The Marriage Rescue

by Shirley Jump

Reggie had paid for private school and a weekly maid and a new car every two years, but he hadn’t been there in any way that counted. Then came the ironic twist of congestive heart failure, which had felled her active father and forced Beth into the role of his caretaker. Now she worried if he was eating, how much he slept, whether he remembered to take his medications. And every time she looked at him or even thought about him, she stuffed down the anger and hurt, just like she had when she was young.

  “Do you want spaghetti tonight, Dad? Or do you want me to heat up the leftover soup from Monday?” she asked.

  “Come sit with me for a minute first.” He patted the side of his chair. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  Her stomach twisted. Had the doctor called? Had her father’s condition worsened in those hours she’d been at work? Or had he opened the mail and seen yet another astronomical medical bill stamped with an overdue notice? The money from his fights had long since run out, spent in a decade and a half of chasing his fading fame after the big checks stopped coming in, continuing that life of travel and celebrity until the world forgot his name and his record was replaced by another man’s.

  Beth kept the bills a secret from her father, not wanting to add the strain to his overtaxed heart. She grabbed the mail before he saw it, took the calls from the doctors and the hospital’s billing agents, and did her best to pretend this whole thing was a hiccup. Some might say she was enabling him to live in denial, but he was the only parent she had left, and that overrode everything.

  Beth dropped onto the ottoman that flanked her father’s chair. She’d sat here dozens of times in the last few months, talking to him more than she had in the twenty-nine years before that. During her childhood, on the rare days when he was home, he’d spent his hours in the den, watching tapes from his fights or following some golf match, while Beth was on her own and Mom sat in the kitchen nursing drink after drink.

  One day, while she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette in one hand and a glass in the other, Mom’s liver had given up fighting the vodka. After the funeral, Beth hadn’t spoken to her father for three years. There had been ugly words in the cemetery that had expressed only a fraction of the simmering anger in her heart.

  Then he’d had a heart attack that nearly killed him. And another. Beth had brought her father home from the hospital, and in tentative baby steps, they’d begun to build a real relationship, forced by his reliance on a daughter he hardly knew. The more time she spent on this ottoman, the closer they had become, and now she lived with a constant worry in her gut for a man who had never worried about her.

  Her father coughed, deep, racking coughs that shook his too-thin body and colored his face cherry red. Beth waited, her hands clenched tight in her lap.

  After a while, he drew in a deep breath, then turned to her. “You do too much for an old man who doesn’t deserve such kindness.”

  “I don’t do enough, Dad. If I hadn’t had to work late—”

  “Don’t apologize.” He covered her hand with his own. It was cool, the skin pale, but his touch was as firm as his words. “Leave me be, and go live your life. You’re thirty-one. You should be out with your friends, having fun, meeting men.”

  “I hang out with my friends, Dad.” Which was a lie because she couldn’t remember when she’d had time for more than a quick cup of coffee with Savannah Barlow, never mind drinks with the girls. Savannah was busy enough with her new husband and her one-year-old baby, not to mention the real estate division Mac had started, which meant keeping in touch was doubly difficult.

  “Go find yourself a man,” he said. “You’re as beautiful as your mother was. You should have men falling all over themselves to be with you.”

  The reference to her mother made Beth bristle. “I’m fine in the dating department. I don’t need to meet anyone new.”

  “Really? Because I haven’t seen a man around here or heard you talk to one. You should find one before I die.”

  Like a man would solve all her problems? If anything, in Beth’s opinion, men only created complications she didn’t need. She’d had the fiancé and lots of unforgettable dates, and found herself much happier without a man in her life, especially right now. “Dad, don’t talk about that. You’re doing great. The doctor said—”

  “I have months.” He sobered and drew in another deep breath. The oxygen tank whispered the truth in the background. “You know it and I know it, even if that idiot doctor of mine keeps telling me I have plenty of time.”

