Chapter 5
Ding, dong!
“Leena?” I call out.
My housekeeper usually opens the door. Where is she?
I’m on the rowing machine in the first-floor gym. The handle zips back to the starting position. The seat whirs against the metal runner when I bend my knees.
Ding, dong!
“Leena!” I holler again.
Then, when I don’t get a response, I stop rowing. My legs burn as I get off the machine. Same goes for my back muscles and shoulders. Rowing is a good blend of cardio and strength, and the past twenty minutes have already worked every muscle in my limbs. Lungs and heart, too.
I need to make sure I’m at the top of my game for the GQ photoshoot. These shoots majorly affect sales. Plus, a good workout makes me feel positive. That’s the state I want to be in when I talk to my professional fighter client, Bailey, who’s out in Taiwan later tonight. Bailey is a high-energy dude who is super proactive about keeping his mind right for fighting. I like to be right there with him on our coaching calls.
Ding, dong!
Who is at my door?
I don’t have time for a drop-in visit from my mother. She does this sometimes and pops in if an outing takes her through Windsor on her way home to Riley, where she lives with my stepdad these days.
I’m on a tight schedule. The time change makes it tough to get in coaching sessions with Bailey while I’m at work. So, I catch up with him late—nine o’clock to ten. Heck, it’s a better use of my time than watching television shows.
I wipe sweat from my brow, grab a sip of water, then walk that way. When I check my watch, I see that it’s almost eight o’clock in the evening. One hour before I have to get on the line with Bailey. Leena must have headed home.
I yank open the front door and get a shock when I spot my sister’s round face. Her hair’s chopped shorter than the last time I saw her, and she’s added a blue streak. Multiple rings line her ears, and another one decorates her nostril.
“Kate,” I grumble.
“Wow… you actually remember my name.” She brushes past me. “That’s impressive, given that you’ve acted as though I don’t exist for the past decade-plus.”
Already, with the bickering. I have not missed this over the years.
“I was in the middle of a workout.” I pull the towel off my neck and pat my brow. “It’s late.”
“Nice to see you, too, brother dear. It’s been a while. I see you still sweat like a pig.”
She’s lugging a black trash bag at her side. It’s full. With what, I don’t know.
“Perspiring is healthy, and exercise creates endorphins. You’d know that if you ever tried it. Hey—what are you…?”
I point at the bag, which she’s dropped by my marble-and-stainless-steel Malbec console table, which Leena recently polished. “Don’t put that there. I just had my housekeeper polish that yesterday. You’re going to get smudges on it.”
She grins—wickedly. “Oh, you want to talk about smudges? Just wait… Just you wait.” Then, she traipses across the entryway and back out through the door, which she leaves gaping open.
I follow after her and close the door.
Obviously, she’s not departing for good—though I wish she were.
She’ll be back with some awful, Kate-style surprise. I’ve suffered through many of her surprises over the years. When we were kids, she once jumped out from behind a car and creamed me in the face with a mud pie.
I don’t dare look in the trash bag, but I can smell it.
I sniff the air a few more times, trying to confirm my suspicion.
Yep. Dogs.
I definitely smell dogs.
Their fur, their slobber, their gnawed-on toys.
I smell dirt and dander and stinky collars. I know, thanks to chats with my mom, that Kate has two these days. She didn’t bring them here, did she?
A moment later, Kate pushes the door open and steps inside. Just as I feared, she has her two Golden Retrievers with her. One is pale, young-looking, with a goofy smile and wagging tail. The other is dark, rusty red. Old, stiff-legged, and serious. Why is Kate bringing them in here like this… with supplies… as if they’re going to stay?
Kate beams at me. She’s clearly loving the distaste written on my features. She’s always liked ruffling my feathers.
“This is Zoey,” she says, patting the pale, young dog on her block-like head.
Zoey keeps up the goofy smile. Then she opens her mouth, and her tongue rolls out. A long line of slimy drool cascades toward the floor.
Kate giggles. Then she reaches out to pat the darker, rust-red dog. “And this sweet grump is Mr. Brown. He’s going on fifteen. See how he’s going gray?” She gently cups her hand around his muzzle, guiding his face so I can see the silver that covers it, like a mask.
