Pet Friendly (3 page)

She was halfway across the lobby when the sound of tinkling bells alerted Emma to the approach of Viv Van Vandevander. Viv was in her late sixties, a full-figured woman with wavy salt-and-pepper hair that fell from a middle part to just past her shoulders. Her typical outfit was a version of what Emma thought of as hippie chic—peasant blouses and voluminous skirts in deeply saturated colors—and her signature sound came from the talismanic
suzu
bells sewn onto her velvet slippers. According to Viv, the ringing of the
suzu
bestowed positive power and authority to their possessor, while at the same time warding off evil spirits. An asset, no doubt, in Viv's line of work.

“Emma, dear, how are you?”

The older woman embraced her briefly, then studied her at arm's length.

“Your aura is very blue tonight.”

Emma was always at a loss when Viv made one of her pronouncements.

“Uh, thanks?”

“However”—Viv frowned—“I see smudges of brown in the background, which are disturbing. Have you been troubled lately by distracting or materialistic thoughts?”

“Well, now that you mention it—”

The older woman clasped her hands together. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” a hearty voice boomed.

Emma turned and saw Viv's husband, Lars Van Vandevander, approaching with a beverage bottle in each hand. Lars was a professor of parapsychology and the organizer of that year's SSSPA conference.

“They don't carry Kombucha,” he said, handing a bottle to his wife. “I'm afraid you'll have to make do with Snapple.” He smiled at Emma. “Nice to see you again, my dear.”

Viv took a sip of her drink and continued her diagnosis.

“I was just telling Emma that she must free herself from her attachment to the material if she's to have any hope of clearing her aura.”

Lars nodded and took a sip of his Trop-a-Rocka tea. “Mmm.”

“If you embrace the things that are true and worthy in the world,” Viv said, staring deeply into Emma's eyes, “whatever vexations you face will melt away.”

Emma doubted it would be much help with the loan committee, but she thanked Viv for the advice.

“I see Dr. Richards is here,” she said, pointing to an awkward-looking man standing by the fireplace.

Dick Richards was Lars's rival for the leadership of the SSSPA's local chapter, and the two men spent a large portion of every conference trying to win converts to their latest pet theories. Emma didn't know or care much about their research, but she preferred Lars's friendly, easygoing personality to the prickly, obsessive Richards, whose pointed nose and snow-white hair made him look like an irritated egret.

“Oh, yes,” Lars said. “Dick's got himself another new theory this year. It should be fun helping him disprove it.”

Viv swatted him playfully.

Emma glanced around. “Has Dee arrived yet?”

The other two exchanged a troubled look.

“She's here,” Viv began. “But . . .”

“Dee isn't well,” her husband said. “I fear this may be her last conference.”

The news was sad, but not surprising. Dee was one of the older members of the Van Vandevanders' group, and Emma knew her health had been failing. Dee and her grandmother had been great friends, and when Gran passed away, Dee had transferred her affections to Emma. Sharing each other's company had been like a salve on the wound left by their mutual loss. Now Emma felt hot tears pricking her eyes.

“What's wrong, do you know?”

“Her heart, most likely,” Viv muttered. “I told her years ago—”

“Perhaps she should tell you herself,” Lars said. “Dee's always been a very private person.”

“Of course,” Emma said. “I won't tell her you mentioned it.”

Emma made her excuses and walked off to continue welcoming the other guests, trying not to let the thought of dying make her feel weepy. It seemed wrong, somehow, for all the vitality that a human life contained to just disappear. She believed in heaven, but it still depressed her when someone she cared for died. Maybe that was why she was willing to put aside her skepticism for a few days every year when the SSSPA showed up. If it made losing someone less painful, she thought, why not believe in ghosts?

CHAPTER 3

C
laire's doubts about Gwen and Archie continued to echo in Todd's mind after he'd dropped her off, and by the time he took the freeway exit toward home, his confidence was shaken. Yes, he and Gwen had talked about getting a dog someday, but it was also true that neither of them had said what kind of dog they wanted or how soon “someday” might be. And if Archie wasn't the dog she wanted, or “someday” wasn't now, what was he going to do?

The more Todd thought about it, the more annoyed he was with his little sister. Why did she have to think the worst of Gwen? He hadn't been at all worried about adopting Archie until she planted all those doubts in his head.

It didn't help that his proposal was planned for that weekend, either. Todd had been knocking himself out trying to make sure that everything would be perfect on Sunday: dinner at Gwen's favorite restaurant, champagne and red roses at the table, the ring. No matter how many times Gwen said she loved him, there was always a voice inside Todd's head telling him it couldn't be true, that someone as desirable as Gwendolyn Ashworth would never want to be with him for the long run. If only she would say yes on Sunday, Todd thought, he could finally stop doubting that his happiness would last.

As if sensing Todd's unease, Archie reached out and put a comforting paw on his leg. Todd looked down at him and smiled.

