The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service (20 page)

Chapter 26

Lara didn’t go to her father’s wedding. Nobody did, except Gil, Trina, and Trina’s parents, since the civil ceremony was held midmorning on a Wednesday. But she met everyone at the celebratory luncheon—Trina’s family, her college roommate, and a few close coworkers.

The groom’s side of the invite list included only Lara, as far as she could tell. Her paternal grandparents had both died, and Gil wasn’t close to his brother, who lived in Oregon.

Trina’s family would become Gil’s family, Lara could see. He would spend his future holidays at his in-laws’ dinner table; he would attend barbecues and New Year’s Eve parties with people his wife had known for years.

Gil officially had a new life now, and much to Lara’s surprise, she didn’t feel shut out. Instead, she was grateful. Because she could finally stop worrying about him, and wondering if he would ever settle into a steady, normal routine.

Trina sat to the right of Gil at the meal, and Lara sat to his left. She laughed at all his jokes and raised her glass for every toast, but she did not make a speech of her own. She hugged him as she finished dessert and prepared to slip away and let him go until the next time he felt like connecting.

But her father grabbed her hand as she pushed back her chair.

“Wait,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

She heard the expectation and determination in his voice and wanted to race for the exit, but she stayed.

She stayed because he asked and she couldn’t say no.

And when the meal was over and the guests had departed, Gil guided Lara outside to a whitewashed wooden bench on the restaurant patio. He sat with his back to the sun, leaving her shading her eyes with her hand and squinting while his new bride stood behind him, plucking at the skirt of the understated cream cocktail dress she’d settled for in lieu of a frothy white wedding gown.

“I love you, La-la.” Gil smiled at her and slung one arm across the back of the bench.

“I . . . love you, too,” she said slowly.

He took a deep breath and launched into his pitch. “Do you remember how, growing up, you always used to beg for a sibling?”

* * *

“So, you know my dad,” Lara said to Kerry that evening as they tossed tennis balls for the dogs in Kerry’s backyard while Richard—home for twenty-four hours between business trips—gave Cynthia a bath.

“No, not really,” Kerry said.

“Okay, well, you know
of
my dad.” Lara knelt to accept the slobber-soaked green ball Linus offered, then stood up and lobbed it as far as she could. Linus streaked off after it, surprisingly speedy for a dog built like a tank.

“I know that you have a father, yes.”

“Well, he got married today.”

“On a Wednesday?”

“It was a simple civil ceremony, no frills. Anyway, we all had lunch afterward, and he pulled me aside to tell me that he and Trina, his new wife, want to have kids.”

“Oh boy. Isn’t she, like, your age?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the problematic part. Just wait for it.” Lara had to wait a few moments herself. Repeating all of this to Kerry was making the whole thing a little too real. “Trina can’t carry a baby to term. I don’t remember all the gory details, but something about ovarian irregularities and cysts.”

“This story better not be going where I think it’s going.”

“Wait for it,” Lara repeated. “So since the doctor says it’s unlikely she’ll be able to carry a baby to term—”

“Shut up! He wants you to be their surrogate?”

“No.” Lara closed her eyes. “That would be an easy call: hell, no. I might be a pushover, but even I draw the line at hormone injections and carrying somebody else’s baby. Especially after seeing you deliver Cynthia.”

“Painful, exhausting, and a bit fluid-y for my tastes,” Kerry agreed. “But worth every moment.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re high on hormones. Anyway, here’s the deal: He and Trina are looking into adoption, and they want me to write them a letter of recommendation that will go out to the caseworkers, potential birth moms, whoever. They want me to spend at least two pages raving about what a great father my dad is.”

Kerry shot her a sidelong glance. “So they’re asking you to lie.”

“Kind of, I guess.”

“What do you mean,
you guess
?” Kerry practically spit out her gum in outrage. “Your dad wasn’t around for eighty percent of your childhood. I’ve been your best friend for five years, and I’ve never even met the man.”

“True.”

“And when he does bother to see you, it’s always on his timetable and usually at the last minute.”

“Also true. But that doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. He’s just”—Lara searched for the right word—“limited.”

