This Changes Everything (Oakland Hills Book 4)

by Gretchen Galway

  All in all, Sly thought as he rubbed his elbow and stared at his broken phone, it was a typically shitty way to start yet another day of his shitty, empty life. Maybe Teresa would come by and make his shitty world complete.

  Above him, Mouse grunted and took to the air. Sly rolled over just in time to avoid one hundred and sixty pounds of dog landing on his face. After a scramble to regain his footing on the slippery floor, Mouse turned and looked down at Sly with a huge wet smile as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was not only to be alive, but to be living with such a great guy.

  Sly reached up and scratched him behind his ears. “You’re awesome, Mouse.”

  Mouse closed his eyes and panted.

  “Hope I didn’t worry you when I screamed,” Sly said. “It’s all right. I like falling on the floor.”

  Mouse suddenly shook his head, sending a ropy strand of drool flying through the air. It landed on the window blinds, then grew long and skinny as gravity pulled it down. Mesmerized, Sly watched it stretch over the slats.

  I’ve got to talk to Hugo about this dog, he thought. Sooner rather than later.

  Nudging Mouse aside, he got to his feet. He rubbed the broken screen on his phone, hoping to at least unlock it. But it was hopeless. He might as well expect a genie to pop out and grant him three wishes. His favorite and most important piece of technology was now a brick.

  Since he hadn’t had a landline in ages, he had to use his laptop to call Hugo. The wonders of modern communication technology.

  Not so wonderful. He didn’t answer. Sly opened a second window to check the Skype settings and phone number. But then, on the seventh ring, the call went through and Hugo’s gruff voice rumbled over his earphones.

  “I told her I wouldn’t call you, but here you are calling me,” Hugo said. “I don’t know how she does it. She’s a sorceress.”

  His uncle didn’t sound as infatuated as he had a few days earlier. Maybe he’d finally struck out for good.

  “This is nothing to do with Trixie,” Sly said. “It’s about Mouse.”

  Hugo sighed. “Ah. Well. I warned Bella you might bring him back. She’s happy to have him until I get home.”

  Sly noticed he’d said I instead of we. “I don’t want to bring him anywhere.”

  Hugo snorted. “Having trouble getting him out of the car, are you? He’s funny that way. Try putting opera on over the speakers. Works every time. Jumps out of the car like a jackrabbit.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I suppose I could ask Bella to drive to—”

  “I want to keep him,” Sly said. He picked up a drool rag—an item he’d learned was necessary when living with a Newfoundland—and wiped away a puddle at Mouse’s feet. “But I don’t see how that’s going to happen.”

  “You want to steal my dog?”

  “I thought about leaving town and not leaving a forwarding address,” Sly said.

  “Are you sure that’s because of Mouse?”

  Sly adjusted the headset mic and said nothing.

  “Trixie talked to Cleo, you know,” Hugo continued. “Heard things didn’t work out.”

  Sly’s throat tightened. “Cleo said that?”

  “You’ve gone to ground with a scheme to kidnap my dog. It doesn’t sound promising.”

  “What exactly did she say?”

  “I’d let you ask Trixie herself,” Hugo said, “but she’s gone to the movies.”

  “Without you?”

  Hugo cleared his throat. “She said I wouldn’t like it. She’s probably right.”

  “Sounds like things aren’t going so well for you either,” Sly said.

  “They’re going fine. Don’t worry about us. Focus on your own problems.”

  Sly buried his fingers in Mouse’s black mane. “My parents are getting back together.”

  “Your mother is a remarkable woman,” Hugo said. “I’ve been telling your father that for years.”

  Thinking of lumps and close calls, Sly buried his second hand in Mouse’s fur. “She is.”

  “Some men should never marry,” Hugo said. “They don’t know how to make time for it. But I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve learned from your father’s mistakes.”

  “Yeah. I’m a fucking genius.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Cleo. I really am. How about you and I go fishing in a week or two? Just us. Two men out in a boat.”