“I see,” I mutter. “What is the point of this introduction?”
“Figured you should know their names since they’ll be staying with you for?—”
“No.”
She barrels on. “For a week, while I?—”
“No, Kate. I said no.”
“While I go out to Alaska to talk to Sawyer.”
“No, I will not watch your dogs while you travel to Alaska. Nice try, but you can’t force this on me. I won’t accept this. And also, isn’t Sawyer a total loser? Mom says he doesn’t have a house. He lives in his car or something…”
“So, you talk to Mom, but you won’t talk to me?”
“I have been extremely busy.” Becoming successful. Unlike you.
“Too busy getting rich off overpriced sweatpants to talk to your own sister. Oh, and I better not forget about the workout videos. You’re an inspiration, Brock. Thank you for dragging yourself away from a mirror long enough to talk with me.”
“The only reason you call me is to borrow money, pick a fight, or get bailed out of jail.”
“I asked you to bail me out of jail one time.” She shakes her pointer finger. “Once. And you keep throwing that in my face. And I’ll also have you know that Sawyer is not a loser. He’s ‘one of a kind.’ Special. Your assistant even said so today when I talked to her. And I love him. Your assistant helped me see that, too. She made me realize that I have to go to him and tell him how I feel.”
“Hold up. Gwen Temple said all this?”
“Yes.” She nods and then paces over to the giant trash bag. She crouches down by it and pulls out a dog bed so filthy, it’s hard to tell what color it is.
“You are not putting that on my floor.”
She arches her brow and looks me in the eye as she plops it down on the marble tiles. A puff of dirt and fur rises up into the air.
Zoey pads over to the bed and sniffs it. Mr. Brown hobbles that way, too.
I groan and then rake my fingers through my short hair. “Gwen talked you into this?”
“She’s a fantastic listener, Brock. She was so patient with me. For the whole hour we talked, I felt heard, understood, sympathized with. That is so rare these days when so many people only care about their own troubles and don’t have the bandwidth for anyone else’s. You should give her a raise or something.”
“You and Gwen talked for an hour?”
She drops a second dirty dog bed onto the floor and glares at me. “Yes. When have you ever talked to me for an hour, Brock? I’ll answer that: never. You have never talked on the phone with me for an hour because you are too busy running around thinking you’re such a big deal.”
She waves a hand around the room. “You’re here in your bachelor pad, entertaining women, getting famous, and rolling in dough. Too good for your little sister, and I’m struggling with big things.”
With Kate, everything’s a struggle.
I learned that when we were kids.
She argues.
She fights.
Nothing’s easy, nothing’s fun. She likes to be at war with the world. And, I suppose in that way, we’re a bit alike. I like to fight battles too, especially when I know I can win.
We’re both strong-willed. That’s the problem. And we’ve butted heads for so long, I don’t think either of us knows how to have a conversation without doing so.
Though we butt heads like rambunctious goats, I’m not immune to feeling sorry for her. When she bites her lip and looks down to fiddle with the zipper on her leather jacket, I can tell that this ‘big’ struggle of hers is weighing on her.
“Oh, yeah? What is it—” I bite back ‘this time’ and instead leave the question there.
“I’m—well, I guess it’s not a secret anymore, so… I’m—I’m pregnant.”
Fear for my sister’s well-being ricochets through me. “With that loser’s kid?”
“Sawyer is not a loser,” she seethes, eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you been listening to me at all? He’s unique. And I love him.” Then, she storms past me, shoving me in the arm as she goes. “I don’t care what you think, anyway. You wouldn’t know anything about love, anyway, unless it’s your own image you’re gazing at, starry-eyed.”
It’s a relief when she walks back out the door.
I get a minute to myself to think.
She’s unmarried and pregnant.
Wild, troubled, stubborn Kate.
How is she going to manage becoming a single mom?
Minutes later, she returns, this time with a big bin in her arms. She lowers it down to the floor, pulls off the lid, and tips it so it’s on its side.
“I get these from the tennis center near my place,” she says, as tennis balls pour out of the bin. “They give them to me once they’ve lost their bounce. I have hundreds more at home.”
