Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
The vet cannot see the tiny critter until early the following afternoon, and though Dane volunteers to watch it if Miguel would rather not, he insists that we will be fine to puppy-sit for a couple nights.
Fiona decides to walk over to the pet store to get “a few things,” even though Miguel warns her that she’s going to return with doggy doll clothes and cans of organic food that cost as much as a steak dinner for eight.
While she’s away, Dane locates a big cardboard box in the stockroom to serve as a temporary crate for the puppy, who rewards him by immediately peeing in a corner, then crying pitifully until Amelia Mae picks him up to comfort him.
“Eh, he’s not awful,” she says as he tries to chew off her arm. “But he’s definitely not you, Harry.”
I thank her by lying directly on top of her feet, and it’s so good to be with her that having her toes under my belly and the nippy beast just over my head doesn’t even bother me all that much.
Fiona returns a short while later, “sans dog clothing,” she informs Miguel, but with a whole bag full of other things that the puppy would need only if she intended to keep him.
He gobbles down his fancy food so fast that I know it’ll soon come right back out of all exits—but that’s Fiona’s problem, not mine.
Except…if Fiona and Miguel decide to mate, as I intend for them to, it will be my problem.
Oh no. This was not the plan.
Dane, who’s especially chipper about Fiona’s return—probably because it’s immediately improved Miguel’s mood—orders pizza for dinner, which they eat in the reading nook after the puppy finally does his business on the sidewalk, then passes out in the very same box he peed in.
Afterward, Dane tells Miguel that he and Natalie will close the store.
“Go hang out,” he says, raising his eyebrows in a way that’s not as stealthy as he thinks it is. “Get the puppers settled.”
“Will do. Thanks, Dane.” Miguel sounds nonchalant, but I can smell panic setting in. He turns to Fiona, who’s gathering their things. “Do you want me to take you to the bed-and-breakfast?”
She gives him another this-is-a-challenge stare. “It’s your call. What’s easiest for you?”
He hesitates, then says, “Why don’t we go to my place first? The puppy’s too small to go to the dog park and probably shouldn’t be in the grass before he has all his shots. But I can take him on the patio and help him acclimate a little before you leave.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
We pile into the car and make the short drive to the house. “Oh, it’s lovely,” says Fiona as we pull into the driveway. “I thought it might be, but I just love cedar shakes, and all the hedges and vines are so charming.”
“Thank you, though I can’t really take credit,” Miguel says. “That was all Amelia.”
“Of course,” she says knowingly.
When we reach the back porch, Miguel suggests that Fiona and Amelia Mae let the puppy check out the patio while he goes inside to make sure there isn’t anything too embarrassing lying around. “I don’t have people over very often,” he explains apologetically.
“Don’t go to any trouble for us. I promise we’re easy,” she assures him.
He and I have just gotten into the kitchen when it really and truly sinks in: They’re coming inside!
Into our house! With their smells and their selves and—well, yes, with the puppy, but beggars and choosers and all that.
Without even thinking about it, I start zipping around in circles in front of the sink, waiting for Amelia Mae to join me.
Oh, this is just so exciting! If to be together and have something to look forward to isn’t the ultimate happiness, then I don’t know what is.
“Cálmate, Harold,” Miguel says, patting my back to get me to settle down. “You don’t want to scare Fiona, remember? She may have fallen for that puppy, but she’s still afraid of dogs.”
I remember now, and while I manage to stop my yapping, I can’t help but jump up on Amelia Mae the moment Miguel opens the door for her and the other two.
“Careful, love bug,” warns Fiona, who’s carrying the punter again. Before I can demonstrate some semblance of self-control, Miguel’s taken my paws off Amelia Mae’s shirt and is pushing my rear end down so I’m seated.
“Sorry, sorry. I think the puppy’s got him especially worked up. I should’ve done a better job training him, but it’s too late for that. Should I put his leash on?”
What is this, Westminster? Am I to be trotted around and have my remaining teeth examined as well? I might just have to slobber all over to remind him that I’m his pet—not a pageant animal.
“No, no, this is Harold’s home,” chirps Fiona. “Speaking of which, this is even more lovely than the exterior. Amelia had wonderful taste.”
