Celebration (10 page)

“Right now I don't think I have the right to feel anything where they're concerned. Perhaps someday we can all make it right. I'm willing to take all the blame. Good God, I can't eat all that!”

“Then you don't get up from the table. Two eggs, three slices of bacon, two pieces of toast is not a lot of food. The orange is optional. The vitamins are a necessity, and you take them after you eat. Eat!”

Kristine ate. From time to time she risked a glance at her breakfast companion. When he was satisfied that she would indeed clean her plate, he excused himself. “Tell me which bedroom is mine. I want to change, so we can get on with the program.”

Kristine laid down her fork, her eyes full of questions. “First room on the right. It was Mike's room. What program?”

“You know, hard work. Exercise, work, more exercise, then more work. A good dinner and it's bedtime at nine o'clock because we get up at four. It pays to start early before the heat takes over. We're lucky today, no humidity.”

“Just tell me one thing. Do you have a book you go by?”

“No. Just good old common sense. I work with youngsters at the YWCA three days a week. If it's good enough for them, then it's good enough for you. The idea is to keep you so busy you won't have time to think about drinking. I just need fifteen minutes. That will give you time to clean up, since I cooked.”

“I can't believe I'm listening to you, much less following your orders. What about the dogs?”

“We'll barricade the kitchen. They'll be fine. Give some thought to what you're going to do with that trunk.”

The minute Kristine heard the banker's footsteps on the second floor, she was off her chair to drag the footlocker into the storage room off the kitchen. Huffing and puffing with the exertion, she then filled the sink with soapy water. She was drying her hands when Woodie walked into the kitchen. Neither of them mentioned the footlocker. “Egg plates need to soak,” Kristine said.

“Now we're going to walk five miles.”

“Five miles!”

“Unless you feel you can go for six or seven. In a few days, when you build up some stamina, we'll run three and walk two. Twice a day.”

“Twice a day! Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, I'm trying to get rid of the toxins in your body. Alcohol does terrible things to your body.”

“How do you know all this?” Kristine asked sourly.

“My mother was an alcoholic. No one knew but Dad and me. The doctor, too, but he's dead now. It was a dirty little secret we shared. Dad referred to it as Mom's spells. We had to keep it a secret. How would it look if the town's leading banker had a lush for a wife? I had to learn how to cook and clean and take care of her when the other kids were out playing. She died in her sleep with a whiskey bottle in her hand. Try growing up with that one.”

Kristine blinked. “I'm sorry. I guess I'm ready.”

“Then let's do it!”

Two hours later, Kristine limped up the steps to the front porch. “I'm never, ever going to do that again. Do you hear me? I have charley horses that have charley horses. I also have blisters that have blisters. And a corn.”

“It's not a problem. We'll cut holes in your sneakers so the canvas won't rub on the sore spots. It's twelve-thirty. We'll have some lunch and then we're going to tackle the barn to get it ready for your new business.”

“You do all that. I'm going to sit here and rub my legs.”

“No, no, that's not what you're going to do. You're going to fix us a nice sandwich and some ice tea. Then you're going to do the dishes, after which we will tackle the barn. We'll do our three miles before dinner, which I will cook. Eight miles is good. Really good.”

“Go to hell!”

“I've been there a time or two, and it isn't a nice place. C'mon, let's get crackin' here. Time waits for no man.”

“Bullshit!” Kristine muttered as she stomped her way up the steps and onto the porch. “You are a sadist! What do my kids see in you?” she continued to mutter.

Woodie grinned as he followed Kristine into the dim, cool house.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kristine observed the banker as she made lunch.
Cala probably thought him handsome. Mike would think of him as a good athlete with a trim, hard body. Tyler would like his openness and his tell-it-like-it-is attitude. Is he handsome? Kind of. Too tall? No, just right. The jeans and jersey look perfect on his lean body. On his best day, Logan never looked as good as the banker.
She squelched her thoughts immediately, her cheeks flaming.

