A Perfect Love

by Lori Copeland

  “Back here.”

  “Do we have wallpaper stripper? Remember maybe a year ago when the Klackenbushes had to take old paper off in the schoolroom? I’m sure we had at least a quart left over somewhere.”

  “I don’t remember seeing it, but I could be wrong. I’ll look in the hardware section.”

  Vernie patted Edith’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry. If we have it, we’ll find it. You just calm yourself.”

  Edith took another sip of her Coke, then sniffed. “Oh, Vernie, you wouldn’t believe what they’ve done to my pretty little house. It will take hours to get it cleaned up. I wish I’d never started this. It was all right the way it was.”

  Vernie handed her a tissue; Edith blew her nose.

  “Hang in there, honey. Things will work out.”

  “What a catastrophe,” Edith groaned. “Now that border’s hanging in strips, torn and mutilated. I can’t believe what a mess they’ve made.”

  Elezar came out from one of the aisles, wiping his hands on a small towel. “I don’t believe we have any of that stripper.” He gave the minister’s wife a sympathetic look. “I’ve checked in the back as well.”

  “We must have some,” Vernie insisted. “Look again.”

  While Elezar went down to the basement, Vernie searched under the counter to make sure no can of stripper had inadvertently been overlooked.

  Ten minutes later, both Vernie and Elezar had come up empty-handed. Edith appeared to be minutes away from a genuine crying jag.

  “I’ll call Mike,” Vernie said. “He might just have some stripper left over.”

  She dialed the Klackenbushes and waited, then spoke to Dana.

  Thirty minutes later Vernie had called every house on the island. “No one has any stripper,” Vernie told Edith. “I’m sorry.”

  Edith slumped on the stool.

  Both Vernie and Edith turned when the bells above the mercantile door jangled. In came Stanley and Winslow, both men somber and subdued.

  Edith pressed her lips together. “Don’t tell me there’s more trouble.”

  Stanley hung back, staring at the floor. Winslow’s face flushed. “Not exactly,” he said.

  “What, then? I can tell it’s something. What have you two done now?”

  Winslow cleared his throat. “The stool, um, had to be taken up so we could paper behind it. You know how difficult it is to—”

  Edith covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear how difficult it was, I want to know what you’ve done now.”

  Winslow swallowed. “Well, taking up the stool was harder than we anticipated. It’s been there a long time, you know, and the seal—”

  “Yes?” Edith prompted.

  “Well . . . we had a little accident.”

  “Little accident?”

  Vernie listened with growing concern. She’d rarely seen Edith in such a mood. Why, her eyes were flashing!

  Stanley, to his credit, stood up for his share of the blame. “We knocked a little hole in the wall while we were getting the stool up,” he said. “It’s not a big hole—”

  “A hole? In the wall?” Edith’s eyes went round as cannonballs, and looked about as dangerous. “Any hole is too big, Stanley! I can’t believe this! Alst I wanted was a new border. Is that too much to ask?”

  She whirled, imploring Vernie.

  “It’s not too much, hon,” Vernie answered. “I’d be upset too.”

  Winslow stepped forward and patted Edith’s shoulder as gently as if she were a bomb about to explode. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t intend for this to happen. My little project just grew into a big mess.” He glanced at Stanley. “But we’ll fix it. It’ll be good as new by evening.”

  “By evening?” Edith thrust her hand into her hair. “Winslow, what do you expect us to use for a bathroom if you’ve pulled up the toilet? We live in a one-bathroom house.”

  Vernie moved toward the phone. “Cleta has more toilets than she knows what to do with. I’ll call her, and I’m sure she’ll let you use one of her bathrooms.”

  Winslow gave his wife a relieved smile. “See there? Stanley and I will catch the one o’clock ferry over, rent a steamer, and get Mr. Butcher to bring us back straightaway. We’ll have that bathroom set to rights before you know it.”

  Leaving his wife whimpering by the counter, Winslow motioned for Stanley, and the two men left the mercantile.

  Vernie frowned into the phone, watching her husband follow the minister toward the ferry landing. Why did some men have such a knack for messing things up?

