Chapter 4
“This isthe ugliest looking dog I’ve ever seen.” Charlie sat in the passenger seat of my car and stroked a hand down John Milton’s scraggly, furry back. “What kind of dog is he, anyway?”
“A terrier mutt of some sort.”
John Milton had wiry black fur that hadn’t become any softer despite a bath. At least he smelled like an oatmeal cookie instead of like sweaty dog.
I glanced at my best friend who looked a bit put out that she had to be the one to hold him on her lap.
But then the ten-pound mutt with a beard, underbite, and one ear that flopped, nuzzled his face underneath her chin.
“Damn it,” Charlie muttered, hugging the dog tighter to her, no longer caring that the dog was shedding fur all over her black sweater.
“Don’t get attached, he’s not for you,” I warned.
“I might make a run for it.” She rubbed her chin against the top of John Milton’s head. “You sure Mr. Clancy wants a dog?”
“Mr. Clancy doesn’t want a dog at all,” I informed her.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” I promised her as I pulled into the parking lot of Rose Hill Retirement Community.
John Milton, in all his scruffy mutt glory, scrambled from Charlie’s lap and placed his paws on the passenger car door, eager to go out and explore.
I grabbed the leash and clipped it to his collar and then I opened the driver’s side door. The cute mutt immediately came to my side of the car and jumped down, his little tail wagging in excitement.
“You’re really not going to tell me what we’re doing?” Charlie asked, grabbing her purse and then shutting the car door.
“Nope.” I grinned. “It’s more fun this way.”
“If you say so.”
We walked John Milton along the sidewalk, letting him do his business. I cleaned up after him and dumped the plastic bag into the designated trashcan labeled dog refuse.
“Yeah, never mind. I don’t want a dog.” Charlie shook her head.
“It’s just poop,” I said with a laugh.
“Ew.”
“What happens when you have kids? They poop too,” I reminded her.
“Now you’re sounding like your mother,” she warned.
I grinned. “My mother would also add on that there’s no shame in a nanny.”
“Exactly,” Charlie said. “If I ever decide to have children, I’m not changing diapers. You can’t make me.”
She rushed ahead of me and opened the door. John Milton and I strode through.
The lobby of the retirement center was warm and inviting. There was a front room sitting area with blue couches and wooden bookshelves and the dining hall was just off the lobby.
A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, a bright smile spreading across her face when she saw me.
“Good afternoon, Hayden,” she greeted.
“Hi Beatrice.” I leaned down and scooped up the mutt and presented him to her.
“Who is this handsome guy?” Beatrice asked, reaching out to touch his ear.
Charlie snorted.
“His name is John Milton,” I explained.
“And who’s he for?” she inquired.
“Mr. Clancy.”
“Perfect.”
“How’s Mr. Clancy feeling today?” I asked.
“Grumbly.” Her brown eyes twinkled.
“Even better,” I said with a chuckle. “See you in a bit.”
I headed through the lobby, Charlie keeping pace with me. “So even Beatrice knows what you’re doing with this dog? Come on, I’m dying here.”
“For the last couple of months, I’ve been matching shelter dogs with elderly companions,” I explained. “It kind of happened by accident. I was volunteering at Puppy Paradise Rescue and I was taking one of their dogs for a walk. And while I was on my walk, an elderly woman named Mildred was doing her stroll around the neighborhood. We stopped to chat and Mary Shelley took an instant liking to Mildred. By the end of the day, Mary Shelley was in her new home, and Mildred had a new companion. It happened again when I took out Victor Hugo. Within a day, he was re-homed from the shelter and I just kept going.”
“Well, now I understand the naming convention,” Charlie said. “And actually, that’s really sweet.”
I nodded. “They need each other, and it just makes sense. It keeps everyone active and moving.”
“How many dogs have you rehomed?”
“At this point, about fifteen,” I said.
“Wow. That’s actually pretty incredible. You should start a charity,” Charlie said.
“What?”
“Yeah, a charity.” She nodded. “Make this a bigger thing. You clearly have a talent for this. And you seem to love doing it.”
“Something to think about,” I murmured.
We arrived at Mr. Clancy’s door. I knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again.
“Stop yer knockin’ and come in!” called out a craggy old voice.
“He sounds fun,” Charlie muttered.
“Watch, and be amazed,” I whispered to her. I reached for the knob and turned it.
Mr. Clancy was sitting in a leather recliner, the TV on with some sporting event playing on mute.
“What’s that?” Mr. Clancy asked gruffly as his eyes drifted over John Milton.
“This is John Milton,” I said. “And this is my best friend, Charlie.”
“Hello, Mr. Clancy,” Charlie said.
Mr. Clancy barely looked at Charlie. “You brought a dog into my home? He probably has fleas.”
“Actually, he just had a bath. He smells like cinnamon and oatmeal.” I lowered John Milton to the floor and unleashed him without asking for permission.
John Milton wasted no time. He ran to Mr. Clancy, jumped up onto his lap, laid his head on Mr. Clancy’s thigh, and closed his eyes for a nap.
Mr. Clancy harrumphed, but his hand lifted and settled onto John Milton’s head, his face softening ever so slightly.
