Charisma offered him a misshapen Tupperware bowl. “Will this work?”
“That’ll be fine.”
Charisma filled the bowl with water and placed it near the dog’s head.
“That’s it,” he said, standing. “You let me know how it goes.” From somewhere he produced a business card. “Call the cell number.” He looked chagrined. “These are old cards; the office number’s outdated.
“I’ll do that.” She took the card from his hand. “Thank you again.”
He nodded and made his way back toward the mudroom on his own. “You’re very welcome.”
She watched him pull out of the driveway. It wasn’t until he was gone that she realized she’d never even introduced herself, and that she didn’t know his name. Charisma suddenly remembered the card, and pulled it out of her pocket.
Jared Williams, D.V.M. was printed in bold, clear letters.
Of course. That was just her luck. The Jared that Bill had been so anxious to talk about, coming across her, bent over a dog in the middle of the street like a freak without a clue what to do, just happened to be a veterinarian. It would have been nice if Bill had mentioned that, too. Charisma sighed and tossed the card on the counter before heading outside to get her groceries.
CHAPTER TWO
Charisma stared at the dog. The massive black form had appeared out of nowhere, its big tongue hanging out of its mouth, saliva dripping slowly onto her pants. She had been minding her own business, studying a stuffed duckling and it had just walked right in and propped its head on her lap.
“Well, now what do I do with you?” she asked, reaching out a tentative hand to ruffle the thick dark hair that flopped over its head and then pushed the muzzle gently away from the growing puddle of drool on her pants.
The dog stared up at her, but didn’t offer any information.
“Are you hungry?” Charisma checked her watch. “It’s almost dinner time. What do you say? You want some rice?” Charisma paused, as if waiting for the dog to respond. No such response was offered. “Why don’t we see what else we have to eat.” She pushed back the chair and stood up, finally disturbing the dog enough to lift its heavy head. “Well, come on,” she said when the dog made no move to follow her out of the room. The dog hesitated, then padded after her, its toenails tapping on the linoleum kitchen floor. Charisma searched the nearly empty cupboards. “I didn’t plan on having company,” she joked as she pulled out a pot and pan.
She gave the dog a heaping portion of rice and scrambled eggs and filled a new bowl with water. While she forked bits of egg and rice into her mouth, Charisma watched the dog inhale the poor excuse for a meal. The dog was eating like it hadn’t seen food in days. For the first time, she gave the bushy dog a serious once over and wondered how thin it was underneath all that dark hair.
“So,” she began, and had the fleeting, disturbing, thought that maybe she was going crazy. After all, it wasn’t every day she repeatedly initiated conversation with an animal. Although, maybe this could be considered progress. At least this one was real, and not one of the two-dimensional sketches on paper, or a glowing image from the computer monitor. “What do they call you anyway?”
The dog took one last, thorough lick of the plate, the bottom of the old stoneware scraping across the linoleum, then looked up at her with big brown eyes. Soulful eyes. That’s what her mother used to say about animals with eyes like that. Charisma thought about them a lot when she was drawing, about how much soul you could see in a pair of eyes. “I mean, I know you aren’t really mine and I’m going to make some flyers for you and how do I know, you might not even like living with me. But, I have to call you something!”
The dog sat down, settling comfortably onto the cool floor, as if it knew Charisma would go on for a while.
“For starters. Why don’t you tell me if I’m dealing with a girl dog or a boy dog here. That Jared character everyone seems so fond of called you a he. How do you feel about this?” Charisma wondered if it would be rude to push the dog over and take a gander for herself. As if the dog were reading her mind, it heaved a sigh and lowered itself to the ground, flopping over onto its side and stretching out long legs. Charisma reached over to scratch the dog’s belly, taking a quick inventory of anatomical parts. “Girl it is, then.”
