Boomer's Bucket List

by Sue Pethick

  Someone had left a bouquet of flowers by the front door. Stacy scooped them up and hunted in vain for a tag, wondering if they were from a boyfriend. Jennifer never said anything about her love life—not that she would; it was unprofessional—but the thought that she might have someone special in her life made Stacy happy. At the office, it was generally assumed that Jennifer had no personal life, that a woman who looked like she did and worked that many hours was either frigid or gay. Stacy didn’t care one way or the other, but she’d noticed that the people making those assumptions were generally men who’d flirted with Jennifer and gotten nowhere. It would serve them right, she thought, if she’d had a sweetheart all along.

  The place smelled musty when she stepped inside. Stacy wrinkled her nose. She’d just been there on Tuesday, but even two days of sitting vacant could make a house feel stuffy. She slipped off her shoes and started looking for a vase to put the flowers in. It didn’t seem right just to toss them out, and they’d make the place smell nice. Stacy didn’t know how long Jennifer would be gone, but there was always a chance that they’d still be fresh when she got back. In the meantime, she could enjoy them herself when she came by to check on the house. She put the flowers in a vase, set it on the kitchen counter, and went upstairs to open some windows and water the plants.

  There were three bedrooms at the top of the landing: one for guests, one that had been converted into an office, and Jennifer’s. Stacy opened the window in the guest room, gathered up the plants and then watered each one, setting them in the bathtub to drain. Then she grabbed a dust cloth, gave everything a quick wipe-down, and headed into the master suite.

  It was her favorite room in the house. The coffered ceiling and pearl-gray walls were soothing, and the sea-foam green bedspread was made of a material that looked like ripples in a pond. Like Jennifer, the furnishings were timeless and elegant. Stacy crossed the room and opened the French doors to let in some air, then stepped out onto the balcony.

  The river spread out before her. The sun had set, and the water sparkled with the reflection of city lights. Two men in overcoats were walking along the promenade, their heads lowered against the wind, and the rumble of an unseen motorboat faded in the distance as its wake slapped against the shore. Stacy sighed, thinking how nice it would be to sit there with a glass of wine at the end of the day, watching the world go by. She tried to imagine having a life like Jennifer’s: a glamorous job, a beautiful home, money in the bank. Like being a princess in a fairy tale. She sighed again and stepped back inside.

  Maybe someday.

  With the plants back in their pots, Stacy went out to get the mail. When she came back, she found another flower arrangement and a teddy bear on Jennifer’s doorstep. No name, no gift tag on either one. She looked around, wondering where the person who’d left them had gone. This had to be a mistake, she thought. No one who knew Jennifer would be leaving her another bunch of flowers, much less a teddy bear, while she was out of town. Stacy flushed with embarrassment. What if the other bouquet, too, had been delivered to the wrong address? Maybe she shouldn’t have taken it inside without checking to see if it belonged to one of the neighbors first.

  As she stood there on the stoop, trying to decide what to do, the next door opened and an older woman in a housecoat and slippers peered out.

  “I thought I heard someone out here,” she said. “Are you looking for Miss Westbrook?”

  Stacy shook her head. “I’m taking care of the house for her while she’s out of town.”

  The woman pointed at the things propped against Jennifer’s door.

  “Are those yours?” she said.

  “No. I just went to get the mail and when I came back, someone had left them there.”

  “There was another bouquet of flowers out here a while ago. Someone must have taken it.”

  “Oh, no, that was me,” Stacy said. “I found it when I let myself in. The flowers didn’t have a card on them, so I assumed they were for Jennifer, but now I’m not so sure. Do you think they might have been delivered to the wrong address?”

  The woman frowned thoughtfully.

  “I doubt it. Not when there’s more than one left at the same door. Is she all right?”

  “Of course,” Stacy said. “Last I heard, anyway. Why?”

  “It just seems odd, strangers coming by and leaving all those things there like that. I thought there might have been a death in the family.” She squinted at Stacy. “If you’re taking care of her place, you might as well have the others, too.”

