by Mary Carter
Hope smiled when they connected and took a deep breath to start her pitch.
“I can’t this year,” Faith said before Hope had uttered a single word. “I just can’t.” Hope realized a second too late that her lips had begun to flap, ironically like a fish caught in a bait. “And don’t bother with Joy. She and her latest boyfriend are opening a coffee shop. In Seattle,” Faith added when Hope didn’t respond. “Across from a Starbucks.” Hope continued to stare. “Maybe next year,” Faith said. A noise erupted in the background, a thud. It could have been something falling, it could have been thunder, it could have been the sound of Hope’s heart free-falling. “I gotta go,” Faith said. “Maybe next Christmas.” She clicked off. Hope hadn’t said a single word.
CHAPTER 4
It took more sips from the flask, a whole lot of talking—mostly apologizing—for Austin to calm Yvette down this time.
“What is going on?” he said when she’d finally stopped wielding the rolling pin and had sunk into the sofa. “Did you stop a medication you weren’t supposed to?”
She pointed to a bookshelf that lined the far wall. “Little Women,” she said. “Bring it here.” He retrieved the book and handed it to her. “Sit.”
He sat next to her as she opened the book. He hoped she wasn’t going to read to him. He was exhausted and really just wanted to go home. Instead, she removed a slightly faded photo from the book and handed it to him. It was a color photograph, lined in a thick white frame that dated it at least twenty years. It was dog-eared and wrinkled, but its subjects were still clear. Two little girls in green and red dresses sat in front of a Christmas tree with their legs splayed out. The girl on the right held an infant in her lap. The girls looked to be about four and eight, and the younger one held the baby in her lap. Big smiles were planted on their faces. The baby, whose mouth was open in a scream, must have just come home from the hospital. Austin looked at Yvette. “Are you one of these girls?”
Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. He’d never seen Yvette cry, not even at Rupert’s funeral. “Those are my granddaughters.”
That was a shock. She’d never mentioned grandchildren. She pointed at the girl in the middle. “Hope.” She pointed at the infant that Hope was holding. “Joy.” She pointed at the girl on the right. “Faith.”
Austin took a minute to process it. Hope. Joy. Faith. He’d played hope in the Scrabble game, then bought the JOY ornament, then said, Have a little faith. Good God. What were the odds of that? He had absolutely no explanation other than the Santa-in-the-sky. “You’re kidding me.” His left arm erupted in goose bumps.
“You swear you didn’t know?”
“I swear I didn’t know.” No wonder she freaked out. That was weird.
“Someone is working through you,” she said. “Sending me a message.”
“Like Santa Claus?” Austin joked.
“Like my son,” Yvette said, deadly serious. “Their father.”
“His ghost?” Austin said. “Are you talking about ghosts here?” He’d better be careful. Just because Austin didn’t believe in stuff like that didn’t mean he wanted to argue with a dying old woman about whether or not there was an afterlife. So her son must have passed away. Austin wondered what happened to him. Why was she estranged from her granddaughters? Maybe he could do something for Yvette after all. “I know what he could be trying to say,” Austin said. Yvette narrowed her eyes. If he wasn’t careful she’d be slinging that rolling pin around again.
“What?” There was an edge to her voice, she was on guard.
“You need to have them come home for Christmas,” he said. As soon as it was out of his mouth he prayed that nothing horrible had happened to them.
“I couldn’t do that,” she said.
Oh God. Had something horrible happened to those adorable little girls? Austin tensed. “Why not?”
“This is the last time I ever saw them,” she said, picking up the picture. “It was the middle of summer.”
“Then why is there a Christmas tree?”
A little smile played out on Yvette’s face. “Because their daddy loved Christmas. He wanted it to be their Christmas card the following Christmas. So he set up the tree to take the picture.”
“That’s sweet.”
“The only time he ever put up an artificial one, mind you. For real Christmas it had to be a real tree.”