The dog closed her eyes and in a few minutes Charisma was sure she had fallen asleep. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically and the whiskers on her narrow nose twitched restlessly as she dreamed. As quietly as she could, Charisma got up, stepped around the dog and retrieved a sketchpad.
It was nice to have a subject that was alive, for once, and the sketch quickly took on a remarkable resemblance to the dog lying on her kitchen floor. She would scan this into the computer and make flyers for the lost dog. She’d take a photo, too. Someone had to be missing her; she seemed like a nice enough dog.
Charisma snorted. As if she knew anything about dogs anyway. When she was finished with the drawing she set it aside, and wondered what she should call the dog. It didn’t even have any white marks, so she couldn’t even come up with something descriptive, like Star, or Socks, or Diamond, as appealing as those names were. Charisma briefly considered Blackie, but decided even she couldn’t sink to such a depressing level.
“Ebony?” she asked. The dog opened one eye, startled from her sleep, but didn’t move, and after a moment her eye drifted back closed. “I see your point,” Charisma said. “That just isn’t very original. You’d never know I was an artist. What about Stinky?” this time, the dog didn’t open her eyes at all. “Well, I don’t even know why I’m trying, you’re just a scruffy little lost dog anyway.”
The dog heaved herself to her feet and padded over to Charisma, resting her head patiently on Charisma’s thigh and waiting for a good scratching behind the ears. “Little scruffy lost dog. Not so little, I guess. Giant is a better word. Come on, scruffy, let’s go get some flyers of you printed out.”
The dog followed her out of the kitchen and into her office, sitting beside her when Charisma sat at her computer. She closed the drawing software she had been working on and pulled up a word document.
“Found: Lost Dog,” she typed across the top of the blank screen.
That was about as far as she got. “It’s a good thing I draw, and don’t write,” she said dryly to the dog. Black, she typed next. Then she deleted it. Large black female. Long hair. “I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” she said to the dog while she reached across the desk for her digital camera. “Smile, scruffy.” Charisma snapped a series of shots of the dog and loaded them onto the computer.
Before long she had several different flyers, all with the same description, some with the drawing she had done earlier as the picture and some with the different photos she had taken. She tagged her phone number at the bottom of the flyer.
The dog had long since settled into a tight little ball, belying her size, beneath the desk when Charisma finished printing out the flyers. “Tomorrow I’ll drive into town and post these. I’ll get you some real food, too. Don’t worry, before you know it everything will be back to normal.”
~*~
“Hey, Bill,” Jared said as he sauntered into the grocery store. Bill tossed down the paper Jared was sure he’d finished hours ago and had started to read again.
“Jared.” Bill nodded at him. “What you up to this hot day?”
“Oh you know, the usual. It’s like I never even left. Some little colt up at Doorman’s had a rough delivery. As much as I’m suddenly needed around here, I can’t imagine how anything got done while I was gone.”
“Yeah. It was tough,” Bill drawled. “Don’t know how we ever managed with you gone and all.”
Jared snorted. “Very funny.”
“’Sides, was probably Doorman’s little Jenny who wanted you to come out to the farm. She talk you into tea afterward?”
Jared had the grace to look away, red seeping into his tanned cheeks. He recalled her pleading eyes, that pi
tiful way she wrung her hands together. It was just a cup of tea. He’d thought she was only worried about her mare. He sighed a heavy sigh.
“It’s hard to say no to that one.” Bill nodded wisely, as if he had been in the same position numerous times. “Always been that way. Even when she was just a little bit, she’d come in here and look at me with those huge blue eyes and I’d give her some candy. Boy, she learned that trick early, didn’t she? It’s a shame things didn’t work out with her and that boy from school. I always thought she’d be married early, have little bits of her own with big blue eyes…”
Jared let the old man ramble on about his predictions for the future and wandered toward the refrigerated section, hoping he could find a pre-made sandwich.
“You met that Charisma yet?”
“What Charisma is that?” Jared asked from his place by the wilting sandwiches.
