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Living History Illinois Flockify DM, Sunday 11:10 PM
SingerQueen: Feeling philosophical. Do you think people deserve second chances?
AlCaponesGhost25: Is this a historical question? In that case no. I can think of a number of horrid megalomaniacs who shouldn’t have gotten even a first chance.
SingerQueen: No, more like friends and family.
AlCaponesGhost25: Hmm. I guess it would depend on what they did. There are deal breakers.
SingerQueen: Such as?
AlCaponesGhost25: Well, there’s the obvious triad—cheating, murder, and putting an empty milk carton back in the fridge.
SingerQueen: Ha!
AlCaponesGhost25: Where’s this coming from?
I nibble at my lip as I try to think of how to explain my confusion about today’s events while keeping up my half-truth about working as a designer.
SingerQueen: Remember that guy at my work we were going to haunt?
AlCaponesGhost25: The showoff?
SingerQueen: Yeah.
AlCaponesGhost25: Is he still being annoying?
I think of the spider in the mailbox, Tilly and Cho getting us kicked out of agility, and Leo’s irritatingly self-assured ways. But the image is shifting even as I do.
SingerQueen: He’s a pain in my ass for sure, but the problem is, now he’s sharing his portfolio with me, which is actually really helpful. It might even lead to a promotion if things work out.
AlCaponesGhost25: Hence your question.
SingerQueen: Maybe I judged him unfairly.
AlCaponesGhost25: You sound a bit like me. I tend to assume the worst of people.
SingerQueen: You do?
AlCaponesGhost25: Trying to do better.
SingerQueen: So I should give him a second chance?
AlCaponesGhost25: If he’s worthy. How is his riddle game?
SingerQueen: Non-existent. Too buttoned-up.
AlCaponesGhost25: Phew. I won’t get jealous then.
SingerQueen: …
AlCaponesGhost25: What?
SingerQueen: Are you flirting with me?
AlCaponesGhost25: Would never. *winky face emoji*
Thank goodness the store’s closed on Mondays. Even though the dogs let me sleep until eight, I’m a zombie as I feed them and take them out. A sore zombie. I must have strained a few muscles in my muddy fall yesterday. I stretch in front of the window as I wait for my coffee to brew. The light is on in Leo’s apartment. He’s probably been up since six checking off his to-do list.
My snarky thought isn’t followed by its usual pang of emotional acidity, possibly because today I have a to-do list of my own. As much as I hate to admit it, Leo’s training plan is a good idea. I also want to organize the store better and finally start that Instagram account. What was it he said? I need to ensure my customers don’t find Canine King superior.
I have about eight weeks left until the show. Say we train two times per week, that’s sixteen sessions. I glance down at Cholula. That’s plenty, right? If I focus on different obstacles each week, we should be ready. Of course, there’s one other problem to solve—the talent part. Pretty sure “stealing food” doesn’t count, and that’s the only area where Cho is prodigious. I’ll have to give this some thought.
I use a pencil to divide a sheet of paper into eight boxes and jot down what my training focus will be for each. Who knew there was such relief in taking all those loose thoughts from your head and organizing them on paper?
As soon as I’m done with breakfast, I hit the floor. I have three hours to make a dent in my list before I head out to Pop at Dalebrook, and I intend to put them to good use.
I’m even more sore when I walk into the nursing home after lunch. There’s a kink in my back, and my hands are callused from hauling thirty-pound bags of kibble across the store all morning. Inspired by Leo, I decided to move the food to the back wall. It’s our number one revenue maker, and after reading up on sales and marketing basics, I now know that, to optimize sales, we need to make customers pass all the other merchandise to get to the food. It’s obvious once it stares you in the face.
To my surprise, Pop’s bed is empty when I get there. His roommate looks like he’s sleeping, but the TV is on. He’s not in the bathroom either, and when I peer into the hallway, only a few nurses move in and out of the rooms.
I’m about to go look for him when a laugh trills up the corridor from the common area. A second later, Harvey and Sylvia come into view. He’s leaning heavily on his walker, and she has her arm on his back, but they’re giggling like two schoolchildren about something. Harvey is moving slowly, but other than that, he looks good.
