by Sue Pethick
“It seems so strange not to have a dog in my life.”
Nathan nodded silently, and Jennifer swallowed, grateful for his forbearance. How many times had she said that in the two months since Boomer had passed? Too many, she thought, and yet Nathan had listened without complaint, understanding without being told that she needed, once again, to say it. His patience meant more to her than all the declarations of love ever could. What Boomer had sensed in Nathan Koslow, Jennifer now knew. Here was a man who would love and cherish her if only she was willing to trust him. If Boomer had had a bucket list of his own, she thought, finding someone for Jennifer to love would have been the only thing on it.
“We can get another dog, if you’d like.”
She shook her head. “I could never replace Boomer.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know that,” she said. “But it’s still hard. He was so young. I guess I’m still grieving the time he didn’t have.”
Nathan indicated the box. “If you’re not ready to let him go—”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s time to move on. I know that. It’s just … hard.”
He nodded and stepped back. It was up to her now. There was nothing more to say.
Jennifer held the box out over the water, tipped it slowly, and watched its contents stream over the side. A waterfall of glass slipped silently beneath the waves.
“Bye, Boomie.”
As she replaced the top, Nathan slipped his arm around her waist. She nodded.
“Let’s go,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
Seagulls wheeled overhead as they retraced their steps back to the parking lot. As the sun crept closer to the horizon, the air cooled; the wind was picking up. Jennifer zipped her jacket and thrust her free hand deep into her pocket.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she said. “I couldn’t have done this alone.”
Nathan drew her closer and kissed her hair.
“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he said softly. “Remember? ‘To have and to hold, from this day forward?’ ”
She bit her lip. “I still can’t believe we did it. We must have been crazy.”
“That’s what Rudy said, too, until he met you.” He grinned. “Now he says I’d have been crazy not to marry you.”
Jennifer looked at him. “The Ice Queen and Mr. Poisoned Pen. Who’d have guessed?”
“That wasn’t us,” Nathan said. “Those were just the disguises we wore to keep from getting hurt.”
“And now we will?”
“Not by me. Not if I can help it.”
“No guarantees in life, I suppose.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Better to make today count.”
It was a phrase that had taken on new meaning for them in the last two months. Boomer’s death had forced them both to take stock of their lives, and the changes they’d made since had been both radical and deeply satisfying. The success of Boomer’s Bucket List had put Jennifer’s career achievements in the national spotlight, and though that also meant that some of the more notorious episodes in her life had been brought into the open, they had not resulted in the sort of public embarrassment she’d feared. If anything, in fact, the opposite was true. She was working with Derek Compton to create her own boutique agency, a subsidiary of Compton/Sellwood, where she would have more control over her workload.
For Nathan, quitting his job at the Trib had only been the first step. It turned out that Jennifer wasn’t the only one who was a fan of his writing, and when word got around that he was writing a book about Boomer, a friend from college put him in touch with an agent. Two weeks later, he’d signed a book deal.
Their personal lives had changed, too. The reminder that life was too short to spend stuck in the past had been motivation to take the plunge, and once they knew what they wanted, it made little sense to put off the rest of their lives. Two weeks after returning to Chicago, the two of them had walked down to the courthouse and gotten married. The sharp-tongued lonely boy and the coldhearted workaholic had found in each other the key that unlocked their self-made prisons. For the time being, they were living in Jennifer’s town house, but they were looking for someplace outside the city to settle down.
A dozen yards from the end of the boardwalk, they stopped and turned back to look at the ocean one last time. The sun had dipped noticeably, forming tiers of yellow, orange, and red along the horizon. Jennifer laid her head against Nathan’s shoulder and sighed.
“I think Boomer’s going to like it here.”
Somewhere behind them a board squeaked; they heard footsteps approaching.
“Would either of you guys like a puppy?”
They turned and saw a boy of about fourteen standing behind them. The cardboard box in his arms said: Puppy—Free to Good Home. Peering over the top was a fluffy, squirming bundle of yellow fur struggling to pull itself up.
Nathan heard Jennifer’s sharp intake of breath.
“Oh, he’s adorable, but—”
She took a step back, shaking her head.
He reached out, patting the softly rounded head, and the pup struggled harder, his urgent licks and gentle nips on Nathan’s fingers a silent plea for assistance.
“May I?”
Sensing that a deal might be struck, the young man nodded eagerly.
“Go ahead. He’s real friendly.”
Nathan lifted the pup from the box and gently cradled its hindquarters, feeling the little dog tremble under its velvety softness. So much trust, he thought as its tail beat an excited cadence against his hand. We’re all like this puppy, he thought, every one of us. Taking our first steps into the world, asking nothing more than a kind word and a gentle touch. He held the little dog to his chest and ached for all the creatures whose hopes went unfulfilled, counting himself lucky for having finally found love. Nathan drew his chin back, and for a moment the puppy’s brown eyes regarded him solemnly. Then it lunged, planting a kiss on Nathan’s unguarded mouth.
Jennifer stepped closer.
“Can I hold him?”