Austin wondered where she was going with all this, but he didn’t want to rush her. “I agree. Nothing beats a real tree. That wonderful pine smell when you walk in the house.”
“I thought you hated Christmas as much as I do?”
“Doesn’t mean I hate everything about it. I think Christmas trees are beautiful. I like a white Christmas. I’ve been known to hum a carol or two.” Austin handed the picture back. “These seem like really good memories. You should try and get in touch with them.”
“I’m sure they don’t even remember me.”
“What happened?”
“Their mother took them away. From their father. From me. She destroyed his life.”
Austin wondered what that was all about. “I’m sorry. I really am. But whatever their mother did—it wasn’t their fault. How old are they now?”
Yvette caressed the picture with her fingertip. “The baby, Joy, is twenty-four, Hope is twenty-eight, and Faith is thirty-two.”
“You see?”
“See what?” Yvette snapped before he could finish. “That I’ve missed their entire lives?”
“They’re adults now. Why not at least reach out?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin to find them.”
“I’ll do it,” Austin said. “I’ll find them for you.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m dying.”
“So? Can you think of a better reason?”
Yvette took her time walking to the window, then stood staring out at her property. “Rupert loved Christmas. Remember how he’d turn the yard into some kind of extravaganza? The kids who used to come skate on the pond? Cutting down the Christmas tree? The carols?”
“I remember,” Austin said. Apart from the downtown celebrations, Rupert’s was always the place to be.
“If you find my granddaughters, and they’re willing to come see me before I die, there’s one nonnegotiable condition.”
“Shoot.”
Yvette turned from the window and stared at Austin. “There will be no Christmas.”
“Pardon?”
“No tree. No decorations. No singing. I’m not going to spend the last few weeks of my life mired in this commercialized, expensive, stressful bull. No Christmas.”
“You’re talking to the choir. But don’t they have a right to celebrate Christmas if they want?”
“Oh, rights shmites. They can celebrate Christmas next year. Besides, I’ve got a little gift that might just make up for it.”
“What’s that?”
“If they follow my rules, I’m leaving the three of them this place.”
Wow. That would be an easy choice. At least for him. Still. If you were a Christmas lover it was a bit Scrooge-like. He shifted. “There are more rules?”
“Austin. This is life. There are always more rules.”
CHAPTER 5
Hope strode through the corridor of Portland Paws, treating herself to one last glance at all the empty cages, thrilled that all of their dogs had been adopted well before Christmas. It was a record, thanks in part to the Whine and Cheese event she had orchestrated. As a no-kill shelter they could host only fifteen dogs at a time, and if it took a while for certain dogs to get adopted, the staff would often foster them. But since all the dogs were adopted by the end of the event, the team of six was now on break until just after the new year. Hope was just about to turn the sign to CLOSED UNTIL JANUARY 2ND, when the door pushed open and an enormous bloodhound burst in, dragging a petite woman behind him. Hope took one look at the woman’s face and she knew what the woman was planning. Shoot. Michael was w
aiting in the car. She told him she’d be out in five. The bloodhound lunged for Hope, and the woman dropped the leash along with a fifty-pound bag of dog chow. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “He’s all yours.” Yep. That’s exactly what Hope thought she was going to do. The dog jumped up and stood eye-to-eye with Hope.
“Manners.” Hope gently pushed the dog down, making a mental note to suggest a breath freshener. “I’m sorry, we’re closed for the holidays,” she said to the woman in a friendly but firm voice. Friendly but Firm was Hope’s new motto.
“I’m not staying,” the woman said. She whirled around and made a beeline for the door.
“Stop,” Hope said. She rushed after her.
The woman reached the door first and yanked it open. The dog planted its giant front paws on the counter and began sniffing.
“We can’t take him until January second,” Hope yelled, hoping to reach her in time. The woman was already out the door.
“He’s not mine,” she said, racing down the walk.
