Second Chance Spring Page 3

  “We’ll definitely talk more about that,” I tried.

  The bottom lip quivered as she climbed from the car, and Taylor froze with one foot in and one foot out.

  “Mr. Whitewood, you’re holding up the drop-off line.”

  I’d never especially liked Mrs. Perri and I gave her a half-hearted smile now. I glanced behind us at the long line of cars. “Right. Okay. See you later, Taylor.” I kissed her and pulled her stiff little shoulders in for a hug.

  “Promise,” she whispered.

  “Fine,” I said. “Go to school.”

  Back in the car, we raced to daycare and I caught Madison’s happy grin in the rear view. “What did I promise?” I asked her.

  “Dog, dog, dog, dog!” She clapped again.

  “What?”

  “You said we getting a dog!”

  Oh shit.

  I delivered Madison to daycare with no issues and dialed into my call, managing to stall with small talk while I drove home and fumbled to get back inside. I kept an office at the house, and was relieved for the quiet and routine of the little space once I got settled there. I’d had a small office in town for a while, but I’d realized that it was just easier to work from home. Without Linda around, the girls needed me to be more flexible. And though my brother Callan was a great backup plan, he had his own life, and I couldn’t call him whenever someone came home sick.

  I was just the tiniest bit worried about whatever dog situation Taylor thought was going to happen after school, but I managed to focus on work until lunchtime, glancing out the front windows now and then as the quiet little neighborhood went on with its day.

  The woman who lived alone a couple houses down across the street came back from a run while I talked to my client, and I couldn’t help but admire her long trim limbs and the way her brown ponytail swung and shone in the sunlight as she reached down to pet her dog. She was pretty—I’d always thought so. Even Linda had remarked on it when we’d first moved in and introduced ourselves. “But she’s lonely,” Linda had said, and I wondered then how she could possibly know that after one meeting. I thought I remembered the woman being married when we’d first moved in anyway, but maybe not. I was crap at details, but Linda had a nose for those things.

  I wondered what my late wife would do about this situation—the imaginary Mastiff in the backyard and the potentially very real dog I’d evidently promised this morning. If only she really were just late. Sometimes I still thought she might walk through the door and pick up where she’d left off. But most of the time I knew she was really gone, and I was on my own.

  Doctor Dogs Can’t Be Adopted

  Paige

  Monday afternoon I headed downtown (such as it was—Singletree had all of six traffic lights along Main Street) to the shelter where I volunteered. The time I spent there was more selfish than anything, really. I loved animals, but couldn’t imagine caring for as many as I would have loved to have at my little house. So I limited myself to one dog—Bobo, the mutt—and weekly sessions with all the dogs I could handle at the shelter.

  “She’s back!” Gertie Hendrige smiled from the front counter as I walked in.

  “You say that like you think one day I won’t be,” I said, realizing immediately that she was right. Of course they had shelters in Baltimore too. I’d just have to find one where I could volunteer. Though I doubted it would work quite like this one did.

  “I’m just happy to have you,” she said. The older woman smiled and pushed open the door behind the counter, leading me to the back of the shelter, where the little corrals were full of hopeful dogs. It always broke my heart just a bit to see how many abandoned and unwanted animals waited patiently back here, but I reminded myself that they had a pretty good life here, even if they never got to go to a real home. Gertie refused to send them on to a kill shelter, and when she outgrew the room she had here, she took dogs to her own house, which was an old farmhouse on several acres. Her doting and very understanding husband had built her a second shelter inside the old barn on the property—sometimes I made an extra trip out there to help out.

  “What needs doing?” I asked, as I followed Gertie down the center aisle.

  “Same old stuff—cleaning out the hotel rooms and a little TLC.” Gertie refused to call the spaces the dogs stayed in “cages” or even “crates.” She preferred to think of the entire place as a pet hotel and had considered renaming the Singletree Shelter to the Singletree Pet Hotel until someone pointed out that it might deter potential adoptive parents, who’d think it was a lodging for dogs whose families were just on vacation.

