Okay, enough was enough.
Back at the house he filled the dish with food and water and then watched as his houseguest tucked in, vacuuming up everything as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe she hadn’t. She obviously hadn’t been bathed.
“Okay, you are getting a bath,” he informed her. “I’m not having you stink up the whole house.”
So upstairs they went to the guest bathroom where he filled the tub with warm water, then lowered the animal in. She stood patiently, shivering and looking miserable while he soaped and rinsed her, then drenched him by shaking off the water.
“Thanks, I needed that,” he grumbled.
She wagged her tail, then showed her gratitude by trying to lick his face yet again as he toweled her off.
“None of that, now. We’re not going to go getting attached.”
The dog cleaned up well. With her coat white once more she looked good enough to enter a dog show.
“There,” he said. “That’s what you’re supposed to look like. Okay, now, time to get your picture taken.”
Getting the dog to sit still for a picture was a challenge. She obviously didn’t know the command to sit. But she was smart, and it didn’t take too many times of saying Sit and pushing her rump down, followed by praise and pets, for her to catch on. She was a natural model and sat observing him at work with his cell-phone camera, head cocked.
“Who do you belong to?” he wondered. “They must be going crazy looking for you.” He certainly couldn’t imagine a family moving away and abandoning the animal.
And yet people pulled that crap all the time. Pets and kids. You shouldn’t have one if you weren’t willing to invest the time.
He loaded the picture onto his computer. It didn’t take long to make a poster, and it didn’t take more than a few minutes to put some up around the neighborhood. Did You Lose Me? it asked. His phone number was under the dog’s picture. He figured he’d get a call by the next day at the latest.
Meanwhile, though, the dog made herself at home after they got back to the house, settling in at his feet as he looked for a good movie to watch. Later, he let her out in the back yard, where she proved she was housebroken.
Good. She could sleep inside. He set out a folded blanket for her in a corner of the kitchen and gave her the chew toy he’d bought to keep her happy.
She didn’t stay happy for long. He’d only gotten halfway upstairs when she appeared, ready to follow him to bed.
“Oh, no. Back down you go.”
Back down they both went and into the kitchen again, where Stanley settled her on the blanket with her toy and a firm “Stay.”
Of course, this wasn’t a command she’d learned, either. He was just climbing into bed when she padded into the bedroom and sat by the foot of the bed, looking up at him. Waiting for an invitation.
Oh, for crying out loud. “You have a bed,” he reminded her as he got out of his. “Come on, back into the kitchen with you.”
She trotted after him, and he settled her yet again, this time with a piece of beef jerky.
Which she ate in a gulp and then was ready to go back to the bedroom with him.
He turned, held out a hand and said, “No.”
She looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language.
“Yeah, I’ll bet, whoever owned you, you didn’t hear that word from them very often.”
You had to show a pet who the big dog was. He took her by her new collar and led her back to the blanket, said, “Sit” and shoved her rump down. Held up his hand and once more said, “Stay.”
She looked at him and thumped her tail. Yes, sir.
“Okay, lie down,” he said and extended her front paws out in front of her. “There you go. Good dog.”
She wasn’t interested in being good. It took several more tries and some whining to get her to stay put. Finally, it looked like she had the idea, and he trudged off to bed.
He wasn’t alone for long. He’d just turned off the light when she jumped up on the bed and curled up against his leg.
“Okay, fine. It’s probably only for one night. You may as well enjoy your visit.”
He was drifting off to sleep when a voice whispered, “Name her Bonnie.”
Oh, boy. There went his imagination again. Well, he wasn’t listening to it. There would be no dog-naming. You named a dog, and it was yours.
“I’m calling you Dog,” he informed his houseguest the next morning as he poured food in her dish. “You probably already have a name, anyway. There’s no point in getting you confused.”
Hopefully, someone would call, and then he and Dog could both get on with their lives.
* * *
“Can we have Christmas lights like next door?” Brock asked as Lexie made his lunch.
“May we have Christmas lights?” Lexie corrected. Okay, really, who talked like that these days? Still, good grammar was important, and she was, after all, a teacher.
“May we have Christmas lights?”
Lexie flipped over his grilled cheese sandwich and contemplated. Those lights had lured her little boy right out of the yard. She’d brought him in and set him in a kitchen chair for six minutes (match the time to the age) and forced him to contemplate his disobedience.
Lights had been his downfall. Would it be good parenting to put some up? Even though she taught little children and had a college degree that proclaimed her an expert in early-childhood development, she often felt totally adrift when it came to parenting her own child. Parenting was such a huge responsibility. What if she screwed it up?
“Our house would look pretty with Christmas lights,” Brock continued.
Yes, it would. So should she acquiesce, or shouldn’t she? She had disciplined him, and they’d had a talk about how important it was not to go wandering off and scaring Mommy.
Brock had agreed that it wasn’t good to scare Mommy. He’d learned his lesson. No more wandering off.
She did enjoy holiday lights, especially the ones that dangled like icicles. When her father was alive, he’d put them up every year. Those lights had turned their modest tract home into something magical and had brought a warm glow to a dark night. How could she not do the same for her child?