“What do you think? Should we pick up some dinner on the way home? Maybe grab a pint of Ben & Jerry's while we're at it?”

Archie sat back and pawed the air happily.

“I'm glad you agree,” Todd said. “What woman could say no to a pint of Cherry Garcia?”

 

As he returned to the car with his groceries, Todd felt a renewed sense of optimism. Of course Gwen would forgive him, he thought. Once she met Archie, she'd be as nuts about the little fluff ball as he was.

“Wait'll you see what I got for you,” Todd told Archie as he loaded the bags in back. “A dog bed, a chew bone, and a bag of the most expensive dry food on the shelf.”

He set the bags inside, closed the hatchback, and slid into the driver's seat. Archie was watching him intently.

“Okay, when we get home, I'll set the table and put dinner in the oven while you check out the backyard. Then, when Gwen gets there, you can come in and meet her. What do you think?”

Archie barked once as his tail went wild.

“I'm sure she'll be happy to meet you, too.”

Todd pulled slowly into the driveway and killed the Volvo's engine. Gwen's car was already in the garage.

“Hmm,” he said. “She must have come home early.”

Archie's head drooped.

“No, don't worry. It's going to be fine. Just let me think a second.”

Walking through the door with a dog in his arms would be a bad idea, he thought. As good-natured as Archie was, he still represented a big change in their lifestyle, and Gwen deserved to have a chance to talk about any misgivings she had before meeting him. Once she was comfortable with the idea of its being “the three of them,” Todd would make the introductions.

“Okay, change of plans,” he said, grabbing the door handle. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

The house was quiet when he stepped inside. Gwen's coat was in the closet and her purse was on the kitchen floor next to her shoes, but the TV was off and there was no sound coming from the back bedroom. Todd paused at the bottom of the stairs.

“Anybody home?”

He heard a scuffling sound overhead and the rapid click of high heels. Then Gwen appeared, wearing a black lace dress and a pair of pink stilettos. Her long blond hair had been pulled back in a chignon, revealing the sapphire-and-diamond earrings Todd had given her for Christmas, and there was a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. When she saw him at the bottom of the stairs, she threw her arms wide.

“Well, what do you think?”

Todd stared up at her, agog. “Wow. You look amazing!”

“I'm glad you approve,” she purred, descending the stairs.

“I do.” He kissed her. “But why the fashion show?”

“Oh, I don't know,” she said. “Maybe it's because I'm
taking you out!
”

She grabbed his arms and shook them excitedly.

Todd felt his smile falter. “Tonight?”

“Of course tonight.” She laughed. “Look at you. You'd think somebody
died.
”

Gwen's hands flew to her face.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so
stupid.
You just came from Bertie's funeral.” She took his hand and led him to the living room. “I just got so excited about taking you out that I completely forgot.”

Todd ran a hand through his hair, wondering what to do. There was no way they could go out and leave Archie alone. Since losing Bertie a week ago, he'd been bounced from the kennel to the funeral, and then there'd been all the strangers at the reception to deal with. What the poor dog needed more than anything was a quiet place where he could feel at home with people who loved him. Todd just hoped that Gwen would understand.

“Can I get you something?” she said. “You want a drink?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I'm okay. It's just—”

“How was the funeral? Were there a lot of people there?”

He nodded, stalling for time. Todd hated giving people bad news, especially when they were likely to be as disappointed as Gwen would be. Maybe he could just tell her he was too tired to go out.

“It was fine,” he said. “A lot of his friends from the circus came.”

“Not too depressing, then. That's good.”

She stood and did a slow turn in front of him.

“So, what do you think of the dress? Pretty hot, huh? It's a Nicole Miller—”

“What about dinner?”

Gwen stopped mid sentence and frowned.

“We're going out, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “Right.”

This was not going well.

“Todd, what on earth is the matter? Did something bad happen at the funeral?” She shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

He slumped forward. “I feel like an idiot.”

Gwen gave him a strained smile.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you're not making sense.”

“I know.” He sighed. “The thing is, I bought dinner on the way home—one of those roast chickens they sell at Safeway. I'm sorry.”

“Oh. Well, that's okay. We can go clubbing after.” She looked around. “Where is it?”

“In the car.”

“Hold on a second. I'll be right back.”

Todd sprinted out the door and down the front steps. It was going to be all right, he told himself. Archie hadn't been out there long, and the chicken was in one of those plastic things that you practically needed the Jaws of Life to pry open. Maybe Archie wasn't even hungry. After the day he'd had, the poor dog had probably just passed out on the front seat.

But when he turned the corner and saw the Volvo, Todd's heart sank.

The car's windows, foggy from chicken heat and dog breath, were streaked with greasy paw prints; the remains of a shopping bag hung limply over the backseat; and on the dashboard, Todd could just make out the mangled bottom of the chicken container. Archie, however, was nowhere in sight.

He heard footsteps approaching from behind.

“Hold on,” Gwen said, trying to catch up. “I can't run in these shoes.”

Todd's voice was hoarse. “Archie.”

