by Fiona Grace
“Abs” was Mason. Yes, he did have a nice set of those, which he liked to show off whenever possible. But right now, she’d had her fill of men, and just wanted to settle down with a nice big bowl of …
Nothing. She forgot. There was nothing in her kitchen to eat.
Probably better that way. A pint of gelato would probably not make it thirty seconds in my possession.
When she got inside her cold home, Nick was dutifully waiting for her in the foyer. She reached down and petted him, then looked around. Mason had done a good job with the shelving, but it was like putting a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound. She had the railing on the stairs to fix. Then there was plastering the wall in the living area. And then refinishing the hardwood floors. And of course, the wallpaper would have to come down—
She sighed. The more she thought about that growing laundry list, the sicker she felt.
“Besides,” she said aloud to herself, “one thing at a time is all we can do.”
Audrey blinked. Where had that come from? That was one of her dad’s famous sayings. He was a contractor, too, before he walked out on his family when she was barely twelve years old. At that time, she’d been her father’s right hand as he fixed up all those old mansions on the Back Bay. He was always patient, always level-headed, even when the house was a complete ruin that seemed impossible to rehabilitate. Whenever they’d first arrive at a mansion, he’d stroke the graying stubble on his chin, grab his hammer, and say, “One thing at a time is all we can do.”
For some reason, that made her feel better, as she climbed the stairs to her room and got into her pajamas. Even though he’d left her without any explanation, she’d always been his mini-me. Every time she had a problem, he’d come to her bedside and tuck her in and talk to her about it.
And then, one day … poof. He was gone.
It was hazy now, exactly what had happened. Her mother was so bitter, she never liked to speak of it. Brina was bitter, too … but she hadn’t been dad’s favorite. Audrey had found herself with no one to talk to about it, and an ever-widening hole of wonder inside her. Where was he now? What was he up to? And most importantly, why hadn’t he tried to get in touch, not once, in twenty years?
When she snuggled into bed, Nick jumped in with her, and she was glad of that. She needed something so she didn’t feel so alone. She cuddled close to him, savoring his warm fur.
But she was so tired, she fell asleep almost the second her head hit the pillow. And again, as she’d done many times before, she had a vision of her dad. He looked the same as he had twenty years ago, with his cropped blond hair and tanned skin, strong and more like a California surfer type than a buttoned-up East Coast city dweller. Her dream was the same as always—Audrey, following him through a massive house under construction, the intoxicating smell of sawdust and fresh paint in her nostrils, his voice echoing and far away as he pointed out things that needed to be done.
At least, it always started the same. It ended differently sometimes, usually with his voice fading away and then when she’d follow him into a room, he’d be gone. She’d wind up chasing after him, calling for him and rushing from room to room as if in a labyrinth or funhouse maze, trying to find him, but getting hopelessly lost and confused.
No matter what, though, what started happily always seem to dissolve to a kind of hysteria, because the little girl in the dream knew that eventually, he’d be gone, and she could do nothing to stop him. Sometimes she’d try to grab his hand, but he’d always pull away.
This time, as she followed him, she tried again. Just as she slipped her hand in his, he pulled away. “Dad!” she cried, her heart in her throat, knowing he was about to disappear. “Please.” He stopped for a moment and looked back at her, before shoving a hand into the pocket of his flannel shirt to grab his cigarettes. As he did, a folded piece of cardstock fluttered out and landed on the ground.
She reached forward, picked it up, and realized it was a postcard of a beautiful place, with a warm sunset and mirror-like dark water. In the back, melting into the pink-clouded skies, a black mountain range. Two seagulls soared peaceful arcs in the air. The card itself was dog-eared and well-loved.
She stared at the postcard wistfully, as her father took it from her hands. “You like that? Someday, we’ll go there. It’s called—”
Suddenly, Nick made a screeching noise and she woke with a start, sitting up bolt upright in bed. She looked around to find him scampering into the corner, pin eyes glowing in the minimal light cast through the shutters by the moon.
She groaned. He’d probably found yet another mouse. She flipped on the light. Sure enough, he was terrorizing a poor little gray thing, making it shake in its boots. “Hey, tough guy,” she said, grabbing a tissue box from the night table and removing the few remaining tissues. “Pick on someone your own size. Back off.”
She snapped her fingers and when he resisted, she nudged him away and knelt down, trying to get the mouse into the tissue box. Unfortunately, the thing was too scared. As she tried to guide it into her little trap, she thought about her dream. That thing with the postcard had actually happened, hadn’t it?
Yes, it had. He’d kept a postcard in the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. When she asked him about it, he’d gotten a little wistful. And yes, he’d told her he would take her there someday. It was a real place, on this earth, a place he’d desperately wanted to go to, since why hold something close to your heart, day in and day out, unless it meant a lot to you?
He’d called the place …
She strained to think of it, but it didn’t come to her. She couldn’t remember.
She was so busy trying to fish an answer out of her sleep-addled mind that the mouse quickly scampered away through a hole underneath the picture window. She sighed and stood up. Nick was already back on her bed, lounging like King Tut in the exact center of it, making it difficult to squeeze in. “Thanks, buddy. You woke me up so you could get most of the bed, huh?”