“Yeah, and you’re the one who suffers for his limitations.” Kerry scooped up the tennis ball and hucked it for Maverick, who tripped over his own paws in his haste to retrieve it. “He’s unreliable and he makes promises he has no intention of keeping.”

“To be fair, I think he does
intend
to keep them.” Lara sighed. “Anyway, I want to believe in his potential. I really do. He’s starting a new life, and Trina seems great, and, well . . . what if he’s changed?”

Kerry just looked at her.

“What? It could happen. Isn’t that why we founded Lucky Dog? Because we believe in the potential for growth and second chances?”

“For wayward Westies. Not for grown men who walk away from their families just because they’re not feeling it. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he was your buddy who would help you break curfew or whatever once a month, then disappear whenever the going got tough.”

“He did let me get my belly button pierced. Oh, and he paid for my spiral perm, although I think that was just a passive-aggressive dig at my mom.” Lara had started to notice that she couldn’t have even a short discussion about her father without overusing the word
but
. “But there are a lot of kids out there who need a good home. And who am I to judge?”

“You’re the kid he’s already parented,” Kerry pointed out. “I’d say that makes you uniquely qualified to judge.”

“But what if he really has changed this time?”

Kerry tossed a rope chew to Rufus and Maverick so they could play tug-of-war. “Okay, have it your way. What if he has?”

Lara watched the dogs for a minute, then reclaimed the tennis ball from Linus and held it up. “The whole thing with my dad is kind of like me, Linus, and this tennis ball. My dad is me, and I’m Linus.”

“Who’s the tennis ball?” Kerry asked.

“He always acts like he’s about to throw the ball, but every time he fakes me out.” Lara pulled her right arm back into a pitcher’s stance, then reared forward, but held on to the ball. Linus galloped off toward the back gate in crazed pursuit of the ball that was still clutched in Lara’s hand. “And after all these years, I still go for it every time. I’m even dumber than Linus.”

“Well, let’s not get carried away.
No one
is dumber than Linus.” Kerry got serious when she saw Lara’s expression. “You’re not dumb; you just want to trust your dad. That’s completely normal.”

“I want to believe that he’s different now. I want to believe that he’s capable of being a more involved parent, even if it takes a different child to get him there.” Lara nibbled her lower lip. “Plus, I don’t think he’ll take it very well if I say no.”

Kerry mulled this over for a bit. “Let me ask you something: If your father wanted to adopt one of our dogs, would you approve his application?”

Lara called Linus back from his frantic, fruitless search and handed over the tennis ball. “I wouldn’t have a choice.”

“Really? You’d send him on his way with Linus here, and sleep well at night? You’d feel confident that your dad would keep up with vet appointments, heartworm preventatives, excellent nutrition?” Kerry cupped her hand to her ear. “I don’t hear a
yes
.”

“Children and dogs aren’t the same thing,” Lara protested.

“Yeah, babies are way more work-intensive and emotionally draining,” Kerry reminded her. “And they get colic and reflux and they don’t potty train till they’re three years old. So if you can’t say in good conscience that you’d trust your dad with a puppy, then I don’t see how you could even consider endorsing him for a human being.”

“Yes, but . . .” Lara went through all the automatic objections to Kerry’s argument.

What if he really has changed, like, really for real this time?

And if he hasn’t, isn’t it enough to have a great mom even if the dad’s unreliable?

And how dare I dictate what’s best for other people’s families when I can’t commit to one of my own?

In the end, she simply admitted the truth: “But if I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to drop out of my life again, and this time he might not ever come back.”

* * *

Lara screamed when she saw the foyer floor. She couldn’t help it. The planks of leather and hardwood by Justine’s front door had been scratched, deeply scored with tiny, close-set hatch marks that unmistakably matched the sharp claws of a Shih Tzu hell-bent on destruction.

Her mother was going to die. Her mother was going to kill. Her mother was going to—

“Good Lord, Lara, must you shriek like that?”

Her mother was in the kitchen, about to step out and see the architectural carnage.

Lara threw herself in her mother’s path, trying to block Justine’s view by wrestling her into a bear hug.