But she’d never put up Christmas lights before, and she had no idea how to go about it. Still, how hard could it be? She was sure she’d find a tutorial on YouTube or wikiHow.
“Stanley has lights,” Brock pointed out.
Yes, Stanley, the next-door neighbor, Brock’s new best friend. He’d come home with a wealth of information about the man. Stanley, it appeared, could take kids or leave them.
“But he likes me,” Brock had concluded after sharing.
“How do you know that?” she’d asked.
“’Cuz he talked to me.”
Well, there you had it. And it was more than she could say.
Brock was looking at her eagerly. It was their first Christmas in their new house. Their very own house. They needed to make it special.
“All right,” she said, setting his plate in front of him. “We’ll go to the hardware store after lunch. How does that sound?”
“That sounds good,” he said with a grin and dug into his sandwich.
She sliced half an apple for him and added the slices to his plate, then ate the other half herself.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” her grandma used to tell her when she was growing up. She eventually did a little research on the health benefits of apples and learned that apples did, in fact, provide not only fiber but vitamin C, antioxidants and potassium. Ever since then, she’d become an apple-a-day girl, and Granny had approved.
Actually, Granny had approved of almost everything Lexie did. She was a good student and had graduated from college with honors. The only dumb thing she’d done was plan a future with the wrong man.
Maybe someday she’d get a chance to do that right.
Although she had no idea where she’d find a new prospect. Not at work. Most of the teachers at school were women. There were two men on staff, but one was middle-aged and married, and the other was gay. No single dads had come across her path, though several rom-coms had convinced her they would. Lexie had a theory about that. Men didn’t tend to get discontent in their marriages until their children were older than kindergarten. The novelty hadn’t yet worn off.
Oh, listen to her. What a cynic she’d become.
But she wasn’t a cynic, not really. She’d hung her mistletoe, and she still had hope. Maybe she’d try online dating again. Every man out there wasn’t still living with his parents or fresh out of a relationship and bitter. Right?
After lunch she and Brock got in her well-seasoned Chevy Volt and drove to Family Sam’s Hardware Store. According to Lexie’s new friend Shannon, Family Sam had been divorced three times and wasn’t on speaking terms with two of his offspring. But what could you do? It would be poor marketing, indeed, to change his store name to something more accurate. Grumpy Old Guy Supplies? Divorced with Drill Bits?
The temperature had dropped to freezing overnight and hadn’t warmed up much since. Sidewalks and roads were still slippery. The car slid a little as Lexie backed it out of the driveway.
Maybe this was not a good idea. She didn’t have snow tires yet.
But there was Brock, squirming in anticipation in his seat and asking if they could get lights just like the ones Stanley had.
“I like those pretty colors,” he informed her.
“Then, that’s what we’ll get,” she said and kept the car backing down the driveway. She’d go slowly. They’d be fine.
Everyone in town seemed to be taking advantage of a rain-free Sunday afternoon on this holiday weekend to dress up their houses, and Lexie and Brock passed several homes where people bundled in coats and scarves and gloves were busy stringing lights. Many yards had inflatable snowmen and Santas and reindeer laid out, waiting to get blown up come dark.
This was Lexie’s favorite time of year. She loved the atmosphere of celebration and happiness, loved the sights and the sounds, the Christmas pageants and winter concerts, the gatherings, the hopefulness of it all. If only it could be Christmas all year long, how much happier people would be!
The hardware store was a beehive of activity, with men in jeans and jackets and boots in the lighting and plumbing aisles or poking around among the nuts and bolts, and couples checking out various displays of decorations.
One couple was looking at artificial trees, and Lexie felt a twinge of wistfulness. That had been her when she’d first got engaged, standing with Mistake Man, choosing their first tree together. Oh, the visions she’d had of a growing family gathered around it, opening presents!
If only she hadn’t wanted that big, expensive, blow-out wedding and waited so long. They’d have gotten married and...then divorced. Things hadn’t worked out with a diamond on her finger. It was foolish to think a band of gold would have made any difference.
“Can we get a tree?” Brock asked.
“May we get a tree?” she corrected.
“May we get a tree?”
“We’re going to get one, but remember, we’re getting a real tree this year,” she said. “That’s why we’re waiting.”
“I like that one,” he said, pointing to the tree the couple was checking out.
“I do, too, but you’ll like a real one even more,” she assured him.
Speaking of real trees, better get a tree stand while supplies lasted.
“A real tree,” Brock repeated, following her down the aisle.
With the tree stand taken care of, they moved on to the Christmas lights. The selection was already looking a little picked over. Good thing they’d come when they had.
“Miss Bell, Miss Bell!” called a childish voice.
Lexie turned to see one of her students running toward her, his parents following behind.
“Hello, Henry. How are you?” Lexie greeted him.
“I know my numbers now,” the little boy informed her. “My daddy helped me.”
“Very good,” Lexie said.