  “It’s November.”

  “Great time for bass. Trout too. I’ll set it up. Keep your calendar open.”

  Sly picked up his dead phone and twirled it between his fingers. “I don’t have a calendar anymore.”

  “Christ, you’re in bad shape.”

  “I’m keeping the dog.”

  “I think you’d better,” Hugo said. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

  Not sure he understood, Sly cleared his throat. “You don’t mind if Mouse stays with me?”

  “I wouldn’t have left him for so long if I planned on keeping him myself.”

  Sly stood up, pulling the earphone cord with him. “What?”

  “You needed a dog. If ever a man did, it was you. Thought so for years, but your job made it impossible.”

  “Mouse was a setup?”

  “When his previous owner asked me to find a home for him, I thought of you right away. He’ll get you out of the house and keep you from working too hard. You’ll slow down. Smell the roses. Best thing for your health, a dog. Unless you’re allergic.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me if I wanted him?”

  “You would’ve said no.”

  Sly rubbed the knot growing in the back of his neck. “You and Trixie were made for each other.”

  “That’s what I keep telling her,” Hugo said.

  29

  It was Thursday night. One that would’ve been a TV-and-beer-with-Sly Thursday.

  Cleo had been playing the piano for two hours straight. Her frozen curry dinner from Trader Joe’s sat uneaten in the microwave. Her wineglass was empty. The bottle of two-dollar Chardonnay next to it, also empty.

  The two female Chihuahuas, sensing trouble, huddled in a pile on the sofa. Zeus, sensing an uneaten meal in the kitchen, waited at her feet.

  She played “Ode to Joy” because she was masochistic and Joplin because she wasn’t. She made her way through the sheet music she used for beginner’s lessons. She played her own compositions.

  When she was too drunk to play with both hands, she called Ashley.

  “Cleo?” Ashley’s voice was faint, incredulous.

  “Hello, Ash.” She ran her finger over the corner of a chipped G key.

  “I—hi. How are you?”

  “Great, totally great,” Cleo said. She burped into her hand. “Wonderful. Awesome. And you?”

  A pause. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Why, yes, I have. Would you like to join me? I’m in Oakland. Nice view up here.”

  Ashley paused again. “Actually, I’m at my grandmother’s funeral.”

  Cleo slapped her forehead. Sometimes hitting the right notes wasn’t as important as the timing. “Shit. Sorry. Really sorry. I’ll let you go.”

  “No, no. It’s all right. We’ve been here all day. I was just about to go back to the hotel.”

  “Where are you?” Cleo asked.

  “Santa Barbara. She was my mom’s mom.”

  “I remember her. That sucks.”

  Ashley sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Give my love to your mom.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Ashley’s voice turned weary. “She’ll like that. She asks about you, you know.”

  “She was always really nice to me.”

  Ashley fell silent. Cleo heard a delicate nose-blowing. “Unlike me,” she said finally.

  “Yeah.” Cleo picked up the empty bottle of Chardonnay and peered through the glass at Zeus, further distorting his already-distorted features. “Well, that’s life.”

  “You’re not mad anymore?”
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  Cleo laughed. As if. She didn’t say anything.

  “Dumb question,” Ashley said. “But I’m glad you called. Why did you?”

  “Impulse. Alcohol. Depression. Felt like feeling worse.”

  “Great. And I’m at a funeral.”

  “It’s kind of a jackpot,” Cleo said.

  “You looked great in Vegas. Are you serious about that guy?”

  “Nope. Just sleeping around. As one does.”

  “Oh,” Ashley said. “Too bad. He looked nice.”

  “If you liked him, it’s a good thing I dumped him,” Cleo said. “We’ve got terrible taste, you and me.”

  “God, isn’t that the truth. Dylan cheated on me. Did you hear that?”

  “How would I hear that?”

  “I don’t know,” Ashley said. “Bad news gets around.”

