She smiled. "True. I have to say, though, it sounds like it might work with--"
"Excuse me."
We looked up to see a grumpy-faced old man glaring down at us.
"I need this table."
I blinked, and Sasha said, "Why? There are other tables available."
"But this is where I always sit. You have to move."
Sasha shot me a glance then said, "There are other tables available."
I realized what she was doing and kept quiet, both not to get in the way of her broken record and because I was afraid I'd giggle and spoil it.
To my shock, the guy actually stomped his foot. "Those aren't good enough. You're supposed to respect your elders."
If I'd been the one doing the talking I'd have made some comment about only respecting those who were deserving of it, but Sasha simply said again, her tone identical, "There are other tables available."
He looked like he was thinking of fifty different things to say and couldn't decide which to choose, then snapped, "When you're old, I hope some young jerks don't move for you," and walked out in a huff.
We stared at each other then burst out laughing.
"Well, it works," she said through her mirth.
"Definitely. You did a great job."
We calmed ourselves, and she said, "I was going to tell you I thought it would work with my kids, but I think now we have proof. That guy's no more mature than Daisy or Damian."
Suppressing my shiver at the mention of that name, I said, "Come on, now. Don't insult your children like that."
We laughed again, but then fell into silence. She was a nice person but we just had nothing in common. I tried hard to think of something else to say, and I felt sure she was too, but neither of us succeeded.
A few minutes later she saw an icicle fall from the roof outside and pointed it out to me, and we talked about ice and what a pain it is to get it off the driveway and sidewalk then again couldn't figure out how to continue the conversation.
After a few more awkward minutes I said, "Well, I guess we should get back to the office."
I'd expected her to fake a little disappointment then agree, since it had to be as obvious to her as it was to me that we had nothing to talk about, but she said, "Probably, but can we come out again this week? Maybe Friday afternoon when Felix is out?"
The hope in her voice surprised me, and the idea of a repeat of today didn't appeal, but I couldn't make myself shoot her down since she so clearly wanted this. A little more boredom wouldn't kill me and it might help her, although I couldn't see how. "Yeah, actually, that'd be nice."
"Great," she said on an exhale, like she'd been holding her breath.
Strange.
We dealt with the garbage from our table and headed back to work, chatting about what we saw in store windows on the way. As we reached our building, she giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"I just thought of that old guy again."
I laughed. "There are other tables available," I said, trying to match her intonation from before.
We walked into the office, still giggling, to find Patricia at her desk with Percy beside her.
"Oh, you came back," Patricia said, her tone as cold as the icicle that had dropped off the roof. To Sasha, she added, "Felix wondered where you were. He wants to go through the four-week report with you. I said I knew Lydia was at Starbucks but I didn't think you'd have gone there together."
"Well, we did," Sasha said. She looked toward me, mumbled a "Thanks", and went to knock on Felix's office door.
He let her in, and Patricia said, "Well, back to work. Right, Percy?"
"Of course," I said. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
I gave Percy an innocent smile, which turned devilish when Patricia looked back at her computer. "Have fun," I mouthed at him.
Percy glared at me and drew his finger a short distance across his throat so Patricia wouldn't see but I'd know he was threatening me.
I rolled my eyes and he winked at me, then he returned to helping Patricia with tasks that Sasha's Daisy would probably consider too easy for her and I set to processing my emails and preparing my future posts and deliberately not thinking about Thursday night. In the past I'd never liked to play it out in my head, how I'd find the guy and get him to pay attention to me and take him to my room, and it felt even more uncomfortable now. Better to let it all happen naturally.
After an hour or so, Patricia set Percy free so she could go out for a smoke break. He rolled his chair over to my desk as the office door closed behind her. "Flipper, help me out here. How is she allowed to walk around independently? She's not bright enough to be out alone."
I grinned at him. "Actually, I think she's plenty bright. Bright enough to take advantage of you."
"What?" He blinked. "How?"
I shook my head in pity. "Poor sweet gullible Percy. I was listening in a bit, near the end. She's making you do her work by pretending she can't hack it."
His mouth opened, then he closed it and fell back in his chair. "You're right. She's playing me."
"Like a cheap gullible violin," I agreed.
He gave me a light punch on the arm. "No more. Watch me when she comes back. I'll be the fiddler."
I squeezed my eyes shut tight. "Please do not make me watch you fiddle with Patricia. Revolting."
He laughed. "Um, no. Not a chance." He paused, then said, "Lydia?"
I opened my eyes to see him looking nervous. An echo of that clear sharp electricity went through me for some reason, but it vanished when he said, "I started looking for my dad. Last night. I searched a bunch of databases on my own and got nowhere, so I hired a private detective."
"Wow," I breathed. "Has he found him yet?"
He shook his head. "She, actually, and she said it'll take a week or two because his name's so common but she's sure she'll find him."
I wanted to make a joke about his new girlfriend but he was too serious for that to feel right, so I reached out and gave his shoulder a firm grip. "I hope it works out exactly how you want."
He put his hand over mine and squeezed me. "Thank you. Me too."
