Hideaway (The Women of Vino and Veritas)

by Rachel Lacey

  She looked up at me, panting slightly. It was time for her to go outside, but I also hoped the exercise might help get things started. Didn’t pregnant women sometimes walk to try to go into labor? I wasn’t an expert, but I was pretty sure Emily had done laps at the mall to jumpstart things.

  Violet followed me down the hall to the living room. Her toenails made the cutest clicking sound on the laminate floors. I clipped the leash onto her collar and brought her outside. By the time she’d gone down the steps into the yard, she’d stopped panting.

  “Wish you could talk,” I said. “Then you could tell me if you’re in pain. Don’t be stoic about it, okay? I need to know you’re in labor in time to get someone out here to help us.”

  She whined when she squatted to pee, which was unusual. Then we walked around the yard together, and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought she looked uncomfortable. And since I did not want to do this on my own, I was going to call in the reinforcements early and hope it didn’t turn out to be a false alarm. I dialed Taylor’s number.

  “Hi,” she answered. “Is it puppy time?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think so, and I just…I’d feel so much better if somebody came out and checked her for me.”

  “Let me make a few calls. I’ll have someone at your house within the hour, okay?”

  “Thank you,” I said, immensely relieved to know that someone knowledgeable would be here soon to help me. I ended the call and took Violet back inside.

  She went down the hall to lie in her playpen. She’d seemed to like it when I played the piano yesterday, so I sat on the bench and began to play, hoping it would soothe her. I wasn’t paying attention to a specific song or melody, just letting my fingers roam the keyboard. It was a method my grandmother had taught me before I’d started taking formal lessons.

  But after a few minutes, I realized I wasn’t playing a random tune at all. The familiar notes of Alicia Keys’s “No One” filled the living room. It had been our song, mine and Taylor’s. I would sit right here at this piano and play it for her, not that my voice held a candle to Alicia’s. My fingers kept moving, and I began to sing along, quietly at first and picking up volume as I got lost in the music.

  It was as familiar as it was emotional, memories of that summer flowing through me as the lyrics spilled from my mouth. We’d been so much in love. As I sang our song, I remembered the way I used to lie beside Taylor, hands entwined, staring into each other’s eyes as we talked for hours, the way my body seemed to inflate with happiness when she came into a room, the way it felt when she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me until my whole body thrummed with electricity.

  There was a knock at the door, and I stopped playing, wrenched from my romantic trance back to the real world where there was a dog down the hall who was about to have puppies and someone from the shelter at my door to help me through it. I stood and walked to the door, and my heart lurched against my ribs when I saw Taylor on the front porch.

  Her hair was in a ponytail, and she was wearing a T-shirt with the shelter’s logo on it as if she’d come straight from work. She looked slightly dazed, as if she’d heard what song I was playing. With the windows wide open to let in the spring air, she probably had. I gulped, my throat gone dry.

  “Hi,” she said, her hazel eyes locked on mine with a dizzying intensity.

  Maybe I was still stuck in the past, but that fluttery feeling in my belly was exactly the way it had felt when she looked at me that summer. Oof. “Hi.”

  “How’s Violet?” she asked as she walked past me into the house.

  “Um, she’s in her playpen. I was just playing some music for her. She seems to like it when I play the piano.”

  “That was good thinking,” Taylor said. “If the piano calms her, you should keep playing.”

  “Unless it bothers you.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me, already heading toward the master bedroom. “You know it doesn’t.”

  I followed her down the hall to find Violet in her playpen, panting heavily. She stood as Taylor approached, and that’s when I noticed she was shaking. Oh boy. This was really happening.

  “Looks like you were right,” Taylor said, crouching in front of Violet. “Shaking and panting are both early signs of labor.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. This was exactly what Holly and Peyton had told me to watch for. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, though.”

  “Peyton’s daughter is running a fever, and Holly’s working tonight, so you’re stuck with me.”

  “Well, I’m not complaining.” Shit. Did that sound flirty? I hadn’t meant for it to.

