Dog Days

by Jill S. Behe

  “Cool. We saw Court at Corsair’s with a cart full of drinks. I told him I’ve got a cooler y’all could borrow, but maybe an ice filled wheelbarrow would work better.”

  “Oh. Good idea. Gage said some of his friends are bringing food and drinks, too. He didn’t give specifics, though.”

  “What about paper plate and stuff?”

  “I’ve got plenty. If we run out, I’ll send someone out to get more.”

  “Okay. I know you, Miss Maggie. You need to quit stressing about whether there will be enough.”

  “You know me well, adopted son.”

  He gave a laugh. “You worry too much. You know you always have leftovers.”

  “I do, don’t I?”

  I heard Lancy’s voice in the background.

  “Lance wants me to ask if you need someone to pick up the cake.”

  “That would be awesome. I’ll pay you when you get here.”

  “Sounds good. What time do you need us there?”

  “Um. Whenever you get here will be good, just make sure it’s before four. If you’re earlier than that, maybe you could start setting up the foldout tables?”

  “Gotcha. No worries. Later, Maggie.”

  “Say hi to Lancy for me. See you tomorrow.”

  The pan of baked beans was in the fridge. The potato salad was finished and right next to the beans.

  I flipped off the kitchen lights, and started for the living room, and the phone rang.

  Good grief.

  “Hi, Maggie. Paul. Do you need any specific food for tomorrow?”

  “Not really. Whatever strikes your fancy.”

  “Great. I’ve got this dish my cousin always makes. Usually a big hit.”

  “Bring it on. Oh, and did I mention that your pet is invited also?”

  “Yes, you did. He’ll be excited. Puck loves people. What time is this thing, again?”

  “Four-ish, or earlier, if you want. I may need some strong backs to move things around out back.”

  “Sure. I can be there early. Thanks. You two have a good night.”

  “You, too, Paul.”

  The stress level was actually easing.

  Thank the Lord above.

  Chapter 12

  … SATURDAY…

  * * *

  … August 22nd…

  * * *

  GAGE AND BLESSING (Gage’s girl, the one I haven’t formally met, yet. You remember her, the girl from the apartment below his and Dawson’s? She’s the one who nursed him back to health after he got … shot. Kept plying him with homemade chicken noodle soup, and chocolate chip cookies.), and Dawson, and Becca arrived early to help set up.

  Up to my elbows in last minute food prep, the back door opened and in trooped my boys and their girls.

  Quickly wiping my hands, I grabbed—“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart.”—Gage in a big hug.

  “Geez, Mom.” Dawson was laughing. “You’re gonna suffocate him if you squeeze any harder.”

  The poor kid was red-faced when I let go.

  “Sorry. I get over-exuberant when I’m excited.” I eyed my youngest. “Be forewarned.”

  “We are aware. Just wanted to bust his chops.”

  Even the girls laughed.

  “Mom.” Gage pulled the dark-haired girl closer. “This is Blessing Fawn Morningstar. Bless, this is my mom.” He grinned, and gave me a wink. “Magdalena Elizabeth Susanna Maria-Louise Mercer.”

  Blessing’s eyes widened as he was spouting all my names.

  I laughed and gave her a hug. “I didn’t know you knew them all, kid.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Becca, too, was google-eyed. “Why do you have so many names?”

  I shrugged. “Once my mom found out I was to be an only child, she gave me all the girls names she’d had picked out.”

  Her lower lip pooched out. “Aw. That’s sad, and really cool at the same time.”

  “It’s great to finally meet you, Mrs. Mercer.”

  “Same here, but I’m Maggie. Please.”

  Blessing nodded, looking around. “What can I do to help?”

  Paul, on a loud, red, white, and blue Harley Davidson, with a special box on the passenger seat for his black lab Puck, came chugging into the driveway about thirty minutes later.