  “Others?” Stacy had a strange feeling, like a premonition, that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. “You mean there’s more?”

  “Come see for yourself.” The woman stepped back from the door and motioned for her to come inside. “My name’s Millie, by the way.”

  “Hi, Millie. I’m Stacy.”

  They sat in a pile just inside the woman’s front door: formal bouquets, bunches of flowers cut from home gardens, hearts, balloons, and stuffed animals. As Stacy stood there, staring at the offerings that took up most of Millie’s foyer, the older woman disappeared into her kitchen and came back with a ten-gallon trash bag.

  “You can put them in here,” she said, shaking it open. “It’ll be a relief to finally get rid of them. The darned things have tripped me up more than once today.”

  Stacy looked up. “Why would people be leaving these at Jennifer’s door? I mean, what’s the point?”

  “I have no idea,” Millie said, shoving a bouquet of tea roses and baby’s breath into the bag. “I heard somebody drop the first one off around dinnertime last night, then this morning there were a few more. People have been coming by and dropping things off all day, but by the time I get to the door to ask them what’s going on, they’ve already driven off. As soon as I realized that there was no one over there to pick them up, I went out and brought the lot of them in here, hoping someone would come by and take them off my hands before the whole place filled up.”

  She reached down and picked a little stuffed dog up off the pile.

  “Look, this one’s got a tag on it.”

  Millie reached into her pocket and took out a pair of reading glasses.

  “Let’s see … It says ‘Boomer.’ ” She looked up. “That mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah,” Stacy said. “Boomer is Jennifer’s dog.”

  She felt a stab of apprehension. Had Boomer died?

  “Seems kind of strange.” Millie handed her the stuffed animal. “Why would someone leave all of these things for a dog?”

  “I’m not sure,” Stacy told her, glancing at the tag. “But I’m going to find out.”

  *

  Stacy’s hands shook as she sat down at her computer. She’d been a nervous wreck on the way home, wringing her hands and trying not to panic as the Metra made its way south. When it got to her stop, she hurried home, ignored the gnawing pain in her stomach, and ran to the desk in her bedroom. She had a hunch about what was happening, and it wasn’t good.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Stacy prayed that whatever was going on had nothing to do with Boomer’s Bucket List. After their argument about the pictures the day before, she and Jason hadn’t seen much of each other, but he’d been pleasant enough when he stopped by her desk that morning, and she’d decided not to mention his not-so-subtle threat to Mr. Compton. As things got crazier at the office, it was just easier to convince herself that it was no big deal. Stacy typed in the URL and held her breath.

  Tears of shame and embarrassment filled her eyes as Boomer’s Bucket List came up on the screen. This time, Compton/ Sellwood’s social media team had really gone all-out. Not only had Jason not backed down, she thought, he’d raised the stakes.

  They’d started a contest called Where’s Boomer? offering a prize for the best photo of Jennifer’s dog submitted to the Web site each day. Followers were encouraged to travel along Route 66, looking for Jennifer and Boomer so they could take a picture and submit it to the contest in
one of two categories: single photo and video. Contestants were encouraged to enter as many times as they wanted, the only restriction being that neither Jennifer nor Boomer could be tipped off. Violating the rule would immediately put an end to the contest, and with iPads, flat-screen TVs, and Apple watches being given as prizes, the chances were good that the contest would last as long as Boomer did.

  But the worst part, as far as Stacy was concerned, was that the site was now covered with ads for Compton/Sellwood, shameless plugs for the agency that were so obtrusive they skirted the limits of good taste. If Jason had been capitalizing on Jennifer’s misfortune before, he was wallowing in it now.

