2. Maggie
TWO
MAGGIE
“Of course the code doesn’t work,” I muttered as the keypad device warned me I’d made too many attempts. As of now, I was officially locked out, and the vacation rental host wasn’t responding to my messages.
Unbelievable.
I’d been going round half the day with the exasperating man about Ellie and her credentials, but I thought the matter was settled an hour ago when we agreed he could meet my dog in person. I hadn’t anticipated him going AWOL and holding the code hostage.
If I didn’t have to pee so badly, I’d be more irritated about his insufferable argument.
One that contradicted his clearly listed pet-acceptance policy.
It wasn’t my fault he forgot to update the terms before I booked the condo and paid the deposit.
And how was one supposed to prove that their dog was not a chewer, anyway?
I offered to send him pictures of my luggage, the interior of my car, and her basket full of socks to prove everything was intact.
I probably went a step too far when I proposed providing a notarized non-chewer certificate from the Department of Barketing, but I was simply meeting him at his own level of ridiculousness.
But I had a more pressing matter to deal with than my MIA host.
My bladder was full to the brim with forty ounces of Dr. Pepper, courtesy of the last gas station’s ninety-nine-cent sale on their mega gulp fountain drinks.
I considered myself a person with strong willpower.
But when it came to a road trip, those damn gas station fountain drinks and a good sale, I was the weakest person alive.
I sat on the porch swing—the perk that made me book this rental instantly—and crossed my legs as tightly as I could.
I rocked back and forth, biting down on my bottom lip as I pictured Ellie and me out on this front porch day after day.
After the last few weeks of utter chaos, I was ready to just take a freaking breath.
Dammit, I really had to pee.
I forced myself to focus on the pile of luggage in front of me—the oversized dog bed that would likely go unused because Ellie much preferred human beds to her own; the three suitcases that contained the majority of my fall wardrobe since I had no idea if the shipping container would actually arrive with the rest of my clothes before I made it to my final destination; the wicker basket full of a random assortment of socks that Ellie was already sniffing at, probably because she sensed how on edge I was.
“Sorry, Ellie Belly. The lid’s staying on until we get our stuff inside.” I could just imagine the look of disdain I’d get if the host showed up and there were socks strewn all over the front porch. He’d no doubt claim it was proof my dog was a menace.
Crossing my legs tighter, I typed out yet another message I suspected would go unanswered, warning him I was at DEFCON level one.
Silence.
Of course it was silence.
After the final failed plea, I gave up. Standing, I shoved my phone in my back jeans pocket and left the porch behind.
I surveyed the neighborhood hoping for a single friendly face—there was no time to backtrack downtown.
I wouldn’t make it. But the quaint neighborhood lined with cabins and condos, illuminated by a beautiful array of autumn colors, was oddly deserted.
Just my luck.
My Bernese mountain dog shepherd mix looked up at me, then back toward a bush off the covered front porch, and back again.
“My teeth might be floating, but I do have limits, Ellie Belly.”
She let out a heavy sigh, as though annoyed at my easy dismissal of what she no doubt considered a practical solution.
A distinct mechanical creak echoed faintly, and I searched the area for the opening door.
“I’m saved!”
Directly across the street, an elderly man stepped out onto his front porch. My shoulders sagged with the kind of relief that could bring someone to tears. Though I was above hiding behind a bush when my host could show up mid-squat, I wasn’t above begging a stranger to use their restroom.
“C’mon,” I said to Ellie, clipping on her leash before she could grumble about it. If she had it her way, she’d incinerate every last leash in existence.
I hurried across the street, praying to all the gods that I didn’t pee myself on the way.
“Good afternoon,” I called to the man after he finished locking his front door and turned around.
It was clear the elderly gentleman was on his way out, but I refused to give up hope.
With any luck, Ellie would charm him with one of her affable puppy-dog stares, and he wouldn’t even notice me slipping inside in search of a restroom.
I was that desperate. “Or I guess it’s almost evening, isn’t it? ”
“Can I help you?” he asked, his gruff tone rightfully suspicious as he adjusted the Korean Veteran ball cap perched on his head. It matched the insignia on his jacket.
“I’m Maggie. I’m staying at that condo across the street.”
“Ah, Luke’s new tenant, then?”
“Luke?” I repeated, momentarily thrown by such a good, strong, attractive name being paired with the biggest pain-in-the-ass host I’d been corresponding with. He would ruin a good name.
“Is that who you’re waiting for?” the man asked, his gaze dropping to Ellie.
After a few seconds of sizing her up, the man’s pinched lips eased into a faint smile.
Ellie had that way with people, softening the crustiest of them with her unwavering stare.
To look at her was to know happiness deep in one’s soul.
It was impossible to elicit any other response.
Good girl, Ellie.
“Yes. I can’t get ahold of him. We’ve been on the road all day, and my bladder is very full.” I gave him my best puppy dog eyes, hoping this complete stranger took pity on me. But in case that wasn’t enough, I added, “Thank you for your service, by the way.”
The man adjusted his hat again, mumbling something of a thank you as his mouth formed back into a frown. As though my words made him uncomfortable. I understood the feeling more than he’d realize, but it didn’t make it any easier to explain.
“My grandpa served in the Korean War,” I added.
“I was just heading out—”
Ellie sauntered up the two steps and offered the old man a blue, yellow, and purple striped sock. I patted my back pocket. The sock she snuck into the back seat somewhere between Salt Lake City and Grand Junction was missing. She’d secretly pilfered it without me noticing.
“It’s an Ellie thing,” I said, as though that explained her quirk.
If my pup sensed someone was stressed or on edge, her instinct was to offer them a random sock as comfort.
Sometimes, she did it simply because she liked them.
Although an endearing quality, this came without regard for splitting up pairs, which is why I took to buying the pup her own collection so she’d stop stealing from mine.