  We put the boys to work rearranging patio furniture and a picnic table in the back yard; Wyatt supervised from the porch swing. Sounds of male laughter drifted through the breezeway.

  Me and the girls finished plating the food. Wyatt fired up the GrillMaster just before we were inundated by the rest of the crew, and Gage’s friends.

  Geez, can you believe Gage is twenty-seven already? Makes me feel old. The entire—like there’s a whole lot of them—precinct (hahaha) made it to the house, along with my parents. Wyatt’s sent their regrets and well wishes, to their surrogate grandson-to-be, from a ship in the middle of the Mediterranean. Pets and plus ones were in attendance, too.

  Wyatt (making a valiant effort to look and act normal) and the guys congregated around the grill, making sure the steaks and chicken didn’t burn to a crisp. We girls gaggled around the kitchen discussing wedding stuff, and getting the other food prepped for the trip out to the patio.

  Any excuse for a family gathering, right?

  I have to say, Gus’s fella from Philly is a hottie! Bronzed, broad shouldered, mmm … maybe six foot tall.

  Ahem.

  First of all, I’ve already got my own very hot man. And second, Spencer Haskell is way the heck too young for me. But I can still look and appreciate.

  The volleyball net went up after the meal—not sure if that was a great idea or not—and fierce competition ensued. Wyatt, thank the Lord, sat that one out, but was still involved as the line ref. The other side won, both games. Oh well. We’ll get ’em next time.

  Later my boys caught me alone in the kitchen. One on either side, we leaned back against the counter, arms folded.

  Gage made the speech.

  Said they’d talked it over among themselves, and then discussed it with Papa Donovan, and he agreed, so they were informing me of their decision.

  Which was: Since my dad had already given me away to their dad, they felt it was now their responsibility to pass me over to Wyatt. They were prepared to do this, and were letting me know that they would be flanking me as I walked down the aisle.

  Aw, my boys. So handsome. So thoughtful.

  I got teary-eyed.

  Though I hadn’t planned on carrying one, anyway, with a man on each arm, I for sure wouldn’t be needing a bouquet.

  “I think it’s really cool, living here now. I’ve never lived in such a small town.” Becca smiled. “Feels … cozy, ya know? The merchants are so friendly and helpful. My neighbors actually say hi when I see them. Your downtown is thriving.”

  “I know, right?” Gus chimed in. “That’s practically unheard of in most towns and cities nowadays.”

  I laughed at the small town comment. “Wait until something major happens to you. The grapevine will be working overtime. People who live here, that you’ve not even met, will make remarks to you and about you.

  “When Wyatt and I started dating, EVERYone in town had a comment, an opinion, or pointed a finger and whispered. Then we got engaged, and even now, anyone I come in contact with asks when the wedding is, or have we set a date yet. It can be maddening.”

  “Happens to me, too,” Wyatt put in. “Even the nurses in the hospital would make special trips to my room to ask or discuss whether it was ethical for us to be a couple.”

  “Growing up, I heard about that … phenomenon, read stories about it, too, how everyone knows everyone’s business. But until I moved here, it didn’t seem real.” Gus nodded towards Wyatt. “I, too, have had folks ask me about the two of you. I just shrug them off.”

  Grinning, I warned her, “You’ve been out and about with Spencer since he arrived Thursday night. You may experience that small town phenomenon yourself next week.”

 
; “You think so?”

  Rick, Wyatt, Lancy, and I laughed.

  “When I first saw the call for employment, I was a bit skeptical.” Declan crossed his arms. “Being raised in the DC area, I wondered about whether I’d be bored. Now that I’ve been here a few months, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  Paul was nodding. “It’s a major climate change from New York City, too. And I don’t mean weather-wise, although that’s also different. Definitely a big adjustment, but not hard at all to blend in quickly. On the downside, people here seem … complacent, I guess would be the word. Their concept, their view, of crime isn’t very high. They need to be more aware that the crime rate in the U.S. is climbing, and Mossy Creek isn’t going to be the idyllic place it once was. You’ve been relatively isolated, as far as major crime goes, but even here, you’ve had a couple murders within the last … what? Year and a half?”

