Chapter Ten
Zat You, Beau Wall?
Beau
When I glance out the living room window, the neighborhood is coated with another layer of white. Good. Keep snowing, baby, I whisper, letting the curtain fall back into place.
Anything to keep Ivy from changing her mind about staying. Not that I think she will change her mind. At least not tonight. She ducked upstairs to the green room with Hamish a little bit ago, and something tells me she s not coming out of that room again until morning.
Just as well. I don t think she ll be missing any excitement tonight.
Dad s in his office on the phone with someone from church, and Mom and Janey are in the kitchen hatching up some sort of plan about Ivy and me.
I know this because when I offered to help with the dirty dishes, they shooed me away and have been whispering ever since.
I ve got a feeling Lucy inspired them to up their game in the matchmaking department. And I don t mind one bit. Let them hatch their plans. I ll take all the help I can get with Ivy.
I ll also take all the help I can get with the tiny terror currently trying to gnaw off that gnome s head. How does she keep getting this ornament? I fish it out of her mouth and hang it even higher on the tree. Come on, Pinky. Time to go potty.
With Pinky, it s always time to go potty.
Plus, I m sure Dad wouldn t mind a little help with the shoveling.
He s crazy about keeping the walks cleared.
When more than a few inches accumulate he tends to get twitchy.
I m surprised he s not running around with a shovel right now trying to catch every snowflake before it lands.
The snow is light and fluffy, so I don t even bother with the snowblower. Pinky prances about attacking my boots, then the shovel, the snow, then my boots again as I clear off the driveway in no time. Did you go potty? You need to go potty. Focus, Pinky. Get all the potties out.
Pinky s not focusing. I shovel down the walk past our neighbor s house to the right where Mrs. Reynolds lives. She s an elderly widow. When I glance at her house she s got her curtain pulled aside and is waving at me from the front window. I wave back.
Pinky—potty. I head back the other direction to clear off the neighbors on the left, leaving a narrow pathway for Janey, who lives with her husband and two kids, soon to be three, a few houses down from my parents. Come on, Pinky. I need to see some yellow snow. Make it happen.
Hey, Beau, I hear a voice call out as I m shoveling the path again on my way back to my parents house. A puffy, pink-coated figure steps out from the neighbor s front door and rushes toward me.
Crystal. She and her family moved next door when I was a junior in high school.
She s a couple years younger than me, so even though we attended the same high school for a few years, we never really ran in the same circles.
But oh, how that s never stopped Mom and Janey from trying to make our little circles collide ever since.
Not that I can blame them. Crystal s sweet. Cute. Friendly. She s like cotton candy and bubblegum and kittens all rolled into one. Problem is I ve just never been interested in cotton candy and bubblegum and kittens all rolled into one.
Thanks for doing our walk, Crystal says, smiling with perfect white teeth as her long blonde hair catches snowflakes and sparkles off the streetlights beneath her white pom-pom stocking hat.
No problem, I say, leaning against the shovel. Need the exercise. Can t fall out of shape during the offseason.
Right, she says with a twinkly laugh. You look like you re on the verge of really letting yourself go. Who s this? She crouches down to pet Pinky.
A ten-week-old dictator named Pinky Collar. Careful. She ll take off your nose.
Aw, you wouldn t do that, would you? Pinky hops on her back legs toward Crystal s face, totally trying to do that.
So cute, Crystal coos. But where s your leash, little girl? You could run into the street and get hit by a car.
Nobody s going to be driving down this lazy snow-covered road this late in the evening.
Besides, Pinky has a two-inch stride. It d take her a decade just to make it to the edge of the street, and I d snag her well before then.
I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug. If she gets flattened, I ll take it as a sign of the Lord s will.
Aw, he doesn t mean that, Miss Pinky.
I do mean it, Pink. In fact, if a car doesn t take you out, I m leaving you in a basket at the fire station the next time you leave a puddle inside the house.
Don t listen, Miss Pinky. We both know you re an angel.
Would you like to take this angel? She s yours, free of charge.
Crystal gives Pinky a snuggle. If only I could.
My grandma s here visiting. She s already had a couple falls earlier this year.
Pretty sure my mom would kill me if I brought a tiny tripping hazard into the house and Grandma broke a hip over Christmas.
But I m happy to help puppy-sit for short spells at your house if you need me.
I ll keep that in mind.
Good seeing you, Beau, she says, giving Pinky a few more pats. And thanks again for clearing our walk.
No problem.
She starts for her house, then pauses and points to Ivy s car. Did I see someone arrive with another dog earlier?
Ivy. She s, uh... What is she? I chuckle. I don t know. A big surprise, that s what she is. She s one of the nurses who took care of me after my car accident in the fall. It s kind of a long story, but she s here with her dog Hamish.
Crystal s eyes widen and her cheeks, already pink from the cold, flush a shade deeper. Ivy?
You know her?
What? No. I don t— She shakes her head and turns for her house, dragging Pinky several steps through the snow since Pinky s jaws are clamped on her right pant leg.
I think your mom may have mentioned her or something, she says over her shoulder, shaking her leg free of Pinky as she reaches the bottom porch step.
That s probably it. Anyway, good seeing you. Tell your folks hi.
She disappears into her house, and I stare at the Christmas wreath hanging on the front door, visible in the white Christmas lights wrapped along the frame of the porch roof.
Was it me or did she act a little weird? I say over my shoulder toward Pinky. Probably just me, huh.
When Pinky doesn t so much as yap in response, I spin around. Pinky? I spin again. Then drop my shovel and sprint several steps. What are you doing in the middle of the street?