Tennis balls continue to spill out.
Too many to count.
They roll all over my pristine floor, swarm toward the trim boards, and nestle under the few pieces of purposefully placed furniture.
My skin crawls.
I groan again. “Kate…”
“There. Now this place looks a little less like a freaking museum.” She looks around the space, pleased with herself. “Lived in. Homey.”
Then she walks to the dogs, who have piled together on one of the dirty beds. I hear her murmuring to them, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.
All I can think about is the swarm of tennis balls at my feet, the fur and dust swirling in the air, and the little puddles of slobber that are already smeared across the floor.
And, her situation: Pregnant.
No ring on her finger.
Is this Sawyer dude in Alaska? Is that what she said?
I can’t believe this is happening. I rub my temples as she finishes off her conversation with the dogs.
Is she really about to leave them here?
“I’m not letting you get away with this,” I threaten.
Kate steps up to me, air kisses my cheek, then wiggles her fingers in a wave. “Great. Try to stop me; that’d be fun. We could wrestle in the driveway, like old times.”
She’s not even joking. She would fight me.
She might win, too. I know my sister, and she fights dirty. Pulls hair, scratches, the whole bit.
She goes on. “A few things before I go. First of all, Zoey has major separation anxiety, so she’s going to need a lot of cuddles while I’m gone. I mean that, Brock. A lot of attention, whenever she asks for it. And Mr. Brown has difficulty controlling his bladder. Like I said, he’s up there in years. Fifteen.”
She reaches the door and pulls it open. “Be patient with him, ‘kay? Don’t yell at him when he piddles inside. He’s old and deserves kindness. Also, they both need at least an hour of outside time each day or else they’ll drive you nuts, barking and asking to go out. Believe me—been there. When it rains, I try to sneak in a day off, and oh, boy, do they let me know it’s not gonna fly. Somewhere fenced-in. I was looking at that big yard of yours out there, and it won’t do. They roam if there’s no fence. Try a dog park or something.”
“I don’t have time?—”
“You’ll have to find time. Take good care of them. I mean it. Bye!” She closes the door firmly behind her.
I walk to it, ready to voice more protests. I don’t know how to take care of dogs. I’ve never owned a dog. I didn’t agree to this. This is a bad idea.
But by the time I open the door and look out into the darkness, she’s already hot-footing it toward her car. Of course, she wouldn’t look back at me if I spoke.
I consider calling out to her anyway, addressing her back, but then again… what’s the point?
She’s in a rush to get to the airport. I’m not about to actually wrestle her. We’re too old for that.
Chaotic, messy Kate.
Will she ever get her life together?
At least she stopped partying like she used to. Mom said she quit drinking for good.
I watch her start her beat-up car and drive off. So, she has a car these days. For a while, she only had a motorcycle. That worried me, given the accident rates with those things.
She’s worried me in many ways over the years.
Her partying, her criminal friends, her unemployment…
And now, she’s pregnant with some loser’s baby.
I watch the lights disappear, a feeling of fear about her future wriggling in my gut.
I can’t control my sister’s life. I’ve learned to focus on what I can control and let go of the things I can’t. Otherwise, I’ll go nuts.
As I close the door to the dark night, a weight starts to settle on my chest.
Worry about her future clouds my mind, but I mentally fight off the cobwebs and try to think about action steps instead.
What can I do right now to get through the situation at hand? What is within my sphere of influence?
The dogs.
I work too much. I won’t be able to give them the attention they need.
I pull out my cell and dial my mother.
“Mom? You got a minute?”
“Sure, sweetheart. I’m guessing by that panic in your voice that your sister’s been by.”
The pale dog, Zoey, must have heard Kate’s car drive off because now she’s at the door, scratching at it with one paw. She whines, then barks a few times.
My mother laughs. “And that must be dear, needy Zoey! You’re in for a treat, Brock, honey. Those dogs are both wonderful creatures with such personalities! Zoey is all about companionship. She’ll climb right into your lap if you let her. Mr. Brown, he’s a grouch. The secret with him is food. Give him a treat, and he’ll be your buddy for life.”
I want to talk to my mom about the dogs.