  Wyatt nodded. “If you count Sybil, there have been three.”

  Becca frowned. “Sybil?”

  “Yeah. Maggie’s stalker kidnapped her—twice.”

  “He does not belong to me, and I’d really appreciate if you would rephrase…. Anyway, that’s how Wyatt ended up in the hospital.” I scooped potato salad onto my plate. “He got shot chasing the idiot’s truck. Sybil got the passenger door open, but fell out, or was pushed. She died on impact.”

  Thinking about it still gives me shivers.

  “Speaking of the stalker…. Are people aware that he could target any one of them, to get to you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know that they are. Even Lavender. She’s upset about whoever it is/was that stole her merchandise. And then her husband is killed there. If I were her, I’d want my locks changed, at the very least.”

  Rick: “Yeah. Maybe we should suggest it to her.”

  “It’s a good idea. Is there a local locksmith shop that everyone uses?”

  Wyatt looked at me.

  I shrugged. “Not exactly local. I know the borough council contracts with a locksmith service in Jensen City, there’s only the one within twenty-five miles of Mossy Creek. They have a running contract with the borough for any business needs. As for the other businesses in town, I would imagine they probably contact the same company, when the need arises.”

  Paul seemed the most interested in the different locksmith needs around town. “Who all do they service? Do you know?”

  “The police department building, for one. The new library, the building we’re in, the municipal building, etcetera.”

  “So the whole town, in other words.” Paul nodded. “Huh. Big contract.”

  “Yup.”

  “Convenient.”

  “How so?”

  “Has this company—? Were they thoroughly screened/vetted? Or are they just the most convenient?”

  A shrug. “The council probably voted on it.”

  “As I said, convenient.”

  AS THE EVENING progressed, some of Gage’s buddies took their leave, and the girls began stacking dishes and utensils to take into the house.

  The guys took charge of the grill and lawn furniture, and gathered up the trash. The girls and I split up the leftovers, wrapped food, and washed dishes. Within an hour, my house and yard were all put back together. My kitchen was spotless.

  “Y’all didn’t have to do that,” I protested. “But I sure appreciate it.”

  “You hosted the party,” Declan argued, “Least we can do is help you deal with the clean up. You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself.”

  The others within hearing distance agreed.

  How thoughtful and considerate is that?

  “Thank you, Declan.”

  He grinned, gave me a mock salute, and departed the premises.

  Those remaining trickled out over the next half hour. Gage and Blessing were the last to leave.

  We hugged.

  “Thanks for a fabulous bash, Mom. Can’t remember one better. Tell Ms. Sporelli thanks for the cake. It was awesome.”

  “I will do that, and you’re welcome.”

  “It was great to finally meet you, Maggie.”

  “Same here, Blessing. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t.”

  She and Gage linked hands and went out.

  Wyatt came up behind and embraced me while we watched Gage’s truck disappear down the street. “A great success, and for me, not as strenuous as I figured it would be. Can we sit?”

  “Yes, please.” I grabbed his hand and led him to the living room. “What’s up?”

  “Doc called earlier. There was one test that took longer to come back from the lab. He says the results are causing him some concern. Wants me to meet him at the hospital, instead of his office, Monday morning.”

  “What!”

  Wyatt took my hands. “He told me it’s not life-threatening, but serious enough that he doesn’t want the procedure done at his office.”

  “Procedure?”

  “Surgery.”

  “On what, Wyatt? What’s going on?”

  “On the wounds.”

  “Dear Lord.”

  “The infection is more widespread than he thought, and some of the sites are … puss-y.”

  I leaned against the back of the couch and closed my eyes. “As if we didn’t have anything else to worry about.”

  “I’m sorry, babe.”

