Chapter 1 #3
Meanwhile, Popular Girl was body-shaming Eloise the miniature dachshund. Val wasn’t too secure in her ability to identify dog breeds, but she was certain about this one because Popular Girl’s exact words were “There is nothing miniature about that mini dachshund.”
“I think she may have actually lost a pound,” said the older woman who had the inexplicable confidence to wear an ecru pantsuit and high heels to a dog park. Her sharply cut shoulder-length hair was the exact shade of gray as her schnauzer’s fur.
This was Paisley’s mom. (Don’t say owner, Val observed. Human is fine, but never owner.) After two decades working in government, Paisley’s mom founded her own lobbying firm, which explained her aura of smarmy self-satisfaction.
“Paisley! Get out of there!”
The gray-furred schnauzer ignored her hair twin’s command and continued sticking her robust snout into the stream of Chester’s urine as he peed.
Already, Val had a special loathing in her heart for Chester—how he pranced around like he owned the place, lifting his doodle leg on everything in sight.
“What is that new dog again, a pug mix?” Paisley’s mom asked Popular Girl in a stage whisper loud enough for Broadway. “And is it a boy or a girl?”
Val pretended not to hear as she scanned the park, having lost sight of Cash for a few minutes. She found her sitting alone on the outer periphery, observing the action from afar with the slouched posture of the iPhone monkey emoji.
Of course Val would end up with the weirdest, most socially inept animal ever to walk on four paws. How could this have gone any other way?
Over the next hour, Val listened more than she spoke.
She would leave here tonight with a solid feel for the personalities and politics that defined this subculture.
How Chester’s mom may have been the queen bee type, but Paisley’s mom was the powerhouse whom everyone feared.
How the topographical superiority of the “big dog side” was a hot-button issue best left unmentioned.
How it was a social normality to discuss your dog’s bodily functions and fluids, as well as those of anyone else’s dog, present or in absentia.
What Val wouldn’t leave with tonight was the slightest lead on June Kennerson’s infidelity. Not a single hint of flirtation, no shared suggestive glances. If there was a special someone, they hadn’t shown up here. Maybe tomorrow Val would have better luck.
“I think Cash is trying to tell me she’s had enough for one day,” Val said to no one in particular.
The hypervigilant nugget watched Val’s long approach across the damp grass, sitting still as a statue, but when Val got close enough to pick her up, she leapt a few feet out of arms’ reach.
“Come on, Cash.” Val tried to sound amused. “Time to go home.” She reapproached slowly, then lunged for the dog, prompting her to take off with Usain Bolt–level speed.
Who knew she could run so fast? Not Val, and not every other dog in the park, all of whom stopped whatever they were doing to take chase. What did the newbie have? A treasured stick? A ball? Or nothing whatsoever; had Cash herself had become the prize?
This was the “small dog area,” sure, but enforcement of the supposed under-twenty-five-pound rule was lackadaisical at best. Among the pack gaining on Cash’s tail was a German shepherd (about a hundred years old, but still), a boxer (shockingly fleet-footed considering it only had three legs), and a Labrador retriever (who was blind, but whose sense of excitement was clearly intact).
“Do they think she’s a squirrel?” someone asked, alerting Val to the fact that all the humans in the park had also stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. “Or maybe a rabbit?”
Val should have known what to do in a situation like this, whether she was supposed to let the animals work it out for themselves or risk life and limb to intervene, but she found herself frozen—as if her feet took root in the mud while her mind separated itself to another place, a different time.
Often, Val’s memories from childhood came to her in black and white, like an old TV show.
She was raised in the 1990s, but for her old-fashioned, Italian parents it may as well have been the 1950s.
This memory, however, arrived in stark color: Val was trackside, up on tippy-toes to see over the railing, excited to watch the horses speeding around the bend, while her father hurled expletives at their backs.
Except, instead of going to see the majestic horses at the Aqueduct, her father had brought her to a dog race, where skinny greyhounds lusted after a terrified bunny.
Gianni’s anger was loud in her ear. It’s not real!
Her gullibility embarrassed him; he’d raised her to be tougher and smarter than this. It’s a piece of metal some guy’s working like a remote-control car!
That rabbit was mechanical. But this was a living thing—ten tiny pounds, with warm blood, and a beating heart.
It was a Jack Russell terrier who caught Cash first—who she promptly smacked across the mouth with a catlike swipe of her paw.
Next came the boxer, who could learn a thing or two from Cash’s jab-cross combination.
The German shepherd might have gotten the best of her if she hadn’t launched herself through the air, smack into the haven of June Kennerson’s open arms.
Val fully returned to her own body as she made her way toward them on shaky legs, but she was more uncertain than ever about how to behave. Was she supposed to scold her unruly pet or show it love?
June hugged Cash close to her chest, cooing into her ear, “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
This is a dog person, Val thought. Whatever it was in June’s brain or soul—whether her actions and reactions were the result of nature or nurture—Val was missing those parts. And they couldn’t be faked.
Cash wiggled in justified protest to June handing her over. Val had to hook her thumb beneath the dog’s collar to keep her from fleeing again.
“I’m so sorry,” Val said, though she wasn’t sure to whom she was apologizing.
“It happens to the best of us.” June gave one last reassuring pat to Cash’s back, then rested her warm, blue-green eyes on Val and said, “You’re doing fine, you know.”
Val was unsure how to respond to a statement so kind and vastly untrue.
“She’s your first, I take it?” June asked.
“First and last,” Val said.
June threw her head back and laughed like Val was the funniest person she’d ever met. “It’ll get easier. You should keep coming back. The socialization will be good for her.”
“Same time, same place tomorrow then?” Val asked.
“I’ll take that as a promise.” June smiled.
As she dragged Cash toward the exit gate, Val was feeling pretty good about herself. The day wasn’t a total loss. Forging a friendship with a target the first time out was a boon, but was June this affable to everyone? If so, it was possible she was having one hundred affairs.
Val was halfway to the parking lot when she caught sight of the figure lurking near the east side of the fence. Tall, with dark sunglasses and a ball cap, generic clothing. Val knew a shadow when she saw one. And whoever they were, they were watching.
It was possible that Silas Kennerson, after hiring Val, had also hired this other person to keep an eye on her. Paranoid employers had done this before, as a test.
If Val were being tested now, she was confident she would pass. A spy would not rattle her. Cash would not break her. And if June had a secret lover, Val would uncover them in due time, collect her bonus, and go on her merry way.
By the time Val started the Nova’s engine, she was already counting her money and imagining herself in a tropical locale, and so she ignored this early glaring sign to walk away from this job while she still had the chance.