Hello Love (4 page)

EIGHT

Weeks had passed since the Create Your Own Future Workshop
and Andrea hadn’t met any new men at all, unless you counted Cliff Johnson, an old guy who’d moved into the condo across the street a few weeks earlier. The Sunday after Thanksgiving he’d stopped her on the front walkway to introduce himself and chat her up. He explained that trading in his house for a condo made sense after his wife died. “The yard was too hard to keep up and it was kind of lonely all by myself. What do people do for fun around here?” He gave her a toothy grin, his blue eyes peering through thick wire-rimmed glasses.

Andrea stood holding her bag of groceries and inwardly winced. This guy was looking for friends. “The library has a lot of great programs,” she said. “Different clubs meet there; they have speakers, discussions.” She extricated a finger from under the handle of the bag and pointed. “It’s just a few blocks away. Brand-new building, really nice. You should check it out.”

“I will,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Gotta love a good library. The hub of the community.”

Their condo complex was set up like a small village with winding streets lit by old-fashioned lampposts. Each unit was two stories tall, with a small covered porch, and a cobblestone walkway. They each had a garage, as well as a private patio off the back. She’d bought the condo with the settlement from her divorce. Marco had kept the house, buying out her half with an inheritance from his grandfather. Originally she was going to rent and hang on to the money. A nest egg for a rainy day. But Jade had talked her into buying this condo. Her back patio overlooked a marsh that could never be built on because it was a conservancy, classified as wetlands. “You deserve to have something of your own,” Jade had said, admiring the view. “Just think, you can look out here every morning when you have your coffee. What a way to start the day.” So Andrea had bought the condo and Jade had been right. The view was magnificent, almost as good as living in the country. Private too. The neighbors generally kept to themselves, but Cliff, it seemed, hadn’t gotten the memo.

“It was nice meeting you,” Andrea said politely.

Cliff still stood there, wanting to prolong the conversation. “I’m usually pretty quiet,” he said. “Let me know if I’m not. I’d hate to disturb you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said.

“Well, I thank you for your time. You’re a very kind young lady.” He gave her a little salute and headed back across the street to his own place.

It was the closest thing to a compliment from a man she’d gotten lately. Her boss, Tommy McGuire, liked to toss out a “Well done, as usual, Ms. Keller,” but with him it was automatic, like someone saying “gesundheit” after a sneeze.

It wasn’t always like that. When she’d first started working for him years earlier, he’d plied her with compliments on a daily basis. His last assistant had been so inept that he couldn’t believe his good fortune in finding Andrea. Her organizational skills blew him away. Her people skills were unbelievable, he’d said. Her ability to handle things when he was out of the office was unprecedented. She’d overheard him bragging about her on the phone to his cronies. She quickly found out that if you start to do more than the boss expects, pretty soon he expects you to do more. Eventually she was running the whole office, taking over a lot of Tommy’s work.

Tommy had been divorced when she first began working for him, but soon married a gorgeous younger woman. Now, most days he stopped in for an hour or two to check in with Andrea and get the mail. He and the new Mrs. McGuire went on a lot of trips and did a lot of golfing. He’d never looked happier or tanner.

Jade met Tommy when she stopped in at the office one day and they were introduced. He’d plied her with his Tommy McGuire charm, but for some reason she took an immediate dislike to him. “How can you work for that slumlord?” she asked. “And doesn’t it bug you that you’re the one doing all the work?”

Andrea shrugged, not able to deny any of it. Slumlord? Maybe. It was true that Tommy owned and managed more than a hundred properties around the city, many of them in subpar shape, but he also charged less rent than his competition. “The disadvantaged need a place to live too,” he’d explained when she was first hired. “If they want to paint or make improvements, I’m open to reimbursing them for materials, but McGuire Properties is not a charity. We’re a business that is all about maximizing profit. And pouring money into old buildings in sketchy neighborhoods is not good business.” It wasn’t exactly a charitable philosophy, but she could see that it made a certain amount of sense, at least from his point of view. Besides, he paid her significantly more than she’d make elsewhere and when they went out for lunch, he always picked up the tab and tipped well. When the waitstaff saw him coming, they vied to get him seated in their section. Andrea also knew that he gave generously to charities and paid for his niece and nephew’s university tuition. He was an enigma—sometimes cheap, sometimes generous. Like most people, Tommy was a mixture of good and bad. She liked the good and could live with the bad.