  Renting a steamer proved more difficult than Winslow anticipated. He and Stanley finally located an old but usable model at an Ogunquit hardware store. The clerk apologized for the machine’s condition and gave them a 10-percent discount.

  Before going back to Perkins Cove, where they hoped to catch a ride with Crazy Odell, Winslow’s stomach reminded him it had been some time since breakfast. “I’m for getting something to eat before we go back.”

  Stanley frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe we’d better get on back and get the job done. Your wife seemed awfully upset.”

  Winslow waved his concerns away. “She gets that way every once in a while. The slightest thing makes her weepy. She won’t mind if we eat something first. A man can’t work on an empty stomach.”

  They found an open café and quickly downed a Po’ Boy sandwich, complete with onions, green peppers, kraut, and pastrami (which Win was sure would come back to haunt him), then caught a cab back to Perkins Cove. Riding in the back of the cab with the heavy steamer sprawled across their laps, Winslow looked at Stanley. “You know anything about operating a wallpaper steamer?”

  Stanley shook his head. “Never even seen one before today.”

  “Great,” Win said with a sigh.

  Curled up in his apartment behind the Kid Kare Center, Buddy Franklin whiled the afternoon away flipping through his magazine. The term foxy loxies, he learned while reading Exotic Wild Life, was nothing but a cute nickname for sugar gliders, Australian marsupials fast becoming popular pets in the United States. According to the article, sugar gliders were intelligent, playful, inquisitive, and irresistibly cute. They didn’t carry fleas or odor, and were relatively inexpensive to maintain.

  Buddy turned the page and stared at a life-size picture of one of the little critters. The animal reminded him of a squirrel, but with more interesting markings on the head. The little guy’s expressive dark eyes tugged at his heart.

  “Like the American possum, sugar gliders are marsupials and carry their young in pouches,” the caption read. “Their name comes from their affinity for sweet things like the sap that leaks from wounds in trees. In the wild, their diet consists of sap, nectar, insects, and baby birds. They are nocturnal, so as pets they’re most active in the evening.”

  Buddy grunted. A nighttime pet would be good company for him because he often had trouble falling asleep. According to the article, sugar gliders grew to about eleven inches in length, with over half of that length taken up by the tail. So the compact little critters could easily be trained to ride around in their owners’ pockets. “In fact,” the article assured Buddy, “the best way to train your glider is to make a cloth pouch with a drawstring long enough to go around your neck. Hang this pouch in the cage so your glider will use it for a nest, then, while it is sleeping in the pouch, take it out and wear it around your neck. The glider will become used to your voice, smell, and movements, and soon your pet will love going everywhere with you!”

  Buddy leaned back on his bed and dropped the magazine onto his chest. A constant companion! An adorable little animal that would go everywhere with him and, when appropriate, would pop out and charm anyone they met! A sugar glider would also be small enough to hide, so the pastor couldn’t complain if he took it to church. If anyone objected to the glider’s presence, why, he’d just slip the pouch into his jacket. The little guy would sleep most of the day and only come out to play at night, when Buddy was usually sitting alone in h
is room, bored and desperate for something to do. A sugar glider would be the perfect pet!

  Inspired, he raced through to the end of the article, then jabbed his finger at a blue box on the side of the page. The sidebar listed a number of sugar glider breeders, and each one had an e-mail address. With a little luck . . .

  Tucking the magazine inside his back jeans pocket, Buddy stepped outside and marched up to the house. If Mike didn’t mind, Buddy would use his computer and write a couple of breeders. With a little good fortune, his lonely nights would soon be a thing of the past.

  To whomever has the sugar gliders:

  My name is Buddy, and I would love to have one of these animals for a pet. I would take very good care of it, feed it whatever it needs, and wear it around my neck. I live alone, and think one of these little critters would be perfect company.

  Please e-mail me back right away. Thanks!

  mail to: BuddyFranklin@excite.com

  Buddy

  Buddy leaned back in his chair and studied the note. He had learned all about computers in the Navy, and he knew he could hear back from someone within minutes of sending the e-mail. The thought made him shiver with anticipation.

