“It’s okay,” she told Carly. “We’ll get through this.”
“How do you figure? They’re here.”
Michelle probed her feelings. She knew she wasn’t at her best, but somehow this new crisis wasn’t so bad. Maybe because it wasn’t important to her. Yes, her long-lost father had returned after eleven or twelve years. Yes, she had questions and even anger. But compared to what she’d been through, this was nothing.
“They’re here and then they’ll leave,” she said, pleased by her sense of tranquility. By the knowledge that they couldn’t touch her. Not where it mattered. Maybe that was the result of emotionally shutting down, but that was okay, too. She could resurrect her feelings after they were gone.
“How can you be so calm?” Carly demanded. “This is a nightmare.”
“Now who’s the drama queen?”
Carly stared at her. “You’re really not upset.”
“I’m really not. Probably because I don’t have anything to spare. He’s here. I’ll deal. You have more to worry about.”
“Gabby,” Carly said with a sigh. “I hope my mom doesn’t hurt her.”
“You’ll be there. You’ll get her through whatever happens.” Michelle patted Chance. “We both will.”
Carly nodded, some of the panic fading from her eyes. “I like the new you.”
“I’m withholding judgment, but I see potential.”
Carly hesitated, then said, “Don’t take this wrong.”
She moved forward and wrapped her arms around Michelle.
Michelle stayed very still, accepting the embrace and the support that went with it. Slowly, carefully, she hugged Carly back, letting herself remember what it had been like when they’d been best friends. Just the two of them against the world.
* * *
Michelle walked into her office to find a stack of dog supplies in one corner, with a bed draped on top. A second bed lay by her desk.
She took Chance off his leash. He checked out the water dish—a cheerful yellow one with paw prints on the front—then walked over to the bed. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from it to her and back.
She smiled and crouched down, then patted the bed.
“Come on, Chance. This is for you.”
He put one paw on the bed, then another. After turning around a couple of times, he collapsed with a sigh. She stroked his back and was rewarded with a thump of his tail.
“See,” she told him. “This is how your life is going to be.”
The issue of keeping him had not been a question, she realized. From the second Jared had shown her the skinny dog, she’d accepted him in her life. They were going to heal each other, she decided. The rescue agency had been in touch the morning before, making sure all was going well. She’d been given email access to the records they had on him, including a report from their veterinarian. According to the vet, Chance was about two years old, with no obvious health problems, except for those from his abuse.
She glanced at the time. He’d had a decent-size breakfast, but nothing since then. She got him a dog cookie from the ones Carly had left. His dark eyes perked up.
“Come here,” she said, motioning for him to get out of the bed.
He stood and walked to stand in front of her.
“Chance, sit.”
He sat.
She laughed. “Good boy. Look at you. We’re going to have to figure out what else you can do.”
She handed him the cookie. He took it gently and carried it back to his bed where he settled down, then chomped the cookie into dust and swallowed it. Contentment relaxed his doggie face as he gazed at her.
“You’re welcome,” she told him.
“That’s not much of a dog.”
The voice was familiar. There had been a time when the man behind the voice had been her world. Or at least the anchor in a swirling storm that was Brenda. She turned in her chair to study her father as he walked into her office.
“He’s a rescue. I’ve only had him a few days. He’ll get better.”
She took in the graying hair, the lines around her father’s eyes and mouth. He was a little thinner, a little older, but not much else had changed. If she had to point out a difference, she would say he looked happy. “Hello, Dad.”
“Michelle.” He hesitated, as if not sure if he should do something else, then settled in the chair by her desk. “I called a couple of times to tell you we were coming. I couldn’t reach you.”
She thought about the calls she’d ignored, followed by the breakdown that had included her destroying her phone. “I’ve been a little out of touch.”
He studied her. “How are you?”
There was concern in the question. She’d only been sober and relatively sane for a couple of days. Her clothes were still too big, her skin pale. She looked like what she was—someone holding on by a thread.
“Better. Seriously, this is an improvement.”
He swore softly. “Why didn’t you call me, baby girl? I would have been here.”
