We Interrupt This Date (11 page)

DeLorean’s plane had already touched down by
the time I rushed into the terminal panting like an overheated dog.
Swarms of newly arrived travelers milled around me, jostling for
space next to the baggage carousel. I stepped back against the
nearest wall just in time to avoid being crushed between two
football player-sized men in suits, turned slightly to the right,
and spotted DeLorean huddled in a corner clutching Cole in front of
her in a baby carrier. Various carry-on bags swung from her
shoulders.

She was wearing an emerald green cocktail
dress and spiked heels—silver in color. I didn’t know how she
managed to keep her balance. Her auburn hair stood out from her
head in a mass of thick, unruly curls. If the break up with Baldwin
had stressed her, the effects didn’t show on the perfect oval of
her face. Her make-up, lightly applied, was enough to highlight her
long-lashed blue eyes and her full lips. More than a few men turned
for a second look as they walked past. I felt a surge of pride.
That was my little sister they were admiring.

Cole looked in my direction. His chubby fist,
clutching a rattle, waved back and forth. My heart melted and I
stepped forward and somehow managed to hug them both. Then I held
out my arms. DeLorean handed him over, carrier and all.

“Thank God you’re finally here, Susan. What
took you so long? All this stuff weighs a ton.”

“Come over to this side.” I led the way to a
bench. “Let’s wait till the herd thins before we fetch your
luggage.”

“Good idea.” She collapsed on the bench, her
bags spread out around her, and on my feet. “I have three
suitcases. Can you believe it? Two years with Baldwin, that flaming
narcissist, and all I have to show for it are a few bags and
suitcases. And my precious Cole, but you know what I mean.”

I’d flown out to California six months ago
when Cole was born because Mama was not quite over her hysterectomy
and couldn’t make the trip. DeLorean had proudly shown me the
beautifully decorated apartment and expensive furniture that looked
like it had come out of a showroom. Baldwin liked to have friends
over and he obviously wanted them to see that his place was first
class. He’d paid more attention to his décor than he did to his
son, bragging that he’d had his home professionally decorated.
Later DeLorean had pulled me aside and told me with a pout that
Baldwin didn’t want a child, but she was going to get him to be
reasonable now that the child had actually been born and was lying
right there in a crib staring up at him.

As if she were reading my mind, DeLorean
said, “Baldwin got custody of the furniture and all the other
gorgeous things in the apartment, and I got Cole and Brad. Not that
I’m complaining.”

I’d been nodding, thinking that since Baldwin
paid for everything and set such store by his possessions, he’d
want to claim them for himself. But when she said, "Brad,” my
senses went on high alert.

“Who or what is Brad?” I was almost afraid to
hear the answer. Long years of experience with DeLorean had made me
cautious.

Her bright expression didn’t change. “He’s
Cole’s puppy. Named after Brad Pitt. Don’t you think he’s the
handsomest thing in Hollywood?” DeLorean beamed me a smile that
would have prompted whole cities of admiring men to throw
themselves off cliffs on her behalf. “Goodness, it’s crowded in
here.” She extracted a sheaf of papers from her purse and used them
to fan herself.

I knew DeLorean too well to let her distract
me. “You didn’t say anything about a puppy.” I glanced at Cole and
when he flashed his dimples at me and gurgled, I reached down and
stroked his silky blond hair. A baby this age wouldn’t know a puppy
from a giraffe. What was DeLorean thinking?

Big, troubled sigh from DeLorean, accompanied
by a mini-pout. “There wasn’t time. I had a ton of stuff to do,
getting my stuff packed, picking up Cole’s medical records from his
pediatrician, putting in change of address forms at the post
office. You have no idea. You’ve always been willing to stay stuck
in Mount Pleasant like it’s the Garden of Eden or something. Moving
across country is hard work. I can’t be expected to think of every
single thing like I’m some kind of robot with a computer for a
brain.”

It didn’t take a computer brain to remember
you had a dog. “We can pick up the puppy after we load your
bags.”

“Did you bring your old car, that van thing
with all the room in the back?”

“The minivan. It’s the only vehicle I have,
Dee. I haven’t gotten rich and added a little sports number to the
fleet since you last talked to me. Why?”

