Someday Home (14 page)

“When she wants to be. She's a bit of a tyrant or at least tries to be. Her folks are working on that.”

A whimper from the mudroom. When no answer came, the next was a tentative
woof
.

“I suppose he has to go out again. Sure wish we had a kennel to put him in.” She pushed back her chair and stretched, arms behind her.

Judith stretched, too. “You do what you need to do. I'm no cook, but I can surely clean up. Lynn, I really enjoy your kitchen. It's so friendly.”

Lynn smiled and thought about it a moment. “‘Your kitchen.' It's ours now. Communal space. I'm really going to have to make a major adjustment about that; ceding territory in a way. I take it the Rutherford House kitchen was not especially friendly.”

“No, and neither was Cook. She did not like other people in her kitchen. I guess I'm going to have to make some major adjustments, too. But then, we expected that.”

“Yes.” Lynn crossed to the door to the mudroom, where the plea was becoming more insistent. “Okay, fella, out we go.” Outside, he sniffed until he located the perfect spot, did his business, and charged around the yard, then returned to sit at her feet. The sun on his coat revealed a tick embedded at the edge of his right eye, a swollen tick. “Oh, rats, I haven't had to remove ticks in a long time.” She started to leave him outside, but he glued himself to her jeans-clad leg and scooted in. “Sorry, this is as far as you go. I'll be right back.”

A drop of oil on the tick's head and it would back right out. Then she'd dispose of the tick without leaving the head under the skin to fester. After finding the bottle with the eyedropper that they used to use—sometimes not throwing things out right away was a good thing—she dug out a collar, buckled it on his neck, and attached the leash for control; he might not appreciate her ministrations. He didn't like it, but he submitted. By the time she was done, she'd removed two ballooned pests and a couple that were still brown. His ears were a mess, and he had fleas. He licked her hand.

“Don't do that, guy. You might have a family waiting.” She turned to see Judith by her shoulder. “This is just oil. It won't hurt him.”

“I had a fleabite once,” Judith mused. “My body did not like it; it hurt. Do fleabites hurt on dogs as well as children?”

“I don't know. They itch, I'd guess. Herb will give him a flea bath as well as a soapy one. You sure you want to come along?”

“I should stay here and finish unpacking. But yes, I'd like to come.”

“I'll leave a note for Angela.” Lynn glanced at her watch. Past ten already. “I really hope she's not coming down with something.”

The dog jumped up in her SUV without a problem and immediately climbed up on the backseat, looking at her like he was saying,
Well, I'm ready, what you waiting for?
A dog who liked to ride in a car, but then, don't they all?

At the vet's, there was only a small floor-mop-type dog waiting, who immediately started barking at the basset.

“Dodo, hush.” The woman looked at Lynn apologetically. “Sorry, he doesn't mind terribly well. You're Phillip's mother, aren't you? I'm Agnes Rosen; he was out to fix some damage left from winter repairs, and he opens my house every year.”

“Mrs. Rosen, of course. I am—Lynn's the name—and Phillip always enjoys working for you. He says you make strawberry-rhubarb pie much better than mine. I think we met last year. And this is a friend Judith.”

“Howdjidoo. We met? My memory just isn't what it used to be, so frustrating.” The yapper sat in her lap and watched the basset, who had stretched out on the floor. “That's a handsome dog.”

“He showed up on my front steps in the middle of the night. You've not heard if someone is missing a dog, have you?”

“No, sorry.” She started to reach down to pat the dog on the floor, and her yapper went into full frenzy. “Oh, hush.” She tapped the little dog on the muzzle. “No, Dodo, behave yourself.”

“Come on in, Mrs. Rosen.” Amy, Herb's assistant, beckoned the woman from the open door to the treatment rooms. “And how is Dodo today?”

“Right now, he's not even limping. But he was before we came. I think he got something in his foot, but I couldn't find anything.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Rosen reappeared and the receptionist, Lydia, showed Lynn into a treatment room. Judith tailed after them, so Lynn introduced them.

