The Art of Wag (2 page)

“I guess it’s laundry day, huh? Even I am starting to think it’s a little messy in here.”

Seeming to agree with the assessment and delighted to see Tracy, Roxy continued yipping happily. Tracy picked up the dog, sat on the couch, and placed Roxy next to her. “How was your day, little dog? Mine has been a pain so far. Are you ready for your walk?” She stroked the dog’s silky fur as Roxy danced around her on the sofa pillow. “Okay, okay. I just need to change my shoes.” She reached for her sneakers and bent down to tie the laces.

Tracy grabbed the leash, clipped it onto the dog’s collar, and picked her up. “I think I want to make it a short one today Rox, so I can fit in a tiny nap before work. Squiggy really wore me out.”

They went down the stairs to the street and Tracy placed the dog on the ground. Roxy wagged her feathered tail like a flag behind her as she checked out her favorite sniff spots. Even though the dog had only three legs, she motored along quickly down the sidewalk.

When Tracy had started work at the vet clinic, Dr. Cassidy had cautioned her that sometimes animals would come in that were injured and their owners wouldn’t want the vet to treat the animal. Tracy didn’t realize what that warning meant until the day a woman dropped off a young dachshund with a terribly mangled back leg. The story of how the dog’s leg was hurt wasn’t clear, and the owner didn’t stick around for the exam to provide details. In the end, the damage to the leg was too extensive to repair. When Dr. Cassidy called the owner and suggested amputation to save the dog’s life, the owner wanted nothing to do with that idea. She had proclaimed that she didn’t want a “defective dog,” and said they could put Roxy to sleep or find her another home.

Tracy normally tried to think the best of people; in fact, her mother called her a “total softie.” But when Elise Palmer walked out on her injured dog, a little part of Tracy’s heart hardened. She hoped there was a special fiery place in the afterlife for people who didn’t care for their animals. Maybe karma would take care of Elise. In her next life, the woman might come back as something small and disgusting. Like a fat slug creeping around a garden, eating defenseless seedlings, until it was consumed by a hungry robin for breakfast. Whenever Tracy saw Elise in the grocery store, she imagined a little slime trail following the woman through the aisles indicating where she’d been.

After caring for Roxy at the clinic during her convalescence, Tracy fell in love with the little dog’s independent personality, so she adopted her. Once Roxy was restored to health, the dachshund was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but Tracy never regretted her decision.

As she followed Roxy to a small grassy spot, Tracy marveled at how well Roxy had healed. The dog didn’t know or care that she had only three legs. Tracy glanced through the storefront window and waved at her mother, who was standing behind the counter helping a customer. Tracy’s apartment was located above her mother’s gift store. Bea Haven Gifts had been a prime stop for Alpine Grove tourists for years. Tracy’s mom Bea loved everything about running a store—meeting the people who were traveling through town, ordering touristy tchotchkes, talking to sales people, and setting up all her pretty seasonal displays. Her enthusiasm was infectious and past customers always made a point of stopping by whenever they were in town.

Roxy led the way as they wandered down the main street of town, passing a number of real estate offices with enticing photos scattered across the windows. Tracy sighed. The odds of her ever owning a house or even a falling-down shack out in the sticks were slim to none, unless she figured out another way to earn a living that paid a lot better.

After spending so much time in her mother’s shop while she was growing up, Tracy discovered that she had no passion for retail. Playing with the merchandise in Mom’s store had been fun when she was a kid, but actually working at the store was a different story. Mom found the tourists interesting and funny. Tracy found them tiresome and exhausting. She had spent a lot of time in the back room hiding out, pretending to price merchandise.

Although she clearly had no future in retail, Tracy’s short-lived attempt at insurance had been even worse. Her father owned an insurance agency in town, and after Tracy dropped out of college the second time, she had tried working there. During her stint at the office, she discovered a deep loathing for the insurance industry, forms, filing, and the depressing gray cubicles in the dreary old brick office building on the outskirts of town.