  Cleo rolled her knuckles over the black keys like a seven-year-old. “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean? I told him to move out.”

  When Dylan had cheated on Cleo, she’d asked him to go into counseling with her. “Just like that?”

  “He’d already packed a bag,” Ashley said. “I was hardly going to beg him to stay.”

  Cleo had done just that. But she’d been so young and didn’t have Dylan’s track record to give her perspective. “Good for you.” Cleo’s head was spinning. Was she really talking to Ashley, or was she passed out next to the piano having a bad dream? “Well, gotta go. Sorry about your grandmother.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And your marriage.”

  “Right. Good-bye, Cleo.”

  “Bye, Ash.”

  Tempted by the idea of resting next to the piano, Cleo slid to the floor and rolled onto her back. The underside of a grand piano was a beautiful thing. Too bad this was an upright.

  While Zeus licked her face, Cleo thought about how she was a better person than Ashley. She hadn’t walked away from her marriage without a fight. She’d tried to talk it through, work at it, go to counseling, see what she could do to salvage a relationship that had been so important to her.

  Because she was a good person.

  But Ashley, who’d ruined her best friend’s marriage and started one of her own, she throws up her hands and calls it quits at the first sign of trouble.

  Nyah-nyah, I’m better than you, Ash.

  Well, she used to be. She hadn’t been very patient with Sly, and Sly hadn’t ever promised to love her forever in front of God and everyone the way Dylan had.

  “But he didn’t even text,” she said to Zeus, rolling on to her hands and knees. “Not even an emoticon.”

  Excited that she was staggering to her feet, which might propel her into the kitchen, Zeus danced in a circle around her. Swaying, Cleo caressed Sly’s face on her phone. He had such a yummy face.

  She closed her eyes and tapped the screen, then lifted it to her ear.

  It rang and rang.

  And rang.

  On the eighth ring, Zeus gave up, collapsed on the floor, and fell asleep.

  Cleo threw the phone, still ringing, into a wastebasket. Then, following Zeus’s wise example, she went to bed.

  ♢ ♡ ♤

  Maybe it was too late to make a social call. But Sly had been thinking all day, had gone to bed still thinking, gotten out of bed and into his car, still thinking, and driven over to Trixie’s house in the misty night—not thinking anymore. Just feeling.

  He didn’t have a plan. If he’d known what he was doing, he would’ve arranged for Mouse to go to Bella or the clinic. Since he hadn’t known, his new dog was at that moment drooling down his neck from his spot in the backseat of the new, red Volvo V60 wagon he’d purchased that afternoon. The Audi hadn’t been big enough for a dog bigger than most fifth graders. And the Volvo had all those safety features.

  He turned into Trixie’s driveway, parked next to Cleo’s little Honda, and stroked Mouse’s loose jowls, dislodging a handful of drool onto his shoulder. “Lots of room back there. Next time, go ahead and stretch out.”

  The house was dark. Well, no surprise there. It was past midnight.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Sly got out of the car. “You coming?”

  Mouse ducked his head and stared at him, the car dome light gleaming in his round brown eyes.

  “No problem. Like I said, make yourself comfortable.” Sly opened all the windows before closing up the car and walking to the front door. Once he’d talked to Cleo, they could use opera to compel Mouse to exit the vehicle.

  He hit the doorbell and waited. Hit it again. And again. Finally a light went on upstairs. Then he saw glow flicker through the downstairs windows.

  Figuring she was looking at him through the peephole, he smiled and held up a hand. “It’s me.”

  The pause that followed was longer than he’d expected, long enough to make him uneasy, but eventually she opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” The sight of her, sleepy and tousled-haired, adorably sexy in an old heather-gray T-shirt and polka-dot boxer shorts, made him forget what few words he’d rehearsed during the drive over.

  His meager plan had been to tell her he cared about her and wasn’t going to let her sabotage things between them just because she was scared of repeating the past. That she wasn’t in a hurry to get married any more than he was, that to bring it up now was a clumsy attempt to drive him away. He’d planned to say that they should take it slow because that was the best way to make it last.