Amy came in smiling cheerfully, so Lynn introduced Judith to her as well. Amy squatted and extended her knuckles for the introductory sniff. “So what is this dog's name?”

“I have no idea. He showed up at my house in the middle of the night. I talked to Herb this morning, and he said to bring him in. We need to chip him first and then see what's up. Surely someone is missing their dog.”

The basset tried to head out the door, head down, no wag in the tail, but Lynn brought him back with the leash. “Looks like he's not excited about this.”

“I wouldn't be either.” Amy frowned as she stared down. “He's a mess.”

“I agree. I took five or six ticks off him already. That's why I asked Herb to schedule for a full grooming. Look at his feet.”

Amy nodded. “I'll weigh him and get his vitals. Wonder how long he's been on the run.” She led the dog away. He left the room eagerly, returned reluctantly.

Dr. Knight entered the room, smiled at Lynn, and studied the dog.

“May I introduce my new housemate Judith Rutherford.”

He extended his hand. “Good to meet you and welcome to Barnett. You a dog lover?”

Judith accepted the handshake. “I have no idea. I've never had a pet in my life.”

His bushy eyebrows arched. “Really. Rutherford, Rutherford, no relation to the town of Rutherford?”

“Yes, that was my family. They're all gone now, and the house is being turned into a living history museum.”

“Well, I'll be. Interesting.” He turned his attention to the dog, who had plastered himself to the floor. “Sixty pounds and you need at least five more.” He stroked the dog's head. “You're not looking too good right now, young man. Let's see if we can help you out.” When he stood, the dog did, too, so Dr. Knight scooped him up and, with a grunt, set him on the stainless steel examining table. “Lynn, you want to hold him or shall I call Amy back in? She's setting up the bath.”

“I'll try. But I can already tell you, he does not like his ears or teeth or feet examined.”

Of course, just to show them, the dog sat without moving through the entire exam, then snuffled the vet's ear.

“He's fairly dry mouthed for a basset, and he looks to be a purebred. Not chipped. No collar and tags, either?”

“Nope.” Lynn got mad all over again at the thought of someone abandoning a lovely dog like this.

“Noble of you, but if someone really cared about him, I'm sure they'd have put out the word.”

“Don't say that. I don't think I'm ready for a new dog yet. A lot going on at the moment, and of course, Orson.” Lynn sniffed back the tears that still surfaced when she thought of bringing Orson here not that terribly long ago.

Dr. Knight nodded. “He looks to be about five or so, ear mites, fleas, and I think we should worm him, too. Since we have no idea whether he has his shots, I'll do rabies, and he should have at least a nine way. You want to spend this kind of money on him?”

“Not really, but what are my choices? I called the shelter, and they're so overcrowded now that they asked me to foster him. We can't let him be around our other animals if he has something or gets something, and you know Phillip's dog will welcome a new playmate.”

He lifted the dog down and kept the leash. “We'll call you when he's ready to go home. Good to meet you, Ms. Rutherford. Any time you decide you need a pet, let us know. We usually know what's available around here.”

“Someone must want their basset back,” Lynn muttered as they left the office.

“How could they not? One look into those big, brown, sad eyes of his and…”

“Oh, great, not you, too. Let's go get the postcards you wanted, and we can stop at the feedstore for kibble. I'll give what's left to Phillip when his owners come for him.”

Judith stood beside the car, staring at the door handle. Thinking, obviously. Then she slid inside.

Lynn twisted the ignition. “What are you thinking about?”

Judith grimaced. “I hate to say this, but I'm hoping the former owners never show up.”

A
ngela thrashed her way out of the sheet and a quilt. A quilt? Where was she? Heart pounding, she sat up. She did not have a revolver in her hand, pointing it at Jack and…and who? Someone, of course. She was not screaming, threatening to kill them both. A dream. What a terrible, awful dream. And so real. Vivid. Did she really feel that way about him, them?