I have just decided that in spite of the puppy, I may actually like Fiona more than she likes me, because nothing about my Amelia seems to make her feel bad or intimidated. In fact, I think they might have even been friends if they’d had the chance.
Miguel glances around. “I haven’t really had anyone over in a while, so I apologize that it’s not super clean. But you’re right—she did. Thank you for saying that. Come on in.”
He gives them the tour and even lets Fiona poke her head inside his bedroom, which is by far the messiest spot in the house.
Then we gather in the living room, where Amelia Mae lies beside me in front of the fireplace we never use anymore while Fiona and Miguel sit on opposite ends of our sofa.
Fiona’s got the puppy on her chest again, and just when I think he’s asleep, he gives a little yip and licks her cheek.
“Oh, Walter,” she says with a giggle.
“Walter?” exclaim Miguel and Amelia Mae at the same time.
“Doesn’t he look like a Walter? I’ve been thinking that since we scooped him up, and it seems to be sticking. Something about the patch on his chin makes me think of a grumpy old man with a beard.”
“And here I thought Harold was a strange thing to call a dog,” Amelia Mae whispers to me. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to refer to him as Wally.”
Oh, thank goodness. She really is on my team.
“I…it’s interesting to see you like this,” Miguel says, tilting his head to one side as he regards her.
“Sorry,” says Fiona with a sleepy smile.
“Don’t be,” he says.
In spite of his guilt and pain and hesitation, he’s enamored of her. Amelia Mae, who gives me a triumphant grin, has sensed it, too.
If only I could say the same of myself and this ridiculously named puppy, who plays possum and pretends to be asleep until the moment Miguel drives Fiona and Amelia Mae back to the bed-and-breakfast. Then he cries and cries from the big plastic car crate Miguel dragged up from the basement, which I could not once be convinced to get into.
When Miguel returns, he relents and holds him.
Walter finally falls asleep again, and Miguel returns him to the crate, which he’s filled with old towels.
He puts the crate in his bedroom, and the beast proceeds to keep us up half the night.
In fact, his whining and constant needing to go out remind me exactly of what Amelia’s friend Carly once said about having a newborn; it almost makes me glad I can’t remember the first early months of my life.
He exhausts himself just as the sun begins to poke over the horizon, and Miguel and I oversleep until the dog’s whimpering rouses us yet again.
A few hours later, we meet Fiona and Amelia Mae at a small plaza downtown.
Miguel lies and says the puppy wasn’t much trouble at all while Fiona coaxes the thing—ahem, Walter—into a harness, and I try not to gloat when he pulls this way and that, futilely trying to regain his freedom.
Then they pick up lunch from Spoon and eat back at home on the deck while I introduce Walter to one of life’s true pleasures, which is dozing in the sun on a not-too-hot day.
We’re just finishing up when Riley appears at the back gate.
“Hello, all! Amelia Mae, you ready to go?”
“Go? Go where, exactly?” says Fiona.
“To the vet! I called Riley to see if she’d take me and Walter,” Amelia Mae tells her mother.
“I’m going to have to lock up my phone,” says Fiona, but she doesn’t seem upset. “And why, exactly, did you want Riley to do my dirty work?”
“We wanted to give you two a chance to spend time together. Duh.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” says Riley. “We had so many dogs when I was growing up that people thought we ran a kennel. This is routine for me.”
“Are we being set up?” Fiona says with amusement to Miguel.
“It appears so.”
“Don’t worry, Harry will chaperone,” Amelia Mae assures them, winking at me.
Fiona sighs, then rises and goes inside, shaking her head. When she returns, she hands Riley a small plastic rectangle, the oversized car crate, and Walter’s tiny harness and leash.
“I suppose there are worse things than being the target of other people’s plans,” Miguel tells her as she watches them get into Riley’s car. “You want to go for a walk?”
“I’d love to.”
They leave me at home, and I’m so pooped from last night that I don’t even complain.
They’re holding hands when they return, and I think I’d be less shocked to see snow falling from the summer sky—not because they’re touching on purpose in a prolonged way, as it’s clear that’s what they’ve been wanting to do all along, but because…
I guess I thought Miguel would be worried about what Raina or the other neighbors might think about him.
