Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
An onslaught of barking greets me as I walk into The Pooch Park, and like every day this week, I am grateful for the din. Tomás raises a hand to wave hello, then presses it back against his ear as he shouts into the phone.
“Sure! We can get Freckles in next week. Which days are you thinking?”
I don’t have to check the computer to picture Freckles the English Springer Spaniel. He’s a sweet, playful dog who’s come for daycare almost since we opened. He and Ginger, a red standard poodle, like to race around the play yard on hot days, splashing through the wading pools. Both of them are also clients at Ooh La Pooch, coming in every six weeks for a bath and a trim. A small part of the loyal client base I’ve worked so hard to build.
Heartthrob is out playing with his buddies and his favorite staff member, a girl with green hair named Francie. My office often feels like a tiny refuge, and this week it’s been a lot more comforting than home. I set my empty travel mug on my desk just as my phone rings, but when I see Mark’s name I breathe a sigh, closing the door to muffle some of the barking .
“Hey, Mark. How are things going?” I greet my contractor tentatively, not sure I want to know why he’s calling.
“Good news! We finally resolved those HVAC and electrical issues. We should be hanging drywall by the end of the week.”
“Seriously?” My voice rises above a monotone for the first time all day. “That’s fantastic!” Once drywall is up, we can paint, and everything else should move along quickly. I have a storage unit full of everything we’ll need in reception. After the inspectors give us approval, I’ll be able to set a tentative grand opening date.
He gives me a couple other minor updates before we hang up, then I sit there with my fingers hovered over my phone, wishing I could share my excitement with someone. Caprice will not understand the delight of drywall. Definitely not Celia or my mom. Actually, this is the sort of thing Anton is great at celebrating. He’s always quick to jump on little milestones that prove things are moving along.
I slump into my desk chair. My husband—I can still call him that for now—hasn’t texted or called since he left five days ago. Seth took pity on me when I broke down and asked what was going on, and he’s been sending updates here and there, but it doesn’t sound like Sharon’s condition has changed. Or Anton’s, for that matter. Seth says he barely speaks and has hardly left her bedside. I feel sick thinking about it, wishing I was there with all of them. But I know I’m not welcome, so it feels like there’s nothing to do.
I open my laptop. There’s a spreadsheet open on the screen from this morning. Something I need to finish updating in order to run a report for my insurance company. But instead of settling in to crunch numbers, I pick up my phone and text my brother-in-law.
“365 new days, 365 new chances.”
Seth
“Don’t wait for the perfect moment. Take the moment and make it perfect.”
I chuckle. A couple years ago, when Sharon’s situation started to feel really grim, Seth and I started exchanging cheesy inspirational quotes. The kind you see on day calendars or in high school guidance offices. Anton rolls his eyes every time we add to this back-and-forth, but Seth usually manages to top me, so I’m always looking for new ones. The exchange has taken some of the edge off our pain, and I’m especially grateful for it now.
Seth
Things here status quo. Hospital can’t keep her, so moving back to Sunny Cove.
Ok, thank you. I wish I was there.
Seth
Want me to punch Anton in the face and tell him to stop being a dick?
No. He’s right. I don’t belong there. But please let me know if anything changes. I’m sorry, Seth.
A knock on the door draws my attention back to work. It’s such a strange feeling, being normal and secure in one place but wishing you were sad and grieving in another.
“C-come in?” I look up, expecting to see Tomás, but Henry Hill pokes his long nose around the door.
“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting?” He glances into the small room.
“No, not at all...how’s it going?” I manage to inject enthusiasm, though I have to admit seeing my husband’s old roommate is doing nothing for my mood.
“Just dropping off Carmelita and wanted to say thanks. She’s been coming here twice a week, and my apartment might actually survive till my sister gets back to town.”
I smile, and this time even manage to make it genuine. “Oh, that’s awesome to hear. She’s been having so much fun. There’s a little dachshund named Turbo she adores playing with.”
Henry flickers a smile, then glances again around the little room like he wants to say something else. “Ah, well, give Anton a shout, would you?”
“When he’s back from Dallas, sure,” I say absently, turning back to my spreadsheet .
“Oh. Is his mum . . . ?”
My throat tightens. I don’t think Henry knew Sharon well, but I’m sure he met her at some point and is aware of her condition. I nod.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He leans against the doorway, chin tucked like he’s debating something. I look back, ready for him to carry on, return to his business deals or banking or whatever he does so I can get back to my own work. “Listen, Lydia, it’s probably not a good time...” He pauses. “I really hate to ask when you guys are going through a rough patch, but I’m just curious if you might reconsider my offer?”
“What?” I caught ‘rough patch,’ and for a second, I was sure he’d somehow heard our marriage is in shambles. Until I stop to think about it. Anton never shares his feelings. Surely he wouldn’t have unloaded to Henry about all that and not the situation with his mom.
I knit my brows, trying to figure out what he means.
“Listen, I’m flexible about the terms. I was hoping we could at least meet to discuss before you turned me down.” He looks meaningfully at me, then glances behind him toward the play areas and reception desk. “I’d just love to get in on this.”
My eyes widen as the information finally clicks. “ You’re ABizCorp, LLC?”
His brow furrows. “Yes, of course.”
My skin breaks into a cool sweat as I think of the calls I’ve been dodging from Charlotte since I told her to turn down the deal. “Um...I guess with everything happening with Sharon, I didn’t realize.”
Henry straightens. “Mind if I come in a minute?”
“Sure, yeah.” I hop out of my chair, clearing a place on the little couch across from my desk that’s currently holding a Costco-sized package of paper towels. Henry perches on the edge, obviously trying not to get dog hair on his expensive-looking suit.
