by Elaine Fox
This startled a smile out of her. “Ashley Judd!”
“You know, the actress, real cute—”
“No, I know who she is. It’s just…well, thanks.” Megan laughed and put a hand to her shoulder-length dark hair. “Same color hair, maybe.”
“Same smile, I think. Are you married?”
“No, divorced.” Were all southerners this direct? She liked it, tried it on for size. “You?”
Georgia nodded and looked toward her dog. “Divorced. Thank the good lord.”
At that moment another woman approached the gate, slid the heavy iron barrier back a few inches, and sidled in with her dog, a black Labrador retriever. She entered quickly, before any of the dogs in the park could spot the opening gate and try to bolt. She was a pretty woman of about thirty with long, extremely shiny dark hair. Once she’d unhooked her lab from the leash, her eyes sought out Georgia and she waved.
“Here comes Penelope,” Georgia said to Megan. “She owns a shop downtown, Pen Perfect. Have you seen it?”
“I’ve seen the sign.” Megan watched the woman approach. This was great. This was exactly what she’d hoped would happen by visiting the dog park. She would meet some people, advertise the animal hospital, maybe even make a friend or two.
“Hey,” Penelope said briefly when she joined them, bumping Georgia playfully with her elbow and looking curiously at Megan. “Big day here, it seems. I haven’t seen this many people out at this hour in a long time.”
“We were just talkin’ about that,” Georgia said.
Penelope’s eyes took in the shirt Megan wore as Megan took in Penelope’s dancer’s posture and porcelain complexion. Pen was perfect, Megan thought, mentally clinging to Georgia’s Ashley Judd compliment.
“So, you work at Rose’s? Doc Rose pinched your ass yet?” Penelope laughed, her brow furrowing slightly as she glanced at Georgia’s unsmiling face. “Did you already ask her that?” she asked Georgia.
Megan felt her cheeks go scarlet. Whether it was embarrassment for herself, for her father or for the awkwardness Penelope would feel when she found out, Megan wasn’t sure.
“Megan here is Doc Rose’s daughter,” Georgia said. “And I’m afraid you’ve just insulted her.”
“No, no,” Megan began.
“His daughter! Oh I’m so sorry! I mean, about what I said, not that you’re his daughter.” Penelope’s face went prettily pink.
“Please don’t worry about it.” Megan waved a hand. It was easy to feel separate from her father when she heard tales about him from a distance. Now that she was here, however, it seemed it might feel different to be openly associated with him.
“Oh I just feel awful.” Penelope turned a tragic face toward Georgia.
“Please don’t,” Megan said firmly. “I know he’s got a…well, some kind of reputation. I’m just here trying to drum up business for the animal hospital. I’m the new vet there. My father has retired.”
Peyton galloped over toward her, the fur around her neck damp from being playfully chewed by the others, and stopped, leaning against Megan’s leg and sitting squarely on her feet.
Unsure what else to say, Megan pulled one foot out from under Peyton and looked at her watch. Good lord, she was late. Had Peyton’s inner clock known that before she did? The dog was always saving her from time-lapse problems, though it was usually just when she was late to provide dinner.
She extracted the leash from her pocket.
“Oh no, don’t go,” Penelope said, “I was just making a stupid joke.”
Megan laughed, but for some reason it came out stilted. This was more awkward than she knew how to fix. “Please don’t worry. That’s not why I’m leaving, really. I’m just late.”
“I can’t believe I said that. Usually Georgia says the rude things.” Penelope laughed too quickly. “Really, I’m such a jerk. Normally I don’t even listen to gossip. Not that there is any gossip, I just meant—”
“Oh stop, Penelope,” Georgia said, laughing. “You’re just makin’ it worse. Megan knows you didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Of course I do. No, I just have to go, is all,” Megan said, realizing that she herself was making it worse by leaving so quickly, but it was too late now. It was nearly eight-thirty and the hospital opened at nine.