“How's lunch coming? I'm starved. Kick off your sneakers. I'll cut holes in them for you.”

“What part of I'm-not-doing-any-more-walking didn't you understand?” Kristine yelled as she slapped cold cuts between slices of bread. “Where did these groceries come from?”

“They were delivered while we were walking. I called for them this morning after the phone was connected. You owe me $23 for the bill.”

Kristine sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “Listen, I appreciate your help here, but I am not athletically inclined. I can't . . . won't . . . I don't want to exercise. There, I said it. You can pack up and go home now.”

“It doesn't work that way. You might be a quitter, but I'm not. We're doing it!”

“Kiss my ass, Aaron Dunwoodie. Don't you listen? I'm a sedentary person.”

“Do all you army people talk like that? It certainly isn't becoming, any more than a drunk for a mother is becoming.”

“Yes. No. I never talk like this. You're bringing out the worst in me. I'm not going to drink anymore, okay?”

“All drunks say that. Right now you're probably wondering where you stashed some bottles. You think a little sip, a nip, just a swallow will get you over the hurdle. Hey, I've been there, remember? I've seen it all. Don't try to con me, okay? Where's lunch?”

Kristine, her eyes murderous, slid a plate across the table.

“This sandwich requires pickles. We need some carrot sticks, a banana, and an orange. You need to start eating right.”

Kristine bit back the sharp retort she was about to utter. Instead she scraped the carrots, cut them, and peeled the oranges. To her dismay she ate it all and probably could have eaten more. She dumped the dishes into the sink with the other ones, muttering, “I'll do them later.”

“Let's head for the barn. What shape is it in?”

“About as bad as this house. It's doable if that's your next question.”

“Then let's go.”

“Yes, sir!” Kristine said, snapping off a sloppy salute.

At three-thirty, Woodie called a halt. “The pups like it out here. Look at them. They're full of straw. You're going to have to give them a bath at some point today. We did remarkably well. Most of this stuff is still good. I thought this place burned down.”

“That was the other barn. Logan had them clear everything out so when we came back it wouldn't be a constant reminder. It was in a lot better shape than this one. Look, I'm never going to get enough money to patch this place up. It needs major work.”

“Not as much as you think. This is one sturdy building. We can get someone to come in and clean out the wood rot. There's not that much. I know just the man to do it, too. Two or three weeks, and it will be in top shape. You do a little at a time. How do those sneakers feel now?”

“Okay. I know I can't walk three more miles. Maybe you have a death wish, but I don't. I'm not walking one mile, two miles, or three miles. Get that through your head.”

“Yes, you are. You said you weren't a quitter.”

“I never said I wasn't a quitter. I am a quitter. I want to take a bath and go to bed. I don't care about dinner. Please.”

“Ready? Fall in.”

“I hate you. I hate your guts. No one in her right mind goes through torture like this. I don't even know you. You moved into my house and took over. You have no right. Do you hear me? You have no right to make me do this.”

“Shut up and walk.”

Kristine clamped her lips shut and followed the banker out to the front of the house. Later she would think about why she was such a blind fool.

“Try to keep up this time. No lagging behind. I want to see some spirit in your movements. I want some enthusiasm.”

“When I kill you, I will be full of enthusiasm. Don't talk to me. I'm plotting your death. While you sleep. You'll never know what hit you.”

Woodie grinned. “I sleep with one eye open. C'mon, lift those feet. Put some muscle into those legs. You're shuffling. Old people shuffle. People your age are supposed to be full of vim and vigor. Of course most people aren't drunks. Move, move!”

“If you open your mouth one more time, I swear to God I will put my foot in it. Shut up. I don't want to hear any more of your little ditties. I don't want to hear your voice. Period.”

Seventy minutes later, Woodie said, “Good time. We actually did better this time than we did this morning. I guess that means you're getting the hang of it. I'm going to make dinner, but first you have to wash the dishes. While you're doing that I'll make up a solution for you to soak your feet. You can watch me cook.”

