12
I make it into the store before the tears come. All the tension and worry from the past few hours are coiled tightly in my core and explode until I’m sobbing so hard I have to use the counter for support to stay upright.
The dogs’ whining is what finally snaps me out of it. I wipe my face with the back of my hands while I go upstairs.
“Hi, guys,” I say, moving the gate. “Everything is okay. Pop will be back before you know it.” I say it as much for me as for them.
I sit down on the floor and let the dogs blanket me in their warm, heavy bodies.
What am I going to do? I don’t know how to run the store—Harvey always calls the shots. I’m behind the scenes. The walls around me could not seem taller or more imposing. A million tasks float about my head like some sort of sharp-toothed sharknado. If I linger too long on any one thing, it’ll bite me.
I might have stayed there on the floor the rest of the day if Boris wasn’t the most flatulent dog I’ve ever met. Eventually, I’m forced to get up, if only to open a window, and once I’m up, I make the conscious decision not to sit back down.
“Start small,” I say to myself. “Open the store, call Mom.” Harvey is her dad after all, and I’m hoping she’ll know better than me what to do.
With a steadying breath, I flip the OPEN sign and take my position behind the counter.
Mom picks up after two rings, and after I explain what’s happened, she’s quiet for a long moment.
“Oh, shoot,” she says eventually, as if I’ve merely told her I missed the school bus. “Well, it was only a matter of time. He should have retired ages ago. Stubborn old fool.”
That’s helpful. I rub my brow.
“I suppose that means we should head that way for the holidays again,” she says. “Your dad will be disappointed. He had his heart set on Arizona this year.”
My hands pause their nervous sorting of the stack of mail from this morning. “You weren’t even going to come back for Christmas?”
“Chicago is so cold and snowy.”
I shake my head. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Best to switch gears. “The social worker at the hospital told me the recovery can be lengthy. What should we do about rehab?”
“Well, I don’t know, hon. I’m all the way over here.”
“Mom!” The dogs’ heads whip around to stare at me. “Please,” I say in a softer voice. “He’s your dad. I can’t deal with the store and the hospital and the dogs by myself.”
She’s quiet for another beat. Then she clicks her tongue. “Fine. I’ll make some calls.”
I let out a long breath. “Thanks.”
“But for God’s sake, let the store fizzle, Coralynn. You must have enough saved up for grad school by now, and Dad should be enjoying his sunset days in a nice home.”
I resist the urge to let out a loud cackle. She knows neither one of us.
The corner of a colorful brochure peeks out from the stack of envelopes in front of me, drawing my attention. I tug on it.
“That reminds me,” Mom says. “The sunsets here are remarkable. You really should come. Perhaps you and Dad can join us for the holidays this year instead.”
“Can’t bring the dogs on a plane,” I mumble as I scan the front of the brochure. It’s about Winter Fest and the dog show, and the words I’m reading are not making sense.
ONE WINNER TAKES HOME…
The skin on my arms starts to tingle. That must be a typo. “You know what, Mom, I’ve got to go. Let me know what you find out, okay?”
“About what?”
I tilt my head back in a silent plea for strength. “Pop’s care.”
“Oh, right. Okay. Will do.”
I put my phone away, squeeze my eyes shut, and then look at the brochure again. The first part reads the same as I remember from previous years. County fair, vendor sign-up, yada, yada, yada. Below that is the information about the dog show. While I’ve been at the fest every year, I haven’t seen the show since Grandma passed. That was her thing. Every year she’d enter with one of the many rescues in the shelter, and adoptions always soared afterward. She loved that anyone was allowed to compete and that most of the contestants were in it for the fun experience, not the five-hundred-dollar prize.
Except, this year, the amount listed for first prize is a little more than that, if I’m to believe what I’m seeing.
I stare at the bold font on the page.
ONE WINNER TAKES HOME $15,000!
(Thank you to our generous sponsors.)
I drop the brochure on the counter. The peace of mind that amount of money would bring… I glance behind me at the photo of my grandma and Patch the dalmatian mix with their blue rosette. “Can you believe this?” I ask her. Of course, I get nothing but a sanguine smile in return.
My brain is churning. Is this even possible? And if so, which dog would I run in the show? There are two parts to the competition—an obstacle course and a talent show—and none of our mutts is a clear choice. I glance at the big wolfhound at the bottom of the stairs. Well, it would have to be Cap or Cholula since Boris is an obvious no-go.
I open a browser and do a quick search of past winners. There was the bloodhound from Kenosha whose talent was finding all five peanut butter cups hidden in the audience within three minutes, the Yorkie who could climb his owner like a baby mountain goat, and the terrifying German shepherd who did impressions of famous movie dogs on command. (His Cujo scared the bejeezus out of half the audience.) But these were all dogs with agility experience and years of training. There’s no chance I could compete with that.
My excitement dwindles as I browse the official page for the fest, but when I reach the sign-up page and see that the cutoff for registering is in less than a week, something snaps inside me.
I’m about to ask Pop what he thinks we should do before remembering the state of things. What was true this morning is suddenly false. I no longer have a boss; I am the boss. If vendors need to be paid or orders need to be placed, it’s on me. I’ll have to figure out our accounting system and our order status, not to mention whatever Harvey uses for regular bills. I can’t go home tonight—or any night for the foreseeable future—because the dogs are here, and so I’ll need to move in with them. Everything is upside down.
If I want to win $15,000 and save the store, I’m on my own.
Before I can change my mind, I sign up for both the booth and the competition, pay the fees, and then click the browser closed. Exhale. No looking back. I turn on music over the speakers and start bopping my head along to shed all worries. Boris joins me, and the beat does make me feel better.
“Come here,” I tell the big dog, lifting his front paws up onto my shoulders. For a few measures we sway together—a fitting celebration of this next big step. Now all I have to do is discover Cap’s and Cholula’s secret talents, and we’re set.