“I need a history, a name, background, an age,” Hope said. “Come back here.”
“His owner died. Don’t know his name. Don’t care. He smells. And I don’t know how old he is, but I’m too old to deal with this shit.” With that the woman disappeared into a black BMW waiting at the curb and roared off.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” Hope said.
A beep sounded. Hope turned her head toward the curb where Michael was parked. He beeped again. Did he not notice that a bloodhound came in but didn’t go out? Was it really too much to step out of the car and speak to her?
Hope gestured for Michael to come in. Finally his head popped out of the passenger side window. “Why aren’t you getting in the car?”
“Did you not see what just happened?” Hope said.
“Our reservations are for seven o’clock.”
“That woman just abandoned a dog here.”
It was getting dark, but Hope could see Michael looking around. He’d missed it all. He’d probably been buried in his smartphone. “What woman?”
“Come in,” Hope said, then turned and ran for the inside. Michael didn’t want to come in, he was anxious to get to the restaurant in time. This was definitely going to cause another fight. She couldn’t waste time arguing with him, there was an enormous dog sniffing around inside. She pushed open the door and almost smacked into him. He was chowing down on a sea of dog food. The large bag lay on the ground, ripped to shreds, pellets spilled across the floor.
“Oh God.” Was he starving? Poor thing. “Okay, okay,” Hope said, stepping around him and the mess. How much should she let him eat? This was a nightmare. She grabbed the broom and dustpan and neared the lake of food. Half of it seemed to disappear in the seconds she’d turned her back. “Take it easy,” she said. “You don’t want to get sick, do you?” When the broom neared the food he lifted his head an inch and emitted a long, low growl. Bloodhounds weren’t known to be vicious, despite their size, but any animal could lash out if they hadn’t had a good meal in a while. She was going to have to coax him into a back kennel, get him some water, and call for help. But there was no way she could let him eat an entire bag of food.
“Hey, you,” she said, loudly. The dog didn’t even lift his head. Hope turned and grabbed a stuffed toy from the counter, a stuffed elf someone had left behind. “Lookie here,” she said, waving the elf in his peripheral vision. “Lookie here.” The dog did look, then lunged for the elf. When he got it between his teeth, he nudged forward. He wanted her to play tug-of-war. He was just a big baby. She began walking backward, holding on to what little of the elf wasn’t in his giant, slobbering mouth. Little by little he was coming with her. “My elf,” she teased. “You better hang on.”
The dog shook his head violently, and Hope’s hands jerked along with it. “He doesn’t want to be a dog’s toy,” she said, glancing at the stuffed elf while trying to pick up the pace. “He wants to be a dentist.” Just then the door opened and Michael came barreling in.
“Watch out,” she yelled. Michael slipped on the lake of dog food and cried out. The bloodhound whipped around, dropped the elf, and flew across the room before Hope could stop him. By the time she reached Michael, the dog had him pinned on the floor, each of his four huge paws trapping Michael underneath him. His big face was right in Michael’s face. Oh no. Michael didn’t even like dogs from a distance. The low growl was back. Michael had stopped screaming, in fact was too terrified to utter a word, but Hope could see him shaking.
“He’s just a big baby,” Hope said, grabbing the dog by the scruff of the neck and pulling him off her boyfriend. The dog let her tug at him and soon she had at least two paws pointing back toward the kennel. Michael was breathing heavily, on the point of hyperventilating.
“Come on, big boy,” Hope said. “Let’s go lie down.”
“Help,” Michael said quietly.
“He’s not on you anymore.” Hope tugged a little harder, and after a few forced steps the dog hurried back to the elf, snatching it up and looking expectantly at Hope.
“Good boy,” she said.
“Bad dog,” she heard Michael say. “Bad, bad dog.”
“I can’t believe you don’t like dogs,” Hope said.
“I’m allergic,” Michael yelled.
