The Twelve Dogs of Christmas

by Lizzie Shane

  Ally’s righteous expression crumbled with his second sentence. “Ben. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “It’s fine,” he said—which was probably the biggest lie of his life. It wasn’t fine. It had never been fine. It was brutally unfair and wrong, and he could never let himself scream about the unfairness because he never wanted Astrid to suspect for a second that he wasn’t unreservedly happy to have her in his life. He had to be strong for her. He had to show her that they were okay, just the two of them. So he had to make sure it was okay. Even if he knew nothing about being a dad. Starting with how to handle this situation.

  She’d never lied to him before. Not that he knew of, anyway. How did he correct that? How did he punish her while still making sure she knew that he loved her unconditionally? He could listen to the parenting podcasts day and night, but it never made it any easier.

  “She’s a really good kid,” Ally said.

  “I know,” Ben said, his voice a little rougher than he’d intended. “But she still can’t go around lying to me and going behind my back whenever I tell her no.”

  “Right. Of course not.” She put a hand on his arm, and he had to fight the urge to shrug it off. “If I can help—”

  “Send me those pictures,” he cut her off. He didn’t want help. This was his responsibility.

  Ally pulled back her hand. Astrid and Kimber came back around the corner, wearing their coats and carrying their backpacks—and his chest tightened with the familiar pressure of trying to find the right answer in a sea of variables.

  * * *

  “Why didn’t you tell me Ben West was Astrid’s guardian?”

  “Didn’t I?” Gram paused on the threshold, where Ally had ambushed her grandparents as soon as they walked in the farmhouse door.

  They stripped off their outerwear as Copper darted past her to check that everything was as he left it, and Ally held on to her patience, trying not to take her frustration with herself out on them.

  “That was necessary context. Ben didn’t know Astrid was volunteering at the shelter, and when he showed up today, Astrid and Kimber were here. Neither of them had permission to be.”

  Which she should have checked on. She couldn’t believe she’d just taken Gram’s word for it that it was okay. She knew better than that. No matter how confident Gram sounded, she was always making the rules up as she went along.

  “He was angry?” her grandmother asked, as if baffled by the concept.

  “Of course he was angry. It looks like we were letting kids work at the shelter without checking with their parents—which we were.”

  “Don’t worry about Ben,” Gram soothed. “He always seems mad. That’s just his way.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Ally argued. “He’s been great all week.” None of his texts or emails had been harsh or angry. They’d been fun. Friendly. She’d found herself looking forward to the buzz of her phone. “He was helping me arrange a segment with the local news in Burlington and talking about bringing some of the dogs to the tree lighting.”

  Gram perked up. “You know, that’s a good idea. The parade folks offered to let us have our own float, with all the dogs we want, and your grandfather and I were saying we ought to do a pet fair up at the Estates—only the dogs under thirty pounds, since the Estates have that stupid size limit, but we have four or five small dogs that fit the bill. How’s Dolce doing?” Gram flung off her scarf. “Do you think we should bring her into the house?”

  “No,” Gramps interjected firmly. “We’re not keeping her.”

  “She’s fine,” Ally answered.

  She was tempted to steer the conversation back to Astrid and Ben, but she knew futility when she saw it.

  All her earlier optimism had drained out of her when she watched Ben and Astrid drive away. She’d even missed the light for getting the photos of Jelly on the porch, and without someone to hold his leash, she had to make do with the less than picturesque setting inside his run.

  She tried to slap on a fake smile, determined to keep her grandparents from worrying, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Ben and Astrid. Reliving this afternoon, recalling the hard expression on Ben’s face, and trying to figure out how to make things right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  You were volunteering, too. I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

  Ben clung to his patience as he spooned more penne onto his plate. He and Astrid were squared off across the kitchen table eating leftovers—and if he’d thought dinner would be peaceful after dropping Kimber off to face her own fate and grounding Astrid on the way home, he really should have known better. “It’s not about the volunteering. It’s about the lying.”

  “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”

  Patience. “That’s the definition of a lie by omission.”

  “If I’d asked you, you would have said no.”

  “Which is how you should have known that you shouldn’t do it.”

  “Why not? You don’t have a good reason.”

  It was so tempting to come out with Because I said so, but she was right—that was a terrible reason. “We don’t have room in our house or our lives for a dog, and I don’t want you getting attached to some animal that’s going to be someone else’s.”

  “You were volunteering, too,” she repeated.

  “But I wasn’t getting attached.”

  She narrowed her eyes, stabbing a piece of penne and changing tack. “If you have time for dogs at the shelter, why can’t we have time for a dog in our house?”

  “Adopting a dog is forever. Helping out at the shelter is four weeks, tops.”

  He realized his mistake when Astrid frowned. “Why only four weeks?”

  Oh crap.

