2. Honoria
Chapter Two
Honoria
Jim was late. I checked my watch for the third time.
I’d practically lived at the courthouse for the last week because of one emergency after another.
Everyone on staff had been covering for him, and the partners were getting nervous.
Now, my weekend was about to begin, except it wasn’t because my ex-husband couldn’t be counted on to make meetings or court dates lately.
Obviously, they couldn’t fire him for taking familial leave, but these suddenly rescheduled cases were killing us. I’d taken on the bulk of the firm’s criminal cases almost as soon as his wife entered her seventh month.
Deep breath. I didn’t hate her.
While I told myself that, I tried to find the positive aspects. More cases meant I was finally getting recognized. I could dig myself out of the shadow I’d put myself in when I married Jim.
Five years, three months from the wedding, he announced our divorce to all and sundry. His girlfriend was pregnant.
He’d finally gotten what he wanted. A family.
I didn’t hate her.
I might hate him. The jury was still out on that.
He sued for custody of my pride and joy. Molly was three years old. Too trusting and too happy to understand what a rat bastard her “daddy” was by suing for primary custody.
“She’ll be with a stay at home mom and have a house with a yard she can play in,” he argued as our assets were divided. “You can have her on weekends. You’re married to your job anyway. You don’t have time for her.”
The divorce was final. I’d changed my name, letterhead, business cards, and lost the one sweet soul I truly loved.
Weekends. Because I wasn’t home often enough to take care of a dog. Especially not a full-sized Rough Collie who got separation anxiety if left alone.
But I’d been doing my research.
Part of our weekend was to visit a doggie daycare center.
I was supposed to pick up Molly and take her to a farm where this sweet girl named Lemon ran a dog grooming and boarding service.
She could manage five dogs during the week, and a spot recently opened up for Molly. If I could make the interview on time.
Molly whined behind the door. It was a special kind of cruelty to know she’d seen me walk up to the house, gotten her hopes up and then dashed.
Because as much as I wanted her in my lap licking my face, she was behind a locked door.
One I didn’t have the key for, and couldn’t break into.
Because that would be wrong, right? I sat by the little column of windows next to the door so Molly could see me and my hand pressed against the glass. Her sharp barks were painful to hear.
With effort, I kept my voice calm. “I’m here. I just can’t get in until Jim calls me back.” She didn’t understand. I checked my phone. I should call him again. Calling wasn’t against the law. This was an emergency. At least for Molly, it was.
“It’s okay, sweetie. As soon as Daddy says I can get in, I’ll let you out.”
Strange. I could get notorious gang members out on bail, but I couldn’t pick up my own dog. Damn it.
The phone in my hand rang. It was Jim.
Finally. “Where are you?”
“In the hospital.”
Oh. Shit. I recalibrated my tone. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Denise had some blood pressure changes today and they ran tests.”
“The baby?”
Molly barked more frantically. I barely heard Jim’s answer.
“—okay. They say it’s preeclampsia. She needs bed rest.”
I let out a breath. “What about Molly?”
“Honey, didn’t you listen to anything I said?”
That tone. God, I hated it. It was the main reason I’d begun sleeping in the guest bedroom of my own house a year and a half ago.
Underlying the edges were sharp little blades of meaning.
I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t kind enough.
I would never be a good mother, and that’s why it was a blessing we never had children. Wait, that last part he said aloud.
“Jim, I understand you’re probably emotional right now. I am on your front step waiting for someone to let me in the house so I can have Molly for my weekend.”
“All you think about is that damn dog.”
Whoa. If that’s what he thought about her, I was going to initiate a suit against the settlement. “Jim—”
“No, I’m not rehashing our failures, okay? The neighbor has a key. I’ll call him and tell him you can take Molly. With Denise on bed rest, can you maybe take her for the next week or two?”
Gladly.
“I will. I hope Denise feels better.”
Part of me didn’t. Part of me wanted her flat on her back for the next eight weeks.
That was awful of me. The poor…child, twenty-fucking-four, ugh…
had her work cut out for her with James Crowne, Esquire.
And, barely a month into their marriage they waited on the arrival of the next little Crowne who was certain to be just as demanding.
I didn’t hate her at all. I pitied her.
“Hey, Hon? Jim says I should let you in.”
Bob Dennison next door waved at me from his porch. I waved back.
“I just gotta get my key and some shoes. I hope Molly’s okay?”
A long whine was his answer. Molly loved the neighbors. They dog-sat sometimes, having a little dachshund named Herman who adored Molly and toddled after her through the grass with his little brown tail flapping a mile a minute every second they were together.
When Molly heard the keys jingle, her frantic barks and whines turned into scratching. Vindictively, I hoped she was doing damage to the trim inside.
Bob got the door open, and Molly almost knocked him over as she pushed the door wide and leapt into my arms. It was a good thing I was crouched because the subsequent roll took me off the front steps and into the grass.
But Molly couldn’t help it. She’d been tortured enough.
Her poor body was shaking, and she couldn’t get close enough to me.
“Hey now, Molly!” Bob reached for her collar to pull her off me.
“No, it’s okay!” I blocked his hand and gave Molly a deep hug, patting her flanks so the message would get through that I was really there. She whined louder. “I know, I know, sweetie. Mommy’s here…shhh.” I kept the message on repeat until she calmed.
