In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

  “Hi there. Welcome to the Naked Finger. I’m Lila.” The brunette tapped her pearly pink fingernail on the glass as she tried to place Jocelyn. “You’re a local, right? I know I’ve seen you around at the grocery store and the bank.”

  “Jocelyn Hillier.” Jocelyn offered a handshake, keenly aware of the disparity between Lila’s moisturized, manicured fingers and her dermatological disaster of grime and raggedy cuticles. “My mom and I run the linen and towel service for the beach house rentals.”

  “Oh right.” Lila nodded. “You guys supply the napkins and dish towels for the Whinery, right?”

  “Yeah. The Better Off Bed-and-Breakfast, too.”

  Lila smiled. “Nothing like living in breakup central.”

  Ever since Black Dog Bay had been dubbed “the best place in America to bounce back from your breakup” a few years ago, enterprising local business owners had made every effort to capitalize on the niche tourist market. Charming seaside diners and boutiques had changed their names to the Eat Your Heart Out Bakery, the Jilted Café, and the Rebound Salon to appeal to the “heartbreak tourists” who flocked to the beach along with the regular vacationers. Someone—possibly Hollis, the owner of Black Dog Bay Books—had even made up a legend about an apparition of a black dog that appeared to heartbroken tourists as a harbinger of hope and change.

  Jocelyn nodded. “It’s about time someone opened a store like this.” She surveyed the rows of jettisoned engagement rings, wedding bands, bracelets, watches, pendants, all casualties of heartbreak and betrayal.

  A showroom like this should act as a grim reminder that there was no such thing as happily ever after. The cold, hard proof of hundreds of broken promises should wipe the smile off Jocelyn’s face.

  And yet . . . “So.” She sidled closer to the diamond rings, clearing her throat. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “Go on.” Lila leaned in for more details.

  “Yeah. I, uh . . .” Jocelyn was practically hoarse from all the throat-clearing. “Listen, don’t tell anyone, but I, uh . . .”

  Lila held her position, her air calm and unhurried. “You can tell me. People tell me things all day, every day.”

  “Crazy things?”

  Lila responded by reaching under the counter and pulling out a crystal jar. She lifted the lid, revealing a cache of individually wrapped chocolates. “Truffle?”

  Jocelyn ripped off a foil wrapper and popped the truffle into her mouth. “Mmm.”

  “Swiss,” Lila informed her. “My mother sends them to me from Europe.”

  Jocelyn eyed the bottom half of the counter speculatively. “What else have you got down there?”

  “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Just Windex and Kleenex. The Kleenex is for the criers, but you don’t seem to be in a crying mood today.”

  “Can I try on an engagement ring?” Jocelyn blurted.

  “Of course.” Lila fanned out her fingers, indicating the array of rings. “Let me know which ones you like.”

  “I’m not ready to actually buy one,” Jocelyn added, her cheeks aflame.

  “That’s fine. Trying on jewelry is fun.”

  “I’ve only been dating my boyfriend for seven months.”

  “Hmmm.” Lila looked Jocelyn up and down, then picked out a ring with a square-cut diamond flanked by tiny side stones. “You might be a princess-cut kind of girl.”

  “I’m the opposite of a princess.” But Jocelyn slipped the ring on and held up her left hand. She couldn’t stop staring. The facets of the stone turned the overhead lighting into fiery flashes of white.

  “It’s lovely,” Lila assured her. “Just a hair over a carat, but the cut is excellent, which makes it look a bit bigger.”

  “Ooh.” Jocelyn felt hypnotized. “It’s so sparkly.”

  “Some of that is due to our fancy lighting, but if you want to step outside, you can get an idea of what it looks like in daylight.” Lila started for the door.

  Jocelyn took off the ring and plunked it back on the glass. “No. No, no, no. I can’t have anyone see me trying on engagement rings. Especially my boyfriend. Especially my mom.”

  Lila nodded agreeably. “Okay.”

