was a dog dumper.
The thought had ruffled his pride enough that he’d considered walking out with the little menace in his arms. But the only other open shelter would be an agonizing drive in this mess. And Sophie had prepared herself for the puppy being gone when she got home today. Waiting another few days would only make it harder for her.
The girl—Megan Anderson was her name, Marv had told him—returned and sat down at the desk opposite him, offering a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said, scooting her chair in. “Our adoption coordinator is out for the day. I don’t usually work with surrenders.”
Surrenders. The word came out sounding very much like lepers.
“Or adopters either,” she added, perhaps realizing how harsh she’d sounded.
He said nothing in return and tried not to wince as the puppy’s sharp milk teeth sank into his hand. She noticed, pursed her lips in thought, then disappeared into the office another second.