“Oof.” Justine gasped for breath. “Get off me.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“Then stop assaulting me.” Justine wriggled out of Lara’s grasp and sniffed her daughter’s breath. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Then what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting strangely ever since you went to your father’s wedding.”

“I didn’t go to his wedding,” Lara said. “Just the lunch afterward.”

Justine was in no mood to equivocate. “Pull yourself together, young lady. I’ve answered three calls for you just this morning from neighbors requesting your services. Apparently, Cherie Chadwick and Melissa O’Brien have been singing your praises at the country club.”

“And people are calling you?”

“Cherie and Melissa told everyone you’re staying with me.” She smiled with a certain grim satisfaction. “I haven’t even reviewed the official offer of purchase for Coterie and already I’m being dragged back into the work world as your secretary and business manager.”

“Come on, Mom. We both know you’ll never sell the salons.”

Justine’s smile went from grim to diabolical. “No one knows
what
I’ll do. It keeps life interesting.”

“Well, thank you for passing along the messages,” Lara said. “But I really don’t need a business manager. I’m fine. Truly.”

“I beg to differ.” Justine frowned down at her cuticles. “And by the way, your hourly rate just doubled.”

“Mother!” That was when Lara noticed that Justine was wearing real clothes—not pajamas masquerading as “loungewear”—and appeared alert and well rested. She didn’t look glamorous, but she did look content.

So Lara swallowed her objections. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Justine glanced over her shoulder toward the foyer floor. “Now let’s go back to the kitchen and sit down for a minute, shall we? I need to speak with you.”

That was when Lara realized how quiet the house was. “What did you do to Mullet? Where is she, Mom?”

“Calm down. All the dogs are safely tucked away in the laundry room.”

“The laundry room?” Lara cried, as if the laundry room were a rotting third-world prison instead of a clean, bright area so spacious it could practically double as a dog park.

“Yes. Or, as I like to call it, the holding cell. Now
sit
.”

Lara felt the blood drain from her face as she followed her mother to the table and took a seat.

Justine took her time pouring a glass of water and arranging herself in the chair across from Lara. “I want you to admit that you’ve overextended yourself with these dogs.”

Oh God. It was going to be Squirrelgate, Part II.

“Go on,” Justine commanded. “I want to hear you say it: ‘I have too many dogs.’”

“I . . .” Lara’s voice lapsed into a wheeze.

“Have too many dogs,” her mother prompted.

Lara repeated the words, mumbling low and almost unintelligibly.

“You have overcommitted yourself, and as a result, you are stressed and the dogs are stressed. And Mullet in particular is acting out. Things cannot go on as they have been.”

“I know,” Lara told the gleaming granite tabletop. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ll pay to have the floor refinished.”

Justine sighed with impatience. “I should have known you weren’t going to make this easy on me.”

Lara screwed her eyes shut and waited for the ultimatum:
Get rid of the dogs or get out of my house
.

“You want me to beg? Fine.” Her mother shifted in her chair. “I’d like to formally adopt her.”

“Who?” Lara’s eyes flew open. “
Mullet?
But you hate each other.”

“We do not.” As if on cue, Mullet strolled into the kitchen, gave Lara a filthy look, and sank down next to Justine’s chair with a phlegmy snort. Instead of petting the dog, Justine sort of nudged her with her foot. Mullet kicked right back.

Lara watched this exchange in disbelief. “Yeah, you do. I’ve never seen so much stone-cold bitchery in my life. From both of you. And how the hell did she break out of the laundry room?”

“She’s very resourceful. Have you ever considered that the reason you have so many problems with her is that you constantly underestimate her?”

“No. I definitely have not considered that.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that Mew-lay is extremely bright. Temperamental, yes, but—”

Lara did a double take. “What did you just say?”

“Mew-lay,” Justine repeated. “Her name.”

“Is she French now? Are we going the way of calling Target ‘Tar-jay’?”

“She’s a dignified dog who deserves a dignified name. Honestly, Lara,
Mullet
? Can you blame her for being out of sorts?”

Lara looked down at the furry little thug with the squashed-in face and the permanent sneer. “Are you going to start painting her toenails pink and dolling her up in a diamond tiara, too?”