“Hey, Pop,” I say as they get closer.
He pauses and looks up. “Cora! Look at me.” He grins.
Sylvia and I nod to each other in greeting.
“I saw your empty bed and thought you’d escaped,” I say.
“Yep, Sylvia broke me out.” He winks.
“The nurses say he needs to get up and move, and since Charles still sleeps a lot, I have nothing but time on my hands,” Sylvia says. She has friendly pale eyes and a steel-gray pixie cut reminiscent of Jamie Lee Curtis. I have no doubt she was a knock-out in her younger days. Heck, just like JLC, she’s a knockout even now.
“That’s great,” I say. “As long as you’re not pushing yourself too hard, Pop.”
He waves my concern away as he sits back down on his bed. “I’m doing great. But tell me about you. How’s the store? How’s Leo?”
“Leo?” Why is he asking about him as if he’s someone to me?
“Nice young man,” he tells Sylvia. “You met him last time Cora was here.”
“I remember. Is he your boyfriend?” Sylvia asks me.
“No!” It comes out a tad too emphatic. “He’s just a friend. Barely a friend.” My face warms.
“He opened a store across the street from ours,” Harvey explains.
“A competing store,” I add, willing the color out of my cheeks.
Sylvia’s attention ping-pongs between us. “Ah.”
“But no worries,” I tell Harvey. “I have a plan.”
“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” Sylvia says, drawing the curtain between the beds before she leaves the room again.
“Thanks again,” Harvey calls to her.
“Anytime.”
He beams. Oh boy, the ladies back home are about to have their hopes dashed.
I start laying out my agenda in detail, and he listens without interrupting. When I get to the show, his forehead creases.
“This sounds well and good, kiddo,” he says when I’m done, “but it does pain me that you have to shoulder all this on your own. It’s a big undertaking.”
I don’t have it in me to brush off his concern. It is a lot. But also… “I moved here to help, and I’m not about to give up now. As long as you and the dogs need me, I’m here. I probably can’t win, but I’m going to try. But maybe you can help me think of a talent for Cho.”
Harvey rests a pensive finger against his lower lip. “She climbs the furniture a lot. Could you do something with that?”
“We’ll be on a stage. I don’t think it’s possible to turn it into a ‘floor is lava’ game where she jumps between tables, and shelves, and whatnot.”
He shrugs. “A couple of chairs, a ladder maybe… Or what about Boris or Cap? Sometimes she sits on top of them.”
I have seen that. And Cap’s name is already on the registration since I hadn’t yet decided which one of them to show. Could I train her to stand on Cap’s back?
“She’s so smart,” Pop continues. “I bet you could teach her to balance on one of those big exercise balls.”
“Now, that would be a real circus act.”
Harvey takes my hand, squeezes it. “I believe in you, Cora. You can do anything you set your mind to. You’ll win that grand prize; I can feel it in my bones. Best in Show.”
More like Worst in Show at the rate I’m going. His confidence in me makes my throat tighten. I never told him I dropped out of college, that helping him at the store was only part of the reason I moved out here. No one but Micki knows. I’m very much aware that, if I mess this up, it won’t be the first time I falter at the finish line.
“I’m going to do my best to be there to watch you win,” he says with a determined nod. “The doctors are happy with my recovery so far.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Yeah, you show them. Rest, eat, do your physical therapy.”
“Speaking of eating. Could you check if Charles still has his pudding from lunch?”
My mouth pops open. “Excuse me?”
“He doesn’t eat it anyway. It’s a waste.”
“Pop…” I chuckle but go check, nevertheless. Sure enough, there’s a pudding cup on his roommate’s side table. Charles doesn’t move as I lean closer, but it feels as if he knows.
“I can’t do it.” I sit back on Harvey’s bed. “You’re as bad as Cholula.”
He sighs with dramatic flair. “Guess I’ll have to wait for Sylvia to come back, then.”
Something tells me she’ll be more than happy to oblige.