  Beth busied herself with straightening the clutter on the small table beside her father so he wouldn’t see the guilt in her eyes. “You’re doing fine, Dad. And I’m fine, really. I’ve got a great guy in my life.” She flashed him a smile.

  “Let me meet him and I’ll size him up.”

  She half expected her father to put his dukes up. “I can take care of myself.” I have been, pretty much all my life.

  Reggie leaned in and studied her face. “This fellow you’re with...he’s a good man?”

  If she told him the truth, that she hadn’t dated anyone in longer than she could remember, he would get upset. Lately, even small things had the potential to seriously upset him. Like a favorite TV show being preempted by breaking news. Or his doctor’s appointment running late. Or the newspaper boy forgetting their house. The depression he felt over his diagnosis lowered his spirits more every day, even as he refused to accept the truth of his inevitable death. So she did what she had been doing for months about the bills and the doctor’s words—she lied. “Yes, Dad, he’s awesome.”

  “Then how come he hasn’t been around here?”

  Because he doesn’t exist. “He’s working a lot, and you’ve been...under the weather. I just didn’t want to burden you with company.”

  “Have him over for dinner this Sunday.” Reggie nodded, as if that settled it. “I’ll check him out and if he meets my standards, you’ll have my blessing for whatever you do in the future.”

  “I’m not thinking about the future. I’ve got enough to do in the present.”

  “All the more reason you should think about a life after this—” he waved at the oxygen tank and the recliner “—is all empty. I’ll be gone someday, Bethie, and I want to know you...” He cleared his throat and shook his head before the emotion showed in his voice and eyes. The man who had once knocked out another boxer with a single hard right hook, and who had once had his jaw broken in two places and refused to go to the hospital until the end of the fight, maintained that stoniness every day of his life. “Sunday, six o’clock.”

  How could she say no when her father was looking at her like that, with a mixture of hope and expectation? How could she break his heart and tell him she didn’t have a boyfriend, and wasn’t going to have that bright future he wanted for her? All her life, she’d wanted her father to notice her, to ask about the boy she had a crush on or the speech she’d made in debate class. She’d wanted his advice, his support and most of all, his interest. Now, finally, Dad wanted to be part of her life. How could she push that away?

  There might not be another chance, the oxygen tank whispered.

  “He’ll be here, Dad,” she said. Maybe by then, her father would forget about the invitation. Or maybe she could manufacture Sir Galahad out of thin air. “Now, what do you want for dinner tonight?”

  * * *

  Grady tossed a third Italian leather dress shoe into the trash, then turned around and faced two big brown eyes that pleaded innocence. “I know you did it. Just like I know you chewed the last two.”

  The puppy stared at him, his tail swishing back and forth on the tile floor. Behind him sat a pile of shredded toilet paper, dragged into the kitchen earlier today, and a yellow puddle from two minutes ago. A puddle that had occurred exactly five minutes after Grady took the puppy into the backyard.

  “You are incorrigible.” Grady shook
his head. He reached for the roll of paper towels, then bent to clean up the mess. The puppy scrambled over, thinking it was a game, and started tugging on the edge of the paper towels. “No. No! Sit!”

  The puppy ignored him. Grady pushed the Lab back a few inches, then finished cleaning and tossed the mess into the trash. On top of the shoe he’d already dropped there—the right shoe again, because the dog seemed to have a distaste for left shoes.

  Not a single person had called about the pup in the three days since Beth had put up the ad. Grady texted her a couple times a day—usually right after the fur ball of trouble got done destroying something—and she always sent back short “No, sorry” responses.

  After the first day of being distracted by working, and the disaster with his shoes, Grady hadn’t left the teething monster alone for more than a minute. Just making sure the dog didn’t chew through an electrical cord or scrape up a door was taking all of Grady’s time, so much so that he had barely had a chance to get anything done. He’d met with two Realtors about selling Ida Mae’s house, but each had left in a hurry, after the furry monster peed on one man’s shoe and chewed the strap off one woman’s handbag. Grady was pretty sure there was a WARNING email circulating around the Stone Gap realty community about him and his wayward dog.