Tracy’s mother waved off Tracy’s failed experiments into gainful employment, saying that Tracy just hadn’t “found her bliss” yet and that it would come in time. Her father was markedly less sympathetic, particularly after her failed forays into higher education. Tracy had tried college more than once. Her dream since she was a little girl had always been to become a veterinarian. She loved animals and it seemed like a natural fit. And she tried really hard to like biology, chemistry, and math. She really did. But her brain just couldn’t do numbers. It didn’t work that way and it never had. Who was she kidding? All that math was just too much. She tried different classes and switching majors, but nothing really panned out. Discouraged and depressed, she returned to Alpine Grove. Tracy’s former college roommate Shelby had a theory that Alpine Grove had some bizarre elastic pull. Once you had lived there, the “rubber-band effect” kept bringing you back.

After dropping out yet again and then a demoralizing few months of unemployment living at home with Mom and Dad, Tracy finally got the job at the vet clinic. Dr. Cassidy was a fantastic vet. The only bad thing was that working up-close-and-personal with a veterinarian was a real dream killer. If Tracy had actually possessed the math skills to get into vet school and make it through the program, she knew she would have relegated herself to a lifetime of stress.

As the only veterinarian in town, Dr. Karen Cassidy was on call all the time. Tracy felt bad for the woman sometimes, because she seemed perpetually exhausted. Although the vet evidently didn’t mind all the charged, high-stress moments, Tracy knew that personally, she was too soft-hearted and emotionally wimpy to handle the day-to-day life of a veterinarian. Going out in the middle of the night and having to make life-and-death decisions related to someone’s cherished pet would have made her miserable. Sometimes those little-girl dreams weren’t quite what they were cracked up to be.

Even though she lived an economical and somewhat Spartan existence, Tracy liked her tiny apartment above the store. Mom had used it as a storage area for years and stuffed it full of extra merchandise and supplies, but after a particularly unpleasant argument with her father, everyone in the family agreed that Tracy needed to move out of the house.

Yes, Tracy was a slob. No one disputed that. But when Dad put the contents of her bedroom on the front lawn next to a “free” sign, he really crossed a line. He was a pretty mellow person when it came to most things. Sure he had a habit of getting angry once in a while about things Tracy had done, but that incident hit a new level of parental reprimand.

If she hadn’t had the store, Bea would have made a fantastic mediator. She always said that Tracy and her father were just too much alike. Tracy didn’t buy that explanation, but obviously it had been time for her to move out. Plus, after you reached a certain age, continuing to live with your parents was just pathetic, anyway. When her mom had suggested Tracy could live in the apartment, she jumped at the idea.

After Tracy cleaned out the space above her Mom’s store, she discovered that the tiny bathroom and kitchen were workable and even sort of cute in a vintage, shabby-chic kind of way. She had painted the apartment with cheap, brightly colored paint from the “oops” bin at the hardware store. Most of the walls were done, except for the one near the kitchen. She’d get to that eventually. Although it was basically just a single room with the kitchen and the bathroom on the far end, the space worked, and now it was her home. And Roxy’s home too. In an effort to meet his criteria for being a responsible adult, Tracy dutifully paid her father the small rent he requested every month. Well, most months, anyway.

Tracy stood and waited for Roxy to finish her activities and waved feebly at Larry Lowell, who was standing outside his law office on the other side of the street, grinning at her. She would undoubtedly see Larry later tonight when he came in for dinner at the restaurant. Although he was a nice-enough guy, she wished he’d get over his little-boy crush on her. After all this time, most of the residents of Alpine Grove were aware that Larry had the hots for her. It was getting embarrassing. A few months ago, she was thrilled to see him eating with some other women at the restaurant from time to time. He’d had more than one actual date. It was a miracle. But then all those romantic aspirations appeared to fail, and now he was alone again, spending way too much time loitering around her hostess stand. Larry had to be the most regular of the restaurant’s regular customers. Apparently, the man never, ever, ate at home.