  “I’m on it,” I promised. I had been volunteering here since high school, with several years off in the middle during college, med school and residency. But as soon as I was back in town, I had come back. Occasionally I wondered if it wouldn’t have been a better fit to become an animal doctor. Animals sure made a lot more sense to me than most people did.

  I spent a happy afternoon moving dogs in and out of their “hotel rooms” and taking them out to run around and play. I was on hands and knees in the back of one room when I heard an excited squeal echo down the long hall, followed by Gertie’s cheerful voice and a decidedly masculine tone right after. Someone was here to look! I hoped he’d take a dog or two home—it always made me happy to see one of these little loves find a forever home.

  “Look at this one!” A little girl’s happy voice danced down the hallway. “Look at this one, and this one…”

  “And this one!” A second, higher voice echoed the first.

  “There are a lot of dogs to see, girls,” the man’s voice said. “Let’s take our time.”

  “There are a lot,” Gertie agreed. “And I’m sure the perfect pet is here just waiting for you to find him or her!”

  “What kind of dog is that?” The little girl’s voice asked, and I realized as I was ducked half inside a very large pet carrier at the back of a stall that the family was standing just outside, looking at my butt and legs extending out the door of the carrier as I scrubbed the back.

  “A rare breed,” Gertie giggled. “A doctor dog.”

  I scooted backward and pulled my head out, realizing I looked like a mess, and wishing it weren’t true as I took in the adorable family staring at me through the fence. It was my across-the-street neighbor and his daughters, and they were all watching me with matching quizzical expressions. “Hi,” I managed, feeling my cheeks heat as I dropped the muck rag behind me.

  I hadn’t talked to my neighbor in a couple years and I felt both ashamed for having been unneighborly and embarrassed for the almost instant attraction I felt looking at him now. Had he always been so handsome? The tall broad-shouldered man standing outside my current enclosure had striking black hair and eyes that could have been gold, they were so light brown. He held a tiny blond girl in one arm and had another arm wrapped around the shoulders and chest of a taller girl who stood at his feet.

  “Tha’s not a dog,” shrieked the smaller girl.

  The man laughed. “No, Maddie. That’s not a dog.” He grinned at me. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” I said, standing and wiping my hands on my jeans. “Understandable mistake, but I’m not actually up for adoption today.”

  “Paige,” Gertie said. “This is Cormac Whitewood and these are his daughters Maddie and Taylor.”

  I made eye contact with each of the girls as I greeted them, and then looked into those burnished gold eyes and felt my insides shiver. “It’s nice to see you. I think we’re actually neighbors. I’m Paige Tanner. I live in the blue house across the street from you.”

  “You do,” Cormac confirmed, and I found myself way too happy to know that he recognized me.

  “You’re getting a dog, huh?”

  The girls both exploded in affirmation and Cormac looked less certain. “We’re looking today.”

  “We are getting a dog,” Taylor said, her face earnest as she nodded her head. “Daddy promised today before I would go to school.�
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  “Wow,” I said, giving him a grin. “If it took a dog to get you to school today, what’s he going to have to get you tomorrow? A giraffe?”

  Madison bounced in Cormac’s arms. “I wanna giraffe!”

  “Now you’ve done it,” Cormac said.

  “Sorry.” I spread my hands at my sides, laughing.

  Cormac sneezed into his elbow then, and turned to me with watery eyes. “Sorry, excuse me. Guess we’d better get on with this before my allergies explode.”

  “Nice to see you,” I said, and watched as they progressed down the center aisle, looking at all the eager pups who’d love to go home with two little girls. I was happy for them, and for the dog they’d choose.

  I was outside playing with a few of the dogs when Gertie came bustling back out. “Wasn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” She asked, her hands clasped in front of her and a bright smile on her face.

  “Did they adopt a dog?”

  “They did. They took a lab mix, though the oldest girl was dead set on Brutus.”

