Where Do I Go? (43 page)

P.J. shrugged, his eyes locked on the movie. “The weather was OK. Ask Dad. He's the one who called it.”

The door to the den was closed. I hung up my coat, found the makings for tuna fish sandwiches and put my mom to work, filled the teakettle and turned on the burner . . . before tapping on the den door and sticking my head in. Philip was slumped in the leather armchair by the reading lamp.

“Hey. You guys are home early.”

My husband looked up, eyes hard. “That's right. Thanks to you.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Close the door.”

I did but stood with my back against it, hand on the handle.
Déjà vu.

Philip threw his hands wide. “You just cost Fairbanks and Fenchel our business with Lester Stone, that's what.”

“Wha—what are you talking about?”

“The phone call to Lester? Dropping Bill Robinson's name into the conversation?”

“But Henry asked me to get a message to you! He said it was important!”

“Fine. Talk to
me
. But you don't tell my business to
anyone
, Gabrielle!” His voice was hard, clipped. “Do you understand?!”

I was totally confused. “I tried to call your cell. Henry tried too, but he couldn't get through. That's why he called me.”

“Doesn't matter. You had no business talking to Lester Stone about Bill Robinson.”

“But . . . I thought that was the message, so you'd know why Henry wanted you to call.”

Philip pushed himself out of the chair. I flinched, but all he did was jab a finger at me. “Did Henry tell you to go through Lester? Huh? Did he?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I'm telling you! That phone call cost us our contract with Stone! And it's your fault!”

I gripped the doorknob harder. “But I didn't tell Lester any-thing! I just said what Henry told me, for you to call about the Bill Robinson project.”

“ ‘But I didn't tell Lester anything,' ” he mocked in a high-pitched voice. “You told enough just dropping Robinson's name. Turns out Lester Stone is involved in a lawsuit with Bill Robinson, and he didn't like it one bit that Fairbanks and Fenchel are working with him. Said it was a conflict of interest for him to employ the same developer.” Philip threw up his hands. “Zap. We're done. Just like that.”

My heart was pounding now. “But I didn't know that! How could I—”

“You don't have to know it!” He was yelling now. “All you have to know is not to talk about my business with
anyone
! Do you understand me, Gabrielle?”

The teakettle whistled. Jerking the door open, I fled to the kitchen to silence it, catching frightened glances from the boys as I ran through the living room. I needed time to pull myself together—but I forgot my mother was still puttering in the kitchen, taking her sweet time making the tuna sandwiches. I flipped the burner off under the teakettle and kept going to my bedroom, where I flung myself on the bed.

Philip followed me, slamming the bedroom door behind him. “I'm not through with you, Gabrielle. You just don't get it, do you? Ever since we moved here, you've done everything you can think of to undermine my new business.”

I sat up, hugging a pillow in front of me. “That's not true, Philip!”

“Shut up. That's the problem with you. You don't have any business savvy. You don't know what a corporate wife should be doing to help make her husband a success. You turn up your nose at Mona Fenchel's connections that would help us break into a business class social strata. You puke all over Lester Stone's sail-boat. You bring your mother and her . . . her dumb mutt here just after the boys come home for the summer, turning this pent-house into a three-generation madhouse . . .” He stopped and glared at me. “Speaking of your mother, what's the deal with the group home? When is she moving in?”

I was too scared to speak. I shook my head slightly.

“I knew it!” he yelled. “This is the last straw, Gabby! The last straw!”

Philip stomped out without saying where, and the whole house-hold felt like a graveyard the rest of that day. The boys holed up in their room. My mom shut herself and Dandy in her borrowed bedroom. Moving like a zombie, I finished the sandwiches my mom had started, set out fruit and chips on the kitchen counter, tapped on doors, told my sons and my mother they could get some-thing to eat when they got hungry, and spent the rest of the day in my bedroom, blinds pulled, crying until I'd sucked out every drop.

Philip still wasn't back when I turned out the light at nine o'clock.

But I woke with a start when I heard Philip yell, “What the—!” followed by a string of curses. Then, “Where's that dog! Who didn't take the dog out?”

I grabbed my robe and went flying down the hall to the gallery. Philip was hopping on one canvas boat shoe, ripping off the other. A pile of dog poop had been deposited right beside the front door, now mashed and stinking where Philip had stepped in it.

“Oh no! Paul must've forgotten to take him out before bed . . . I'll—I'll get the dog and take him out now. Just give me a sec to get my clothes on.”

“Just clean up this mess, Gabby,” Philip said between clenched teeth. “I'm dressed. I'll take the stupid dog out. Just . . . just get my other gym shoes and take this one and clean it off.”

I carried the stinking canvas boat shoe into the laundry room, got Philip's other shoes from the bedroom, then went for paper towels, a bucket, rag, and pine cleaner. When I got back to the gallery, Philip was trying to clip the leash onto Dandy's collar, who was pulling backward and growling.

“Let me do it.”

“Forget it!” Dropping the leash, Philip grabbed the dog up under his arm and disappeared into the elevator. The doors closed.

I cleaned up the mess in the gallery, washed the entire marble-tiled floor with pine cleaner, and then tackled Philip's shoe. I got the poop off as best I could, then threw it into the washing machine. A half hour passed. Philip still wasn't back, so I went to bed.

I woke at three-something and realized the other side of our king bed was empty. Putting on my robe, I wandered through the dark penthouse. The gallery light, which I'd left on, was out. Philip was sacked out on the couch, snoring gently.

Well, fine. I didn't want to sleep with the big jerk anyway.

I woke the next morning, a dull headache throbbing above my eyes. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Philip was getting ready to go to work.