We smiled at each other, then he took his hand away and I removed mine too, though I found myself disappointed. It was so comforting and relaxing, touching and being touched by Percy. No stress or doubt, just warmth.
The joys of a nice guy. Like a teddy bear, but alive.
Chapter Thirty
I showed up to walk the dogs on Tuesday night full of determination. I would not let them take control and push me around like they had the last two times. Surely I could handle this.
Ten minutes later, I sat on a chair trying not to wince as Martha roughly cleaned my hand. "I thought you could handle this," she said, picking up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "You do have a dog, right?"
"I do," I said, "but he doesn't bite for no good--ow!"
"Hold still or you'll spray it everywhere."
I had no problem with that, if it got the awful burning stuff off my hand.
I watched, part fascinated and part disgusted, as the liquid boiled up painfully into a thick white foam that filled the bleeding holes a small but feisty dog's teeth had left in my hand then began to settle down.
When the fizzing had completely stopped, Martha gave me a tissue to wipe my hand dry then wrapped a bandage over the bite. Though her bedside manner wasn't exactly sweet, she did know what she was doing and the bandage looked secure and professional. She'd probably had a lot of practice, given how crazy the dogs were.
"I assume you'll be wanting to leave now?"
I did, more than I could have told her, but I wouldn't. Her tone made it clear she thought I was useless and that stung nearly as much as my hand had under the hydrogen peroxide. "No, I'll finish walking the dogs." I gave my hand a tentative flex. "It's still sore but I can use it."
"Well," she said, and for a second I thought she'd softened toward me. Then she cleared her throat. "Well, good. They're all riled up n
ow from your freaking out."
Not softened. And I hadn't freaked out either. Yes, I'd yelped, but since I hadn't realized the dog was even beside me until it bit me I didn't think that was unreasonable.
I took the dogs out in the pairs Martha had written out for me. Most groups were actually pretty well behaved and the second-last pair were so sweet together, romping at the ends of their leashes and teasing each other then running away as far as they could so the other would chase and then be chased in turn. I wished I could take those two to the nature preserve, since they'd have had so much fun pelting around off-leash.
The last pair, though, I didn't want to take anywhere but right back to their cages. They were both golden retrievers, but they looked different from Paddington, so dark they were nearly red and their snouts sharp and narrow instead of his nice soft features, and they seemed shifty somehow. I knew it wasn't reasonable but I felt like they were eyeing me, plotting their next move and preparing to attack me.
They didn't do anything, though, the entire time we walked around the nearby park, and I was just telling myself how ridiculous it was to assign traits like 'shifty' to dogs when the one on my right darted across my path to the left and the left-hand one did the same thing in reverse and I tumbled to the ground over their crossed leashes.
My poor bitten hand took the brunt of the fall, and I gasped at the pain but somehow managed not to let go of either leash.
The dogs reached the end of their respective leashes then stood looking unimpressed.
I switched hands on the two leashes to untangle them, then got to my feet and inspected myself for damage. My jeans were snowy and soggy at the knees, and my mitten was torn, but overall I'd made it through reasonably unscathed.
"You meant to do that," I said quietly, unable to hold it back. "I know you did and I don't trust either of you."
The left-hand dog, now on my right, stared blankly, but the other one gave me a panting grin.
I almost told him off again but caught myself before completely descending into insanity. They were dogs. They couldn't have done it on purpose, grinning or not.
Still, I kept a heavy eye on them as we returned to the shelter in case they had any further mischief in those furry heads of theirs.
I gave them a quick toweling-off to remove the excess snow then gratefully deposited them back in their cages.
"Any more trouble?"
I turned, hoping Martha wouldn't notice my wet knees. "Nope, everything's fine."
"Good. So we'll see you on Thursday then."
Thursday. "Actually, no. I'm busy this week."
Her eyes narrowed. "Doing what?"
Even if I hadn't been planning what I was planning, I wouldn't have told her. As it was, I said calmly, "Things that mean I can't be here."
She shook her head. "That's not good, Lydia. You committed to being here."
"I originally committed to one day a week." I tried to keep my voice even, but it was a challenge. Her 'you've disappointed your mother' tone was aggravating.
"Yes, but then you agreed to three. So you should be here for three."
"Well, I can't this week." Tomorrow night I'd be busy getting ready for Thursday, choosing clothes and doing a careful job of shaving my legs, and Friday night I just plain didn't want to.
She looked like she was about to say something else, and I didn't want to hear it so I said, "If that's not acceptable, I guess I'll need to stop volunteering."
She froze, and I knew why. When I was drying off my first group of dogs that day I'd heard two women in the hall, clearly not aware I was nearby, talking about how before Martha took over the dog walking program there'd been twenty volunteers and now there were only two, "that old guy who comes at noon and one new girl in the evening". If I quit, she'd lose half her workforce.
I'd learned from my communications course at lunch that day to let silence hang. The first person to speak in a negotiation was often the one to lose. So I stood without a word until she said, "Well, I guess I can let it go this time. But you will be here Saturday, right?"
Again with the parental tone, but I made myself smile and say, "Of course."
Unless I got lucky and broke both my legs.