  He let out a deep breath and faced the large kitchen window that looked out over the yard. What was he going to do? How was he ever going to make things right? His chest tightened, and he closed his eyes, counting to ten, then to twenty, then to thirty, until his heartbeat slowed.

  Never in his life had he been an anxious person. He’d jumped off diving platforms and plunged into multimillion-dollar deals without a second thought. Maybe he’d believed he was invincible, some King Midas corporate giant who could never make a mistake.

  Until he did.

  That government contract was a sure thing, Grady had been told over and over again. The money is there in the budget, his contact on Capitol Hill had said. Grady’s COO and CFO had warned him not to sink so much of the company’s assets into funding the building of a ten-story defense-research facility. The government’s decisions shift like summer winds, Dan had said.

  Grady had been so sure this would be a success. He’d had a run of great successes in building or renovating facilities for companies, creating exactly what they needed to take their business to the next level—and generating huge returns for himself in the process. This had been his first entry into the often lucrative and always competitive world of government contracts, and he hadn’t wanted to be hesitant or risk missing the deadlines. He’d wanted to exceed their expectations and wow the government with a sparkling new facility ahead of schedule. So he’d fronted the money for the land and building, customizing every floor to the government’s needs, then had sat back and waited. Month after month, he’d asked about the budget, the funding for the facility. And month after month he’d heard a new excuse every time: caught up in red tape, held up in appropriations, and then—

  Cut from the budget.

  Just like that, the sure thing was axed in some cost-saving measure by a new administration. Grady was left with a staggeringly expensive customized building that he couldn’t sell, even at a loss. Even now it sat there, empty and draining the rest of his resources. Grady’s company had imploded, unable to withstand such a massive financial hit.

  When he’d stood in that room and looked at the faces of people who had been by his side—people whose advice he had ignored—and realized he had failed himself, his company, and most of all them, the first waves of anxiety had started. It wasn’t until a week later, when a heart attack rushed Dan to the hospital, that the anxiety became full-on panic.

  Grady stood beside that hospital bed and knew his decisions, his mistakes, had been the reason for Dan’s near-death scare. From there, Grady began to second-guess every decision. When Dan had found him at the end of the day trying to decide which toilet paper brand would cost the least, he’d told Grady to take some mental health time.

  So far, this time off had been more stressful than his job. He fished his phone out of his pocket and instead of texting, he called Beth. If he could get rid of this dog, maybe he could think. Or at least not drive away every Realtor in a three-county area. Grady sent the pup a glare while he waited for the connection. The dog just gave him the same hapless, tongue-lolling grin.

  Beth answered on the first ring. “Happy Tails. How can I help you?”

  “You can train this dog not to eat my shoes, for starters,” Grady said. Okay, so not exactly the greeting he’d been planning, but damn it, the dog was back at it already. Grady waved his foot and the puppy backed off, sat on his butt and wagged his tail.

  Beth laughed. “Hi, Grady. I take it things are a little rocky with your new friend?”

  “A little? He’s chewed up half my house, won’t listen to a thing I say, and apparently has no idea what the word housebroken means.”

  “Aw, he’s just a puppy. He’ll get better.”

  “Didn’t your sign say you do dog training?” he asked. “Because I will gladly drop him off for puppy school. In fact, boarding school for puppies would be even better.”

  “Well, I don’t have a puppy school per se. I prefer to work with the owner and the dog together. It doesn’t do you any good if I train the dog to take commands from me, but then you don’t know how to get him to behave. Sometimes the owner needs the training more than the dog.”

  “Well, I can assure you that’s not the case here. I’m pretty well housebroken.”

  That made her laugh, and this time the sound of it eased the tension in his chest. The whoosh of relief surprised him. Was it just the familiar connection of someone from the past, or something about the light tones in her voice that drew him away from that dark place?