On this particular Monday afternoon, Tommy had stopped in on his way to the airport. He and the glamorous Mrs. McGuire (she’d opted to wait in the car) were on their way to spending ten days on an island in the Caribbean. While he leaned on one corner of her desk, rifling through the mail, Andrea entered data into the computer. “Anything else I need to know about before I go?” he asked, setting the stack of envelopes down next to the keyboard.

“Well.” She paused from her work. “Just one thing. We have a reported 42 at the Berkshire property. The frat boys. I’ve gotten calls from two different tenants about a barking dog.” A 42 was Tommy’s code for “unauthorized pet.” Some of his buildings allowed pets, and some didn’t, but even the ones that did charged extra each month. There was always someone trying to sneak in a pet, usually a cat.

With so many properties, Tommy and Andrea didn’t know the names of all the tenants, but the frat boys stood out. First of all, they weren’t really boys. They were grown men in their midtwenties, but apparently no one had told them they’d crossed the line into adulthood because they still lived a fraternity lifestyle. Tommy had called them the “frat boys” once to be funny and, in the office, it had stuck. McGuire Properties tolerated them because they were good tenants. They’d lived in the apartment for three years and always paid their rent on time. And since they were in a building filled with other young people, their loud parties weren’t usually a problem. But a 42 was something different altogether. A dog that barked when people were trying to sleep made even the most forgiving tenants cranky.

“You know the drill,” he said, putting on his sunglasses. “Call them one more time and tell ’em the usual. If they’re not compliant, send Stan down with a letter.” Stan was the only other employee on the McGuire Properties payroll. His job title was building manager, but he did far more than that, dealing with delinquent tenants, showing available units, making repairs. The only time Andrea saw him at the office was when he was picking up keys or dropping something off. He was pleasant, but perpetually nervous. He never made eye contact with Andrea and darted out of the office as soon as he had what he needed. Whenever someone violated a rule, Stan delivered official-looking letters that made it sound like legal action would be taken if they didn’t comply. Just the threat was usually enough.

Tommy jangled his car keys. “Anything else?”

“No. Just have a good trip.”

“Oh, I will, Ms. Keller,” he said, twirling the keys around his finger. “Believe me, I will.”

Andrea watched through the window as Tommy went out to the car. His wife looked up and smiled as he fastened his seat belt. They laughed as he backed out of the space. Tommy was in his late fifties and the new missus in her midthirties. Originally Andrea had wondered if this was a real love match, or if the new wife was a gold digger, but she’d come to the conclusion that it was true love. Would the McGuire marriage stand the test of time? Who knew? She’d given up trying to predict such things. At one time she’d have bet her life that she and Marco would grow old together, that’s how certain she was of their commitment and love. Clearly, her take on such things was questionable.

She looked up the number for the frat boys and decided to try the first number, the guy who’d told her weeks ago that they only had the dog for a weekend. They were watching it for a friend, he’d said. Before she dialed the number, Andrea entered a code so that “McGuire Properties” wouldn’t show up on their caller ID. When she got voice mail, she hung up and tried his roommate. This time someone picked up.

“Yello,” he answered, his voice booming. In the background she heard sounds of other men talking, and the clanking of machines.

“Hello, this is Andrea from McGuire Properties.”

“Yeah?” His tone turned antagonistic. Even though they were on the phone, she reflexively shrank back. There was a good reason she never used her last name when talking to tenants. Everyone wanted to shoot the messenger.

“We’ve had reports that you and your roommate have an unauthorized pe
t . . .
a dog?”

“Oh
jeez
.” He spat out the word. “Who’s been saying that? Is it the stoner downstairs? Because I’m telling you, we smell weed in the hall every single day. Every. Single. Freakin’. Day. If anyone should be complaining, it should be us. Secondhand smoke kills, ya know.”

Andrea had made hundreds of these calls over the years. She knew the drill. Tenants often played offense, thinking it would throw her off course, but she was too good to let that happen. “I’m calling to let you know you have twenty-four hours to comply with the rules of the building. Your lease specifically—”

“Just a minute.” She heard him talking to someone else, his voice faint like he’d pressed the phone against his side. When he came back, he said, “Look, lady, I’m at work right now and I don’t have time for this. You tell that stoner if he’s going to be making up crap about us, I’m going to beat him so hard his eyeballs will shoot out the back of his head.”

