The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service (16 page)

“Not Cleo. She’s totally healthy. I even used them to teach her a trick. Ready?” Portia’s ennui finally cracked as she addressed the dog with mock dismay. “We’re getting papped, Cleo!”

Cleo hit the deck and used both paws to cover her muzzle. Portia burst out laughing. “Good dog!”

Melissa and Lara exchanged a look. “What on earth is ‘getting papped’?”

“You know, like celebrities with the paparazzi. She’s trying to duck from photographers.” Portia snapped her gum.

“How long did it take you to teach her that?” Melissa asked.

Portia shrugged. “Like half an hour. We worked on lying down first, then the part with her paws. It’s amazing what you can do when you’re procrastinating starting your geometry homework.” Her cheeks flushed as she tried—and failed—to disguise how pleased she was with her dog training prowess.

Lara was impressed. No wonder Portia had picked out a Border collie at the shelter—they had so much in common. Both were deceptively fluffy and pretty on the outside, but clever and persistent underneath.

“We’re in luck,” Lara said, “because dried blueberries float. Would you mind grabbing the container from the kitchen?”

As Portia went into the house, Melissa shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe she trained the dog. I swear to you, the only time I’ve seen her put her phone down is when Keith threatens to take it away at the dinner table.”

“This is perfect,” Lara said. “You want the dog to be mentally engaged, and you want the kids to be emotionally invested in training her.” When Portia returned with a small tub of blueberries, Lara caught Cleo’s attention and tossed a few into the pool. “Go get it.”

Keeping her belly close to the ground, Cleo crept closer to the pool’s edge.

“It’s okay,” Lara urged, tossing another blueberry in. “Go ahead.”

Robbie groaned with impatience and started toward Cleo, but Lara stopped him with a stern look.

Cleo, who had evidently decided to milk this little melodrama for all it was worth, made a big display of inching ever closer to the water, then pulling back at the last second. Every time a drop of water hit her nose, she yelped as if burned by hot embers.

Portia rolled her eyes. “Omigod. Drama queen.”

This went on for another ten minutes. Robbie waded into the shallow end and stared at Kayla. Roo paddled around, his big paws churning the water. Melissa, Lara, and Portia cooed and coaxed, and Cleo luxuriated in the attention.

Then Roo ate one of the blueberries.

Cleo barked, dashed to the steps, and submerged one dainty white paw.

Everyone paused, waiting.

Roo, who had snarfed up the first blueberry by accident while playfully snapping at the waves he’d created, needed a few seconds to process the joy and wonder of what had just happened. Then he spotted a second blueberry bobbing a few feet away and swam toward it.

Cleo jumped in and started flailing wildly.

“Portia!” Lara directed. “Put your hand under her belly and help support her until she figures out how to coordinate her legs.”

Portia complied, and after a few moments of panic, Cleo calmed down and started to swim independently. She ignored Roo until she had tracked down and consumed every last blueberry in the pool.

Lara observed, “So she’s smart, she can swim, and she’s competitive. I see a bright future for her in the great sport of doggie dock diving.”

“What’s that?” asked Melissa.

“Basically, you train your dog to run full speed down a dock and jump into a long pool of water to retrieve a toy. It’s fun, and bonus, it’s a surefire way to exhaust the dog. The three of you could all train and compete with Cleo. I’ll give you the name of the club president in Scottsdale and you can go to a practice or two to try it out.”

Robbie turned to Kayla and blurted, “Roo likes to swim.”

“Yeah, will you guys do it, too?” Portia asked.

Kayla glanced at Melissa and flashed her cover girl smile. “Sure, why not? It’ll be a fun new lifestyle change for him.”

“There you go. I’ll shoot you an e-mail with the details.” Lara stood up and wrung out her shirt hem. “Keep practicing, guys. I’ll check in on your progress in a few days.”

“You are a miracle worker.” Melissa pressed a check into Lara’s hands before giving her a hug.

Lara patted Melissa’s back awkwardly and gasped for breath. “The hills are alive.”

Chapter 20

“I need you to take Mullet.” Kerry’s eyes were red and swollen as she sat on her couch nursing the baby. Her body was slumped, her bare feet were swollen, and her customary spark had been completely extinguished. “I’m sorry. I just can’t deal with all this anymore.”

Lara stood in the family room, holding bags of takeout and baby supplies, and surveyed the chaos around her. Dogs wandered by, shaggy and panting. She noticed the water dish was empty, so she deposited her bags on the kitchen counter and refilled it. Then she poured a big glass of water for Kerry.

“You have to take care of yourself,” she chided.

“Look who’s talking.”

Lara reached out and beckoned for Kerry to hand Cynthia over.

Kerry sipped her glass of water, then pulled a woolen throw blanket around her shoulders. “You know how judgmental I am of people who dump their dogs when they have a baby.”

“I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice.”