“She’s a real sweet thing. Has dark hair and eyes. Skinny. Looks hungry all the time. She comes in here once a week and buys the strangest things. She has this old blue truck. A Ford. You know, with the white lettering across the tailgate. I bet that tailgate don’t even work anymore, it’s so old. Every time she comes in I think it’s a miracle when the thing starts up and gets her all the way back to her house. ‘Bout thirty minutes out. Told me today she’d repaint my sign out front.” Bill nodded, the proud peacock.
“Yeah, I think I met that one. On the way back from Doorman’s, bent over a dog in the middle of the road.”
Jared had the satisfaction of watching Bill’s jaw drop. “She did something like that to a dog?”
Jared shook his head. “Nah, the thing was just a little overheated. You should have seen it, Bill. She didn’t have a clue what to do with the dog. She told me she was going to take it back to her house, but she didn’t seem to know how to get it into the car or what to do with it once she got back to the house. It was the funniest thing. Then I said it looked like a shepherd mix, and she told me she didn’t think it looked like a German Shepherd. I almost laughed.”
Bill chuckled. “Give her a break. From the city, I think, back on the East Coast. Hasn’t been here that long. Bought that little bungalow out there. The one that used to belong to the Brinkman’s, before their breeding operation went under.”
“Right,” Jared nodded. “That place has seen better days.”
Bill shrugged. “I guess it don’t matter too much what a place looks like. She works from the house, so it must be good for something.”
Jared grunted in response. Whatever that woman was doing from home probably didn’t involve much brain activity. If she’d said one more stupid thing Jared had planned on taking the dog back to his place instead. Besides, any woman that lived alone and had a room full of dead animals couldn’t possibly be that stable. He mused for a minute over the mounted animals. Maybe he should have brought the dog back home after all, so it didn’t end up stuffed like all the others. He finally pulled out a turkey sandwich, figuring he’d have better luck with that than the tuna, and headed toward the register.
~*~
Charisma stretched. Her pencils and water colors were spread out over the drawing table, sheets of paper with characters in different stages of development strewn around her. The dog was occupying her usual place beneath the table, curled up on an overstuffed pillow bought specially for her and patterned with dog bones and happy looking dogs. She had never had a dog. In fact, she had never had anything more than a few hermit crabs and exotic looking fish that never seemed to last more than a few weeks. Now, she was making up for lost time. The dog had been there two and a half weeks and she had her own pillows scattered throughout the house, matching sets of ceramic bowls Charisma had painted herself, dogs parading across the rims, Scruffy written in script, leather collars, expensive dog food…she snorted at the thought. “Well,” she said aloud, “I might not have the slightest idea of what to do with you, but I certainly know how to shop for you, don’t I?” She laughed and stood up, “Come on there, Scruff, let’s go outside.” The dog followed her obediently to the front door, and bounded out into the yard.
Charisma was about to join the dog when her phone rang. She reached over and grabbed the cordless off the wall before stepping out into the hot sun.
“Hello?” she asked.
“You never did call about that dog. It die on you?”
Charisma was momentarily confused. “I’m sorry?”
“Remember, I left you my card…?”
“Oh, right! Of course you did.” Charisma stalled for time. She’d meant to call him, really. “It was the funniest thing. I lost the card. How did you get this number?”
There was a long pause. “Off one of the flyers,” he said, in a tone that reeked of I-Can’t-Believe-You’re-So-Stupid.
Charisma had the urge to hit her forehead. “Right, of course. You’re the first to call about her. She’s doing just fine. Really a sweetheart.”
“Good. You planning on keeping her?”
Charisma looked at the dog romping in the yard. In the kitchen, Charisma could see the heavy duty container full of forty pounds worth of dog food and the squeaky toys that had been abandoned in the middle of the floor. “Well, yeah, I guess I am.”
There was a long pause. “I see. Well, if for any reason you change your mind, you let me know and I’ll find a good home for her.”