  Dogs barked in the background, and he heard the sound of running water. “Listen, I have to get back to work,” she said. “Do you want to make an appointment for some puppy lessons?”

  He didn’t have much money, but at this point, he’d find a way to pay her to train the dog by herself—since he wasn’t keeping the monster anyway—but then he realized (a) he couldn’t afford to pay her that much until he managed to sell something off and free up some working capital, and (b) doing one-on-one puppy training would be a way to see Beth, this woman whose voice gave him a sense of ease he hadn’t experienced since his world crashed, without the formality of a date. And he wouldn’t have to leave the four-pawed destructor at home alone. “Sure. As soon as possible.”

  “I have an opening this afternoon at three. Does that work?”

  His schedule had already been blown to hell anyway, and the sooner he got this puppy to behave, the better. Maybe then someone would adopt him and remove one more problem from Grady’s plate. “Perfect.”

  After he hung up with Beth, Grady left the dog in the kitchen, barricading the exit with a big piece of cardboard and a chair shoved against it. Maybe that would buy him five minutes of nondestruction to take a shower and get cleaned up.

  He was wrong.

  By the time he arrived at Beth’s shop that afternoon—twenty minutes early, because he was pretty sure he was going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe if he waited any longer—the puppy had managed to wriggle under the cardboard, chew a chair leg, claw down a curtain, open his bag of dog food and scatter it all over the floor, and take a nap on Grady’s clean laundry. The anticipation Grady had been feeling ever since the phone call was being edged out by a whole lot of frustration.

  He couldn’t seem to get the house on the market. Couldn’t find any of his former “friends” who wanted to invest in his comeback. And he couldn’t figure out a way to get back to work without getting funds from one or the other.

  He’d found a great medical-device firm with a commercial property for sale in Lower Manhattan—a bargain-price deal from a colleague who took pity on him and gave him
a preemptive crack at a purchase—but only if he could come up with the cash for the down payment in the next couple weeks.

  Dan, who had taken an 80 percent pay cut and kept showing up at the empty office, had been the lone cheerleader in the woods. This could be a quick flip, he told Grady. Fast cash. We’ll be back on top in no time.

  What was the old saying? Pride goeth before a fall? That was Grady nine months ago, so cocky, so sure. Now, Dan’s enthusiasm compounded Grady’s guilt. Dan saw him as some wunderkind who could always find a miracle to save them all. What if Grady was just an idiot who’d gotten lucky a few times?

  The dog was making it hard to get a damned thing done, which meant he was going to miss this opportunity and his best chance at restoring his career.

  Yeah, blame it all on the dog. That was easier than wondering if maybe he’d lost his touch. Or if the fear of making a mistake had become paralysis that would keep him from ever being certain or decisive again.

  He stepped inside the shop, to the sound of dogs barking and...singing? He paused in the entryway, the puppy at his feet—for once, sitting quietly—and listened to Beth belt out a damned good rendition of “Lean on Me.”

  He’d never known she could sing. Of course, he knew very little about Beth Cooper, besides the fact that she was beautiful and better at geometry than he was. She’d been a crush in high school, nothing more. But he suddenly found himself very, very intrigued by this woman with the velvet voice. This woman who loved dogs, laughed easily, and who seemed to have no interest in him whatsoever.

  Beth’s singing made him forget all about the stresses waiting back at Ida Mae’s house. The dulcet tones drew him farther into the shop, around the counter, then into the dog-grooming room. A giant stainless steel tub mounted waist-high flanked one wall, and a half dozen empty dog crates of various sizes sat against the opposite wall, with fans attached to the backs. Another handful of crates had already washed and dried dogs waiting to go home. To dry the dogs after their baths, he assumed. In the center of the room was a wide stainless steel table with a pole to hold a leash, and a variety of grooming tools on the shelf before it. The walls were a cheery yellow, the shelves a bright white and the tile an ice cream–parlor combination of pink, white and yellow. Beth was standing at the sink, washing a Jack Russell terrier while she sang.