  “You’re judging me, aren’t you? I would judge me, too.”

  “No judgment. Who wouldn’t want to try on these beauties?” Lila replaced the princess-cut ring in the case and held out an art deco–style band studded with diamonds and sapphires. “Here, give this one a shot.”

  “I’ve never had an engagement ring on before.” Jocelyn wiggled the band onto her finger. It only fit to the second knuckle, but she could still appreciate the artistry. “It looks so official.”

  “That’s the idea.” Lila perused the selection, then handed over a wide platinum band set with a huge oval diamond. “Try this one. Two point four carats.”

  “I can’t.” Jocelyn clasped her hands behind her back. “It must cost a fortune. I might scratch it or chip it or look at it wrong.” Her eyes widened as she noticed a massive, glittering green gem set amid a halo of tiny white diamonds. “Ooh, that one’s gorgeous.”

  “This is the one that costs a fortune.” Lila produced a pair of white cotton gloves and slipped them on before holding up the ring for examination. “Genuine Colombian emerald, AGL certified, just over four carats. No heat treatment or enhancement of any kind, not even oil treatment.”

  “Oil treatment is a thing?” Jocelyn asked.

  “It’s definitely a thing—ninety-nine percent of emeralds are treated to increase clarity.” Lila smiled down at the ring. “But not this one. And the setting is exquisite, too. Platinum, expert benchwork, original from the late 1920s. This is the most expensive piece in the whole store.”

  “Hence, the gloves?” Jocelyn nodded at Lila’s hands.

  “Nah, the gloves are because it’s cursed.”

  Jocelyn did a double take to see if Lila was kidding. She wasn’t. “Says who?”

  “Well, the woman who sold it to me was pretty keyed-up,” Lila replied. “When we made the sale, she went out of her way to tell me that this ring was definitely not bad luck and would definitely not bring financial ruin on any future owners. I hear weirder stuff than that on a daily basis so I didn’t give it much thought, but then . . .”

  Jocelyn rested both elbows on the glass. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “My mother was in town for a visit when this all happened.” Lila glanced from side to side as though she were about to divulge state secrets. “She used to be a model in New York, and she knows all the society gossip. When she saw the name of the seller on the purchase documents, she told me that the seller’s great-grandfather lost the family fortune in the Great Depression . . . right after he got married. And then, after the family managed to build some wealth back up, the father lost his shirt when the tech bubble burst in 2000.” She gave Jocelyn a pointed look. “Right after he proposed to the seller’s stepmother with a family heirloom.”

  “Maybe that was just a coincidence.”

  “Maybe. But a few years after her dad got left at the altar, the seller married her husband with the old family heirloom. You’ll never guess what business they were both in.”

  Jocelyn instantly thought of the details of the most recent economic implosion. “Real estate?”

  “Ding-ding-ding. He lost everything—including his wife, although from what she told me, he had it coming. The markets weren’t the only thing he was shorting, if you get my drift.” Lila shook her head. “How did my mother put it? ‘The only currency that family has left is social currency, and that’s running out fast.’”

  Jocelyn regarded the emerald with a mixture of awe and skepticism. “Is that all true?”

  “I don’t know about the curse, but the parts about the marriages and the finances are verified by Google and the New York Times.” Lila straightened up. “Ther
e were engagement photos and everything, and it’s definitely the same ring. Very distinctive.”

  “But it’s so beautiful. How could it be evil?”

  Lila offered up the gem. “Want to try it on?”

  Jocelyn snatched her hands off the counter. “No, thank you. I’ve got enough cash flow problems already.”

  “Here, try this one instead.” Lila replaced the Colombian emerald in its case and pulled out a gold band with an Asscher-cut diamond. “You may not be ready to get engaged, but if your boyfriend happens to wander in here, I’ll be able to point him in the right direction.”

  Jocelyn allowed herself to envision that for a moment: Chris walking into this showroom, announcing he was looking for a ring for his future wife.