  In the address box he typed in the e-mail addresses of three sugar glider breeders, double-checked the spelling, then clicked “send.” A moment later his message vanished.

  Rising from his chair at the dining-room table, he stretched and yawned, then realized he’d better make a few preparations. If one of these folks responded, they’d probably send the little creature by Federal Express, and that meant his pet could arrive by the end of the week.

  Stepping out into the hallway, he scratched at the tuft of hair on his neck and called, “Dana!”

  “What?” Her voice, coming from the kitchen, held a note of impatience.

  “You don’t still have a parakeet, do you?”

  She stepped into the kitchen doorway, her arms holding a mixing bowl. A wrinkle of exasperation marked her forehead. “Buddy, that bird died two years ago. It drowned in the goldfish bowl when you left the cage door open.”

  Buddy scratched again. “Oh.”

  “Why? You wanting a bird?”

  Buddy squinted at his sister. The look on her face was anything but pleasant. “Did I say I wanted a bird?”

  “No, but if you’re thinking of getting an animal, you can just forget it. I have my hands full keeping the three of you men fed, and I’m not going to add one more thing to my list of responsibilities. No birds, Buddy. Besides, it’s too cold up here. When we had that bird I had to keep the heat cranked up to seventy-six even when we went out of town, and I can’t afford that kind of extravagance in winter.”

  Sighing, Buddy dropped his hand. “I don’t want no bird. I wanted the cage.” He tilted his head. “You still got that?”

  Dana’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “It’s out in the workroom somewhere, probably under some boxes. It’s sure to be a mess.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Her blue eyes were now openly suspicious. “What are you up to, Buddy?”

  “Making somethin’, that’s all. Don’t worry, you won’t have to do a thing with it.”

  “I’d better not.” She moved away as the timer on the stove buzzed. “Take whatever you need from the carriage house, just don’t ask me to help. I don’t have the time.”

  Buddy shrugged and turned, about to shut down the computer, but then he heard the tiny chime of an electronic mailbox. Checking his excite.com inbox, he discovered a single note:

  Hi, Buddy!

  My name is Rozella Jones, I live in Florida, and I breed sugar gliders. I have a group of joeys ready to find new homes right now. If you’re seriously interested, write me back, and we’ll discuss details. I prefer to sell them in pairs, if at all possible, because they tend to get lonely when their owners go to work.

  They are wonderful pets. I know you will fall in love with one of these little guys.

  Rozella

  His long fingers flying, Buddy tapped out a response:

  Dear Ms. Jones:

  You wouldn’t have to worry about one of them being lonely with me. I don’t have a job, you see, and even if I did, I’d take the little guy with me. I am trying to open my own restaurant, but it is a long process and I don’t know how long it will take. So I have plenty of time to train and take care of a new pet.

  Yes, I am seriously interested. Write back soon, please.

  Buddy

  An instant after clicking send, he looked up to see Dana watching him from the doorway. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, her eyes abstracted as she stared at the computer screen. “So you can get cleaned up now.”

  “OK.” He pushed back his chair, ready to stand, but Dana came forward and pressed her hand to his shoulder.

  “Who were you writing? An old Navy buddy?”

  He shook his head. “A lady in Florida. I just met her.”

  “You met someone on the Internet? Like in a chat room?” A warning light filled Dana’s eyes. “You should be careful, I hear some really weird people hang out in those places—”

  “It weren’t no chat room, and you don’t have to worry about me.” Irritated, Buddy wriggled out of Dana’s grasp. “You don’t have to play big sister anymore. I’m a grown man, you know.”

  Dana drew her hand back, and now her eyes were swimming. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m only trying to look out for you.”

  “I don’t need protecting.”

  The chime of incoming e-mail broke into their conversation, and Dana’s gaze drifted toward the screen.

  “If you don’t mind,” he pulled himself closer to the keyboard, “I would like to answer my new friend before dinner. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Dana nodded without a word, then left the dining room. Buddy felt a twinge of guilt as her footsteps echoed down the hallway, but he forgot all about that unpleasant emotion as he opened Rozella’s latest note.