The cold grass was damp, and my outfit was probably ruined.
In the grand scheme of things, I’d rather pay a fortune in dry cleaning than ever listen to Molly in distress.
“You sure you’re okay?” Bob asked.
“I’m fine. Molly was shut up alone for too long again.”
Bob shook his head. I managed to sit up with sixty pounds of fur on top of me. I pulled her close and kept reminding her she was a good girl.
That earned me a good face-washing.
“She’s a sweetheart, but she’s a little too big to be a lap dog. Your dry cleaner must love you.”
I laughed. “I’ve been through three in the last year. Trust me, they don’t.”
He chuckled. “Welp. I’ll go in and get her leash so you can take her. Any plans this weekend?”
“I’m taking her to Sunshine Acres to see if she’s a fit.”
“Oh, that place is amazing. Herman loves the instructor there.”
“You know Lemon?”
Bob’s voice was muffled behind the door. “Know her? She’s the best dog trainer in the county. A miracle worker. Did you know she and her brother volunteer at the Humane Society? They’re also part of the Best Friends network here.”
I’d done my homework. Reading about Lemon’s rescue efforts made me put her company at the very top of my list. I was excited to meet her in person. “I didn’t see anything about her brother.”
Bob attached Molly’s leash while I held her and kept scrubbing my fingers through her ruff to calm her down.
“Well, he doesn’t like publicity. Kind of a rough character on the outside. But I guarantee you, he’s got a heart of gold. He takes on the hairier wildlife rescues if they’re too much for Lemon.”
“Really?” That work was fraught with heartache and danger. The success rate was barely 50/50.
“He took in a Saw-Whet owl. Lemon showed me a picture. Cutest damn thing.”
If I could make it to the shelter in time, I’d ask Lemon about it. “Thanks for helping, Bob.” I swallowed my pride. “Tell Jim and Denise I hope everything’s okay.”
He was silent for a moment. “I will. You take care of Molly.” He frowned, knowing the history behind my hesitant tone.
“Always.” I scratched her behind the ears. “We’re going to go meet a girl named Lemon. You’re going to like her, I know you are because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
And just like that, Molly was all toothy, tongue-out, doggie-smiling happiness. Her tail thumped against the grass.
“Okay, off.”
She wiggled out of my arms and raced around me twice, wrapping the leash around my legs.
I almost went down, but years of dealing with her moods and dodging the worst behavior had me slipping a foot free before she could tie me up.
I stuck a hand down so she’d get the signal to sit calmly.
It was ignored for a moment, then she planted her butt on my feet with her tongue lolling out to laugh at me silently as Bob said his goodbyes to her.
“Take care, Hon. See you later, Molly-collie.”
Once he was inside and the distraction levels were reduced, I walked Molly around the yard until she found a spot to relieve herself.
Then I took her to the car and clipped her in.
Molly pressed her face on the window and kept it there until I walked around the car to get in the driver’s side.
Then she shifted her whole body so she could see me every second of the drive.
Her anxiety issues were getting worse. They’d spiked before the divorce.
Jim was gone more often than not, and the ever-revolving doggie daycare situation was tough on her.
Even tougher was the moment I moved out six months ago.
She chewed the furniture in both houses.
It was so bad, she broke a tooth. I almost caved and let Jim take her full-time, but that would work against me in the settlement.
So I signed away my rights and let her stay in the home she knew during the week.
Was it wrong for me to do that?
I scratched her jaw and studied her happy smile. She lit up when she saw me. The chewing had subsided once the schedules became more solid, and she seemed adjusted to the co-owner schedule. “I wish you could talk.” Then I’d know whether I did the right thing by allowing partial custody.
She licked her chops as if trying to figure out how to make her mouth form human sounds. Instead, she barked.
“You talk, don’t you? I just don’t understand you.” I scrubbed at her jowls the way she liked.
That was answered by another bark, this one was too loud for the confines of my car.
“Ouch. A little quieter, okay? I’m not deaf, I just don’t understand your doggie breath.
” Funny how my whole voice changed with her.
I devolved to varying tones of baby-talk.
But she ate it up as I scratched her in that special hollow behind her jaw and under her ears.
It made her stretch her nose into the air and groan every time.
“Oh, yes, you’re such a good dog, aren’t you? Oh yes-yes-yes…”
I got kisses for that.
So much for looking put together for Lemon. Somehow I figured she wouldn’t mind mussed hair, messy clothes, and dog hair everywhere. At least I hoped she wouldn’t.
“Enough. We’ve got to get going, Molly. Mommy’s driving. Lie down.”
She let out a small whimper but found her favorite spot with her jaw resting on the console between the seats.
I can’t imagine that was comfortable for her, but she wouldn’t stay in the back seat where she couldn’t see me.
And having her in the front was out of the question in case we got into an accident.
The air bag would kill her. We found this happy medium for short trips, like the one from Jim’s house to my condo.
For what felt like the hundredth time, I wondered if I should buy a house for her to have room to play outside, and while I was at it, a different car. Maybe even something with a hatchback so I could fold the seat down and create a full bed for Molly to ride in.
Then I’d truly be a cliché. Divorced, almost forty, with a dog baby and a single passenger vehicle. Make it an “adventure” crossover and my life would be over.
Ugh.
I put the car in gear and tried to shake that lonely image from my brain.