Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
Circumstances? What circumstances could possibly require me staying away from Amelia Mae?
Why are they still in town? Or are they?
Is their train stuck on the tracks farther afield?
Or maybe the journey is making Fiona even more anxious, and she’s decided to borrow a car and brave the highway, or…
well, I’ve run out of scenarios. Now I’d just like an answer. Better yet, I’d like to see my friend.
“I don’t know any more than you do, buddy,” says Dane as I pace back and forth in front of the window.
There are lots and lots of people walking down Main Street today, which means the weekend’s either approaching or already here.
Some of them are probably in from Chicago to spend some time on our beach, which I’m told is even better than the one they have (though I’m also told those are fighting words, so perhaps it’s best that I can’t say them).
But I’m not looking for any old tourists.
I’m starting to get a mite dizzy from all my back-and-forthing when they finally part the throng.
Miguel is carrying Fiona’s bag, and she’s clutching something that I can’t make out; just behind them, Amelia Mae’s skipping along with her backpack slung on a shoulder.
She waves when she sees me through the window.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” asks Fiona as Miguel holds the door open for her.
“Yes, of course. We’re dog-friendly.”
Well, obviously. But why does that matter?
“I just wasn’t sure what else to do,” Fiona says breathlessly to Miguel. “The conductor said we weren’t allowed on the train, and I wasn’t sure that would’ve been a good idea in the first place.”
“Seriously, it’s all right,” he assures her. “You’re always welcome here. I’m glad you called me.”
I’m about to bound over to Amelia Mae when I hear it: a yip.
It’s a weak squeak of a bark that some might even call pathetic. Which means they have a puppy.
Betrayal!
Fiona sits on the bench near the door, providing me with a better view of the beast she’s cradling like it’s a newborn human.
What kind of yappy punter am I even looking at right now?
It’s no bigger than one of the jumbo bones Amelia used to get me for Christmas.
If it has eyes, they’re hidden under all that matted fur, which is various shades of dark and no doubt teeming with fleas. On instinct, I back away from it.
“Harry, don’t be jealous,” Amelia Mae says, kneeling beside me.
She leans in close and whispers, “I was just starting to worry that it’d be too long before we saw each other again when this little critter poked his head out from under the dumpster outside the station.
And who am I to look a gift stray in the mouth? ”
His: So this mangy thing is a male. And while I see what she’s saying, I can’t bring myself to muster up the same enthusiasm she seems to have.
“Cute! You check for others?” asks Dane.
Heaven help me—there might be a whole litter?
“We searched around the area and couldn’t find his mother or any other puppies. I think he’s been abandoned.” Fiona peers down at him. “Isn’t he so sweet?”
Sweet is a freshly baked cruller. Sweet is anyone who stops to scratch behind my ears. The animal she’s referring to is chock-full of parasites—and seriously encroaching on my territory.
Dane shoots her a quizzical look. “Thought you didn’t like dogs?”
“I don’t…dislike them,” she says, petting his head. “It’s more that I don’t trust them. But this guy reminds me of my childhood dog.”
“You had a dog?” says Miguel with the same incredulity that I’m feeling, too.
“When I was very young, yes,” she says, not looking up.
“A schnauzer mix called Lucy. We named her after the character in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. She was really my mother’s, though—Jon and I barely existed in that dog’s mind.
And she was black and white. Not brown like this little bear,” she coos.
Is she baby-talking this thing? That’s not acceptable unless someone is doing it to me.
“Are you going to keep him?” Miguel asks.
“Well, that’s impractical. But I just couldn’t leave him there,” she says, still staring at him.
“I understand.” Miguel places a hand on her shoulder, but he doesn’t get it, not really. Fiona is being turned before our very eyes—not by me, despite my best efforts, but by some scrawny dumpster pup who’s probably the descendant of a long line of rat-chasers.
“Do you have a vet I could call to see if I can get him an appointment?” Fiona asks.
“Yes, of course. The clinic that sees Harold is excellent and not all that expensive compared to the emergency clinic. I’ll get you their number.”
“Thank you,” she says, looking at the dog again.
“You know this means we’ll have to stay longer,” Amelia Mae tells her. “And the bed-and-breakfast doesn’t allow pets—remember the sign?” She turns and stares at Miguel.
I see what she’s aiming for, and I don’t mind it one bit. I’d love to cozy up next to her in the spare room. In fact, that might just ease the sting of how decrepit and repellent I’m feeling right now.
Miguel looks at me, then back at Fiona. “I can keep the dog for a night or two while you make arrangements for him. That is, if you think the inn will still have space.”
Wait a second! That is not the solution.
Though honestly, I should know better, and so should Amelia Mae.
He hasn’t even invited them to our house yet; of course he’s not going to have them spend the night.
He probably can’t stand the thought of someone in his space so soon.
Perhaps my ambitious ideas have outpaced his personal growth.
He adds, “I’ll have to separate him and Harold in case he has something, but that should be okay.”
As much as I don’t want to cuddle up to this interloper, I don’t want to be told what to do. Nor do I like the utter lack of control I have about all of this.
Fiona looks up at him. “I know you have your hands full; are you sure this isn’t an imposition? I can see if we can get an appointment right away and rent a car this evening to head back to the city.”
“Stay,” he says quietly, and while I myself have never enjoyed that command, Fiona’s glowing gaze says it’s exactly what she was hoping to hear.