It worked . . . mostly.
He stared down at my dog for a moment. Ellie patiently waited until he at last decided to accept the offered sock.
He gave her a head scratch in thanks, the faintest smile once again cracking across his otherwise grumpy expression.
“You know, I think I have some extra treats in the kitchen. I keep them for when my granddog visits.”
My typically indifferent dog perked at the mention of treats, her ears lifting. It made her irresistibly cute.
Falling victim to Ellie’s charms, the man turned to unlock the door. To my dog, he added, “Why don’t I take a look for those Milk Bones while your mom uses the washroom?”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I sang all the way to the bathroom.
The relief I felt as I silently cursed the mega gulp was almost as good as an orgasm. Almost. Not that I remembered what a good orgasm felt like these days, thanks to an overbearing monster-in-law-to-be overstaying her welcome.
Ex-monster-in-law-to-be.
After washing my hands, I stole a few seconds checking my phone.
But of course, there was nothing from the host. Only a few hundred unread emails that’d found their way into my inbox during the day’s drive, a text from Mom asking if I’d made it to Colorado yet, two missed calls from Jason, and one short voicemail. Maybe he was finally giving up.
Or maybe I struck a nerve when I told him he could just marry his mom.
“Can you shake?” I heard the old man ask Ellie from his kitchen.
Before I could make it through the living room to explain that my dog was stubborn and only performed tricks when she felt like it—one of the reasons she failed out of service dog training—I heard a cheerful, surprised laugh, and held back a moment.
“Well, I’ll be. You’re a smart cookie, aren’t you, girl?”
“Ellie, are you charming the pants off of your new friend?”
“Ellie,” he said, as though assessing. “That’s a good name.”
The end of the pup’s tail swished against the linoleum floor, earning her an even wider smile. The sock she’d offered the man was folded in half on the counter, next to a box of Milk Bones.
“I’m Maggie,” I told him again, extending my hand. “Maggie Holland.”
“Walter Smalley,” he answered, shaking my hand. “How long you in town for, Maggie?”
“About a month.”
“The rest of September, then?”
“And into the beginning of October,” I confirmed. “Hoping to get my fall fix.”
Walter lifted his cap, scrubbing a hand through his thinning hair.
My gaze snagged on wrinkled skin and age spots.
If Walter served in the Korean War, he had to be ninety.
Maybe older. Grandpa was just shy of ninety-five when he passed three years back.
The thought made my heart ache. I’d never not miss him.
As the youngest grandkid until my sister Violet was born, I’d been his favorite little shadow.
“We’re on our way to Michigan,” I explained. “But we thought we’d take the scenic route. Heard this was the place to be in autumn, so we charted a detour. Plus, Ellie was born here.”
“In Bluebell Springs?”
“Paws of Purpose,” I clarified. “Do you know it?”
“Oh, sure. Ken and Jenny do good work. Ken’s the treasurer for the Legion, you know.”
“You have an American Legion in town?” I asked, surprised.
Admittedly, I hadn’t had a lot of time to research the area on account of blowing up my life and stuffing everything that didn’t fit into the back of my Forester into a shipping container.
“It’s right across the street from The Daily Scoop,” Walter said. Before I could ask if that was the local newspaper office or an ice cream shop, he asked, “That’s where I’m headed now.”
“Monthly meeting?” I guessed.
Walter gave me a look that suggested he had questions, but he just said, “No, not today. Some of us just gather on Thursday nights. You know, to tell old war stories. Walking there keeps me young.”
“I better not keep you, then,” I said, despite the temptation to ask to hear some of those war stories. Ones I suspected might sound a lot like the ones Grandpa used to tell. We had a month, I reminded myself.
I backed out of the kitchen, patting my thigh at Ellie to follow. She considered the command she knew very well for two whole seconds, but ultimately ignored it as she looked to Walter for another treat.
“Okay, one more,” Walter said, caving.
I shot Ellie a look, but she refused to make eye contact with me until she accepted another treat from her new friend. Her stubbornness knew no bounds, especially when treats from strangers she deemed friendly were involved.
“Thank you again for coming to my rescue, Mr. Smalley.”
“Walter, please.” Only when he’d sealed the box and slipped it back into the cupboard did Ellie trot toward me. He reached for the sock, but I shook my head.
“I’m afraid that belongs to you now,” I told him. Ellie’s long, furry tail wagged leisurely in agreement.
“I’ll treasure it,” he promised Ellie.
I backed into the living room, my gaze catching on a handful of framed photographs, some color, some black and white.
Many of them family photographs if I were to guess.
I was about to ask about the older woman in a fiftieth anniversary photo when I spotted a police SUV through the screen door.
One parked in the neighboring driveway of my temporary residence.
“He didn’t,” I grumbled, clenching Ellie’s leash in my hand.
“What’s that?”
“I have to go.”
“Wait.” Walter dug in his jacket pocket as I moved toward the front door and pulled out a wrapped caramel chew. “A treat for you, too.”
“A caramel?” I froze, just staring at the candy in my palm. Grandpa used to carry caramel chews in his pocket, too.
“A little sweet treat never hurt anybody.” He winked at me, and I considered giving the man I’d met less than ten minutes ago a hug.
But before I could tackle the poor man with overly aggressive affection, my gaze snagged on a tall man in uniform rounding the condo as though he’d been searching the backyard for a runaway criminal. “For crying out loud,” I muttered.
“Everything okay?” Walter asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Mr. Smalley—Walter—it was a pleasure meeting you. And I so appreciate you allowing me to use your washroom. You are a true hero. Thank you for the caramel. Hopefully, I’ll see you again soon.” In a mumble under my breath, I added, “If I’m not police-escorted out of town before your meeting ends.”