“Threatening other tenants is not—” she started, but the phone went click, leaving her stunned. What a jerk. Seriously, what a jerk. Usually tenants begged for a little more time, and pleaded innocent to the terms of the lease. “I don’t remember seeing that!” they’d cry. “Please, couldn’t you make an exception, just this once?” Oftentimes she had to steel herself against such pleas because it would be so easy to just give in. She wasn’t heartless after all. But this jerk? He’d ignored her, threatened another tenant, and hung up on her. Granted, judging from past experiences with the frat boys, the threat was all bluster, but it still was a nasty thing to say.

She wasn’t going to let this go.

NINE

Dan pulled his truck into a parking space close to the front of the veterinary clinic. It was the beginning of December and the vinyl-sided building was covered with red and green lights. A wreath festooned with sparkly dog bones hung on the door. Dan glanced over at Lindsay. “Are you ready? Or do you need a minute?”

She’d been quiet the entire trip. thirty minutes of car silence. No music. No texting. Nothing. He didn’t feel like talking either, but they both knew this had to be done.

Lindsay blew out a puff of air. “No. Let’s do this.”

They’d been home for the evening after a long day of school and work—Dan cooking, Lindsay doing homework at the kitchen table—when Lindsay’s phone rang. Dan saw her answer it and watched as her face crumpled at the news. When she silently handed the phone to him, he expected the worst. It was the mother of a friend of Lindsay’s, a woman who worked as a tech in a vet clinic. Someone had brought in a stray dog that had been hit by a car. The injuries were so extensive the vet had wound up euthanizing the poor thing. All the while the woman was talking, explaining about the car accident and the old lady who’d brought the dog in, Dan wondered what this had to do with him. It never occurred to him that it might be Anni. “The thing is,” the woman said, “the dog looks a lot like yours.” She said she had seen the posters he’d posted in the small businesses around town, and when they brought the dog in after the accident, she immediately noticed the resemblance.

There was dead silence while Dan tried to process the idea. “Oh,” he finally said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“I mean,” she backtracked quickly, “it’s probably not your dog, but I know if it were me, I’d want to know either way.”

She’d gone on to say that if they wanted to view the body, her boss had given permission for them to come that evening. After Dan agreed it was a good idea, they set a time to meet after dinner, and now they were at the vet clinic. After Dan shut off the truck’s engine, he asked, “What’s the woman’s name? The one we’re meeting?”

“It’s Patrick Dunne’s mom.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember her name.”

Luckily, the woman reintroduced herself right away. “Hi, thanks for coming,” she said, swinging open the front door as they approached. The clinic had closed for the evening, so they were the only ones there. “I’m Julia Dunne. I’m the one who called.”

“Thanks for doing this,” Dan said. “We appreciate it.” He glanced at Lindsay, who didn’t look like she appreciated it at all. The blood had drained from her face, and she was shaking slightly, like she was about to come apart. “Are you okay, honey?”

“I think I need to sit down.”

Julia Dunne gestured to the chairs in the waiting area. “I’ll get you some water.” She left them alone, and Dan guided Lindsay to a seat. When Julia returned, she had a plastic cup of water, which Lindsay took with both hands.

Dan said, “Why don’t you just stay here, Lindsay? I can do this.” He waited for Lindsay to object, but she just nodded mutely and sipped again from the cup.

Following Julia to the back room, Dan felt the need to explain. “Lindsay’s mom died a little more than a year ago and it’s been hard on her. She’s really been a trooper, but after all that we’ve been through, losing Anni was devastating for both of us.”

“I understand,” Julia said, “and I’m sorry to put you through this, but I thought it might bring closure, if it is Anni.”

“No, you did the right thing. I’m glad you called.”

Julia opened a door at the end of the hall and Dan got a whiff of something antiseptic as she flipped on the fluorescent lights. Open shelves on two sides of the room held bottles of medications and other medical supplies, and in the center, a metal table held what had to be the dog’s body, covered by a dark cloth. “Her head was not struck in the accident, so she just looks like she’s sleeping.” She pulled the cloth back slowly, revealing the top of the head, the floppy, dainty ears, and the sloped snout. The eyes were closed. Julia was right; she looked like she was sleeping.

Dan took in a sharp breath and felt the tears come to his eyes. He hadn’t realized how emotional this would be.

“Can you tell, or should I show you more?”

“You don’t need to show me any more. I can tell.”

When he went back to the waiting area, Lindsay stood up to meet him. “Well?”

“It’s not her.”

The tension melted from Lindsay’s face, and she let out an audible sigh of relief. Her hands clasped together, she looked up at the ceiling and said, “Oh, thank you, God.”