Kerry’s lower lip trembled as she started to cry in earnest. “But this . . . I had no idea, Lara. I can’t keep going like this. I’m so tired. She wants to eat every two hours, around the clock. And when she finally does take a nap, I’m so wired that I can’t fall asleep. I just lie there, grinding my teeth, dreading the moment when she wakes up and starts screaming again.”

Lara put her arm around Kerry shoulder, careful not to jostle the baby. “Oh, honey.”

“We started medication for the reflux issues, but it hasn’t kicked in yet, and I’m not sure it’s ever going to. Last night she cried for four hours straight. I am not exaggerating. I tried running the vacuum, the hair dryer, the fan. I put her in her car seat and drove around the block—and she just cried harder. I feel like such a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“Yes, I am. I’m a horrible mom. I want to run away to Mexico and not come back until she’s sleeping through the night.”

Lara smiled. “I’ll go with you if you need a margarita buddy on the beach.”

“No, listen, I’m serious. I’m at the point where leaving the country actually sounds like a sensible, viable option. Richard and my mom could do a better job than I’m doing. The
dogs
could do a better job.”

Lara’s worry intensified. “Have you talked to your doctor about this?”

“Yeah, and she said my hormone levels are plummeting and it’s normal to feel moody. She told me to call back in a week or two if I’m not feeling better. But I noticed she didn’t dispute my claim that dogs could out-parent me.”

Both women gazed down at the tiny pink newborn, snoozing so intently that her eyelids crinkled like an old lady’s.

“That’s just the sleep deprivation and the plummeting hormone levels talking,” Lara said firmly. “I don’t know much about babies, but this can’t go on forever. The kid has to start sleeping eventually, right?”

“Maybe not.” Kerry started sniffling again. “My neighbor dropped by with a casserole today and I asked her how old her daughters were when they started sleeping through the night, and do you know what she said? ‘My youngest is two and a half and she
still
doesn’t sleep through the night.’”

Lara gasped. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve ever heard. Well, screw her. You need to take a nap and a shower and then get a pedicure or something.”

“I’ll get right on that, as soon as Cynthia graduates from high school.”

“No more discussion.” Lara stood up, cradling the baby as if she were a delicately wired explosive device. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to put Mullet in the car, and then I’m coming back for Cynthia and all her gear.”

“Lara—”

“No more discussion.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Too late. It’s done.” Lara glanced around at the spit-up-scented detritus. “Do you have some milk pumped?”

“Enough for one feeding.”

“All right, then I’ll take that, too.” She handed Cynthia back to Kerry and started gathering Mullet’s supplies.

“You have no idea what you’re in for. She’s going to scream the whole time.”

“Not a problem. Auntie Lara has earplugs and a pacifier.”

“But what about—”

Lara made the universal
zip it
gesture with her fingers. “If I were you, I’d spend less time arguing and more time sleeping.” She scooped up Mullet, who immediately went limp in passive protest, and headed for the front door. “We’re rescuers, right? This is what we do.”

* * *

“Dear Lord, what is that screaming?” Justine looked appalled when she saw the baby in Lara’s arms. “Don’t tell me you’re taking in foundlings from the street now?”

Lara had to pull out her earplugs and wait for a break between wails before replying. The high ceilings and long, varnished floors in Justine’s house created a virtual echo chamber of colicky discontent.

“This is Kerry’s new baby.” Lara offered up the infant, and Justine retreated, shaking her head. “Her name’s Cynthia, and she has the tiniest bit of colic.”

“Colic?” Justine looked dubious. “She sounds possessed.”

“Well, Kerry’s completely burned out and I stepped in and told her to take a break for a few hours.”

“Of course you did. Listen, I know I agreed to let you bring a ragtag pack of dogs over here, but I never agreed to small children. Babies are not in my repertoire, Lara. They’re . . .” Justine trailed off, looking dismayed and a bit afraid.

“I feel exactly the same,” Lara assured her. “Don’t worry. This isn’t going to be a regular thing. But Kerry’s husband keeps leaving for business trips and her mom only stayed for a week, and she’s completely overwhelmed.”

Justine’s eyes softened just a little. “It’s hard being a new mother. Trial by fire.”

“Was it overwhelming for you when I was a baby?” Lara knew the answer before she’d finished asking the question. Justine was never overwhelmed by anyone or anything. “Dad left when I was what? Two or three months old?”

Justine seemed to find this whole line of questioning offensive. “I didn’t have the luxury of sitting around, analyzing my feelings. I just did what needed to be done. That’s motherhood. That’s life.”

“Never mind.” Lara sighed. “Forget I asked.”

“I will say that I don’t remember you screaming like this,” Justine admitted. “But you certainly had your moments.”

Lara started bouncing up and down on the soles of her feet, and Cynthia’s cries turned to gurgles. Everybody visibly relaxed.

“Keep doing that,” Justine instructed. “All day and all night, if necessary.” She turned and started back down the hall with a great sense of purpose, so Lara called after her, “What are your plans today?”

“None of your business.”

“I’ll take that to mean more online Scrabble and TV.”