Yes, the room was strange, but she had moved in here the night before, or rather yesterday. No clock. No noise. She'd been up to the bathroom during the night, thanks to a night-light put there by Lynn Lundberg. What time was it? Phone? Purse? She stared at herself, still in her clothes. When she crashed in that chair…someone had made her bed and put her to bed. Right after supper. Her mouth felt like she'd been chewing on sawdust.

After another trip to the bathroom, she eyed the bed again. What if she just crawled back in and pretended the world did not exist? At least for a few more hours. Back on the edge of the bed and staring around the room, she discovered her purse on the far side of the chair. Get out her phone or not? Why was that such a major decision? Boxes lined the wall, hopefully one including her own linens. Or it was at the storage facility. Some of these boxes could probably go into storage.

Decisions. Decisions. She flopped back on the pillows, but as soon as her eyes closed, the dream attacked her again. Jack and Jacqueline. Wasn't that cute? The gun felt heavy in her hand. Her heart rate leaped to pumping mode.
No!

Bed was too dangerous. She picked up her phone. Twelve thirty. No wonder her stomach just grumbled at her. Twenty text messages. Ten phone calls. Battery almost out. She dug out the cord from her purse, found an outlet, and plugged it in without reading or responding to anything. Now that was a first, not at least reading the texts and seeing who called.

After retrieving her travel kit out of the suitcase, she adjourned to the bathroom. The shower did its best to wash the dream away, the travel away, and the tears.
But I didn't want this new life. I was happy in my old life!
Happy? Well, she thought she'd been happy or at least content. But frustrated, if she was honest. Yes, mostly with Jack. Had her intuition been picking up on more than she realized or was willing to even contemplate?

But by the time she was dried and dressed and on her way to the kitchen, the state of despair had taken up residence on her shoulders again. She read the note on the table and did as it suggested. Made herself coffee and cut a piece of the coffee cake, then took cup and plate to the kitchen table, only to pick it up and head for the deck and the sunshine that glittered the lake. Stretched out on a lounger, she sighed. Did she really live here? Or was this another dream, only this one a bit of heaven?

A revolver!
She'd never hoisted a revolver in her life. Her dream must have been the fruit of too many crime shows. A dog barked in the distance beyond the trees. Birds twittered and sang in the trees where a hammock stretched between two trunks, oak maybe, or maple. As if it mattered.

“How could he do such a thing?”

The slight breeze lifted her bangs.
Just do one thing at a time,
she ordered herself.
You cannot let your mind dwell on the past.
Someone had said that to her lately. She couldn't recall who.

“I know you are not supposed to hate anyone, but right now I hate that man and that—bimbo, whatever she is.”

A soft, plaintive
meeow
.

She looked around and saw a fluffy gray cat watching her through slightly slitted green eyes. “So do you hate anyone?”

This time a chirp and she would swear a shrug. Did cats shrug?

“If your husband dumped you for a younger woman and then kicked you out of your house, wouldn't you hate him?”

The cat licked the pad of her right front paw, her fluffy tail curved around her.

“Not worth hating, is that what you mean?”

A yawn showing pink tongue and white needle teeth.

“I agree. Boring. And yes, it made me tired, too.”
But I failed as a wife. I really did. I tried to be everything that he said he wanted; I changed my whole life around, every aspect of it, just to make him happy, and look what it got me. For all my careful attention to appearance, all my establishing a glamorous and lucrative career, I could not make myself younger. And he wants a young woman.

She let her head rest on the cushion and crossed her legs at the ankles. With the sun kissing her closed eyes, all she could see was light through her lids. Ducks were quacking down on the water. A house finch sang, and two other birds sounded like they were scolding each other; maybe the lady bird didn't like what the gentleman bird brought for a nest. Or maybe he, too, was trading up for a younger lady. It happens.