In spite of herself, Kristine asked, “What are you cooking?”

“Chicken, salad, baked potato, fruit, and maybe some carrots. Why?”

“Because I'm hungry, that's why.”

“I thought you said you were too tired to eat.”

“That was then, this is now. I like my potatoes twice baked with cheese and sour cream. Bacon bits are good.”

“I know a restaurant that serves them that way. Ours are going to be plain. Wash the dishes.”

It was simpler to wash the dishes than it was to argue. When Kristine finished, she sat down to lower her feet into a dishpan full of bubbling salts. Nothing in the world had ever felt so good. She sighed her relief, tears filling her eves.

“Tell me something, Kristine. In the past four hours how many times did you wish for a drink and how many times did you think about where you might have hidden bottles of liquor?”

Kristine jerked to full wakefulness. Her eyes wide with shock, she said, “I didn't.”

“Good for you. Maybe I'll let you have some butter on your potato.”

A moment later, Kristine was asleep at the kitchen table, her head resting on her arms.

“You just might make it after all, Kristine Kelly. What do you guys think?” Woodie asked as he cuddled the dogs.

“They think you're as crazy as a bedbug,” Kristine muttered. “Don't get attached to those dogs, they're mine.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Woodie said smartly.

 

 

Kristine's eyes widened in awe. “I didn't think it was possible to restore this old barn to the way it was when my parents were in business. Everything is older, worn, but it's good enough to get me started. I thought for sure when you suggested pressure-washing everything, the whole building would collapse. I love the smell of whitewash. Mom was always funny about that. She wouldn't let Dad paint anything. She did all the whitewashing herself, on a ladder with a long-handled kind of squeegee thing. She said it was important for customers to see how clean and sanitary it was when they were paying top dollar for a pup. Sometimes I'd just come in here and lie in the sweet-smelling hay to cuddle with the pups and sniff to my heart's content. Pretty silly, huh?”

“I like the idea that you aren't going to keep the dogs in cages. There's something in me that revolts at seeing anything in a cage,” Woodie said, looking around.

“Me too. Mom said they used the kennels in the beginning but got rid of them as soon as they could. The dogs that were caged weren't well adjusted. She's the one who came up with the bins with the straw. Yorkshire terriers are small, and the Teacups only weigh in at between three and seven pounds. They can't get out, but they can see what's going on. It makes them people-friendly, which is what this is all about. You did a good job constructing those little havens. The hay smells sweet, doesn't it?”

“I think we're farm people. We like the same things. To me this is a slice of heaven. Are you going to hire a vet?”

“If I can get this all up and running, I am. And a handler, too, in case I decide to show some of the dogs. I always wanted to be a vet, but my parents said that was an unseemly profession for a woman. Back then I didn't have any backbone. My parents said I had to go to the community college, so I did one year there and I was so miserable, they relented and allowed me to go to Old Dominion. I did one semester, and then they died. I always regretted not finishing and pursuing my dream. I guess it wasn't meant to be. Do you really think I can pull this off, Woodie?”

“Yes, Kristine, I do. The day we started work in here, you committed one hundred percent. I guess the real question is, where are you going to get your dogs?”

“From a lady named Cher Hildebrand in Dayton, Ohio. She's agreed to handle the dogs for the shows if I decide to go that route. It's a bit intimidating at first. When you show dogs you earn points toward a championship and have to win over the other Yorkies by the judge of the day. You breed for perfection in the Yorkie, trying to create that perfect dog. It's called a Standard for each breed, and as show people you are breeding toward that Standard to show. You show to make sure you are on target with the breeding program and producing an excellent dog that is good enough to become a champion. Sometimes you show two or three weekends a month. Our operative words here are going to be socializing our pups. The first pups arrive next month. Ms. Hildebrand is driving them here personally. I have a feeling she and I are going to become very good friends. She thinks like I do.