  Dear Buddy:

  Okay! Here’s how it will work. If you will send me $100 (you can send it through one of those Internet money-transferring services), I will send out one of my sweetest babies to you. She’ll be coming by overnight Fed Ex (shipping will cost you another $45), and you must be able to guarantee you will be on hand to sign for delivery. Sugar gliders are desert animals, and they can’t handle the cold, so we can’t have this package sitting on a chilly doorstep. You gotta keep your glider warm. Okay?

  In addition to the animal, you may purchase a six-month supply of special sugar glider feed (an additional $100), a sugar glider bonding pouch ($15), and a book that will tell you everything you need to know about the care and feeding of sugar gliders ($5).

  Thank you very much! As soon as I’ve received your payment and shipping address (no P.O. boxes, please), I will send an adorable sugar glider straight to you!

  Rozella

  Buddy added the numbers, then consulted his mental bank balance. Out of his two thousand trust fund dollars per month, he had to spend $400 on a car payment (for an uninsured car that was stolen), $250 on health insurance, and $850 to pay down the balance of a credit card he no longer used—well, actually he was no longer allowed to use it. When he had first come to Heavenly Daze, Dana forced him to sit down and figure out all his liabilities and assets . . . and if there had been more assets, he was fairly certain she would have suggested that he pay her a monthly rent. But when she saw his lists of debts, she demanded his credit card, snipped it in half with a pair of scissors, and tossed the two pieces back to him.

  “Your monthly expenditures are fifteen hundred a month, and your income only two thousand,” she said, her smile drooping. “By the time you tithe and keep a little for personal expenses, you won’t have much left.”

  “I’d be happy to sign my trust-fund check over to you,” Buddy offered, more than willing to rid himself of the hassle of paying bills. “Then I can just ask you for whatever I need—”

  Dana threw up her hand. “Oh, no. You keep your
money, you take care of your own expenses, and you can live in the carriage house. I’ll feed you, too, but I ask this one thing—you have to come to church with us. The church is the heart of this community, and if you want to fit in, you’re going to have to become a part of it.”

  He had agreed, reluctantly, and he had managed to pull himself out of bed on enough Sunday mornings to keep Dana off the warpath. And now he was grateful he’d kept a hold of his own purse strings, because there was no way in this world Dana was going to shell out $265 for a sugar glider . . .

  He did a quick search for an Internet electronic money-transfer site, found a good one, then signed up for an account. After typing in his bank account numbers, he clicked on the button that said “Send money. “

  “Bud-deeeee!” Dana’s exasperated voice rang out from the kitchen. “Your dinner’s getting cold!”

  “Just a minute!” he snapped, momentarily feeling ten years old again. While Dana clattered dishes in the kitchen, accompanied by Yakov’s baritone rumble, Buddy e-mailed a payment of $265 to Ms. Rozella Jones, then followed up with a confirmation message containing his address.

  “Thank you so much,” he concluded the note. “I look forward to many happy days with my new pet.”

  “Maxwell Buddy Franklin! I’m not calling you again!”

  Sighing, Buddy clicked his way out of the e-mail program and returned to the desktop. He wouldn’t mention a thing to Mike, Dana, or Yakov about his new pet. He’d hang out on Main Street until the Fed Ex delivery arrived on the ferry, then he’d squirrel his little pet away.

  What Dana didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

  While the last ferry docked at Heavenly Daze, Russell Higgs whistled a jaunty tune and strode over the gangplank carrying a Flower Tree bouquet in a crystal vase. The bouquet of pink minicarnations, pompons, alstroemeria stat-ice, and monte cassino waved under the bright streetlight. He had protectively cradled the bouquet in his arms on the windy ride.

  “Barbara’s gonna love ’em,” Captain Stroble had said as he guided the boat across the dark waters. “I need to bring my Mazie flowers more often. These days you can have flowers in the dead of winter; they fly ’em in from all over the world.”