  Taylor stood, giving me an amused look. “I’m not either. It’ll be fun to watch some new lives enter the world.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Just keep an eye on her, mostly,” Taylor said. “She knows what to do. You could see if she wants to go outside before her labor progresses, in case she needs to pee or anything.”

  “Oh yeah, okay.” I looked at Violet. “Want to go outside?”

  She got right out of her playpen and headed down the hall. Taylor and I followed. I put Violet on leash, and we all went into the backyard. Violet took care of business, whining as she squatted, and I hoped she wasn’t about to deliver a puppy right there in the yard, because she definitely looked uncomfortable.

  But she headed for the back door, and when I opened it for her, she went inside for a drink of water and then straight down the hall to her playpen.

  “We should get our supplies ready,” Taylor said. “She may or may not need any help, but it’s best to be prepared.”

  I went to the box in the corner that Taylor had brought on Monday. It contained old towels, a bulb syringe, scissors, iodine, absorbent pads, and probably a few other things I couldn’t see from the top. With Taylor’s guidance, we placed pads in Violet’s playpen to help contain any messes, sterilized the scissors, and set everything out for easy access.

  Violet moved around restlessly in the pen, nipping at the bedding as she tried to get it just right now that we’d added the pads. Then she plopped down in the middle and lay, panting.

  “There’s really not much else we can do but wait,” Taylor said. “It could still be a few hours, so we should probably give her some space and just keep checking in.”

  “Did you come straight from work?” I asked.

  Taylor nodded. “I asked Alleya, who I work with, to take Minnie and Blue home with her tonight, in case I’m here awhile.”

  “Oh.” The thought of Taylor being here awhile was both thrilling and unnerving, because it meant we’d be here alone, late at night, potentially sitting together on my grandmother’s bed. “Want me to fix us something to eat while we wait?”

  “Sure. I’m pretty hungry, actually.”

  “Should I feed Violet her supper?” I asked as I went down the hall to the kitchen.

  “It’s better if you wait and feed her after she’s delivered the puppies. She’s probably not even hungry right now. We’ll make sure to offer her lots of water, though.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “I was going to roast a chicken, if that sounds good to you.”

  “A whole chicken just for you?” Taylor asked as she poured herself a glass of water. Her familiarity with the kitchen cabinets was another reminder of how much time she’d spend here with my grandma over the years. More than I had, apparently.

  “I like the leftovers for sandwiches, and well…I thought Violet might want some, but shhhh, don’t tell that lady from the shelter that I feed her people food, okay?”

  Taylor grinned. “I knew you were a softie deep down.”

  “Nope. Nothing but barbed wire in here.” I jabbed a finger against my ribs before opening the fridge. I took out the chicken and seasoned it with herbs and lemon juice. Then I chopped some carrots and potatoes and put it all in the oven. “Want some pretzel sticks while it cooks?”

  “You’ve always been a fan of pretzel sticks,” Taylor sa
id. “Sure.”

  I got out the bag of pretzels and poured some into a bowl, and then I grabbed two Shipley ciders from the fridge. They were left over from the six-pack Taylor had brought yesterday when we put down the laminate flooring. I wasn’t always a fan of hard cider, but this was good, and it was local too.

  We each popped open a bottle, and Taylor went to check on Violet. I turned on the TV to save us from having to come up with enough conversation to fill the evening. My dad had canceled the cable months ago, so I logged into my Netflix account and put on a nature documentary. Taylor did love nature, after all.

  “Nothing yet,” she said as she came back into the living room. She sat beside me on the couch, and we ate pretzels and drank cider while we watched a band of monkeys in Malaysia battle over territory. Every ten minutes or so, Taylor went to check on Violet.

  I was just getting invested in the outcome of the territory war when Taylor called from the bedroom.

  “I think it’s time,” she said.

  “Oh shit.” I bolted off the couch, almost knocking over my cider in my hurry. When I got to the bedroom, Violet was in the middle of her playpen, and even my untrained eyes could see she was pushing.