I’m sure you will. Charisma thought, surprised at the bitterness she felt. All those women just lined up to take the ratty dog home with them. The ratty dog in question bounded up to her, dragging one dirty paw across the denim of her jeans. “Well, thank you, but I really don’t believe that will be at all necessary.” Her tone was icy. “Thank you for calling.”
She snapped the phone back into its cradle practically before she heard Jared say goodbye. “Well,” she said, turning to Scruffy. “The audacity of some men.,” Charisma huffed. She brushed uselessly at the dirty smudge on her jeans, mumbling under her breath. Men, after all, weren’t that different in Arizona than they were in New Jersey.
~*~
Charisma carted the supplies she would need for the project underneath her arm. The cardboard box was brimming with different size brushes and tubes of paint. Scruffy followed dutifully at her feet, her long tongue exposed as she trotted along, stopping to sniff at patches of weeds that had managed to poke up through the cracks in the sidewalk.
“Hey, Bill,” Charisma called as she deposited the box by the door. “I should have everything I need. You want to help me get this sign down?” She dropped her head back so she could stare up at the sign. From her spot beneath the sign she could hardly see anything. “I hope you have a ladder in their somewhere, because – ”
Bill’s appearance at the door interrupted her. “I have something better, even.” Charisma’s eyes narrowed. She’d come to recognize that twinkle in Bill’s eyes, the one he got when he thought he was being sly and had planned something that she really wasn’t going to like, but thought would be in her best interest.
“What’s that, then?”
Another shape appeared from the gloom of the store. “Well, that would be me, ma’am.”
The exaggerated way he drawled out the word ma’am irritated her. In fact, everything about this man irritated her. She fought the urge to throw her hands up in the air and yell obscenities. Instead she pasted on a smile she was sure looked less than real. “Well, that might help … a little.”
Jared grunted as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Bill moving out after him. “If we can just get the sign down, I’ll paint it here on the sidewalk. Or inside. Wherever there’s room.”
Scruffy had finished her perusal of the sidewalk and padded up to Charisma, sitting beside her to stare at the two men.
“Nice dog you have there,” Bill said, “Jared was telling me the other day how you came across it.”
“Yes, she’s very nice.” Charisma patted the top of the dog’s head absentmindedly. She secretly hoped that Scruffy would attack Jared, or at the ve
ry least growl at him, because he hadn’t stopped staring at her with that look on his face that said he thought she didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.
Charisma supervised as Jared and Bill pulled down the sign and hefted it to the back room of the store, where a large table had been placed in the middle of the room and covered with drop cloth. Charisma dropped the supplies by the door and flipped on the lights. There were only so many good things to say about fluorescent light bulbs, but at least she wouldn’t be painting in the dark.
“That’s great. Thanks guys.” Charisma gave the men a silent dismissal as she lost herself in studying the sign. They moved out of the room without her noticing.
She hadn’t quite decided what to do with the sign, but figured anything was better than the garish apple. She popped off the custom-fit plastic protective cover, the kind Charisma hadn’t see in use in years, pulled out one of the large brushes and began to prime the board. Her mouth twisted wryly as she wondered how many coats of primer it would take to cover that apple. “Who painted this anyway,” she muttered aloud.
It wasn’t long before Charisma had lost herself in the work of painting. While she waited for the primer to dry she sketched out different ideas on a pad of paper she had brought with her. The pencil was familiar and comfortable in her hand and moved nearly of its own accord, knowing innately where the next stroke should go, what would be most pleasing to the eye. She never noticed Jared at the door, watching her hunch over the pad, her hand moving quickly, her mouth alternately lifting upwards in a smile and downward in a frown as she thought of different things. She didn’t notice, that is, until Scruffy hefted herself up off the concrete floor that was cool despite the heat in the poorly ventilated room and headed toward Jared.
Misplaced Innocence Page 2