When he didn’t move, she nudged him, but that didn’t do any good. Either he was already asleep, or he was pretending to be.
Positioning herself in the very side of the bed, she pulled up the covers and tucked herself in, thinking of the postcard. Where was that place? Had her father gone there when he ran away? It only made sense. But water, mountains, beautiful sunsets … it could be absolutely anywhere.
And some small part of her hated those beautiful vistas, if they were the thing that finally pulled her dad away from her.
As she drifted off to sleep, she decided it really wasn’t much of a clue at all, and the only way she’d ever find her father now was if he found her.
CHAPTER THREE
The following day, as Audrey stepped out the door to head to work, she saw her neighbor across the street, Nessa.
Nessa was a blonde bombshell from California and supposedly soon-to-be star of her own HGTV reality television show, which she never stopped talking about. But worse than that, despite Audrey’s friendly overtures, Nessa had always been icy to her. She’d even accused her of murder. Twice.
Needless to say, their relationship had always been a little rocky.
So Audrey cringed when she saw her outside, talking to a bald man with a clipboard. As she continued up the road toward the clinic, she tried to ignore the conversation, which was easy, since both of them were speaking Italian, a language she still wasn’t very good at, despite all her best efforts.
“Hey, Audrey?” a voice called behind her, before she could make a clean getaway.
Audrey turned, surprised by the tone of voice. Nessa usually spoke to her in a way that was either dismissive or downright annoyed. “Yeah?”
The man in the clipboard was getting into his little car. Nessa, looking as gorgeous as if a makeup crew had worked on her for hours, sauntered over to her, holding the white puffball of a kitten she’d adopted last week. “Weren’t you going to say hi to me, neighbor?”
Audrey raised an eyebrow as she gave the kitten a
visual examination to make sure its owner was treating it well. “You seemed busy. Not to mention that you usually tear into me whenever I do.”
“Oh, no I don’t. At least, not today,” she said, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder. “I’m in such a good mood, I could probably do a cartwheel, right here! The inspector just came and gave me his seal of approval. So now I can give the studio a green light to start filming!”
“I thought you already had the seal of approval. You’ve been doing so much renovation already,” she said, confused.
She scoffed. “Are you kidding? Those renovations were just to make this place livable, so I wouldn’t be existing in a glorified pigpen. I told the studio that they needed to keep their talent happy, and as long as I was living there, I expected certain things, otherwise they’d need to book me a place at the hotel. Of course, they agreed. Anyway, now the real work can begin.”
“Real work?” Audrey stared at the house across from her, a sick feeling blooming in her gut. The place was gorgeous. They’d painted the outside of the house a gorgeous burnt sienna, and the windows and Baroque-style fixtures and balcony scrollwork were the stuff of Mediterranean dreams. Though Audrey had only been inside once, what she had seen had been equally impressive—like something from an interior design brochure, or Martha Stewart’s living room.
“Of course. But I was worried. That inspector is tough. He came by a few days ago with a laundry list of complaints.”
“A laundry list?” Now, Audrey felt even sicker. This had to be the guy Mason was talking about. But if he’d had complaints about Nessa’s Palace of Perfection, he’d likely put a big CONDEMNED sign on the front door of Audrey’s.
She nodded. “But it’s all taken care of. Whew, that’s a load off.”
“Wow. The inspector hasn’t even contacted me yet. Is that normal?”
“He will. It’s kind of like a death and taxes thing. The inspector was telling me that he’s pretty behind, so he probably won’t get to your house for a while. So consider this a warning and get yourself ready!”
“Oh.” While that was good news, Audrey had the distinct feeling that given an entire year to get the place up to code, she’d still be working up to the wire. “What happens if he finds fault with the place?”
“He gives you a citation and a certain amount of time to fix it.”
“And if you don’t?” Or more likely, can’t?
“I don’t know. Probably condemns the place and shoves you out and tells you not to let the door hit you in the butt.” She peered behind Audrey’s shoulder at her home, and Audrey bristled, knowing what was coming. “How are things going with yours?”
“Um … okay,” she lied. “Obviously, it’s hard, with the clin—”
“You should be fine. He was also telling me about some real horror stories. In one house, they hadn’t even switched out the plumbing or wiring! Can you imagine?”
Audrey nearly choked. She hadn’t done that. Hadn’t even thought of that. Well she had, but the plumbing was copper and looked to be in good shape, and Mason had said the electricity wasn’t terrible.
She clutched her belly, the sick feeling becoming a full-on stomachache.
“Anyway, I wanted to ask you about my little Snowball,” she said, holding up the kitten.
She stared at the animal. He’d once been known as Lambchop, which was adorable. “Snowball? You renamed him?”
She nodded. “Of course. Couldn’t have her with that terrible name.”
Of course she’d name her Snowball, probably the most unimaginative name for a white animal on earth. “Everything all right?”
Nessa frowned. “Well … I don’t know. She had some crud in her eye this morning. It was so gross! Is that anything I should be worried about?”