  “You’re doing great, Violet,” Taylor said in a quiet, soothing voice. “What a good girl. You’re going to be such a good mama.”

  I sat beside her on the bed, heart pounding as we watched Violet. We took turns encouraging her, because she was really pushing now, and her eyes looked kind of wild and frantic. I didn’t want to get in her way since we hadn’t known each other that long, but she kept looking at me when I spoke to her, and occasionally, her tail gave what might have been a small wag, which made me think she didn’t mind us being here with her.

  “Oh,” I whispered. “Is that…is that a puppy?”

  Something was starting to protrude beneath her tail. Violet turned around to sniff at it, giving it a few hesitant licks.

  “It sure is,” Taylor said, sounding as awed as I felt.

  “I’ve never watched anything be born before.” I pressed a hand against my chest, where my heart was still beating frantically, overwhelmed by the moment.

  Violet gave another big push, and the puppy slid the rest of the way out. It looked black or maybe dark brown, still inside its birth sack. I gasped, and my hand slid into Taylor’s. She gave it a tight squeeze.

  “What do we do?” I whispered.

  “Nothing yet. Let’s give her a chance to take care of it on her own,” Taylor said quietly. “She needs to bite through the membrane and lick its face to clear the airways.”

  We watched, transfixed, as Violet sniffed the puppy. Just when I was starting to get nervous, she nipped at the membrane, licking and biting until she revealed a perfect chocolate-brown puppy with one white paw. She kept licking, rocking its little body back and forth with her tongue, and it mewled, tiny paws waving in the air.

  “Oh wow.” My eyes were unexpectedly moist. “She did it.”

  “She sure did,” Taylor said. “Great job, Violet. What a beautiful baby you made.”

  “It’s so little.” I’d never seen a newborn puppy before. This one was still wet, and its eyes were closed, ears flat against its head, giving it an odd, almost seal-like appearance.

  “Can I have a quick look?” Taylor asked gently, lowering herself to the floor. She scooted closer to Violet, moving slowly so she didn’t startle the dog.

  Violet watched closely but didn’t object when Taylor touched the puppy and then picked it up. She rubbed it with a cloth, helping to dry it, talking reassuringly to Violet the whole time. Then she peeked under the puppy’s tail before settling it against Violet’s belly.

  She turned to me with a triumphant smile. “It’s a girl!”

  14

  Taylor

  Violet licked and nuzzled her puppy as it began to nurse. Since everything seemed to be going well, I returned to the bed, sitting beside Phoebe. “I want to get her used to us handling them, and I also need to make sure their airways are clear and nothing’s visibly amiss, but it seems like Violet’s going to do the rest of the work for us. She’s doing a great job so far.”

  “The puppy is so little,” Phoebe said, glossy-eyed with a big, giddy smile on her face.

  Her joy over watching the puppy’s birth was going to be my undoing, because nothing made me softer than a woman who loved rescue dogs. “Do you want to name her?” I asked.

  Phoebe’s head bobbed. “Oh please, can I?”

  “You can name the whole litter if you want.”

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “Okay. I’m going to have to give this some thought. You said there are four, right?”

  “The vet saw four on the X-ray, but it’s possible a fifth puppy was hiding,” I told her.

  “Four’s a good number,” Phoebe said. “It’s the smallest squared prime.”

  “I have no idea what that means.” I nudged my shoulder against hers. I’d never understood her when she started talking about math, but once upon a time, her math geekiness had been a huge turn-on for me.

  “Two squared,” Phoebe said. “Two is the smallest prime number.”

  “You’re going to give them math names, aren’t you?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I can name them anything I want. You said so.”

  I could feel my lips stretching into a smile. “But remember, cute names will appeal to adopters, although honestly, puppies are usually pretty easy to find homes for. These are pitties or pit mixes, though, and there are a lot of people who’re hesitant about the breed for the same reasons you were.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind about them. I can’t imagine Violet biting anyone.”