Chapter Thirty-One
On my way home Martha's parental tone made me think of my own parents, who hadn't used that sort of voice with me in years. I had, though, when I told Dad they needed to move. So had Catherine. I appreciated them not doing it to me, so why was I doing it to them?
Though I wanted to run screaming in the opposite direction, I knew I'd feel better if I tackled the mess head-on so before I went to bed I called to see if my parents might be available to have lunch with me tomorrow.
"Sure, why not?" Mom said. "You buying?"
I laughed. "Sure, why not."
"Then we'll definitely be there. I won't feed your father any breakfast, so make sure you've got your wallet with you."
Relieved that she at least didn't sound annoyed with me, I hung up the phone. I didn't know how lunch would go, since I hadn't seen my parents since Dad and I had squabbled over their housing situation, but I did know I needed to try. Avoiding the issue didn't feel like it was being good to myself.
Of course, when I sat waiting for them at lunch the next day I wasn't at all sure that was good either. I had no idea what I should say to them and every speech I tried in my head sounded ridiculous. Eventually, I quit the mental rehearsals and sat drinking my iced tea and flipping through emails on my phone until I heard, "Sorry we're late," and looked up to see my parents taking the chairs opposite me.
I glanced at my phone's clock. "Only five minutes. Not bad."
Dad, known for being late, rolled his eyes and my punctual-to-the-second mother laughed.
Then we sat in awkward silence.
The waiter returned to take their drink orders and leave us all with menus, so we were able to occupy the next few minutes with discussing what we would have, but once he brought back the drinks and left us alone again the silence returned with a vengeance.
Eventually, Dad broke it. "So. How's Paddington?"
I had to smile. "He's great, Dad."
"Good, good."
Again, nothing to say.
This time I stepped in. "I... we need to talk about the house."
Dad's chin went up and he said, "I told you, we're fine."
I glanced at my mother. Unlike Dad she didn't look like she was ready for a fight. She looked small, somehow, small and fragile. Afraid. Embarrassed.
It hit me hard. What if Percy, instead of helping me with my home repairs, had said, "Look, I know best and you can't take care of yourself here any more"? How much would that have hurt? How little would I have appreciated someone telling me I should move out of my house because I couldn't handle it, and how much worse would that sentiment feel coming from my own daughters?
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and tried to let my newfound realization bring out the right words. "I know. You guys are tough and smart. Maybe we shouldn't be, but Catherine and I are worried."
"I keep telling you--" Dad began, but a flash of clarity hit me and I knew what I needed to ask. "How can we stop being worried? You guys are smart so I know you've figured out how to keep being there and be safe. So could we talk about that? Could you tell me, so I'll know you're okay?"
Dad shifted back in his chair. "You're not going to try to convince us we're a couple of old feebs and we need to move out?"
"Speak for yourself on 'old feebs', Malcolm," Mom said, elbowing him. "I'm only sixty-six."
"Me too, you know."
"Yes, but I'm six weeks younger."
I watched them go through the same routine I'd seen over and over as I grew up, only the age changing but never the 'we're old and pathetic' set up of Dad's, and when they were done I said, "Anyhow. No. I'm not going to try to convince you that Dad's old and feeble so you have to move."
Mom grinned and Dad rolled his eyes. Then he sobered. "Really?
Because you were trying pretty hard before. You and Catherine both."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, I know. I guess..." I tried to smile but it didn't quite come off. "It's scary," I admitted. I felt my throat tighten but knew I had to keep going. "You guys are supposed to be around forever. I'm afraid something bad will happen to you. I don't ever want you not to be here."
Mom's eyes misted over and she said, "Well, we'll do our best to stay around. I don't much want not to be here either."
Dad cleared his throat. "But what's that got to do with us moving?"
Mom looked at me, shaking her head, and we exchanged a 'he never gets it' smile before she said, "If we didn't live alone then the girls wouldn't be as afraid that something bad would happen. Remember when you tried to help me get up after I broke my hip and nearly fell yourself? Like that."
I blinked. They'd kept that little tidbit to themselves.
She said, in an aside to me, "We didn't want you to worry. Which, I guess, didn't quite work."
I nodded, and she went on.
"Sometimes I can't believe it, you know. I've been a wife for forty-three years and a mother for forty-two. I don't feel anywhere close to old enough for that to be possible."
Forty-three years with the same man. I couldn't believe it either. Of course, they'd dug ruts big enough to hide a truck in and they'd been living in them for years, so maybe it was just easier and more comfortable to stay in than try to scramble out.
I nodded again, and she said, "But then I look in the mirror..." She patted Dad's hand. "Or at this old monster, and..." She shrugged, ignoring Dad's mock protest, and looked at me. "I know. We're getting old. And the house really has been too big for us since you girls left. But to sell it, to admit that..." Her eyes, locked to mine, filled with tears. "Oh, honey, you can't imagine how hard it is. It's like admitting my life is over. Even though it's not, that's how it feels."
I nodded, unable to speak. She'd never been so open and vulnerable with me, and I had no idea how to respond even if I didn't have a huge lump in my throat.
Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Page 16