“Hey, we meet here most Tuesday and Friday mornings,” Penelope said. “Georgia and me and our friend Lillian, but she’s in Boston for the summer. We’d love it if you’d join us.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “I was planning to come every morning anyway. Hopefully I’ll see you. Nice to meet you both.” She gave a short wave and turned away.
Megan didn’t know why she was so bothered by Penelope’s comment, but she was. Maybe it was having it said to her face, having to endure another person’s pity for being related to Doc Rose. Old Ramblin’ Rose, as one of the receptionists had dubbed him. Or maybe it was the uncomfortable novelty of having herself compared to him, even obliquely.
Megan shook herself as she strode vigorously up William Street toward the animal hospital. This was stupid. She was the one thinking bad thoughts about her father, fearing they’d see him in her. She tried to imagine someone feeling ashamed to be related to her and it made her so sad she felt a lump of pity grow in her throat.
Quit feeling so goddamn sorry for everyone. It’s insulting. Her ex-husband used to say that to her all the time and he was right. She should save her pity for the animals, about whom she was also frequently choked up. But they, at least, deserved it. This preoccupation with her father was nothing more than glorified self-pity and she was the last person in the world she should feel sorry for.
Her life was going great, and was only going to get better.
Three
Sutter Foley was sitting in his car at the light at William and Kenmore streets when he noticed the new veterinarian talking with his ex-wife’s friends in the dog park.
He should bring that damn dog here, he thought, instead of waiting until it needed some kind of medical attention. He’d locked it up in the laundry room that morning, thinking the worst-case scenario would be that the destructive beast chewed its way into the dryer or something, in which case he could take it to the vet and tell her it wasn’t working out. A kind of lose-win situation.
On the other hand, if he brought the dog here, it might look like he’d made some sort of commitment to keeping it. Which he most certainly hadn’t. He’d spent less than an hour on the front stoop yesterday only to discover upon reentering the house that the animal had mutilated the corner of an oriental rug, distributed the stuffing from an armchair around the room, inspected the contents of the kitchen garbage, and relieved itself on the dining room carpet.
The car behind him lay on its horn.
He glanced into the rearview mirror. The driver of a rusted white van exaggeratedly motioned him forward. He accelerated slowly.
He told himself he was not anxious to get to the office and that’s why he was driving slowly enough to get a good look at Megan Rose. He’d remembered her name last night, as he was striving to fall asleep.
She was pretty, yes, but not dramatically so. There was something else about her. Something that drew his eye like an optical illusion that needed to be figured out.
He accelerated more, before his creeping pace became stalkerlike, and sighed, turning his thoughts to the office. He didn’t think he could handle Arnetta today. Previously, going to work was the thing that made getting up in the mornings worthwhile, the office was a place he could relax in, a place where the rest of the world fell away.
For the last couple weeks, however, it had become something else. It had become the place where he dealt with Arnetta.
Arnetta Suggs. His new assistant. Hired at the behest of Sutter’s sister, Liz, the only one of his siblings who lived in the states (in nearby Charlottesville) and the only one he enjoyed keeping in touch with. Liz, with her soft heart and do-good drive, didn’t understand that Arnetta’s experience as an
academic secretary in no way prepared her for the job of assistant to an executive like Sutter. That and her seemingly limited mental capacity made for a daily challenge. For both of them, he supposed.
He parked behind the old brick building, circa 1824, in downtown Fredericksburg, and locked his Jaguar with the remote. Arnetta’s car, a faded blue Ford hatchback, was already there. That was one thing he’d say for Arnetta. She was always there.
He sighed again.
“Good morning, Mr. Foley,” Arnetta said, jumping up from her chair as Sutter came through the door. No small feat as she was very tall, at least six feet, and rail thin. She was also all elbows and knees, making unfolding that lanky frame seem like a project that could not be completed without knocking something over on her desk and ramming the chair back into the filing cabinet behind it.
“Good morning, Arnetta,” he said. “Please sit down. I’ve told you, you don’t have to get up every time I enter the room.”