  “Poor Brutus.” If I hadn’t been planning a move to a big city where I doubted I’d have a lot of space for another dog, I would’ve taken the guy home. He was a St. Bernard and Rottweiler mix, and he weighed a hundred twenty pounds, easily. He was just too much dog for most people, and he’d been here a while. Despite his size, he was the sweetest dog I had ever met, and I spent a lot of time hanging out with him. I tried not to choose favorites in the kennel, but Brutus was definitely on my list.

  “I hope they’ll be happy with him,” I said. Too many folks ended up unprepared and brought their dogs back soon after taking them home.

  “He did say he had allergies,” Gertie said, looking worried. “But I can’t imagine he’d return a dog. You know those girls lost their mother not long ago.”

  I nodded. Poor little girls. Poor Cormac.

  Sadness welled in me for them, but also for the woman who’d left behind such a beautiful family. I tried to keep my thoughts chaste and empathetic, but there was a tiny part of me that fixated on that golden-eyed gaze and the deep rolling voice of Cormac Whitewood. His wife had been a lucky woman, I decided.

  Got the ‘Lergy

  Cormac

  Real dogs, as it turned out, were more difficult to care for than imaginary ones, regardless of size. And Luke, the Labrador mix Madison and Taylor had chosen, was no exception.

  The dog may have been shell-shocked from the ride home, during which he was required to sit in the back seat between two car seats, assaulted by eager little hands from every direction. He rode along well enough, a worried expression on his likable face, but when we arrived home, he dashed into the backyard and disappeared behind the shrubs that lined the back fence, inviting a game of hide-and-seek that lasted well over an hour.

  I stood on the back patio, watching the girls climb through the bushes and wondering what to do. They’d both need real baths tonight, and I’d need to find a place for the dog to sleep, too. And what was with all this sneezing? Was I getting sick? I had allergies when I was little, but I didn’t remember them being too bad.

  As I sneezed for the millionth time, I called the girls and took them back inside, sending Taylor up to get a bath started. Madison helped me set up the food and water dishes we’d bought, and stared up at me with big round eyes as I sneezed again.

  “Sick Daddy.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think I’m allergic to Luke.”

  Even Madison, at four, seemed to understand that this was not a good thing. “Nope. Not Yuke.”

  We pulled an old blanket from the donation box and went outside to make a bed for Luke in the corner of the patio near the sliding glass door. “Luke,” I called, rattling the food as I put it down. “Come on, boy.”

  “Yuke!” Madison called helpfully, mimicking my posture with her hands cupped around her mouth.

  The Lab crawled out from the bushes, looking torn between the promise of food and the shelter of the far reaches of the yard.

  “Dinnertime, Yuke,” Madison said.

  Taylor stepped out behind them. “I wanted to feed him,” she whined.

  “Tonight let’s just let poor Luke get settled, girls. Tomorrow we can come up with a chore list and you can both take turns taking care of him, okay?” I felt relieved as the dog trotted over, glanced at each of them and then began to lap at the water in his bowl.

  “Let’s let him eat in peace, okay?”

  I guided the girls inside and helped Maddie through her bath, coming back downstairs to fix dinner for them after making them promise to keep Luke calm. They let the dog into the living room, and miraculously, he seemed content to stay in that single room instead of galloping through the house.

  It would help with the allergies if I could keep the furry dog contained to one space in the house, I figured, as I sneezed again.

  By the time the girls were in bed and Luke was dozing peacefully near the sliding glass door, I was convinced we’d made a huge mistake. My eyes were red and swollen, I was sniffing and coughing and sneezing, and generally miserable. I took a long shower, trying to wash all remnants of dog off my hands and body, but as soon as I was dressed again, my nose began to itch.

  “This is not a good sign,” I said, popping an allergy pill. I didn’t like to think about what it would mean if I couldn’t live with the dog—how could I take him away from the girls when they so clearly already loved him and they’d already lost so much?