“So, what can I do to make you reconsider?” he asks. “If you’re willing, I’d want to keep you on as a consultant for a time, of course, but that’s negotiable.” He grins.
I sit up in my chair, wishing my hair was neater. And I was wearing something other than leggings and a T-shirt from one of the more recent animal shelter fundraisers. I’ve barely even showered since Anton left. I didn’t leave the house at all prepared for a business meeting.
“Do you mind if I ask what interests you about The Pooch Park and Ooh La Pooch?” I glance over Henry’s spotless suit, his manicured fingers. There isn’t a single hair out of place on his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t really strike me as a dog person. You don’t even have a dog of your own.”
He leans back on the couch, cool and confident. “I’ve done my research, crunched the numbers. Your business thus far is impressive. But I think it could be systemized, made more efficient, and significantly expanded.”
I frown. I have plans of my own to keep growing, but the way he talks about it sounds sort of cold and soulless.
“Don’t think of it like that,” Henry says, apparently reading my face. “You and I both know these decisions come down to the bottom dollar.” He clears his throat. “And I am offering you a lot of them.”
I exhale, trying to hide my irritation. “Yes, um...I did give your offer some serious thought.”
My chest starts to ache, thinking back on my exchange with Anton.
“I’m sure.” Henry flashes a toothy smile. “Did Anton think it wasn’t enough?”
“Well, no?—”
“I am willing to come up.” He raises a sharp eyebrow. “With a few agreements, of course.”
Ugh. I feel like I did when I bought my first car. I’d never made such a big purchase on my own, and I remember sitting in the dealership while they threw numbers at me, until I wasn’t sure if I got a good price or not. Somehow, dealing with Henry is ten times more overwhelming. Or maybe it’s just the numbers he’s waving around. If I was really interested, I would set up a meeting with Charlotte and let her handle negotiations. But my answer isn’t about to change. If anything, with my marriage on the brink, I need the Pooches—my career—more than ever.
“Sorry, I’m still not interested.”
His eager expression wavers a little. “Are you sure? We could hold off further talks until Anton’s back, if that would be better.”
My neck prickles. I don’t get the vibe he’s trying to suggest I step back and let my husband decide, but he’s toeing the line. “The businesses are mine. It’s my decision. But Anton and I did speak about it, and he knows how I feel.”
My gut twists as these last words leave my lips. I think you’ve made clear what matters most to you.
Henry’s mouth presses into a firm line. “Okay. Well, obviously I’m still game. So if you decide you want to reconsider?—”
“How many different ways do I have to say no? ” I snap. “I’m not interested!”
He stiffens, then rises abruptly from the couch. “Sorry, Lydia. I didn’t mean to overstep.” He reaches into his pocket, then hands me a glossy-looking business card. “The success you’ve had with your dog businesses is impressive. I was just interested in taking it to the next level.”
“Thank you,” I say, showing him the door. “So am I.”
I spend the rest of the morning trying to catch up on shampoo and bakery orders, scheduling, and reading up on changes to employee health insurance. But my brain is still preoccupied with the knowledge that Henry Hill wants to buy my business. Did Anton know? Is that why he responded the way he did? I want to ask, but I’m afraid if I call, his phone will ring at the worst possible moment. Instead, I keep shifting from one task to another and not actually getting anything finished. Around lunchtime, my mom calls, and I give up on productivity.
“Lydia, I was just thinking—have you ever tried the cabbage soup diet?”
I cringe, not at all in the mood to be pestered about my weight or any other imperfections today. I’ve been avoiding sharing the news about Anton’s mom, hoping for a better update from him first. But I can’t put it off any longer.
“Sharon’s in the hospital. Some kind of stroke, they think.”
“Oh, no.” Her tone changes instantly, and I’m grateful for that, at least. “When did this happen? ”
“Seth called Sunday night. Anton flew out right away, and he’s been there ever since.”
“But you’re not with him?”
I clench the arm of my office chair, rankling at the surprise in her voice. But there is no way in hell I’m going to discuss the reasons why. “I have businesses to run, Mom.”
“Yes, but this sounds serious. What if?—”
“Look, nothing terrible has happened yet.”
“You don’t think this is already terrible?” she says in a low tone.
“Of course I do. But Anton and I talked about it and...” I close my eyes. “He told me not to come.”
My mother says nothing. Which is pretty much like saying everything for a woman who never shuts up.
“How are Celia and the baby?” I try.
She doesn’t take the bait, and I’m about to look for an excuse to end the call because I don’t need whatever judgment she’s stewing on right now. But then she speaks again.
“When your dad...” she starts, then trails off. And now I’m fully alarmed. My father took off when I was four, and we never saw him again. She does not bring him up, not unless she has to. “There were times certain things happened when we were young, and I...I just wished I’d done things differently.”
I don’t know what to say. She has always maintained that their marriage had been perfect up until our dad abandoned us, that he’d left her totally blindsided. I am floored by the sorrow in her voice.
“That was a long time ago, Mom,” I say carefully.
“Yes. It was.” She sniffs like she’s dismissing a bad odor. “I just don’t want you to get to my age and feel the same way.”
I swallow, wondering if the damage has already been done. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Now, I need to chat with your sister.” She returns to her normal, directive tone. “She has this idea that just because her husband is Jewish, my grandson shouldn’t be christened. You really should give her a call, Lydia.”
“I’ll leave you to that,” I say .
“Keep me updated on Sharon,” she says quietly. “I’ll be praying for her.”
“Thank you.”
I end the call and find myself staring at the picture from Celia’s wedding. Anton in his suit, me in my blue dress. A tender thread of regret weaves its way through my gut.
I hate when my mother is right.