“Bertie's dog? I thought he died.”

“He did,” he said, still staring at the car. “I meant the new one.”

“What's he got to do with our dinner?”

Todd felt a surge of hope; Gwen still hadn't noticed the car. He wheeled around, trying to block her view of the Volvo.

“Nothing. He was at the funeral. He sat in the pew with us.”

He could feel sweat breaking out like a rash all over his body. Any second now, Gwen was going to notice the greasy paw prints on the car windows and all hell was going to break loose.

“Aww, I'll bet that was cute,” she said.

“It was. And at the reception, he did a bunch of tricks that Bertie'd taught him.”

This was torture, Todd thought. Why hadn't he just called and told her he was bringing Archie home?

“I love it when dogs do tricks,” Gwen said. “Hunter and Nikki have a papillon that walks on her hind legs and it's soooo adorable.”

“Yeah, well, Archie can do a lot more than that.”

“Really? Oh, I'm sorry I missed it.”

A slow smile spread across Todd's face. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. If clever tricks were enough to win Gwen's affections, it would be no problem at all convincing her to keep Archie.

“I can show you, if you'd like.”

Gwen shook her head. “Maybe later. The food's probably getting cold.”

“I don't mean a video. I mean live. You know, in person.”

Her face fell. “What are you saying?”

He'd been hoping for a better introduction, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, Gwen could hardly blame Archie for making a mess of the car. It was Todd's fault for leaving him in there with the food. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“Mom promised Bertie that the family would take care of Archie, and I told her that we'd been talking about getting a dog. . . .”

Gwen's eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh.”

“Of course, I knew I should talk to you about it first. . . .”

He winced.

“Oh. Why didn't you say that before?” Gwen looked around, confused. “And what's that got to do with—”

As her gaze settled on the Volvo, her eyes widened.

“It's okay,” Todd said, lunging for the car. “Don't worry, I'll clean it up.”

He grabbed the rear door handle and yanked. Archie was on the floor, crouched over the remains of the chicken carcass. Fat dripped from his muzzle, and the clear dome of the container was perched on his head like an oversized helmet. Todd chuckled nervously.

“Gwen, meet Archie. Archie, this is Gwen.”

She cleared her throat. “Hello, Archie.”

The little dog stood, his tail between his legs, and took a shaky step forward.

“Poor guy,” Todd said. “I didn't realize he was so hungry.”

Gwen's face was stony. “Clearly.”

“Still, it's not a complete disaster. I bought dessert, too.”

As if on cue, Archie staggered from the car and vomited onto the driveway. Gwen stared at the mess on the ground.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Cherry Garcia?”

 

“What were you
thinking?
” Gwen snarled, throwing her Jimmy Choos into the closet. “That you could just waltz in here with that
mutt
and I'd be happy about it?”

Todd was sitting on the bed watching her get ready for bed. They'd been arguing for hours and he could feel his resolve weakening. Every time he thought that things were settled and Archie would be allowed to stay, Gwen rekindled the argument and he'd find himself apologizing all over again. He felt like a prizefighter being pummeled against the ropes.

“I thought we agreed to give him a chance.”

“Right,” she snapped. “Like I had any choice in the matter. What was I supposed to say? ‘No, Todd, you may not keep a dog in your own house'?”

“It's not my house; it's
our
house.”

“Of course it's
your
house,” Gwen said, her voice catching. “I moved in with you, didn't I? Honestly, sometimes I think you don't realize how much of an outsider I feel like around here.”

“I thought that's why we redecorated. So you could feel like the place was yours, too.”

She hung up her dress. “Yes, and now you hate it.”

“I don't
hate
it,” he said. “It's just taking a while for me to get used to the changes—that's all. And what's that got to do with keeping Archie?”

She took off her earrings and dropped them into her jewelry box.

“Forget it. You wouldn't understand.”

Gwen slammed the closet door and stomped off into the bathroom.

Todd lay back and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't see any way to end this fight except to admit defeat and get rid of Archie. Gwen was right. He should have asked her before taking the dog, and he certainly should have known better than to leave Archie in the car with their dinner, but that didn't mean he wasn't pretty peeved about the way things were turning out.

The comment about the house was especially galling, considering that he'd spent almost a hundred thousand dollars to make it “hers.” At the time, Todd told himself it was an investment in their future, that if Gwen wanted to feel more comfortable there, it meant that she could see herself living with him permanently. His married friends were always saying, “Happy wife, happy life,” but what about his happiness?

So he had to get rid of the dog, he thought. What was the big deal? It wasn't as if he and Archie had a long history together. Todd had seen his uncle's dog maybe three or four times before the funeral, and most of those were when he was performing with Uncle Bertie. Whether the little guy ended up with Todd or his sister probably didn't make much difference to him one way or the other. The only one who'd really be affected was Todd.

The phone rang and Todd glanced at the clock. As he reached for the receiver, he checked the caller ID. It wasn't a number he recognized.