  “You look happy,” Lila observed.

  “Let me see the one with the sapphires again,” Jocelyn said. Lila obliged. The center stone in the ring looked brilliant, flawless, elegant. Like something a lady would wear, a lady who didn’t spend all day digging up septic tanks and collecting bundles of damp, soiled towels. “Ooh, I do like this one. I’ve never seen anything like it. But I’m sure it’s expensive.”

  “That’s his problem,” Lila said.

  “We’re going to Paris,” Jocelyn said. “He’s taking me to the Louvre.”

  “So romantic! You guys are going to have a great time!”

  “But he’s not going to propose. It’s way too soon. And besides, his whole family is going to meet us there.”

  “Even better. You can celebrate your big news with your future in-laws.”

  Jocelyn indulged in imagining this for a moment, then snapped back to reality. “No, no, no. We’re in the phase where he buys me a croissant, not a ring.”

  “Yes, but when you move to the next phase, you’ll know what you want. It’s important to know what you want.”

  “I do. I know what I want.” Jocelyn was surprised to hear her voice so steady and clear.

  “Well, there you go.”

  “But what I want and what I have to do are two different things.” Jocelyn reluctantly took off the ring. “And right now, what I have to do is go to work.”

  Lila handed her another truffle for the road. “Come back any time.”

  “I will.” She leveled her gaze at the jeweler. “But, for real, this never happened.”

  “Never happened,” Lila assured her.

  chapter 4

  “I have a confession.” Jocelyn bundled an armful of white towels into the industrial-size washing machine in her garage. “A shameful confession.”

  “My favorite kind.” Bree, Jocelyn’s best friend since elementary school, handed her another pile of towels. “Is it about sex?”

  “No.”

  “Drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Partying with multiple members of a rock band all night and waking up in a bathtub full of ice, minus a kidney?”

  “No.” Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “And for someone who’s supposed to be psychic, you’re terrible at reading my mind.”

  “I’m not psychic.” Bree made a face.

  “That’s not what your grandmother says.”

  “My grandmother’s nice and all, but she’s a bit delusional. You know this. And, anyway, palm reading is way different than being psychic.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know the details, because neither one applies to me.” Bree shoved a pair of pillowcases into the washer drum with great vigor.

  “That’s not what your grand—”

  “Didn’t you have a shameful confession to make?”

  “Oh yes. That.” Jocelyn couldn’t look her friend in the eye. “I had lunch with Chris today.”

  Bree paused. “Uh-huh.”

  Jocelyn glanced back over her shoulder. “Do I detect . . . tone?”

  “All I said was, ‘Uh-huh.’”

  “Uh-huh.” Jocelyn doubled down on the tone. “Anyway, I had lunch with Chris because he’s wonderful and considerate and he adores me.”

  It was clearly costing Bree every ounce of her self-control not to respond with the snarkiest “Uh-huh” of all time, but Jocelyn went on with her tale.

  “And while we were at lunch, we talked about Paris again. We’re really going, Bree. He bought the plane tickets. We’re going to have so much fun. And I know what you’re thinking . . .”

  “No, you don’t. We just established that no one here is psychic.”

  “Well, I know what you’ve already said: He’s not a full-time resident. He’s from a different background. I’m the Molly Ringwald and he’s the Andrew McCarthy in the Black Dog Bay version of Pretty in Pink.”

  Bree scrunched up her nose. “It’s more like Maid in Manhattan and you’re J-Lo and he’s the rich hotel dude, but okay, close enough.”

  “I know what you think, and I can’t really argue. It’s true. All of it is true.”

  “It’s not personal. It’s not about Chris,” Bree insisted. “He seems really nice. It’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I know,” Jocelyn said.

  “You deserve the best.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d hate for you to get your heart broken.”

  “Me, too. And I swear to you, I’m going into this with my eyes wide open. But something about this just feels right.” Jocelyn leveled her gaze. “I’ve never had to hide who I am. I told him from the first day we met exactly who I am and where I came from.”