  Stacy put a hand over her mouth and choked on a sob as hot tears ran down her face. Jennifer would never forgive her for this. Whatever good feeling there’d been between the two of them would be destroyed once she saw what had happened to her photos. She was heartsick. It was her fault—all of it. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone; she’d just wanted to do something nice, and it had all gone wrong. She ran to the bathroom and retched over the sink, then sank to the floor and covered her face.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Another batch of Where’s Boomer? entries had just been uploaded, and Jason Grant was over the moon. The contest was succeeding beyond even his own optimistic predictions, perfectly illustrating the power of social media to get people involved and generate buzz while promoting a client’s product. He took out his phone and composed a tweet to his followers, alerting them that Jennifer and Boomer were approaching the Tulsa area and promising a bonus prize to the first one who uploaded a funny video to the Web site.

  As he hit “send,” Jason grinned. Once something like this caught fire, the dollars-to-eyeballs ratio diminished to practically nothing. He supposed he ought to thank Stacy for being such a pain about giving him the rest of Jennifer’s pictures. If she’d just handed them over, he’d never have thought to do something like this. He couldn’t wait to tell the boss.

  His phone rang; Derek Compton wanted to see him.

  Speak of the devil.

  *

  Stacy sat in Derek Compton’s office, gripping the damp tissue in her hand as they waited for Jason to arrive. When she got to work that morning, she’d made a beeline for the CEO’s office and tearfully poured her heart out. Jason’s “upgrade” to Boomer’s Bucket List was a disaster, she told him. Not only was the contest encouraging people to follow Jennifer and Boomer around, trying to take their picture, but the story of Boomer’s diagnosis had prompted others to find Jennifer’s home address and leave gifts and cards on her doorstep. Stacy had cleared them away last night, but when she’d stopped by the town house that morning, she found another dozen sitting on the stoop. If Jason didn’t take down the Web site immediately, one of the neighbors was going to complain.

  Compton had listened patiently as she filled him in on the details, shaking his head and grimacing occasionally to indicate how he felt about the situation. By the time Stacy had finished her story, it seemed clear to her that he was as upset by Jason’s betrayal as she was. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Thank goodness the boss had understood her predicament. The sooner that Web site was taken down, the happier she’d be.

  Jason knocked on the door and stepped inside. His smile slipped for a moment when he saw Stacy sitting there, then quickly re-formed into a self-satisfied grin. She turned away, pretending to read one of the citations that hung on the wall. She knew she looked awful. She’d been crying most of the night, and her eyelids were as puffy as marshmallows, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d upset her.

  “Have a seat,” Compton said, motioning to the other visitor’s chair. “We need to talk.”

  “Of course,” Jason said, his voice oozing sincerity. “What’s going on?”

  “Stacy tells me that you’ve made some changes to Boomer’s Bucket List. You want to tell me about that?”

  “I’d love to. In fact, I was about to come talk to you when you called. Have you seen it?”

  Stacy sniffed and shot him a dirty look. The guy had just destroyed her life, and now he was acting like it was something to be proud of. She hoped Compton would fire him.

  “No, I haven’t had a chance. Stacy just finished telling me about it.” He typed in the URL and turned the screen around. “Why don’t we all take a look and see what’s going on so that Stacy can show you what she’s concerned about.”

  “Great,” Jason said, beaming. “I don’t know what her problem is, but when you see it I think you’ll be impressed.”

  As Jason pulled his chair closer to the desk, Stacy turned and stared. She’d already told Compton what the problem was. He should be ordering Jason to take it down, not giving the guy a chance to sell it. She glanced at the computer and took a sharp breath. Boomer’s Bucket List was full of new pictures: Boomer beside something that looked like a whale and another of him going down a slide that projected from the whale’s side like a flipper. There were several of him eating an ice cream cone and two with Jennifer and a man she didn’t recognize taking Boomer on a walk. In spite of herself, she was overcome with curiosity.

  “Who’s that guy?” she said.

  “Beats me,” Jason told her. “But he shows up in a lot of the shots. Either he took off with her or she met him on the way.”

  He turned back to the computer screen.

  “Who knows?” he said smugly. “Maybe I was wrong about her.”