  “It’s not your fault. That idiot with the shotgun is to blame.”

  “True. Still.”

  “You know I’m going with you.”

  “I never doubted it. Thank you, sweetheart.” He leaned over for a kiss. “What say we hit the hay.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter 13

  … SUNDAY…

  * * *

  August 23rd…

  * * *

  WYATT WAS TOSSING the Frisbee to Harley. I was watching from the porch swing.

  “You said something before we left the office last week, that’s been on my mind a lot.”

  “Yeah? What was it?”

  “You said, ‘Let’s go home.’ We need to talk about that.”

  “What other way do you want me to say it?”

  “That’s not it. Since we’re getting married soon, I think we need to decide which house we’re going to live in.”

  Harley dropped the Frisbee at my feet, lapped up some water from his bowl, and flopped down next to it, panting. Wyatt slowly made his way back to the porch steps and up them one at a time.

  “Why do we have to decide? You’re going to move in with me. Aren’t you?”

  “Am I? I thought you’d move in with me.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, why would I move in here?”

  “Why would you not?”

  “Because I’m the … husband, shouldn’t the wife move in with the husband?”

  “I can see the advantage of that, but—”

  “But?”

  I stopped swinging so he could sit down, but he pulled me to my feet, urged me into the house and air-conditioning, and onto the couch in the living room. Harley followed, slipping his head onto my lap, crowding us.

  “You don’t have a garage, and I do.”

  “That’s true, but your house isn’t big enough for both of us.”

  “We do just fine. And I love my kitchen.”

  “Be that as it may, I don’t think mine is big enough for us, either.”

  “But—”

  He reached for my hands. “Your argument is valid. It is. But, sweetheart, I have a lot of stuff in my house that would need to be integrated into this one, and vice versa. And actually—” He leaned back, pulling me onto his lap.

  Harley abandoned the couch with a huff and a grumble.

  “Actually?”

  “Our houses are about the same size, and we both have … a lot of stuff.” He bussed my mouth. “Magdalena?”

  Pouting a little, my head rested on his chest. “Hmm?”

  “I’m thinking we need to go hou
se hunting.”

  “What?” I sat up so fast he grimaced. I think I hurt him. “Sorry.”

  It took him a minute to maneuver into a sitting position. “Baby, we’re not going to be able to accommodate the combining of … us into either of our homes.”

  “Well, but— I love my house.”

  “And I love mine. I put a lot of time and money into renovating the heating system. It’s fabulous. But unless we both sell most of our things, I don’t see any alternative.”

  “Why do I have to give up my kitchen and garage for your furnace?”

  “You got me there. Especially since I really really like what you can do in that kitchen.”

  “So you think we need to look for another place?”

  “Yeah, I do. Look, it’s not like we have to move right this second, but we can’t stick it on the back burner, too far, either.”

  “You’re right. We should go through our stuff, anyway, because when we do find our new house, we’re not going to need two sets of everything, right? And, if we find one at the right price, maybe we’d have enough left over from selling both houses to get a new custom heating/cooling system for you, a custom kitchen for me, and a double garage for us.”

  We smooched.

  “Or maybe, we could rent them out?”

  “Hmm. I knew there were some smarts behind those gorgeous green eyes.”

  At their mention, they did a roll. “Oh, for pity’s sake.”

  He laughed. “So, what say we make a date with Magnolia, and have her start looking around?”

  “All right.”

  “I’m sorry to be adding to your mountain of a list. Have you checked anything off? Is there anything I can do to help make it smaller?”

  “Um, yes, actually. This coming Saturday, you’ll need to dog sit.”

  “Why?”

  “The girls and I are going shopping for shoes and dresses.”

  His head tilted. “I thought you had your dress?”

  “I do, but the girls don’t. And there’s the MOB and MOG who need a special occasion dress, as well.”

  “Mob—what?”

  “MOB, Mother of the Bride, and MOG, Mother of the Groom.”