I put on my robe and dragged myself to the kitchen, feeling like Charlie Brown with a cloud of gloom over my head. I had no idea how to dig myself out of the pit I was in. I should go in to work today to drop the bomb on Mabel that I needed to take an extended leave of absence and offer to resign. Mom would prob-ably be happy to go with me. But that left the boys hanging . . .

To my surprise, the pungent smell of fresh coffee greeted me. I stared dumbly at the coffeemaker, which was dripping merrily. Philip had made the coffee?

A tiny ray of hope broke through the gloom cloud. Maybe Philip was over his mad. Maybe I should call Mabel, tell her I have a family emergency, take the day off, try to work out plans for the boys and my mom with Philip, and go in tomorrow to have the face-to-face talk about—

“Celeste?” My mom's voice was plaintive. “Have you seen Dandy? He wasn't beside my bed when I woke up.”

I frowned. That was the first time Mom had called me by the wrong name in over a week. Had she heard the dog-poop-in-the-gallery fiasco last night? “Oh, he's probably sleeping in Paul's bed. I'll get him.” I needed to take the dog out soon, anyway.

I headed for the boys' bedroom and peeked in. Both boys were still asleep. But no Dandy. Picking up my pace, I did a quick search through the main rooms and was just heading for the master bedroom when Philip appeared in the hallway, cleanshaven, tan slacks, black silk short-sleeve shirt, smelling like his Armani aftershave.

I stood in his way, arms crossed, knowing I looked like a frowzy housewife in my robe and uncombed hair. “Where's the dog?”

He looked down at me, unperturbed. “I put him out. What did you think I was going to do after he crapped all over our floor?”

“He's been out since
last night
?”

Behind me, I heard a plaintive wail and felt my mother clutch my robe. “Oh no! No, no . . . he'll get lost! Oh, Celeste, we have to find Dandy! It's too cold in Alaska!”

“You rat!” I hissed through my teeth at my husband as he calmly squeezed past us and headed for the kitchen. I pried my mother's fingers off my robe and patted her hand. “Don't worry, Mom. He's probably hanging around outside, wanting breakfast. I'll get dressed and go right down, okay?”

I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and was heading for the elevator when Paul came running after me in shorts, pajama top, and sockless gym shoes. “Mom! What happened? Where's Dandy? Why is Grandma crying in her room?”

I tried to be matter-of-fact as the elevator door dinged open and Paul followed me in. “Your dad, uh, took Dandy out last night, and I guess the dog got away. I'm sure he won't have gone too far.”

It seemed to take forever as the elevator stopped again and again to pick up residents leaving early for work. In the lobby, Mr. Bentley was already on duty, passing out newspapers, whistling for taxis. But I shouldered in. “Mr. Bentley? Did you see Dandy outside this morning?” I pointed toward the frontage road exit. “We . . . lost him last night.”

The doorman shook his head. “Sure haven't, Mrs. Fairbanks. I'll keep an eye out and let you know soon as I do.”

But Paul and I were already flying out the revolving door toward the park, and we spent the next half hour running up and down the jogging path, calling the dog's name. We even went through the underpass and out toward the beach, barely noticing the calm blue of the lake under a perfectly clear sky. We stopped joggers, described Dandy, and asked them to keep an eye out, pointing back toward the high-rise where we lived.

But no dog.

chapter 42

Paul was in tears. We walked back to Richmond Towers with my arm across his shoulders. “I know, kiddo. But we'll keep praying, okay? Maybe somebody found Dandy and took him to the animal shelter. I'll call, okay? He has a tag on.”

“But it has Grandma's North Dakota phone number!”

“Well . . . but if the shelter has him, we can use it to identify him.”

Back upstairs, I tried to soften the bad news. “Mom . . . Mom. Don't cry. I'm sure we'll find him. Look, I'll stay home today with you and the boys, and we'll look for Dandy and—”

“Don't you have to go to work today, Gabrielle?” Philip broke in, coffee cup in hand. “To finish things up, talk to your boss?”

I glared at him. “Yes. But I can't leave now, can I? There's the boys and—”

“Yeah. Just like I figured. Look, you just go. I've got the boys.”

I gaped at him, my thoughts ricocheting. Was Philip actually going to pitch in and take care of the boys? “What do you mean? Are you going to—”

“I
said
, I've got it covered.” My husband turned on his heel and disappeared into the den. Not out the door. Into the den.

Well. This was an interesting turn of events. Maybe Philip felt guilty for throwing the dog out last night. Maybe he and the boys would go look for the dog while I was gone. If Philip was willing to stay home from work and cover for the boys while I took Mom to Manna House and finished business there, maybe there was hope we could work things out bit by bit.

Mom was reluctant to leave with Dandy still missing, but on the other hand she didn't want to stay there “. . . with that mean man,” she whispered to me. I hustled to get ready before Philip changed his mind. On the way out, I fished in the wooden bowl in the gallery where we kept car keys but couldn't find the keys for the rental car. I poked my head into the den. “Have you seen the keys for the minivan?”

Philip looked up, all nonchalance. “Oh. Enterprise picked it up yesterday afternoon, or maybe early this morning. I left the keys at the front desk downstairs.”

I counted to three. “You could have said something.”

“I did. Last week we said we'd keep the rental another week. Week's over. And you can use the El today, Gabby, since you don't have to pick up the boys at camp.” He turned back to the computer.

We'd also talked about leasing a second car. But . . . so be it. I wasn't going to get bent out of shape about this. The El was fine with me, though it meant more walking and stairs for my mom.

It took longer to get to the shelter, but we finally walked in at ten o'clock. I signed in, got my mom settled in the multipurpose room with a cup of coffee, and came back to the reception cubby to ask if Mabel was in. Angela shook her head. “Not yet. But she called. She'll be in around lunch.” She stood up and peered over the counter. “Where's Dandy today?”