“Brad’s crate wouldn’t fit in a regular car.
And I don’t want him bouncing around loose next to Cole in his car
seat.”

Okay, so Brad sounded like a lively puppy.
There was plenty of room at my place for him to run in the fenced
back yard. True, the fenced part of the yard wasn’t all that big,
but how much room could a puppy need?

The answer to that question took on new
dimensions after we pulled around to the cargo area to get Brad. I
left DeLorean and Cole in the car and walked over to a service
window. One of the baggage handlers wandered out and led me into a
building that looked like an oversized metal garage. He pointed out
a crate about three feet high and two feet wide.

“There’s got to be a mistake.” I just managed
to keep a civil tone. I was hot, tired after loading DeLorean’s
things, and in no mood for incompetence. “I’m picking up a puppy,
not a pony.”

I turned in a complete circle and pointed to
a row of crates that could have held cocker spaniels. “He’s
probably in one of those.”

“DeLorean Marsh, right?”

“My sister.”

“There’s your dog, lady.” He pointed to the
big crate again. Then he motioned to a co-worker, who brought over
a cart that looked sturdy enough to move an elephant.

My heart rate totally out of control, I
approached the crate and squatted to peer inside. A mass of long,
curly, gold-colored fur undulated back and forth and a pink tongue
tried to lick my hand through the bars. I sucked in a deep
centering breath and read the tag on the crate. No wonder DeLorean
hadn’t mentioned Brad during our brief phone conversation this
morning. She’d known I would have put my foot down. Probably.

Toy poodle-sized puppy, okay. Massive
designer dog--a golden doodle according to the tag on the
crate--not okay. Hairy, too big to be a housedog. And knowing
DeLorean, probably not trained and not housebroken.

“You could have told me,” I said in barely
civil tones when I was back in the minivan and the crate was
loaded. We’d had to take out and rearrange the suitcases to squeeze
the crate in. “You could have said you were bringing a dog that
could swallow me whole and not show a tummy bulge.”

“Don’t be so bitchy. Brad is Cole’s golden
doodle. You wouldn’t want to deprive your baby nephew of his pet,
would you?” She shoved a wayward curl out of her face and when it
sprang back, she pushed it behind her ear and crossed her arms over
her chest. “I’m exhausted and I haven’t eaten all day. As if I
don’t have enough to worry about, you’re giving me grief about my
baby’s pet.”

“I though a golden doodle was a cross between
a poodle and a golden retriever. Brad’s huge. He looks more like a
great dane-kanoodle on steroids if you ask me.”

“There isn’t any such thing.” Her pout
assumed record-breaking proportions, threatening to dislocate her
jaw.

“Gee, why not? Surely there are babies all
over the country crying in their cribs to get one.”

I eased out of the parking lot and into a
break in traffic. I took deep centering breaths until I felt
lightheaded. I was not going to argue with my sister, who was
clearly suffering after her breakup. I was not going to let
DeLorean ruin my day. What was left of my day.

Even when we got home and I freed Brad from
the crate and discovered that A. my backyard fence had a hole in it
that a horse could fit through and B. Brad’s coat was matted and he
had fleas, I maintained control. I pasted on my best “I am coping”
smile and held tight to the leash to keep DeLorean’s designer dog
from dragging me out of the neighborhood.

When I rubbed his fur backward and pointed
out a couple of scurrying fleas, DeLorean looked at me
helplessly.

“I’ve been too busy with Cole to have time to
comb Brad or worry over parasites. You’re a mother, you know how it
is with a baby and their constant needs. And Baldwin insisted I be
the only caregiver instead of hiring a babysitter so I could go
back to work. I thought it was because he finally learned to love
Cole, but it turned out that was only another way to control me.”
Her voice trembled, and I noticed faint blue circles showing
through her under-eye concealer.