He must be so focused on Fiona right now that it either hasn’t occurred to him or doesn’t matter. Either way, I’m winning.
“Do you want to read for a while before they get back?” he says after serving her a glass of ice water.
“That sounds great,” she tells him. “I actually have a book in my bag.”
They return to the sofa, stretching out so that their legs are on either side of each other.
But instead of disappearing into their stories, she sets her paperback on her stomach.
He never even cracked his open and is already looking at her when she looks at him.
They both smile. Then she says, “So…what’s it like to have a dog? ”
He regards me momentarily. “Where to even start? It’s incredibly mundane.”
What?! How dare he, after all I’ve done for him?
“There are so many routines you have to follow every single day, and they get upset if you don’t do things at the same time.
You have to plan all your vacations around them, and basically all of your outings, as you’ve probably gathered.
Really, your whole life revolves around this creature who may or may not realize it. ”
I realize it! How can he not see that? I’m starting to get upset when he smiles at me and says, “And it’s one of the best things that will ever happen to you, because that animal will just love you, even when you don’t deserve it.”
Oh, Miguel. How kind of you to notice.
“Sounds a lot like parenthood,” she says, and unless I’m imagining it, her eyes are just a bit misty.
“I can’t say for certain on that front, but I’ve always wanted to have a child. I suppose I did imagine it that way.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Amelia didn’t want to, and we made our decisions together. I always believed that’s why our relationship was strong.”
“Mm,” she says, nodding.
“Unlike her, I wasn’t worried I’d turn into my father—that would’ve been somewhat difficult, as he was never around enough for me to catch his habits. But I would’ve been lucky to turn into my mother. She was so joyful and endlessly thoughtful. My sister is, too. You’ll like her.”
“I bet I will,” she says, and I myself like the certainty with which they’re speaking about the future. “How lucky you are, to have had so many good women in your life.”
“Truly,” he says. Then, very quietly, he adds, “I…I do feel guilty.”
She doesn’t ask him why; they both know he’s falling for her. And I’m pretty sure she’s already fallen for him.
“Oh, Miguel. I understand,” she says softly. “I don’t know if it helps, but I do, too. And I’m trying not to rush this for that reason.”
Instead of saying more, they look at each other and eventually go back to reading, or at least they pretend to; I somehow doubt either one is absorbing a single word on the pages they’re flipping.
A few minutes later, Fiona’s lids begin to flutter, then slowly close. The next thing I know, her mouth’s hanging open, just a smidge, and her glasses are halfway down her nose.
Miguel watches her for a while. Then he carefully extricates himself from the sofa and gets a blanket from the armchair, which he drapes over her.
I’m certain she’s going to wake, but she just closes her mouth and curls to one side and doesn’t wake again until Amelia Mae comes hollering through the back door.
“Gotta pee!” she says, rushing past us. “Riley’s on the patio with Walter trying to get him to go to the bathroom, too! ”
“Oh!” exclaims Fiona, glancing around.
“You fell asleep,” says Miguel from the armchair.
“But that never happens to me. Honestly, I barely sleep at night. And forget cars and planes and other people’s living rooms,” she says, blinking hard.
“Why not?” says Miguel.
“I don’t really know. I’m usually just…on. Thinking about things, though Amelia Mae will tell you I’m worrying and she’s probably not wrong. I have no idea what just happened.”
I do. She feels safe with Miguel. She feels safe with us. Even me! So safe that her busy brain turned off for a while and let her rest.
And as for Miguel—there’s color in his cheeks, a spring in his step, an aliveness that hasn’t been there in a long time.
She rises and walks over to him. “Thank you for that.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly. They’re almost the same height, so he doesn’t have to reach far when he pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She’s standing very still, and so is he. Then he leans forward and—
I bark. Loudly.
I swear I didn’t mean to, and I know I shouldn’t have. But it’s too late; Fiona has startled and stepped back, and Miguel’s shifting awkwardly. “Sorry,” he says gruffly. “It must be the puppy.”
“It’s fine,” she twitters. “I think I’ll get some water and check on Riley and Walter.”
“Of course.”
Miguel glances at me as she heads into the kitchen, but he doesn’t look upset. Just sort of…confused.
Me, too, buddy. Why on dog’s green earth would I sabotage my own mission?