“That’s code for ‘I hate dogs,’ ” Hope said. “You should get off the floor. It’s pretty rank.” She entered the kennel with the dog happily following. But when he saw the empty kennels, little jail cells from which all the other prisoners had escaped, he turned back to the door with a mournful howl. “Only for a very short time,” she said. “You’ll get water, and a pillow, and I pray Olivia will take no more than thirty minutes to come pick you up.” His big eyes blinked at her. Oh God. Those big, silky, floppy ears and hanging jowls. What a face. God, dogs were so freaking cute. How could Michael hate them? She wanted to blame the fact that he hadn’t grown up with dogs, but neither had she. “Unless you count my sisters,” she said to the dog out loud. He tucked his head down. “Come on.” She pointed to the first kennel on the right, which still had a big pillow in it. He went in, curled up on the pillow with the elf tucked under a big flap of skin, and sighed. “I’ll bring you water,” she said softly, closing the door to the kennel. She filled the largest bowl she could find with water and headed back to the reception area, where she found Michael hunched over, one hand resting on his back.
“Dinner is out,” he said with what looked like an exaggerated grimace. “Let’s just go home. I need a muscle relaxer.”
“Sorry,” Hope said. “I can’t leave until Olivia gets here to take the dog.”
He sighed. “How long?”
“Olivia didn’t pick up the phone so I have no idea.”
“I had such a nice evening planned,” Michael said. “A big surprise.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll do it another night.” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but really, what did he expect her to do?
“This is supposed to be the start of our holiday.”
Holiday. It no longer felt like Christmas to Hope. Another holiday without her sisters. And now this. The man she wanted to break up with laying a guilt trip on her. “Unless you want me to take the dog with us, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Funny.”
“I wish you liked dogs.”
“Don’t start. I’m allergic. Can’t you hear how stuffed up I sound?”
“You should throw in a few fake sneezes.” The phone rang. Hope snatched it up.
“Hey,” Olivia said in a guarded, almost accusatory tone. Was everyone going to blame Hope for the poor dog being abandoned? “I got your message. What’s up?”
“A woman literally dumped a dog on me and took off,” Hope said. “I need you to come get him.”
Olivia groaned. “Did you tell her we were closing for the holidays?”
“Of course. She didn’t listen.”
“You should have had the door locked.”
/> Hope took a deep breath. She had to keep calm. Just because she was miserable at Christmas didn’t mean she had to take it out on others. “Can you come get him?”
“No, I’m leaving tomorrow for New York.”
Hope could hear the excitement in her voice. New York at Christmas. She’d often imagined herself there with her sisters. Taking in the tree at Rockefeller Center, ice skating in Wollman Rink, perusing the decorative windows of Saks and Macy’s. But no, they’d never agreed to that either. Olivia was never going to cancel her trip, but Hope gave it her best try. “You’re up for fostering next.”
“And there were no dogs to foster.”
Thanks to my event. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“Can you take him?”
“No, I’m having Christmas with my sisters.” Taking the dog would mean admitting defeat. And Hope wasn’t done with her sisters yet.
“That’s great,” Olivia said. “Finally, right?”
Hope had complained to everyone about her sisters not spending Christmas with her. Olivia sounded truly happy for her. Hope felt like a heel. “Should I start making calls?”
“I’m ahead of you there,” Olivia said. “I’m waiting for a few people to call me back.”
“Anything promising?”
“A friend of mine might be in to take him.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“He.”
“Can I have his number?”
“Look, I’m doing the best I can.”
“I’m sure. But I have to take off too.”
“You shouldn’t have left the door unlocked.”
“I didn’t think anyone would just storm in and abandon her dog.”
“Don’t get snippy. I’m doing the best I can.”
Hope sighed. “Okay. Did your friend say he’d call or come in, or what?”
“He’s looking into it. I’ll call you back.” With a click she was gone.
Michael threw open his arms. “Let’s just take him to another shelter.”