Yeah, I could have told her all about control
tactics. After T. Chandler and I married, he took charge and I
didn’t have to think anymore, never had to wonder what to say or
do. Never realized I was exactly the kind of possession he’d been
looking for; not until we’d been married a couple of years and I
started to develop too much personality, as he called it. He’d let
me know he’d wanted someone who was pretty, quiet, and obedient, so
he’d be “free to pursue his interests.” I eventually outgrew my
meekness. Then I developed enough outrage to get into frequent
shouting matches with him before our marriage finally ended, with
him accusing me in injured tones of pulling a “bait and switch.”
Maybe the new Mrs. Caraway, the one who spent all her spare time at
the plastic surgeon’s, was the mannequin he craved.

“Sorry, Susan. If it’s too much trouble to
help me, I’ll call some of my friends.” She sounded close to
tears.

My heart softened. My baby sister had gotten
herself into a real mess with Baldwin. But at least she hadn’t
married him and stuck with him for nineteen soul-numbing years the
way I had with T. Chandler.

I held up my right hand, palm facing out.
“It’s okay. I can take the dog to be groomed and get him a flea
bath. Everything will turn out fine.” I put Brad back in his
crate.

After putting her things in her room, I told
her to help herself in the kitchen. She had to be starved.

“There’s leftover salad and ham for
sandwiches, iced tea if you want it.”

“I’m hungry, but I don’t know if I can eat. I
feel like I’ve been run through a paper shredder.”

That was understandable. I fixed her a tuna
salad sandwich anyway. She made a face. A stranger walking in would
think I’d just placed an armed grenade in front of her, but she
picked up the sandwich and nibbled at the edges.

It was late afternoon, probably too late to
get Brad fumigated, but I had to get something set up. I tapped a
pencil against the countertop until DeLorean shot me a pained look.
Right. Her nerves were shredded.

I remembered that Mama took her babies to a
place called the Pet Wellness Center and Spa that I passed every
day on the way to work. I dialed them and said I had an
emergency.

“Sure, we’ll do him tomorrow morning if you
bring him early. We’re always busy on Saturdays, but we’ve had a
cancellation.”

Tomorrow morning didn’t seem soon enough
given the number of fleas I’d seen setting up homesteads on Brad’s
back, but I had no desire to waste more time calling around to
other shops.

As soon as I broke off the call, I started
dialing Mama’s number. DeLorean looked over my shoulder and let out
a shriek. She dropped her sandwich on the table, grabbed the
receiver from me and slammed it down in its cradle. Her eyes went
huge.

“Susan, give me a break. I knew you’d want to
involve Mama first thing. You have no clue how exhausted I am. Not
one clue. Cole doesn’t sleep all night long--he wakes me up like
every three hours--and I had to get up way early for my flight. I
had to finish packing and they make you arrive hours early for
security, and then he fussed all the way across the country and I
couldn’t eat those airplane snacks, so I feel positively ill.”

“Mama won’t be pleased that we didn’t tell
her right away. She’s never seen Cole.”

Mama had planned to fly to LA next month, a
trip that involved the services of a whole office full of travel
agents, as well as at least an hour of my time every few days. We’d
spent countless hours discussing how much luggage she’d need and
whether she should invest in a new wardrobe. We’d argued over
whether she should bring little coats for the Chihuahuas or if it
would be warm enough in LA. to keep them from developing
hypothermia.

“Mama will have to get over it. I simply
can’t handle her right now.”

I shrugged. I put a leash on Brad and walked
him in the back yard. Then I tried to put him back in his crate, an
operation that took a lot more time then I’d budgeted since he dug
in all four feet when I tried to move him. I couldn’t blame him for
not wanting to be cramped up, but there was no way I could turn him
loose in the house. I supposed I’d have to hire someone to repair
the fence. I gave up and jailed him in the utility room.

I grabbed my keys and left for an emergency
trip to the grocery with a list that included a large bag of dog
food. When I got back, DeLorean was holding Cole, feeding him a
concoction that was supposed to be strained peas, but looked like
what would happen if someone boiled a pot of grasshoppers and
scraped the resulting goo into a jar. He was greedily slurping up
his dinner and grinning at the same time. What hadn’t dribbled onto
the front of DeLorean had made its way onto what used to be my
clean kitchen floor. I made a mental note to shop for a high
chair.

DeLorean wiped a green glob off a towel she’d
draped across her front. “Susan? Would you mind feeding Cole the
rest of his peas while I take a nap? I’m soooo wiped out from the
trip.”