Nathan transferred the tiny bundle into her arms and looked back at the boy, still holding the empty box, watching them hopefully. He was a head shorter than Nathan, with a tangle of blond hair falling over one eye and the loose limbs and outsized hands and feet that said he had more growing to do.
“He’s had all his puppy shots,” he said eagerly. “And he’s paper trained, too. Mostly.”
“How old is he?” Jennifer said.
“Eight weeks today.”
Her eyes widened. Boomer had died just a little over eight weeks before. Nathan smiled and shook his head.
“Just a coincidence,” he whispered.
“There were five puppies in his litter,” the youth said. “This guy’s the last of the bunch.”
Jennifer turned the pup in her hands, examining him from all angles.
“He looks like he’s part golden retriever.”
“Must have been his father. His Mom—that’s our dog, Daisy—is mostly yellow Lab.”
“I thought so. He looks like—” Jennifer’s chin dimpled. “He looks like my old dog.”
“And mine,” Nathan said.
“It’s a good combination,” she said. “Smart, even tempered.”
As if acknowledging the compliment, the puppy craned its neck and delivered a sloppy kiss to her cheek.
“What do you think?” Nathan said. “Is it too soon?”
She shrugged. “It isn’t that. I mean, in a way I think it’ll always be too soon, but wouldn’t it be better to get an older dog? A puppy takes so much time.”
“I can watch him,” Nathan said. “I’ll be home working on my book anyway. It’d be good to have an excuse to take a break, take him out for a walk …”
“Clean up poop, put down puddle pads.”
“An older dog would need some of that, too, at least for a while.”
“Please take him,” the boy pleaded. “If you don’t, my
mom says he’ll have to go to the pound.”
Jennifer sighed and looked back toward the end of the pier. Nathan gave her shoulder a squeeze.
“I don’t think Boomer would mind,” he said.
A horn honked. Nathan looked up and saw a Chevy van pull into the parking lot. The woman inside was rolling down her window.
“Uh-oh,” the boy said. “That’s my mom.”
Nathan looked at Jennifer. “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, I wasn’t even thinking—”
“Dobry!” the woman in the van yelled. “Time’s up. Put the puppy back in the box and let’s go.”
Nathan felt Jennifer grab his arm. He stared at the boy, the brown eyes that crinkled in a ready smile, the golden hair a near match to the puppy’s.
“Your name is Dobry?”
The boy thrust his chin out, his look defiant. “Yeah, so?”
“It’s the name my babcia wanted for me, but my parents …” Nathan shrugged. “It’s a good name.”
“Yeah, I like that it’s different. So,” Dobry said. “What about the puppy?”
Nathan looked at Jennifer, who gave him an encouraging nod, and the two of them answered at once.
“We’ll take him.”
Acknowledgments
Once again, I am greatly indebted to the team of professionals who made this book happen, especially my editor, Gary Goldstein, his saintly assistant, Liz May, the rest of the team at Kensington, and of course, my wonderful agent, Doug Grad. And to Chris, who makes everything better.
Author’s Note
In writing Boomer’s Bucket List, I drew upon childhood memories of traveling across the United States in the back of the family car, many of which found their way into the book. Should you decide to follow in Jennifer and Boomer’s footsteps, however, please be aware that some of the places they visit exist only in my head. There is, for example, no squeaky-toy factory in Santa Rosa, New Mexico and no fire hydrant museum near Atlanta, Illinois. (There is, however, a giant fire hydrant and museum in Beaumont, Texas, and several fire hydrant collections across the country that are open to both the human and canine public.) And if you do take that road trip, prepare to be amazed. The vastness and diversity of this beautiful country is truly beyond description.
Keep reading for a special excerpt from Sue Pethick’s witty and heartwarming novel, where a sweet dog in need of an owner brings together the perfect candidates….
PET FRIENDLY
“A light, heartwarming read perfect for a wintry afternoon at home or a sunny beach vacation.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars
“A funny and sweet book with plenty of howls!”
—The Parkersburg News and Sentinel
Available now from Kensington Books.
Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com.
CHAPTER 1
It was odd seeing a dog at a man’s funeral, Todd thought as he glanced at the little mutt sitting in the pew, but that was Uncle Bertie for you—odd. The dog’s name was Archie and he was the fourth dog with that name that Todd’s uncle had owned over the years, every one of them a well-trained part of Bertie’s stage act.
Todd’s mother liked to say that her brother was the only person she’d ever known who actually carried out his threat to run away and join the circus. Uncle Bertie had spent three decades touring the world, and when living out of a trunk became too much for him, he’d begun a second career performing at kids’ birthday parties and volunteering at nursing homes. In his handwritten will, he’d asked that there be no tears at his funeral.
On the other side of the pew sat Todd’s sister, Claire. She’d flown in to help their mother clean out Uncle Bertie’s apartment and make arrangements for the funeral, and she’d be leaving after the reception. Claire had been in a snit ever since their mother agreed to give Archie to Todd, and he didn’t want her to leave town if there were any hard feelings.