  Compton was still scrolling through the pictures.

  “These are good. A little amateurish, perhaps, but it lends authenticity to the product.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Jason nodded. “I had the team clean them up a little—correct the color, crop for balance—but nothing too slick. We wanted to keep this as serious and heartfelt as the subject.”

  Stacy’s lips tightened. “How can you say that? You’ve covered the thing with ads. What’s so serious and heartfelt about that?”

  Jason glared at her.

  “Stacy’s got a point,” Compton said. “When Jennifer started this trip, she wasn’t thinking of its publicity value, and Boomer’s diagnosis is serious. If anything posted here makes it look as if Compton/Sellwood is exploiting a tragedy, the whole thing could blow up in our faces.”

  Stacy frowned, no longer sure if the boss was on her side.

  “How are we promoting this thing off-line?” he said.

  Jason took a moment to consider. “I sent an e-mail blast to our customers”—Compton looked pained—“but we were careful to present it as just an update on Jennifer’s situation.”

  “Good,” he said. “Very smart. Reminds them they shouldn’t be thinking only of the inconvenience her absence has caused.”

  “I’ve also been sending tweets to our followers, updating them on where Jennifer and Boomer are.”

  Compton scrolled back up the page. “Is that in connection to this contest?”

  Jason’s look was wary. “Yeah.”

  “That was an inspired move,” he said. “I like it.”

  Now that he knew he was on firmer ground, Jason started warming to the subject.

  “We’ve doubled the number of page likes since last night and the numbers just keep growing. Five of the videos have gone viral already and the YouTube crowd is going nuts, adding music and animation. Before I got your call, I’d been watching one in Japanese.”

  Compton glanced at Stacy. “Did you hear that? Boomer’s famous in Japan.”

  Stacy gripped the arms of her chair. If he thought she was going to be impressed that somebody somewhere had overdubbed a video of Boomer, he had another think coming. What did she care? And for that matter, what did he care? Ten minutes ago, Derek Compton had been as outraged as she was. Now he was trying to convince her that what Jason had done was the best thing that could have happened. Well, she wasn’t buying it. Nothing either of them could say or do was going t
o change her mind. She wanted the Web site taken down, and she wanted it taken down now.

  Of course, it was all well and good to get angry, she thought, but expressing that anger to the man who signed her paychecks was another matter. When she’d walked in there, it had been just the two of them, and she’d had all her objections on the tip of her tongue. Now she’d have to convince both of them, and she knew that Jason wouldn’t be sympathetic to her cause. On the contrary, if he lost this argument, it would make both him and the social media team look bad. Was she really willing to do that, even to someone she didn’t like? She swallowed hard. The boss was staring at her expectantly.

  “I guess it’s maybe not as bad as I thought,” she said, ashamed of the hesitation in her voice. “But I’m still afraid that Jennifer will find out.”

  “She’s not going to find out,” Jason scoffed. “And even if she does, so what?”

  “So, she’ll be angry and hurt.” Stacy’s face felt hot. “You’re exploiting her situation to get more customers for the agency.”

  “Oh, please. Jennifer’s a big girl. You think she wouldn’t do the same if she was in my shoes?”

  Stacy felt as if she’d been slapped. “Jennifer’s not like that.”

  “Of course she is,” he sneered. “How do you think she got to where she is now? For God’s sake, Stacy, grow up.”

  “That’s enough,” Compton said. “Let’s not turn this into something personal.”

  Jason straightened up, visibly controlling himself, and Stacy smiled. She might not have won the argument, but knowing she’d rattled him gave her a small thrill of satisfaction.

  “What you and your team have done is impressive,” the boss continued. “But it doesn’t resolve Stacy’s problem.”

  She gave a start. Why was it her problem all of a sudden?

  “I hope there might be some way we could keep the Web site running and still make you happy.” Compton gave Stacy an indulgent look. “Maybe you could point out the things you still find objectionable and Jason could try to change them for you. Would that help?”