  I sat down to watch some television and woke up in my chair two hours later when Luke’s cold nose pressed against my hand and a low whine reached my ears.

  “Good dog,” I said, scratching Luke’s ears. I let the big dog out, making sure he had enough water and that the back gate was secure, and then I put myself to bed at the late hour of nine o’clock.

  Allergy medicine, I recalled, made me very sleepy.

  As I drifted off to sleep again, my thoughts turned to Paige Tanner. The pretty doctor had looked adorably disheveled at the shelter today as she’d greeted us, silky wisps of hair escaping her ponytail and her shirt rumpled from crawling into the kennels to clean them. For some reason I couldn’t identify, I liked her rumpled. She always looked very put together—not that I’d spent a lot of time thinking about it. But she was one of those women who just seemed completely proficient most of the time, handling things and taking care of business. Every time I’d seen her in her driveway getting into her car in the morning, or coming home at the end of the day and striding out to pull mail from her box, usually in a pair of black heels and a skirt, she’d looked put together and capable. Maybe it was a relief to see her look slightly less than perfect, since I felt that way pretty much all of the time.

  My face was puffy when I woke up. “Fantastic,” I murmured into the mirror.

  The girls sprang from their beds and didn’t even manage a hello for me before rushing to the back door to let the new love of their lives inside.

  I had all but decided that Luke was going to have to go back to the shelter, but seeing him stand stoic and still as the little girls lavished him with hugs and kisses had me changing my mind. This was the joy that had been missing from their lives since Linda had died. Could I really take it from them again?

  I sneezed and then took another allergy pill.

  Taylor agreed to get out of the car this morning after promises of dog walks and grooming and a trip to buy Luke a ball to chase. Madison, unable to think of any further conditions required for her to attend daycare, seemed content with her sister’s demands. “Ball,” she reminded me as I kissed her goodbye for the day.

  “Yes,” I said, and sneezed again.

  Work that day was hardly productive. Though Luke seemed content enough to romp around the yard, having adapted very quickly to his new home, I couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes on any one thing. My head was foggy with allergy medicine and the allergies themselves, and I ended up taking an unplanned nap at noon.

&nbs
p; By the time I brought the girls home—ball in hand—I’d decided again that Luke would have to go back, and then I changed my mind again when the girls fell on the Lab with hugs and kisses and smiles unlike any I’d seen in a long, long time. Somehow, I was going to have to find a way to live with this dog.

  Spidey Senses

  Paige

  The rest of the week was quiet, though I didn’t mind. Quiet at a medical clinic was usually a good thing.

  During lunch one day though, Leslie questioned my dreamy stare-off-into-the-distance state of mind.

  “Okay, you’re acting weird this week. What is going on?”

  I pretended I didn’t know what my best friend was talking about. “Nothing, why?”

  “Don’t nothing me.” Leslie picked up a potato chip, balanced it between her thumb and forefinger like she was weighing it, and the potential caloric burn she might have to add to a future workout as a penance for eating it, and then bit into it. “You’ve been quiet and kind of…moony.”

  “Moony? Describe a moony person. I don’t know what that is exactly.” I ate a chip of my own, smiling at my friend.

  Leslie dug into the purse at her side and pulled out a compact, flipping it open to aim it at me. “In there. Moony. That’s the definition there in the mirror.”

  “Funny.” I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not moony. I’ve just been a little nostalgic, I guess.” My mind churned. It was probably time to let Leslie know what I was up to. So far I’d only told my sister. I struggled to find the right words. “So…”

  “Oh no. You’re pregnant.” Leslie’s eyes widened. “I have a total sixth sense about these things, and I should have known. I can totally see it, actually. The glow, the extra little something around your cheeks.”

  “Wait, are you saying I’m getting fatter?” Was I? Did I care? I’d been feeling pretty good about my weight and general health. I decided I didn’t care, but still, it wasn’t a nice thing to tell someone. I frowned at my friend.