Audrey peered closer at the tiny kitten. “It could be worrisome, but it looks clear now. It might be from the construction dust, and the fact that it’s a new environment. If it continues, I can prescribe some drops.” She checked her phone. “With that being said, I’ve got to get over to the clinic. I have a nine o’clock appointment.”
She turned and headed down the street, now more worried than ever about the renovations. She did have the weekend to work on it. Maybe she could beg Mason to come over and help her. But … was Mason angry at her? She hadn’t really thought about it much since she had her “date” with G to plan for, but they had left things awkwardly.
Maybe she’d be stuck handling all the renovations herself.
Wishing she could be rich or funded by a television studio and hire people to help with her project like Nessa had, she arrived at the clinic to find a cardboard box waiting for her. Great. She let out a heavy breath, knowing exactly what that meant. Sure enough, when she peered inside, she found a litter of squirmy little bunnies, only a couple days old. Four of them, to be exact.
Wonderful. Wild bunnies. It was likely whoever brought them there thought they were doing good, but the truth was, bunny moms only come back to the nest at night, to feed their young. Likely, this do-gooder mistakenly thought they’d been abandoned. Now, without a mother to care for them, they had little chance of survival. To give them the best chance possible, they’d need good care, an incubator to keep their temperatures up. She brought them into the back room and set the box down, feeling their little bodies. They were still warm, but they needed immediate help.
Just then, though, someone rang the bell at reception. She rushed to the front, expecting to see her nine o’clock, which according to the appointment log, was a German Shepherd. The man there was well-dressed, in a tailored suit with a red tie, and a lot of long, slicked-back hair. He reminded Audrey of a stockbroker as he stood there, eyes volleying around the room as if scanning the Wall Street ticker.
“Hello!” Audrey went to the desk, craning her neck to see around it, but no. No dog. If it was a German Shepherd, it was either very small, or invisible. “You forget something?” she asked with a smile.
“Actually, no. I’m looking for a Dr. Smart?” the man said in almost perfectly unaccented English.
“That’s me.”
“American? I’m American, too. Born and raised in Tulsa. You?”
“Boston.”
“Fantastic!” He whipped a business card from his pocket and held it out to her as if presenting her with some wondrous gift.
She read the words on the front—Eton Scarletto, Commercial Developer—and almost laughed. Certainly he’d come into the wrong place, if he wanted anything to do with her little clinic. Other than being in a good area of town, her clinic was very bare-bones, the result of having to transform it from a broken-down old vacuum store to a working vet center in less than a week. “What can I help you with, Mr. Scarletto?”
“I’m a recent expat like you, and a leading developer here in Mussomeli, and one of the things I’ve been tasked with by the city is bringing more business to the area to meet the demand of the influx of people like you and me, with more sophisticated consumer needs. I think I have a great opportunity you might be interested in,” he said, continuing to scan the place, sizing it up. For what, she still didn’t know.
“Me? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Of course,” he said, leaning forward. His slicked-back hair was so shiny that the fluorescent light above reflected on it. “You’ve heard of PetSense?”
Of course she’d heard of it. It was only one of the biggest pet superstores in America. There was a PetSense on nearly every corner in Boston. They’d pretty much decimated all other competition. The jingle instantly came to her head, since she’d heard it about a million times in her lifetime. “You mean …” and she sang, “‘PetSense Makes Sense!’ That PetSense?”
He laughed at her singing, and rightly so, since she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. “That’s right. They’re the best.”
“Yes. But what does that—”
“They are one of my clients. Great people, too. And what I’m envisioning is a little partnership,” h
e said with a wide smile with perfectly straight white teeth. “You wouldn’t even have to move. The storefront next door is up for lease. Think about it. There’s lots you can do with this space. We can make your clinic part of our in-store services, including our pet boutique, pet supplies, pet grooming services … we’ll be a one-stop shop for all things pets.”
Yes, they would be. She had no doubt that they’d add the same slickness to her operation that they’d done to all the little mom-and-pop shops she remembered growing up in Boston. But they were so … corporate. Smarmy, almost. She was sure there’d been some bad press about them getting their animals from puppy mills and mistreating them. Plus, corporate had never been her thing. Audrey had always preferred patronizing smaller establishments for everything from hair products to tuna fish. And that was one of the things she loved about Mussomeli: No Walmart-like stores.
She started to shake her head and hand the card back to him. “Thanks, but—”
He held up a hand suddenly, silencing her. “I think you’ll be surprised by what you can do here. What’s your profit margin like?”
“Uh. I haven’t really thought about that … I don’t know.” How about, zero? “But I only just started. I’m just settling in and really can’t even think about expand—”
“Come on. Stop thinking small potatoes. If you want to grow, you’ve got to—”
“Like I said, at this point, it’s just about getting settled, so I don’t think I can grow,” she said to him, finally succeeding in planting the card back into his palm. She didn’t have time for this. Those bunnies in the back room needed her. “I’m happy being independent and I’m really not interested in adding all those services. But I appreciate you coming by.”
He shrugged and made a point of placing the card on the counter. He tapped on it twice. “All right. But if you change your mind, there’s my number. Give me a call.”
He mimed holding a phone receiver to his cheek with his thumb and pinky, and winked in a let’s-do-lunch kind of way.