  “Well, she might if she felt threatened. A lot of dogs will bite if you push them far enough, but she’s no more likely to bite than any other dog.”

  “There’s something so pure about her,” Phoebe said, her tone hushed. “She just wants a quiet, comfortable life. She doesn’t have an agenda beyond the basic creature comforts.”

  “That’s the beauty of animals,” I told her. “They don’t have agendas.”

  “I like that,” she said.

  “Maybe once you’re back in Boston, you should get a pet,” I suggested.

  “Well, my condo doesn’t allow them, but I could get a fish or something.”

  “Fun fact: there are fish rescues,” I told her. “Adopt, don’t shop.”

  “Fish rescues?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yep. You can rescue pretty much any kind of pet you might want.”

  “Cool. Oh!” Phoebe sat up straight, staring toward the whelping box. “I think she’s pushing again.”

  I followed her gaze. Violet, who had been quietly licking her first puppy while she nursed, had tensed up. “You’re right.”

  Phoebe slid her hand into mine, the way she’d done when the first puppy was born, and I couldn’t resist squeezing it. Hand in hand, we watched as another puppy was born. This one was mostly white, with several brown patches. Once Violet cleaned it up, I gave it a quick check.

  “Boy,” I told Phoebe.

  She beamed at the news. “One of each.” A beep echoed from the kitchen, and her eyes widened. “I forgot all about the chicken.”

  “So did I, but I’m starving. Shall we leave her to nurse these two for a few minutes and go eat?”

  “Will she be okay?” Phoebe asked, adorably concerned about the dog she hadn’t wanted to bring home.

  I nodded. “There’s usually a gap of about thirty minutes between puppies, and we’ll just be in the kitchen. We’ll keep checking on her.”

  “’Kay,” Phoebe said, sliding to her feet. She pushed down her shorts, which had ridden up to reveal that little brown birthmark I used to trace with my fingers.

  I followed her to the kitchen, and together, we carved the chicken and fixed two plates. We popped open fresh ciders and sat at the kitchen table to eat.

  “Should I bring her some chi
cken?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “She’s content with her puppies right now. With any luck, she’ll be finished in an hour or so, and you can spoil her with chicken then. In fact, you should spoil her all you want until they’re weaned. She’ll need lots of calories. Just don’t feed her from the table. We don’t want to give her any bad habits for her next owner.”

  “Right.” Phoebe nodded. “I’ll spoil her politely.”

  I took a bite of my chicken. It was juicy and flavorful. I loved the combination of the tangy lemon juice with the other seasonings she’d added. “This is good.”

  “Thanks. It’s one of my staples because it’s easy and it feeds me for multiple meals.”

  “Yeah, I like those too,” I said. “I freeze my leftovers so I can pull out an easy meal later in the week when I need it.”

  “Cooking for one is a pain,” she agreed, and something wistful passed over her expression, reminding me that she’d been in a serious relationship until very recently. Or at least, I assumed it had been serious.

  “Do you miss her?” I asked. “Your ex-girlfriend? And please tell me to butt out if that’s too personal.”

  Her lips twisted to the side. “I do, and I don’t, if that makes sense.”

  “I think it does.” Actually, it was sort of how I’d felt after Phoebe left me.

  “I miss her,” Phoebe said quietly, “but I’m not sure I could ever forgive her, so hopefully the part of me that’s missing her gets over it soon.”

  “It will,” I told her.

  Phoebe gave me a sharp look, as if she’d just realized what experience I was drawing from with my words. “We should get back to Violet.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, rushing through the last few bites of my meal. We put our dishes in the sink and brought our cider with us back to the master bedroom.

  Violet was right where we’d left her, nursing her first two puppies. Phoebe and I sat on the bed, drinking cider and talking quietly while we waited for the next puppy to arrive. It didn’t take long. Violet delivered a fawn-colored puppy with a white blaze on its face much like her own. The puppy was her mirror image except that it was a boy.