Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
There must be hundreds of dog and cat-related vendors crammed into the National Western complex for the opening of Denver PetExpo on Friday evening.
By five o’clock, we’ve walked by everything from five-hundred-dollar dog beds to rhinestone collars and leashes, to jewelry made of cremated pet ashes and specialty toys made to look like political figures.
There is a stage holding a pet costume contest, an arena for “wiener races,” and an enormous inflatable pool for something called “dock diving,” where dogs launch themselves into the water to retrieve floating toys.
On top of that, we’ve passed a poodle dyed six different colors, a sheepdog being pulled in a wagon, and a fleet of little fluffy dogs that could bark the tune for Jingle Bells.
We are in Lydia Richie paradise.
“What should we look at next?” she says, staring around the room with wide eyes, smiling like everyone here is offering her candy.
I glance over her shoulder at a demonstration of a machine that vacuums up dog hair while cutting it, and watch in disgust as a black lab lifts its leg on the end of a table.
No wonder this whole place reeks.
“Are you sure you don’t need to sit down for a little while?” I ask. “We could go back to the Pooch Park booth and get you off your feet?”
Lydia crosses her arms over her nearly eight-months-pregnant belly and glares at me. “You sound just like Anton and Henry.”
“Sorry.” I grimace. “Didn’t mean to emulate the patriarchy.”
This makes her chuckle, but she does look tired. And the thought of spending even twenty more minutes here makes my skin itch. I glance at the folded-up program in my hand and the notes I’ve jotted down over the last hour.
“Really, though. I think I have enough for my write-up. Jeremy’s still around somewhere, taking photos. I’m just going to do an overview of the demonstrations and make sure to name-drop The Pooch Park. Randall will dedicate most of the page to cute dog pics anyway.”
We both pause, watching a fluffy white dog walk by in a rainbow tutu.
“If you think that’s enough.” Lydia looks at her smartwatch and shrugs. “What time is Theo’s flight?”
“He doesn’t get in till seven. But he’s being really weird, insisting I can’t just pick him up curbside. He wants to text me directions when I get there.”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s that about? Where do you need to go?”
I shrug. There’s no way in hell I’d be jumping through hoops like this for anyone but my brother. “Probably he’s just trying to bring Mom something exotic and this whole story about Kyle is a ruse.”
It isn’t totally far-fetched. My brother travels all over the world with the Navy, and he’s made a habit of bringing back rare souvenirs.
Once, he got tied up in customs for hours trying to bring home a fancy Japanese parasol.
The agents thought the handle was carved ivory. Turned out it was high-quality plastic.
Except I’m certain Theo would never use Kyle's memory for a stunt like that.
Lydia regards me. “And you have no idea what it could be?”
“No clue.” I turn up my palms. “He didn’t even own enough stuff to fill his apartment. And his family took what he did have.”
“Maybe it’s something Kyle wanted you to have,” she murmurs quietly. “Something that might help you . . . move on?”
I roll my eyes. “Are you serious right now? I moved on after the anti-wedding.”
At that moment, a woman walks by with two enormous Akitas. Her T-shirt says The more people I meet, the more I love my dog, and Lydia loses all control. She knows a compatriot when she sees one.
“Oh my gosh, can I say hello? I have an Akita mix at home.”
The woman stops and smiles at Lydia’s pink maternity shirt, which reads, Shh .
. . we haven’t told the dog yet. I take the opportunity to step aside and check my email.
As promised, the assignment desk has kept me on my toes this week.
I’m putting the finishing touches on at least two more staff stories for next week’s issue in addition to the PetExpo feature.
But to Randall’s annoyance, I have not followed up on the Unmatched lead. Nor do I intend to.
“Oh! You have got to check him out!” The woman with the Akitas is exclaiming to Lydia. “He’s over in the next building. The obedience was amazing, but his agility trial was the best I’ve seen in years.”
“Totally. We’ll have to go see.” Lydia’s voice recaptures my attention. Her tone is no longer like a kid being given a puppy, but more like one being force-fed broccoli. She meets my gaze with such a pained expression, my senses sharpen immediately.
“You’re not like, having contractions, are you?” I say under my breath.
“What? No.” She shakes her head, but also takes my hand, tugging me in the opposite direction from where the woman is pointing. “Thanks for letting me pet Khaleesi and Drogo.”
But Game of Thrones lady is not done yet. “You should go catch the end before he finishes. It’s the best thing at the entire expo.”
This piques my interest. I’ve already planned to turn this feel-good pet story into a promo piece for Lydia’s doggie daycare, but I wouldn’t mind adding some other highlights, just to make it look like I tried. “What should we see?”
“The agility demonstration!” the woman replies with fervor. “It’s over in the next building. Drew Forbes is the best in the state. You should see him work a border collie. He’ll be taking home all the ribbons this weekend.”
The name hits my brain like a dusty book falling off a shelf. Sort of startling at first, and I find myself waiting for the air to clear before I can speak.
“Drew Forbes?” I look at Lydia. “She doesn’t mean—”
“You know, I think you’re right and I’ve been on my feet way too long.” Lydia rubs her hand over her belly. “Let’s go back to the booth so I can sit.”
I follow her without protest, trying to kick my brain out of its sudden fog.
It was bad enough trying to understand Theo bringing me something that supposedly belonged to my late ex.
Finding myself at an event with his brother on the same day feels too much like the universe trying to screw with me.
And I don’t even believe in that kind of stuff.
It couldn’t be that Drew Forbes. Kyle was legitimately obsessed with dogs, to the point that he became a military dog handler. But his brother had gone to medical school to be a doctor, like their parents. There was no way he was here today as a dog trainer.