  “Good.”

  “He always shows up, Bree. He’s been driving down here every weekend to see me since New Year’s. That’s like a six-hour round- trip.”

  Bree nodded in acknowledgment. “Just don’t rush into anything.”

  “I won’t.” Jocelyn couldn’t suppress a grin. “Oh, and by the way? I tried on a bunch of engagement rings.”

  Bree dropped a towel onto the garage floor and covered her mouth with both hands.

  “I know. I know.” It was such a relief to share this sordid secret with her closest friend. “I don’t know what came over me. One minute we were eating sandwiches and talking about Paris, the next minute I have a diamond on my finger. Like I was in a fugue state.”

  Bree lowered her hands long enough to ask, “He went with you? It was his idea?”

  “God, no! He can never find out about any of this!”

  “Wait, wait, wait. You’re trying on wedding rings, in broad daylight, in the middle of Black Dog Bay, and you’re hoping he’ll never find out about it?” Bree clicked her tongue. “Lady, you are playing a very dangerous game.”

  “I know.” Jocelyn hung her head. “I’m nuts. I’m a stage-five clinger who’s ready to buy a ring and a big poufy white dress after like six months of dating.”

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “But I’m not serious about it. I was just, you know, looking. Getting the lay of the land.”

  Bree’s eyebrows shot all the way up.

  “Fine, I’m a deranged psychopath.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But they were so pretty! I’ve never had a diamond ring on before, and I liked it!” Jocelyn crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop looking at me like I murdered someone.”

  “I’m not.” Bree tried and failed to change her horrified expression.

  “You are.” Jocelyn glanced down at her hands. “Like I’m drenched in blood.”

  Bree took a breath, clearly choosing her words carefully. “You know, I heard there’s a therapist in town now. Down by the post office. She’s taking new clients. I heard.”

  “I don’t need a therapist.”

  “You said you were taking this slow,” Bree pointed out.

  “I am. But is it really so awful to hope? What if it works out?”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Bree aske
d, her voice flat.

  “That’s not very supportive.”

  “Someone has to be the voice of reason,” Bree said. “And as usual, it has to be me.”

  “Chris and I are very compatible,” Jocelyn argued. “We come from different backgrounds, but we have the same values. We both love animals.”

  “He doesn’t have any pets,” Bree said.

  “His family just opened a shelter,” Jocelyn retorted. “And we both prioritize family.”

  “Have you met his parents yet?” Bree challenged. “Has he met your mother?”

  “I haven’t met his parents yet, but I will. His whole family goes to France every summer, and I’m invited.”

  Bree looked begrudgingly impressed.

  “And of course he hasn’t met my mom. You know how she is. It’s complicated.”

  “That’s my point. It’s not like he’d relocate to Black Dog Bay on a permanent basis, would he?”

  Jocelyn nibbled her lower lip. “Well . . .”

  “Hold up. Does this mean you’d consider moving to Philadelphia?” Bree’s expression lit up.

  “I can’t. Not right now, obviously. Who would take care of the business?” Jocelyn eyed her friend. “And why do you seem so excited?”

  “Because I might be moving to Philadelphia, too.” Bree glanced all around the tiny, dusty garage, as if expecting eavesdroppers. “If all goes well.”

  “What?” Jocelyn’s jaw dropped. “Why would you move?”

  “Come on.” Now it was Bree’s turn to get defensive. “We’ve both been vowing we’d get the hell out of here since high school.”

  “Yeah, but no one actually does it.” Jocelyn startled a little as the dryer timer buzzed. “Black Dog Bay is like the Hotel California. Name me one local who successfully made it out of here.”

  “Um . . .” Bree furrowed her brow. “The mayor’s sister?”

  “Ingrid Jansen? She’s in New York for college. Doesn’t count. She’s home for the summer; I just saw her last week.”

  Bree leaned against the washer, deliberating. “That homecoming queen who was on TV?”