She smiled as if proud of doing something she didn’t strictly have to do. “I know, sir, but I wanted to give you your calendar for the day. Franklin Ward says it’s important to have a roadmap for the working week.”
Franklin Ward, Sutter had learned on Arnetta’s first day, and every day thereafter, was an efficiency guru whose entire oeuvre of tapes, texts, and workbooks Arnetta studied with feverish intensity.
She handed him a neatly written sheet of appointments that he glanced at as he entered his office. A moment later, after setting his briefcase on the desk, he turned around and headed back into the reception area.
“Ah, Arnetta?”
She sprang to her feet, knocking over the pencil holder on her desk. Sutter closed his eyes as the metal wheels of her chair clanged into the file cabinet at approximately fifteen miles per hour.
“Yes, sir?” Her bony fingers twisted together.
He took a deep breath. “You’ve got ‘two-thirty’ written here…”
She hurried to his side and bent her head over the sheet. Sutter was given the opportunity to contemplate the back of her curly gray-brown hair.
“Yes, two-thirty,” she confirmed, nodding and looking back at him with a smile.
He hesitated, then, “Well, you see the problem, yes?”
She looked again at the sheet and the moment stretched long.
“There’s nothing written next to it, Arnetta,” he said finally. “So something is to happen at two-thirty, and I don’t know what it is.”
“Oh!” She took the sheet from him, frowning at it as if the answer might be discernible if only she could achieve total concentration.
“Could it be a conference call?” he prompted. “An appointment?”
“Um…” Arnetta said.
He waited.
“Someone’s not likely to show up here, are they?” he asked, barely containing exasperation.
She looked up at him, stricken. “Oh. Oh, that would be bad, wouldn’t it? Without knowing what they want or anything?”
“It would not be good.” After a moment he took pity on her. “Though it’s not likely. Remember, this is just my satellite office. Mostly what we get here are conference calls and external appointments.” He paused. When she said nothing he asked, “You haven’t scheduled any external appointments for me?”
“Oh no, I don’t think so,” she said, grimacing as if that would be a terrific breach of etiquette on her part.
“Fine, then, we’ll just see what happens at two-thirty.” He turned briskly back to his office.
“Mr. Foley!” She took several strides after him, reminding him, as she always did, of a baby giraffe. “You forgot your schedule.”
He took the paper from her and thanked her, wondering what on earth good it was now that they’d so conspicuously established its unreliability.
When Megan arrived at the animal hospital she set right to work. There may not be many appointments yet, but there was plenty of work to be done. Even though cleaning was a daily affair, it was obvious much had been overlooked for a long time, judging by the filthy floors and disorganized back rooms. There was also updating the records and putting everything on the new computer, which she had the receptionists doing while she and the vet techs moved furniture and equipment to clean and rearrange.
She could do this, she thought. She could turn this place around just as she could rise above the stuff associated with “Doc Rose.” Before long, she told herself, people would barely remember her father’s transgressions and “Dr. Rose” would come to symbolize safety and healing.
“Dr. Rose?” Allison, the afternoon receptionist, poked her head into the back room with a tentative smile, where Megan was scrubbing out a cat crate. At least Megan thought it was Allison. She and Bethany looked an awful lot alike. Her father tended to hire receptionists who were petite, blond and exceptionally smiley. Megan had inherited three of them. Two of whom, if things didn’t improve soon, would have to be let go. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Megan’s heart rose. A client? Excellent.
She looked at her watch—one-thirty, no wonder her stomach was growling—then down at her white lab jacket to be sure the morning’s cleaning hadn’t made her look like a chimney sweep. “I thought we didn’t have any afternoon appointments. Is it a walk-in?”
Allison’s blond curls bounced as she shook her head. “No. This is a visitor, for you.”
For no reason at all, Megan thought of Sutter Foley. What if he’d come to apologize for his curtness yesterday? What if he wanted to make it up to her with a fabulously expensive dinner somewhere with mind-blowing sex afterward? What if he was the leader of a spaceship teeming with aliens?