Looking at this house and property from a Realtor's perspective, there was much to praise. The house was picturesque, well built, well landscaped, and certainly situated well. If she had to live somewhere other than her own home (equally well built and landscaped but stuck in the middle of a gated community), this was pretty darn nice.

Back in the good old days, when she'd been a housewife and mother and gardener and reader and cook, she'd maintained feeders and a birdbath in the backyard and enjoyed the birds. But the makeover took all her time and energy, and many things she enjoyed suffered. Including her friends. They had finally quit calling and inviting her to lunch or a party or even checking in on her. She worked on Sundays after she got her real estate license, but when she did go to church, they'd all said things like, “We need to get together sometime. I'll call you.” And they didn't, neither she nor they.

“I really messed up.”

The cat rose and padded over to the lounge. Effortlessly, she leaped up and stood, tail in a question mark, never taking her gaze off Angela.

“Well, look at you. I know you have a name, but I don't remember it. I'm Angela and I guess I am going to live here now. At least for a while.” She had a hard time believing she'd be here, well, for the rest of her life. But then, who knew where they would be in, say, five years or even one year? After all, she thought she'd had her life all mapped out and look what happened.

“Life changes, did you know that?”

The tip of the tail twitched. The cat wore a bib of white and a few white hairs at the end of her tail. The white toes on one back foot looked like painted toenails. How could she go so long without blinking those emerald-green eyes?

“You have a name. I know you do. And you are a good listener. You want some crumbs?” She held out the plate.

The cat moved closer and sniffed the plate, then came around to sniff her fingers. She sat back down.

“Is that
no thank you
?”

A slight sound. “You carry on a conversation, don't you?”

Chirp.
Those whiskers twitched.

Angela set the plate back on the side table and watched the cat watching her. “I'd pet you if you wanted.” She opened her hand, palm up.

The cat sniffed her fingers again, then her wrist. The green eyes studied the woman, and without a sound, she jumped up on Angela's legs. The kneading began at once. Angela stroked the cat's head and back. So silky and—shedding. Oh, well. She continued to stroke her, letting batches of fur loose on the breeze.

The cat turned around a couple of times and curled up. The purring started out softly but escalated as Angela continued to pet her.

“Well, cat, it looks like I have made a friend. Thank you. I need one.” She stared out over the tree-lined lake. Houses could be seen among the trees and docks, proclaiming where the land was used. The deep green of pines, lacy tamaracks, and deciduous trees of all shades, most still leafing out, guarded the shore. Bright green lawns ran down to the water or sand in some places, small boats were tied to the docks, and canoes were either turned over on docks or farther up on the beaches. Two canoes rested on cradles on the dock below her. A ladder at the end of the T-shaped dock looked as weathered silver as the floating dock.

A car drove in, tires crunching on the gravel drive. The cat leaped off her lap and headed for the steps leading down to the earth.

Angela stayed where she was. Two female voices, car doors slammed, and a dog barked.
A dog?
Lynn said she didn't have a dog. What had the note said? They'd be back later was all and to make herself comfortable. She had done that. She should have been unpacking. She should have returned texts and phone calls, too, but since the phone was in her room, she found it delightful to not even hear it. Maybe she should go throw it in the lake and cut off all connections to her former life.

The dog barked again, a deep
woof
, obviously a big dog.

“No, you don't bark at the cat.” Sound carried remarkably well here.

Curiosity got the better of her, and since her chair was now in the shade, Angela forced herself to her feet and took cup and plate with her through the sliding doors to the house. Windows banked the entire east wall of the house, all with wood frames, including the doors. Since she became a Realtor, Angela noticed things like that. And appreciated the value and beauty of a house so thoughtfully crafted. She started to slide the door closed, but Lynn called, “Leave them open, but the screens. It's too beautiful a day to have closed doors.” Angela pulled the screen door into place and continued to the kitchen. Lynn and Judith were just setting their purses down on the kitchen table.

“Should I let him in?” Judith asked.