Nailed it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked him as I waved Charlie over to the loveseat.
“My incision hurts,” he remarked.
“Hmm, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not offended by his tone. “But I’m glad you’re on the mend. Has your son visited?”
“Few days ago,” he said. “Brought the grandkids. Little heathens. Henry feeds them too much sugar.”
He pushed the recliner footrest down, scooped up the dog underneath one arm, and stood. Still carrying John Milton—who wasn’t at all protesting at being carried like a football—Mr. Clancy wandered into the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled open a drawer.
“The dog have a name? Or should I just call him mutt?” Mr. Clancy asked.
“His name is John Milton,” I repeated.
“What kind of name is that for a dog?” Mr. Clancy asked.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Charlie piped up.
“Well, what’s he look like to you?” I asked lightly.
Mr. Clancy paused for a moment and then said, “Oscar.”
“Oscar is a great name,” I said, biting my lip to stifle a smile. I looked at Charlie who rolled her eyes and then shot me a grin.
“Here we are,” Mr. Clancy said. “What do you think, Oscar? You want to try some bacon?”
“Just sign here,” I said, pointing to the line at the bottom of the pet adoption papers.
Mr. Clancy hastily scribbled his signature and set the pen aside. “Anything else?”
“No,” I said.
“No adoption fees?”
I shook my head. “It’s been taken care of. I hope you two will be very happy together. Would you like me to run to the pet store for you?”
“No, I’ve got it. Oscar will ride shot gun with me. I’ll take care of him from now on.”
Charlie and I said goodbye to Mr. Clancy and I stopped off at reception to give Beatrice the good news.
“I wouldn’t say Mr. Clancy had a change in personality,” I said with a soft smile. “But I think the dog will go a long way in improving his overall mood.”
“Glad to hear that,” Beatrice said. “See if you can do anything for Mrs. Stevens when you can, will you?”
“Next time,” I promised.
Charlie and I stepped out into the late autumn sunshine. The cold of the early afternoon had burned off and it was fairly temperate.
“Unbelievable,” Charlie said to me. “You really do have magical powers.”
“We all have magical powers, it’s just about finding them,” I said.
“Hmm.” Charlie frowned. “I’m still looking for mine.”
“Mexican for a late lunch?” I asked softly.
“Oh definitely,” she said. Her phone rang. She dug around in her purse for her cell. “Mommy dearest.”
“Are you going to answer her?” I asked.
“I just spoke to her this morning,” she said.
“On purpose or by accident?”
“Well, she came to the pool house. My territory. She wanted to remind me not to go through the house this afternoon because the floors are getting waxed. What does she think I’ll do? Slide across the floors in my socks? I only did that once.”
With a sigh, she answered her mother’s call. “Hello?”
We walked across the parking lot to the car as Charlie talked to her mother. “I have plans that night,” Charlie said. She paused for a moment and then said, “Well, you can’t just assume I’m going to be available. My plans? Hayden and I are working on a thing. Yes, Mother. I used the word work. Fine, I’ll be there.”
She hung up as we got to the car and I unlocked it with the remote clicker. It beeped and we stood there a moment.
I could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. Her face was flushed and she clenched her cell so tightly I wondered if she’d bend it.
“What was that about?” I asked as I opened the driver’s side door.
“My parents are throwing a party this Friday, and she demanded that I be there. Naturally, I balked.”
“Naturally,” I said as I got into the car and latched my seatbelt.
Charlie threw herself into the passenger seat and huffed. “She’s constantly trying to pull me into her world and I’m doing everything I can to leave it.”
“Not everything,” I said, pressing the Start button on the dash.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you still live at home. Meaning you’ve done nothing to forge your own way.”
She blinked. “Are you talking about—wait, are you saying I need to get a job and move out?”
I shrugged. “They can’t pull strings if you cut them.”
“But I like my life.”
“Of course you like your life.” I turned to face her.
“Oh no,” she said. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The tough love look. The, you’re going to lecture me look.”
She reached for the door handle, but I quickly engaged the child-lock.
“Evil!” she yelled.
“You’re my best friend. You get that, right?”
“I get that,” she muttered.
“You tell me stuff I don’t want to hear, and I’m going to do the same for you.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest in a posture of defense, but her eyes were on me.
“You were accepted to some of the best business schools in the country, but you didn’t go. You’re proficient in languages you don’t bother to speak. You’re a gifted pianist but you don’t play. Are you getting what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, I’ve got ADHD and I never finish anything.”
“You could do so many things, Charlie. And yet you’re content to just shop your life away and rebel against your parents because you have no reason to be unhappy, but you are.”
She ran her hands all along her body. “Nope. Not bleeding out.”
“You have all these doors open to you and you won’t walk through any of them.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Your parents are just happy if you’re happy.”
“Hmm. My mother isn’t completely happy until I get married and have babies.”
“But for the most part, she leaves you alone. She loves you.”
“Your parents love you too.”
“I don’t know why I’m like this,” she said quietly. “It feels ridiculous. Money solves all problems. And I’ve got that. So, what’s my damage?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Can we still get Mexican?” she asked.
“Sure. But guacamole won’t fix your problems either.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it definitely won’t make them worse.”