Sometimes living in a small town felt like being an animal in a zoo. Everyone could see when you did everything. The fact that Tracy was practically the only person her age living here was also a little disconcerting. All her friends from high school were gone, so most people she knew were either significantly older or younger than she was. The local chamber of commerce held seminars about how the town might attract younger people, so it wouldn’t end up turning into a retirement community. There was a lot of hand-wringing about “brain drain” as high school students graduated and moved away to find jobs elsewhere. Tracy knew why. By now, the rest of her classmates with real jobs probably weren’t eating ramen noodles or living in a 300-square-foot studio above a gift store.

Tracy turned around and looked down at the little dog at her feet. “Okay Roxy. I hope you’re done, because I really don’t want Larry to run across the street for a little afternoon rendezvous. We’re picking up the pace and getting outta here. I need my nap.”

After a short but restorative nap, Tracy put on her much-loathed hostess uniform and went to work at job number two. At most restaurants, employees were asked to wear something simple like black pants and a white shirt. But no, at this place, the owner had other ideas. Tracy detested the short skirt that was held up by green-and-red suspenders, but the ruffle-laden blouse was even worse. She looked like a deranged Italian oompa-loompa.

She opened the back door to the kitchen of the Italian restaurant and found Lou, the cook, stirring a marinara sauce that was simmering in a stainless-steel vat on the huge commercial stove. The rich, savory aroma of basil and oregano permeated the room. The large balding man waved his spoon at her. “You aren’t gonna like it.”

Tracy turned to face Lou. “Like what?”

“Jerry’s on a rampage.” Lou’s face was red and it probably wasn’t just from the heat of the stove.

“Don’t you mean Giovanni?” Tracy said with a smirk. The owner of the restaurant had no Italian heritage whatsoever, but that didn’t stop him from pretending he did.

“I have a lotta things I could call him, but you’re too young to hear that type of language. I’m just letting you know he’s cranky and sharing the
amore
with everyone nearby.”

Tracy nodded. “Thanks for the warning and for protecting my tender sensibilities. I’ll try and stay out of his way.”

“Oh, and Jenny is pissed at you because she thinks you gave Anna more tables last night. She whined to Jerry when she got here to do prep, which probably didn’t improve his mood. Then she marked up the seating chart with a red pen.”

Tracy looked over at the chart on the wall and took note of the many angry-looking scribbles on the table layout. Sometimes she added colorful happy doodles to the wall chart, but the skull and crossbones was definitely not Tracy’s work. Great. “I don’t know what Jenny’s problem is. It’s not like I get creative with the table rotation. You get the two-top when it’s open. You get the four-top when the slowpoke campers finally turn over and get out of here. And it wasn’t my fault that the huge guy from Topeka couldn’t fit in that booth.” That had certainly been a difficult conversation.

Lou wagged his spoon at her again. “She thinks you skipped her on purpose.”

“I can see it’s going to be a very long evening. Maybe I’ll double-up Jenny’s tables and see how she does.”

“Now you’re just being mean. You know she’ll yell at you.”

“She’s going to scream at me anyway, but at least she’ll be more tired and have more tips in her pocket, right?”

Lou waved his spoon in a shooing motion. “Go on. Get outta here. You got stuff to do.”

Tracy grabbed a cloth so she could wipe down tables, and then she reached out and gave the gruff older man a hug. “You know you love me. Thanks for giving me the heads-up.”

Later, Tracy was standing at the hostess stand rolling silverware into napkins when Larry Lowell walked in. Was he stalking her? He hung around her hostess stand all the time when the restaurant was open, but this was new. Bordering on creepy. She looked down at the reservation book. “Hi Larry. I have your reservation for your usual table at 6:30, but you’re a little early. We’re not open yet.” She tried to look extra busy by laying some silverware rolls into a star design on the end table next to her. Maybe he’d go away.