“Minerva's outside, so yes, we'll see how he does.” Lynn slid the kitchen window open. The curtains moved slightly.

Angela smiled. “So that's the cat's name; I had forgotten. She introduced herself to me just now.”

“You feel better now?” Lynn asked.

“Sorry. I've never slept that late in my life, or at least not since—well, who knows.” Angela set her mug and plate on the counter before opening the dishwasher. “Is this clean?”

“Yes, I'm afraid we got involved this morning and didn't empty it. We want you to meet our newest guest.” Lynn nodded toward the floor.

“A dog? I thought I heard one bark. Why, he's handsome, a basset, right?” Angela looked from the dog to Lynn.

“You didn't hear him howling last night, or rather, sometime early this morning?”

Angela shook her head. “I don't think I heard anything. I have a vague recollection of someone helping me to bed.”

“You were really out of it.” Judith smiled across the center island. “We were afraid you might be coming down with something.”

“Yeah, exhaustion, I guess. So what's the story here?” She watched the dog casing the joint, giving everything the sniff inspection.

Angela kept only half an ear on the narrative as Lynn and Judith described finding the dog. She had become something of an expert on reading body language. A person can say whatever they want you to believe, but body language says what that person really thinks and often what that person is ready to do. Angela saved more than one sale that way. So why was it that Jack had so completely snookered her? There surely had been signs, probably plenty of them, but she didn't pick them up. Willfully blind, as the psych folk say.
Angela, you fool.
And she was depressed all over again.

“And so there he is.” Judith waved a hand toward the dog. “Not only immunized to the gills, but clean and flea-free.”
Yep.
Her body language and Lynn's as well said that the dog was as good as theirs.

“Anyone else as hungry as I am?” Lynn opened the steel refrigerator door. “We have salad and sandwich makings and leftovers from last night.”

Judith smiled at Angela. “And homemade bread.”

“There's sliced ham or turkey, cheese, etc., and salad.”

By the time they'd finished making their sandwiches, the dog had returned to the kitchen and cleaned out the cat's dish. He sat looking at them, as if assessing who they were.

Angela left her plate on the counter and went over to him, holding out her hand. He gave her hand, her sleeve, her jeans, and her shoes a sniff over, his tail wagging slowly, then sat in front of her. “So now what?” His tail swished faster. He nudged her hand.

“I think he is saying
pet me
.” Lynn set down her plate, too. “His ears might be a bit tender because the vet cleaned them and put in the meds. He had ear mites along with fleas and possible worms.”

Angela bent over and stroked the dog's head. “Hey, boy, you need a name. You are so soft and silky. But then so is Minerva.”

“Let's go outside to eat. We need to talk about what to do about the dog.” Lynn led the way outside and closed the gate to the stairs.

“Are you serious,
we
need to talk?” Angela couldn't believe she'd said that. Never had Jack asked her opinion on something; he always formed an opinion and then assumed it was hers as well. This was going to take some getting used to.

The three sat down at the glass-topped wrought iron table while the dog explored the deck.

Lynn began, “Look, if we are to live together, we have to learn to make decisions together. Discuss things, agree, disagree, work it out. Like if one of us is allergic to dogs, then we wouldn't keep him. Or can't stand the animal, or…”

Angela looked across the deck at the big, sad eyes, the comical jowls. “How could someone not want him around?”

“Well, we're taking a gamble; he might have some really bad habits. We don't know anything about him, you know. And from what I've heard, bassets are known for being stubborn and independent thinkers.” Lynn held out her hands. “Let's have grace.

“…And, Lord, help us make a decision about this hound who might be a gift from you. Amen.”

“I hadn't thought of that.” Judith stared at her plate, then across at Lynn. “I mean, well, I guess we didn't pray much at our house. Until my mother died, we attended church regularly, but sort of…” She shrugged. “With my father and his wheelchair, it was easier to stay home, especially as we had to let the help go. For a while I went myself and then fell out of the habit.”