  She was going to find out eventually. Frankly, it was a miracle Ally hadn’t already told her. But this was not the moment he would have chosen if he’d been thinking straight. And okay, yes, he’d been lying by omission, but directly lying to her now did feel worse…and he wasn’t going to look too closely at that double standard. Instead he braced himself and said, “The shelter is closing at the end of the month.”

  “What?” Astrid yelped, dropping her fork. “Why?”

  “It’s complicated—and that’s why I’m helping Ally. Because it’s a short-term commitment, not a lifelong one.” And he felt guilty because it was partly his fault, but he wasn’t going to give Astrid that ammunition. “We aren’t dog people, Astrid.”

  “I’m a dog person. And if you would just give it a chance—”

  “Astrid—” He forced himself to take a breath. “You already broke the rules. You lied to me. And now you want what? To be rewarded with a dog?”

  “I wasn’t trying to break the rules. I was trying to show you I can do this. I’m responsible!”

  The last words were shouted, but he kept his response calm. “Responsible kids don’t need to lie.”

  “This is so unfair! You never listen to me! Never!” She shoved away from the table, running from the room.

  “Astrid!”

  Her only response was the thud of her feet pounding up the stairs.

  Ben swore, staring at the leftovers spread across the table. “Way to go, West,” he muttered. “You’re really killing this parenting thing.”

  And to think, they hadn’t even made it to the teen years yet.

  If Katie saw him now, would she regret her choice? He’d been a different person when she and Paul made their wills. Engaged. Seemingly on the same trajectory they had been, just a few years behind. When they’d asked him, it had been easy to say yes. Of course. But he’d never thought it would happen. Or that Isabelle would bolt the second he got custody. Or that he would lose his freaking mind trying to be everything Astrid needed when what she really needed was her mom and dad.

  He stared at the door Astrid had fled through, wondering if he should go after her or let her be. Absently, he began boxing up the leftover leftovers. He was elbow deep in Mac’s carryout baked penne
when his cell phone rang.

  He glanced at the caller ID and groaned, the inevitable feeling that he was about to disappoint someone else rising up in his chest. He caught the call before it could go to voice mail. “Hey, Levi.”

  “Hey, man, sorry to call so late.”

  It was seven thirty, but over the last two years he’d inadvertently conditioned his oldest friends to apologize every time they wanted something from him. Just another sign that he was winning at life. “You’re fine. I was just cleaning up dinner. What’s up?”

  “It’s about the game tomorrow. Connor can’t make it—some business trip came up at the last minute.”

  Relief flooded Ben, chased by guilt that he was relieved he wouldn’t have to see his friends.

  Before he became Astrid’s guardian, he’d had a standing poker night with his three oldest friends every Wednesday, but in the last two years he found himself postponing it more often than they actually played.

  On the rare times they did manage to get a game going, he hosted in Paul and Katie’s partially finished basement—which lacked basic amenities like walls, but at least Astrid could get to him if she needed anything. And he never let himself have more than one beer in case she cut off a finger and needed to be rushed to the hospital. Not that she ever had before, but he needed to be prepared.

  Which meant hanging out with his friends wasn’t the same. He never completely relaxed. But nothing had been the same since Katie and Paul died.

  The poker night had become another thing he had to try to fit into his schedule, and he was always relieved when he wasn’t the one who had to call it off.

  “Mac and I can still make it,” Levi went on—and Ben cringed at the idea that he was still going to have to get through poker night, until his oldest friend continued, “but with the holidays and everything we figured maybe it was easier to just push it to next week.”

  Which would probably get pushed to the week after…and the week after that and before they knew it, it would be January. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

  A slight pause met the words, then Levi cleared his throat. “Will we see you at the tree lighting?”

  “Probably. Astrid’s grounded, but I’ll have to make an exception for Friday since I have to be there for the council.”

  “You grounded Astrid? I thought she was the best kid on the planet. What’d she do?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you next week.”

  “Right.” Ben tried not to hear the skepticism in Levi’s voice. “Well, let me know if you need me to throw her in a cell for a few days.”

  “Probably not necessary.”

  “Eh. The offer stands. Mi jail es su jail. See ya, Ben.”

  “See ya.”

  When he closed the call, he had three new text messages from his parents in Arizona.

  Perfect. Just what he needed.

  The terms of Astrid’s grounding were that she couldn’t use any electronics except for homework and to communicate with family. So she’d Skyped his parents. Of course she had.

  His parents and Paul’s always wanted to help—but they weren’t retired yet, and they had their own lives in Arizona and DC.

  And he’d told them over and over again that he was fine. That he had this. That Astrid was in good hands. Katie and Paul had entrusted Astrid to him, trusted him to keep her life as close to normal as possible.

  He knew his parents were only trying to help, but every time they made a suggestion it felt like another person telling him that he couldn’t do this. That he was screwing up. And that, worst of all, he was screwing Astrid up.

  Their texts asked if he needed to talk. They asked if they should fly in earlier than planned for Christmas. They asked if perhaps they could pay for the dog or help Astrid train it—

  Ben muted his phone, shoving it into his pocket. They were only trying to help, he reminded himself. They didn’t mean to imply he was an unreasonable monster because he wouldn’t let Astrid have a dog.