I want to know if she can take them this week instead of me. Surely, she and my stepfather would be better suited for the chore than I am. Riley, the town where they live, is not that far away. I could drop them off later tonight. Better yet, maybe she could come pick them up.
But there’s something else I have to discuss with her before we dive into dog-care duties.
I clear my throat. “Did she tell you her news?”
My mother sighs. “Yes… earlier today. Quite a shock. I have to admit, I was upset at first. But she seems hopeful, and that made me see that there is hope in all of this. Besides, you know Kate. She’s very strong. Resilient. She’ll manage whether or not Sawyer wants to be involved.”
Zoey keeps scratching the door. I squat down beside her and pet her back.
She looks at me with frantic, scared eyes, and I move my hand to my head and pet her there in an effort to soothe her. I may not know much about dogs, but I at least know they like to be petted.
To my surprise, she leans against me.
My mom goes on. “She’ll have us, and your father, and you, Brock. We’ll all help her. I think it’s time for you to give her some support. You’ve been so distant with her for so long. I really wish you two could get along. I know she’s had her ups and downs, but that’s life. She’s really cleaned up her act and wants to be closer to you.”
I don’t have time to help Kate out of her messes.
My success depends on me. My focus. My energy.
I have to be intentional about my time, and I won’t let Kate’s irresponsibility get in the way of my future.
“You guys can help her,” I say. “I’m not going to get involved. And these dogs… There is no way I can watch them this week. My schedule is packed. I leave the house at five in the morning, and I don’t get back until five or six at night. They’d be better off at your place.”
“I already talked about that with your sister. We both feel it’d be better for them to be there, with you. You might not see this, Brock, but time with them will be good for you. Animals are very perceptive. They naturally give us what we need. You’ve been so busy rushing around with that business of yours, you’ve forgotten how to slow down and enjoy the simple things. A little comfort. Company. Love.”
“This business of mine pays my bills.”
My business bought my house. And the house my mom’s in, for that matter. And my dad and stepmother’s house, too.
How about that time Kate broke her arm and had all those medical bills five years ago? She doesn’t know it, but I was the one who paid them all, thanks to my hard work—my ‘rushing around’ with my money-making ventures.
Zoey barks in my face.
I wince, and realize that thanks to my worry, I stopped petting her.
She barks again.
I take the hint and start stroking her head. She nestles against me.
“It sounds like Zoey girl is jealous that we’re on the phone,” my mom says with a laugh. “I’ll let you go, Brock, so you can get to know her. Zoey really is the sweetest, and that Mr. Brown—oh! He’s a tough nut to crack, but once you get on his good side, you’ll see he’s really a big love bug. Very smart. They’re retrievers, so they like to retrieve. I hope you have a tennis ball or two on hand.”
I fight off a wave of anger as I look at the sea of faded lime-green balls scattered across the floor. “I have more than two,” I grumble.
“Perfect. Have fun, honey! Good luck.”
When I hang up, I frown down at my phone.
Her words sounded more like the script of a commercial for herbal tea than actual logical reasoning.
Comfort?
Company?
Love?
Those things are all fine. But I need actual, practical answers on how to get through this week with two needy dogs.
My once-spotless entryway is now cluttered with doggy things: a big bag of food, the two beds, various rubber squeaky toys, gnawed-on bones, bowls, leashes, pillows, and stuffed animals.
I nudge a slobbery teddy bear with the toe of my sneaker.
Mr. Brown growls at me. With great effort, he gets off his bed and walks, stiff-legged, to the teddy bear. He gently picks it up with his mouth and carries it back to his bed. But before lying back down, he spreads his back legs.
A stream of urine pelts the floor.
The splashing sound echoes off the walls.
Though no one is around to hear me, I curse aloud. Then, I check my phone. That unexpected visit with Kate ate up a half-hour. Very soon, I’ll have to get on my call with Bailey in Taiwan.
This is Gwen’s fault,I realize. She should be the one to figure out how to handle it.
I pull up my contacts and scroll through to ‘Executive Assistant.’
I open a text thread. Then, I snap a photo of one of the rawhide bones littering the floor and send it.
Next, I type out a quick message: “I have a bone to pick with you.”