They were all equally plausible.
She glanced quickly at the glass-fronted cabinet next to her and nearly burst out laughing. Even her reflection looked like it had been cleaning decades of animal hair from corners not seen since the Carter administration.
She’d better hope it was the aliens.
She had just enough time to tuck an errant wave of hair back into her ponytail when Penelope—perfect Penelope—came through the swinging door from the reception area. She was dressed differently than she’d been that morning, when she’d been in jeans. Now she wore clothes that had an elegant, yet artsy look about them. A trim skirt that accentuated her slimness and a deep emerald shirt that had to be silk, nothing else could get color that rich. In her hand she held a small white paper bag with handles.
Megan couldn’t hide her surprise. “Hi.”
Penelope smiled. “Hi. I’m sorry to barge in like this. Are you busy?”
Megan laughed. “Hardly. We’ve just been cleaning the place. We don’t have all that many clients yet.” She glanced at her fingernails, saw they were nearly black, and put her hands in her pockets. “What can I do for you?”
“I just brought you a little something. To apologize for this morning.”
“There’s no need—”
“Yes there is.” She waved off Megan’s words. “Now, you’ve probably already had lunch, so this is dessert.” She smiled conspiratorially and handed her the bag.
“Actually I haven’t had lunch.” Megan took it and looked inside. The divine smell of chocolate wafted out. “Oh my God. Truffles?”
“Just a few. I have a friend with a chocolate shop. But if you haven’t had lunch, do you want to go grab a bite? I’m starving.”
Megan knew this was a sympathy visit but she didn’t care. She had a lunch date! Just a week in town and she might actually be making a friend.
“I’d love to go,” she said.
They decided on a restaurant called Sammy T’s, a Fredericksburg institution with many vegetarian entrees since Penelope didn’t eat meat. They sat in one of the high-backed wooden booths and both ordered salads.
They started off with polite conversation, moving effortlessly from “Where are you from?” to “Where did you go to school?” to “What are your hobbies?” Penelope was apparently an avid tennis player, playing whe
never she got the chance, but Megan had to disappoint her when she asked if Megan played.
Then Penelope got to what Megan suspected might have been the point of her visit. Or at least a secondary point, after the unnecessary apology.
“I wondered if you might like to join the board of the local SPCA,” Penelope said, leaning a little bit forward and putting her forearms on the table.
Megan paused. “I’d be delighted,” she said truthfully, “but I’m not sure I have the time. I’m the only one manning the fort right now, until I can get enough clients to hire another veterinarian. So I won’t have much discretionary time.”
Penelope was shaking her head. “That’s all right. It’s really kind of honorary, since we have volunteers who do most of the work and organizing. But it’s great to have vets on the board even in just an advisory capacity. One meeting a month, tops. Maybe even every other month. What do you think?”
“Well…” Megan picked up her napkin and placed it in her lap. “It sounds like I could do it. If you’re sure nobody would mind me playing such a small part.”
“Mind?” Penelope beamed. “They’ll be thrilled just to have you there when you can make it. And if it turns out to be too much for your schedule, you can always quit.”
Megan smiled. “All right then. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“No, thank you! This’ll be great!”
A short silence prevailed, then, “Georgia tells me you’re divorced,” Penelope said. “I am too. So’s Georgia, and so’s our friend Lillian, whom you haven’t met because she’s away for the summer, but who’s usually at the dog park, too. Isn’t that funny?”
“I guess it’s true what they say. Divorce is epidemic.” Megan shook her head. “Stinks to be such a common statistic, doesn’t it?”
“I’m pretty new to it, myself.” Penelope looked down at her hands, making Megan wonder if the divorce might not have been her idea. “It still feels funny to say it. I’m always saying ‘my husband’ and then having to insert the ‘ex’ afterward. I guess I should just stop talking about him at all.”