Justine just kept walking. Lara glanced down at the baby, then glanced up at the clock, hoping that enough time had passed that she could return Cynthia to Kerry. It felt like she’d been pacing this hall for hours on end.

According to the clock, twenty minutes had passed.

“Hey, Mom,” Lara called out. She heard Justine’s footsteps stop. “If I ever had a baby, would you come and stay with me and help out?”

Justine reappeared around the corner. “I suppose it would depend on my schedule. But I can promise you this—I’ll hire you the best night nurse money can buy.”

Lara nodded, but her disappointment must have shown on her face because Justine put one hand on her hip.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Lara said. “I’m just a little hurt that you’d rather hire a nanny than be a grandma.”

Justine’s expression remained impassive. “Why must you always set me up for failure with your expectations?”

“I’m not—”

“Let me finish, please. A night nurse will be much more useful than I ever could be. And you should know better than anyone that I’m not very maternal.”

“How can you say that?” Lara raised the baby to her shoulder and patted the warm little back. “You give me expensive handbags and free spa services. Most people would consider that an ideal mother.”

“But not you. When did you ever come by the salon of your own free will, Lara? What do you do with those handbags?”

“Um . . .”

Justine’s frown lines deepened. “You’ve never wanted the things I had to give you.”

“You’re the normal one,” Lara said. “It’s not your fault you gave birth to a fashion-impaired dog lover. You have to know you were a good mom. A great mom. You made sure I had the best of everything.”

“Except a real family.” When Justine turned away, Lara could see patches of pale scalp showing through her hair. “I failed in the most fundamental aspect of parenting—I picked the wrong father for you.”

Lara heard an undercurrent of doubt and self-reproach in Justine’s voice that reminded her of Kerry.

“I don’t see how you can blame yourself for Dad walking out. I mean, if we’re going to blame anyone, we might as well blame me. Everything was hunky-dory until I was born.”

Justine turned back to face her. She looked resolved again, harder. “That’s not true.”

“What are you saying? You never really loved him, even before I came along?”

“Oh, I loved him.” Justine held her gaze, and Lara could see what it cost her mother to admit this. “I let myself go and fell completely in love even though I should have known better. I committed to the wrong man, and you’re the one who’s spent her whole life paying for it.”

Lara wanted to hug her mother, but she didn’t want to risk being rebuffed, so she stayed where she was. “But how could you have known? He can be very charming.”

“Yes, he can.”

“He called me a few weeks ago,” Lara confided. “To have dinner.”

Justine said nothing, just tilted her head and waited.

“He remembered my birthday this year, too. He gave me a Dyson vacuum cleaner.” Lara lowered her voice and tried hard to sound cynical. “I think he wants something. Something big.”

Part of her wanted her mother to jump in and confirm her worst suspicions, to pile on with criticisms and judgment. But Justine held her tongue.

“He’s getting married, you know.”

One of Justine’s cheek muscles twitched. “I didn’t.”

“Yeah. She’s young, but she seems really nice. I liked her. He says he wants to get together again soon.” Lara was embarrassed to hear the hope in her own voice.

And still her mother didn’t correct her.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she finally demanded.

Justine got her cheek muscles under control and the twitching stopped. “Is there something you would like me to say?”

“Yes! Say, ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Say, ‘We all know how this is going to end.’ Say, ‘How many times have I warned you to never trust a man?’”

Justine finally registered a recognizable range of emotions: shock and outrage. “When did I ever tell you not to trust a man?”

“Gee, let me think.” Lara gazed up at the ceiling, pretending to rack her brains. “Oh, that’s right: All the time.”

Justine shook her head. “I told you not to be
dependent
on a man. That’s very different. Once you’re self-reliant, you have the luxury of deciding whether to trust people. You should be with someone because you love him, not because you need him.”

Lara considered this. “But with Evan, I felt like I loved him
and
I needed him. Right up until I flushed his engagement ring down the toilet.”

Justine reached over and brushed Lara’s hair back from her forehead. Lara was so startled by this spontaneous affection, it was all she could do not to flinch.

“You are astonishingly generous,” her mother said. “It’s the best thing about you, but also your fatal flaw because you’re always willing to give people one more chance. Some people don’t deserve one more chance.”

Lara tried to decode the underlying message here. “So you’re saying don’t have lunch with Dad?”

“I’m saying that time is a precious resource—time and money and energy.
You
are a precious resource, and unless you start seeing yourself that way, you’re going to deplete your reserves and have nothing left to give.”

“But that sounds so . . . stingy.”

“Only if you don’t think you’re worth taking care of.” Justine nodded to indicate that this discussion was now at an end. “And by the way, there’s spit-up all over your shoes and the floor. Please move to a carpeted area; stomach acid isn’t good for the wood varnish.”

“And you say you’re not maternal.” Lara had to laugh as she grabbed a dish towel and attempted to wipe up the vomit while continuing to soothe the baby. “Don’t try to hide it, Mom. You’re practically Mary Poppins.”