  It just felt that way.

  He trudged up the stairs, exhausted even though it was barely eight o’clock. The door to Astrid’s room was cracked open, and it creaked inward when he rapped on it gently with his knuckles. “Astrid?”

  A sniffle came from the bed. She was curled on her side, facing away from him. The purple dragon mural her mother had painted over her bed curled protectively above her, like Katie herself was watching him as he pushed the door open wider. Judging him because he’d made her daughter cry.

  “Hey,” he murmured. He perched on the foot of the bed, resting his hand on Astrid’s ankle. She pulled her foot away from him, and he sighed, feeling like absolute trash. “You going to stay mad at me until Christmas?”

  “Maybe,” she muttered into her pillow without turning.

  He nodded, folding his hands over his knee and looking around the room. The therapist he’d taken her to after the accident had told him that it was a good sign she was comfortable enough with him to get mad at him and trust he would still be there for her—but that never made it any easier. “You can’t lie to me like that, Astrid. Something could have happened to you, and I would have had no idea where you were. I need to know where you are so I can keep you safe.”

  “The shelter isn’t dangerous. Ally is super careful about which dogs we’re allowed to help with. We’re always safe.”

  “Even if you are, a meteor could strike or the zombie apocalypse could break out, and I need to know where you are so I can rush you to a bunker before you get infected and start craving brains.”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder so full of teenage disdain he almost thought she’d aged three years in the last ten minutes. “That stuff doesn’t happen.”

  “Maybe not. But I still get to worry about you. It’s part of the job description. Even if part of me is proud of you for taking initiative and getting yourself a job there.”

  She sat up, turning toward him with red-rimmed eyes. “Then why am I grounded?”

  “Because you hid it from me. Because of the sneaking around. We have to be able to trust each other.”

  She dropped her gaze to the comforter. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me. Like I wouldn’t listen. I’m always listening. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. You know that, right?”

  She nodded, picking at a loose string on the comforter. A long pause stretched between them, then she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Am I still grounded?”

  Ben pressed his lips together hard. Laughing right now would completely ruin the air of authority he was going for. “Yes,” he said firmly. “For now. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do stuff together. We have to make that gingerbread this weekend—”

  “Oh.” Her gaze slid to the side again.

  “What?”

  “I signed us up for brownies instead.”

  Ben blinked. And tried not to think about the hours he’d already spent comparing online gingerbread recipes. “You did.”

  She shrugged. “I figured they were easier.”

  He took a breath. She wasn’t wrong. “Brownies it is.” At least he hadn’t already bought molasses in bulk.

  Astrid traced a pattern on the comforter. “Uncle Ben…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really want to help Ally at the shelter.”

  His chest tightened. “I know. Me too.”

  “Do you think we could help just a little?” she asked. “Just until they close?”

  She was such a good kid. He didn’t want to reward the lying, but she wasn’t asking for a dog. She was asking to help Ally. How did he say no to that? “I’ll think about it.”

  She seemed to know better than to press the issue because she crawled over and hugged him as if that was all she’d ever hoped for. “Thank you, Uncle Ben.”

  “No promises,” he warned—firm, even as his heart melted into goo. God help him if she ever figured out how
much she had him wrapped around her little finger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the second time in as many weeks, Ally walked into town hall with both hands full of coffee. Thankfully, this time the woman who worked at the reception desk wasn’t at her post, and Ally was able to slip upstairs undetected. Ben’s door was open again, and she bumped it with her elbow to knock.

  “Coffee?” she asked, lifting the cups when Ben looked up.

  “Thanks.” He stood from behind the desk—and at least he didn’t look instantly pissed off by her presence. She hadn’t been sure how he was going to react to her attempt to make amends. “This is a surprise.”

  “One black coffee.” She handed over one of the cups, cradling the other between her hands. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

  He grimaced, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

  “No, it was understandable. I didn’t realize you were…I shouldn’t have let Astrid volunteer without making sure she had parental consent. Or guardianship consent.” She stumbled awkwardly over the words, but Ben didn’t seem to mind.

  “She does now,” he confirmed. “Have my permission to help you after school.”

  “She does?” Her voice lifted, the words a little too high pitched.

  “Yeah. Just as soon as I’m done grounding her.” He took a drink of the coffee and made a face, staring at the cup like it was poison. “What is that? It’s like drinking pure sugar.”

  “Whoops.” Ally quickly exchanged the cup in her hands for his. “That one’s mine. Peppermint mocha. I wasn’t sure if you were going to hate me and figured I might want the chocolate to console myself.”

  “I don’t hate you. It wasn’t about you or the shelter.” He grimaced, sitting on the edge of his desk, papers sliding precariously under him. “It was the lying. I can’t have her—but I don’t know if grounding her is actually going to do any good. I think it’s harder on me than it is on her.”