He nudged her with his knee.
“You mad at me?”
She shook her head. “But I still think you’re making a mistake. Gwen’s never going to let you keep him.”
“Will you cut it out? She’s always saying she wants a dog someday.”
“Someday, sure, but not today and not a dog like that, either.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Todd looked down at the little fur ball lolling in the pew beside him and smiled. Archie had a mass of unruly white fur and a patch of tan that looked like the faded remains of a black eye, but there was a warmth about him that was as comforting as a hug. Todd reached out and patted him protectively.
“Nothing,” Claire said. “But I’ll bet he’s not the pedigreed pooch Miss Gwendolyn Ashworth had in mind.”
Todd ignored the barb. If his sister thought Gwen was a snob, there was nothing he could do about it. He decided to change the subject.
“Did the boys get my present?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy. Did you have to do all the dogs’ voices?”
Todd had sent his nephews a prerelease sequel to his megahit game app, Pop Up Pups, and he’d been anxious to find out what they thought. Claire’s eight-year-old twins were his most reliable product testers.
“So they like it?”
Claire couldn’t suppress a smile.
“Of course they like it. Their friends think they’ve got the world’s coolest uncle.”
Todd grinned. “No argument there.”
“I thought Gwen was coming,” Claire said.
“She was,” he told her. “Something came up at work.”
“You pop the question yet?”
He shook his head.
“But you’re going to.”
“Of course.”
Claire nodded tactfully, but Todd knew he’d be getting an earful later. She glanced back at the rest of the mourners.
“So, what do you think?”
He smirked. “What a bunch of clowns.”
It was true. With the exception of the immediate family, every person sitting behind them had come in greasepaint to honor Bertie Concannon, a man who’d been clowning longer than many of them had been alive. Though barely five-six, he’d always seemed larger than life. He had an Irishman’s gift of gab, a voice that could fill a theater clear up to the cheap seats, and hair a shade of orange unknown in the natural world. Uncle Bertie had never had much, but he never seemed to need much, either. He was funny and carefree and utterly ridiculous, and Todd had admired the hell out of him.
The service began and the mourners stood for the first song. As the opening strains of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” rose from the pipe organ, Archie sat up and looked around. He cocked his head and whimpered; his chin quivered and his eyes grew misty. Then, as the organ music swelled, the little dog began to howl.
*
Claire’s comment continued to weigh on Todd’s mind at the reception. As he passed through the crowd, accepting condolences and offering homemade hors d’oeuvres, he wondered if adopting Archie was a mistake. His relationship with Gwen was serious—serious enough that Todd was planning to propose to her that weekend—but they’d been living together for only a few months and there’d already been a few bumps in the road. Would adding a pet at this point really be a good idea?
A succession of clowns was coaxing Archie to do the tricks that he and Uncle Bertie had used in their act. As Todd watched the little dog dance, play leapfrog, and give high fives, he felt his anxiety start to lessen. He’d spent the last five months creating virtual dogs for his game app; it was going to be fun having a real live dog again. And once Gwen met Archie, he told himself, she was going to love the little guy too.
A clown in a pink wig sidled up and took a crab cake from his tray.
“So, you’re Bertie’s nephew,” she said. “What is it you do?”
Todd hesitated. The success of Pop Up Pups had been a pleasant surprise, but he wasn’t comfortable
with the public attention it had brought him. The billion-dollar acquisition of his previous start-up hadn’t garnered any interest outside the business world, but thanks to his game app, he was on the verge of becoming a household name.
“I write game apps for smartphones,” he said.
“Anything I might have heard of? My kids play a lot of those.”
She popped the crab cake into her exaggerated mouth.
“Ever heard of Pop Up Pups?”
She swallowed. “That’s you?”
He nodded.
“Wow. My kids would play that game all day if I let them.”
A hobo clown with a pile of cheese puffs on his plate gave Todd a curious look.
“Hey, I know that game. Isn’t one of the pups named Archie?”
“That’s right.” Todd smiled. “It was sort of a tribute to Uncle Bertie.”
Inspired, he said a few words in the virtual Archie’s voice, a sound GamePro magazine had described as “a Rottweiler on helium.”
“Right,” the hobo said, his eyes narrowing. “You do the voices of the dogs, too. I think I read something about that.”
“So,” the pink-haired clown said as she shifted the last two crab cakes onto her plate. “I hear you’re adopting Houdini.”
Todd frowned. “Who?”
“Houdini.” She pointed at Archie, whose ball-balancing act was getting cheers from the guests. “Bertie’s dog.”
“You mean Archie?”
“I guess.” She shrugged and brought another crab cake to her mouth. “But Houdini’s the only thing Bertie ever called him.”
*
When the last guest had departed, Archie was passed out under the coffee table. Todd took the trash out to the Dumpster and headed back inside. Claire and their mother, Fran, were in the kitchen, cleaning up.
“It was a good service,” Fran said. “Nice reception, too. Bertie would have liked it.”
Claire slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and started washing the serving dishes.