Lydia plops into a folding chair once we get back to her booth, and her business partner, Henry, hands her a bottle of water, trying to mask his concern. “Feeling all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine. We just needed a break. How’s it going here?”
The expression on Henry’s face is priceless.
He must be the only person attending the Denver PetExpo in a Ralph Lauren suit.
With his perfectly coiffed hair and hint of British accent, he strikes me as a character from Downton Abbey who’s been dropped into the Puppy Bowl.
Not that I fit in any better—but at least I had the sense to wear jeans.
I don’t know what drove Henry Hill to invest in Lydia’s grooming and doggie daycare businesses other than money, but it’s been almost a year, and he’s still rolling dog hair off his twill trousers like the most committed fish out of water. I admire his stuffy dedication.
“So far, no one is interested in my franchise projections,” he complains. “They just want to know whether we have swimming pools and tennis balls.”
Lydia laughs. “Why don’t you walk around and scope out some of the competition? I can sit here and speak dog for a while.”
Henry walks off, clearly relieved, and I take the seat next to Lydia.
“Hey, don’t let me stop you if you want to go see the agility thing.”
She pulls her blonde hair over one shoulder and turns to me. “Why would I do that?”
“The lady from Westeros made it sound like the main event.” I shrug. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
Her lip curls. “In my experience, Drew Forbes has the personality of a snapping turtle. He’s been making a name for himself as some kind of dog-whispering guru. And thanks to a few recent viral videos, he’s kind of having a moment. But I think it’s mostly hype.”
I press my mouth into a line. “Is it—is he really—”
“Kyle’s brother?” Her forehead wrinkles in sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”
I look down to find myself worrying my ring finger. It’s been bare much longer than Kyle's been gone, but if there’s anything I’ve learned about grief, it’s that it always finds new ways to surprise you.
“Well, if you want to see what all the hype’s about, I’ll stay here and hand out your flyers,” I say quietly.
“No, thanks,” she says. “I tried to network with him last year. He called doggie daycares ‘a useless fad to make people feel good about neglecting their pets.’”
I raise my brows. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Her face softens and she squeezes my hand. “At the time, there was no need to.”
I sink back in my chair, trying to recall any of my own memories of Drew Forbes.
Kyle’s older brother had already left for college by the time we started dating.
The absent golden child to Kyle’s black sheep.
Their physician parents had their futures all planned for them—but Kyle had other ideas.
After he enlisted in the army instead of going to medical school, they barely spoke to him.
Once we got engaged, I don’t think I saw any Forbes again until his funeral.
But . . . that isn’t true. Somewhere in my foggy brain, I dredge up the memory of an emotionless face in glasses and a dark suit outside the little mountain chapel. I’d almost forgotten. I’ve tried my hardest not to remember much about that day.
“I’m going to take off in a sec,” I say, checking the time on my phone. “I need to . . .”
I trail off as a new email pops up from that woman Randall dug up, promising she’ll make it worth my while if I talk to her about Unmatched. This is the third one she’s sent this week.
“What’s wrong?” Lydia watches my expression change and lowers her voice. “You didn’t get another one of those emails, did you?”
“N-no.” I breathe in slowly through my nose and out through my mouth. “Just Randall giving me more mind-numbing assignments.”
She narrows her eyes. Lydia knows better than anyone what I’ve been through over the last year. My career’s shooting star success when I wrote about Unmatched, and the rapid decline after it earned me an online stalker.
I let out a low breath, afraid what I say next could trigger her, but also desperate for reassurance. “Someone . . . um, someone wants me to write a new article about Unmatched.”
She rests her hand on her bump, but if she’s bothered by the subject, she does an excellent job of hiding it. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it?”
I stare at my lap. If I look up, she’ll see exactly how seriously I’ve been considering giving in.
“How long has it been since the last message?” she asks quietly.
I don’t even have to think. “Twenty-nine days.”
“Must feel like such a relief. Are you sleeping better? How are the nightmares?”
My cheek twitches. I know she’s trying to help—that’s actually what I wanted. Only now that we’re talking about it, I wish I hadn’t brought it up. “Don’t worry. I’m ignoring it.”
Something flashes in her eyes, but she doesn’t press further. She just leans back, looking tired. I squeeze her hand.
“What time did you get here?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I don’t know. We set up sometime after lunch?”
I purse my lips. “And let me guess, you were at one of the Pooches the whole morning before that?”
Lydia cuts me a look. “I own three businesses, Caprice. They don’t run themselves.”
“Fair,” I say gently. “But why don’t I drop you at home on my way to the airport? Henry will survive the last couple hours here on his own.”
She lets out a long breath. “Did my husband put you up to this?”
“I try not to talk to Anton if I can help it.” I sniff. “I’m just looking out for my best friend. You know, when you’re eight months pregnant, you’re allowed to take a nap.”
This gets under her skin. “You know, society treats pregnant women like they have a condition when it’s a totally normal part of life.”
I bite my lip, wanting to rant with her about discrimination and the unfairness of it all. But the fact is, Lydia’s a workaholic. And after a scare we all endured early in her pregnancy, I did conspire with the men in her life to try and make her take it easy.
“Okay, how about this?” I ask. “You overwork yourself, the little bundle of joy comes early, and you don’t get the chance to complete the remaining eight hundred or so things still on your pre-birth to-do list?”
This quiets her down. Satisfied, I wave at Henry, who’s been covertly circling the booth like Lydia’s a ticking time bomb.
“Thank you again for letting me borrow your new car,” I say when she hands me her keys. “I’ll return it as soon as I’ve dealt with Theo.”
She rises from her chair with some effort, waving me off with one hand. “Don’t rush. Since everyone apparently wants to coddle me, I don’t need it back right away. But you better text me when you’re home. I’m dying to find out what Theo’s been up to.”