  And if that didn’t work, he’d try the nuclear option and tell her he loved her.

  Of course he did. He’d said so a few times already, like on her birthday, or when she’d made him cookies. But this time he’d say it while he kissed her. While he held her in his arms and heard her sigh in his ear.

  “Is that your car?” she asked.

  Grabbing onto a neutral subject, he grinned at her. “Just bought it today. Guess why?”

  Her face froze. Her eyes widened. He thought she looked like she might throw up.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She shook her head, stared at him.

  To stop himself from grabbing her prematurely, he pointed at the car. “See who’s inside?”

  Slowly, she looked away from Sly and peered at the car. “Hugo’s dog?”

  “My dog.”

  “Your dog?”

  “I told Hugo I couldn’t live without him. He agreed. It was a setup all along.”

  Something changed in her face. She wrapped her arms around herself. “You bought the car for the dog.”

  “I couldn’t resist. He seemed to like it, so I traded in the A4 and drove it home this afternoon. He’s already drooled over most of the leather.” He laughed, trying to get her to smile. “You wouldn’t believe how much that animal can drool.”

  “Lots of drool,” she said.

  “Yeah. But it’s no problem really. I just mop it up with a rag.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “They gave him a bath at PetZone this morning. Did wonders for his aroma. They clipped his toenails too. He hated that.” He didn’t like that she wasn’t smiling, didn’t look interested at all. “I felt so bad I bought him a new dried bull penis. Still in its shrink-wrap.”

  She rubbed her temple, looking pained.

  “Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Had a little bit too much Two Buck Chuck tonight,” she said. “And it’s cold out here.”

  He cleared his throat. “How about we go inside?”

  “I’m not—you didn’t—” She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. “You didn’t even call.”

  “My phone broke.”

  “It broke?” She blinked. “When? How?”

  “It fell off a table this morning when Mouse knocked me out of bed.”

  “This morning.” She raised an eyebrow. He realized then she’d wanted him to call her any of the days previous to this one, not just before he’d come over tonight.

>   “I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me,” he said.

  She was looking at her fingernails. “You’re sleeping with him?”

  “He was so needy. It makes him feel good.”

  Her mouth tightened. “You couldn’t resist that, could you?”

  “Please, let me come in. I won’t—we won’t do anything. We can watch TV.” He smiled. “It’s Thursday.”

  “That’s what you want to do? Watch TV?”

  “I’d be happy just being with you.”

  “Just like old times,” she said.

  “Just like.” His heart jumped. She was going to let him stay. “I’ll try to get Mouse out of the car.”

  “Wait.”

  He turned, holding his breath.

  “I can’t do this,” she said.

  “It’s late,” he said. “I know. I should’ve tried earlier.”

  “Yeah. Much.”

  “Let’s get together tomorrow. Not TV. Breakfast. Or lunch, so you can sleep in. Royal Café?”

  Shaking her head, she took a step back into the house and began to close the door. “I can’t do this,” she said again.

  “It’s late. I understand.” He put a hand on the doorframe, right where it would get crushed in a moment if the door continued moving. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, late.”

  “On what? Your broken phone?”

  “It’s easy to get a new one.”

  “That’s so true. Too bad you didn’t think of that earlier.” She gave his hand on the doorframe a pointed look. “Good night, Sly.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “I wish,” she said.

  “You wish you were angry?”

  “It would make it easier to say good-bye.”

  Good-bye. Feeling the blood draining out of him, he withdrew his hand.

  The door closed in his face.

  30

  Sly knew he’d screwed up. Bad.

  He needed help, and had a crazy idea where to get it.

  Your average thirtysomething guy might not be at home on a Friday morning, but Mark wasn’t average. The reclusive software engineer had always preferred working from home. In the past, Sly would call before dropping by and warn Mark to put on some pants. But today he’d risk seeing Mark’s tighty-whities.