As she greeted Henry’s parents, who’d come up behind him, she heard Brock saying to the little boy “My Stanley helped me.”
Helped him what? And his Stanley? With one short conversation he’d adopted their reclusive neighbor.
She sighed inwardly. It would be so nice for Brock to have a daddy, one that came with a grandpa. But she didn’t have a magic wand she could wave and instantly produce one. They were doing fine on their own. Not every child had a daddy. Not every child had a mommy. And not every child had a grandpa. These days families came in all varieties.
It was time to have that chat, as her son was obviously hoping for the traditional kind of family, using Stanley as a stand-in.
A moment of chitchat and Henry and his mama and daddy went on their way, leaving Lexie and Brock alone with the lights.
“Brockie,” she said gently, “it’s a little early to be claiming Stanley for your own.”
“But he likes me,” Brock insisted, looking up at her with those beautiful brown eyes.
What was not to like? “I know, sweetie. But he’s not related to us, and we don’t know him that well.”
“We could. He could be my new grandpa.”
“Maybe someday you’ll have a grandpa again,” she said. “Meanwhile, let’s be happy with just the two of us. Shall we?”
Stanley looked down at his boots, a sure sign that he wasn’t inclined to think this a good idea.
“There are all kinds of families,” she said.
“Like Tommy Dinkler? He has two daddies. And two grandpas,” Brock added jealously.
“Yes, and you have a mommy and a grandma and Uncle Fred and Aunt Rose and Auntie Jen and Auntie Angie.”
Lexie could tell he was weighing the benefits of what his old kindergarten playmate in California had against what he had, and the scales still weren’t balancing.
To distract him, she said, “Let’s decide what lights we want. How does that sound?”
It sounded good enough for him to forget about daddies and grandpas.
They selected multicolored lights to cover the front roofline and then got a ladder. Lexie could already envision how charming their house would look all dressed up in colored lights.
As she was daydreaming, a man with a beautifully sculpted face and an equally well-sculpted body appeared behind the counter, dressed casually in jeans and a red flannel shirt. Where had he come from? She’d been in the store a couple of times since moving to town and had never seen him before.
Those gorgeous hazel eyes of his lit up at the sight of her, and she could feel sparks fly her way across the counter.
Lexie’s gaze immediately zeroed in on the naked ring finger on his left hand. Sparks and a naked finger—a strong sign that her Christmas could get merry and bright.
“Hey, there,” he greeted her as she wheeled up her long cart with the ladder and lights. “Getting ready for Christmas?”
“Yep. It’s my favorite holiday.”
“Mine, too,” he said as he scanned the bar code on the ladder. “Are you new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“I’ve been in a couple of times.”
“Must have been my day off. I’d have remembered you.”
Brock had been dawdling nearby, checking out a display of prelit standing reindeer. Now he called for Lexie, racing to her, nearly knocking an older man in a jacket and baseball cap off balance and making him scowl.
“Mommy! Look at the reindeer,” he cried.
“Brockie, you have to watch where you’re going,” Lexie scolded. “Say sorry to the man.”
“Sorry,” Brock mu
mbled, looking at his feet.
“No harm done,” the man said, his scowl downgrading to a frown, and moved on.
The gorgeous man with the hazel eyes looked warily at Brock, and Lexie could feel the sparks die. He finished ringing up her sale with a much less friendly smile, and there was no more talk about the holidays.
Well, then, your loss, she thought as she handed over her credit card. She was incapable of falling for any man who didn’t fall for her son. Like her mom told her after her breakup, she’d gotten an education in love. That conversation was embedded in her brain.
* * *
Lexie’s mother, aunt and cousins had all gathered on the back patio only hours after her fatal conversation with the man she’d thought she’d be marrying. It was a beautiful summer day, the sun sparkling off the water in the pool. The gardenias were in bloom and scenting the whole back yard. It was an idyllic setting for a meltdown.
Which Lexie was in the middle of having. “I can’t believe this. I thought he loved me. We finally had all the money we needed for the wedding, and I was about to start making reservations, order the invitations, shop for my wed...wed...”
Instead of finishing the sentence she broke into fresh tears. There would be no wedding-gown shopping, no reservation-making, no ordering of invitations. No perfect beach ceremony in Hawaii. No perfect life with her perfect man. Who, it turned out, wasn’t so perfect after all.
“I’m sure he did love you,” Aunt Rose said in an effort to console her.
“He just found someone he loved more,” added her cousin Angie.
“Oh, that was helpful,” her other cousin, Jen, said, frowning at Angie.
Mom patted Lexie’s arm as Aunt Rose poured more lemonade into her glass. “These things happen. He wasn’t the right one. Better to find out now than later.”
Lexie hadn’t wanted to find out at all. She’d been perfectly happy in her ignorance.
“I thought he was the right one,” she protested. “We had so much in common.”
They both liked movies and street tacos and hanging out at the beach. Come to think of it, he’d also liked checking out the other women at the beach. Lexie looked darned good in a bikini if she did say so herself, but that never stopped his eyes from wandering. Hmm.
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 7