The familiar “baby girl” wormed through her defenses, making her feel small again. Like when she’d been little and had huddled in her bed, the covers pulled over her head as she tried desperately to shut out her parents’ night fights.
She drew in a breath and looked at Chance. The sight of the sleeping dog centered her. She returned her attention to her father.
“You were gone. You left me, Dad. You walked out on me with no warning. It’s been over a decade without a word. Why would I call you now?”
Her father shifted in his seat. “I know it looks bad, baby girl.”
“I doesn’t just look bad. It is bad.”
“I know. It was so many things. Your mother. I never should have married her. But she was pregnant and I’d been raised to be responsible. You were the only good thing to come out of that marriage.”
“I wasn’t good enough to make you stay.”
His expression turned pleading. “I waited until you were seventeen. I wanted you to be old enough to handle yourself. To take care of things.” He leaned toward her. “I wanted to come back, but I knew Brenda would punish you if I did. So I stayed away, thinking when you were a little older, I’d swing by. But you left for the army and I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”
It was all crap, she thought incredulously. Justifications. The man she’d loved and trusted, depended upon, had no real reason for what he’d done. He’d chosen his mistress over his child. For all his proclamations of love, he was more like her mother than she found comfortable.
The edges of the room didn’t seem as focused. A sharp longing for oblivion ripped through her, making her ache for just a sip of vodka. One swallow. That’s all she needed.
She grabbed the bottle of water on her desk and drank it instead. The cool liquid did nothing to make her feel better. The trembling began inside. It radiated out and she knew she only had a few minutes until she would be shaking all over.
“How long are you staying?” she asked.
“A couple of days. Lana’s excited to see Carly and Gabby.”
“I’ll bet,” she murmured, wondering if he would hear the sarcasm or accept the words at face value.
She drew herself up straighter in the chair, then sucked in a breath. “Dad, I have some work I need to do. Can we talk later?”
“Ah, sure.” He gave her a quick smile. “I’ll go round up Lana and we can find a place to have lunch. The island’s grown while I’ve been gone.”
She nodded, suddenly weary to the bone.
After her father had gone, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Slowly, too slowly, the need to drink faded and she was left with a hollow sensation. For all her Zen calm with Carly, she didn’t have the skills to cope with this invasion. She had a feeling that telling her father and Lana to go away wouldn’t solve the problem, which meant she needed help from another direction.
She got up and called to Chance, who immediately hurried to her side. The
y walked toward the registration desk, his nails clicking on the floor.
She found Carly at the computer, viciously jabbing on the keys.
“They went to lunch,” Carly told her. “They don’t want a room. That’s something, I suppose. They have a reservation at the camping site at the north end of the island. I told them we were busy through the holiday, so I think we get a couple of days’ reprieve.” She paused. “You okay?”
“Less okay than I would like. You’re right. Having them back is something to get upset about.”
“This is one time I don’t want to be right.”
Michelle felt Chance standing next to her. When the dog leaned in slightly, she rubbed the top of his head. His presence comforted her.
“Thanks for getting all those supplies. I’ll write you a check for the amount.”
Carly nodded. “No problem. It was fun. Gabby’s very excited to have both a dog and a cat at the inn.”
“The pooper-scooper was a nice touch.”
“Sam’s idea.”
Michelle raised her eyebrows. “You back together?”
“We’re taking it slow. Is that okay?”
“I think taking it slow makes sense.”
Carly wrinkled her nose. “You know what I mean. Does it bother you?”
Michelle thought about everything going on right now. “No,” she said. “Honestly, it doesn’t. Go for it. He’s a pretty decent guy.”
“I hope so.”
A loud hissing sound interrupted them. Michelle turned to find Mr. Whiskers had strolled into the room. He stood about ten feet from Chance, his back arched, tail puffy and standing straight.
The hiss was impressive, Michelle thought, startled by the volume and intensity. More cobra than cat.
Apparently Chance thought so, too. He whimpered, then slid behind Michelle and began to tremble.
Mr. Whiskers stared at the dog for several more seconds, then slowly relaxed. His status as the superior pet established, he turned and walked to the far end of the room, jumped up onto the sunny windowsill and began grooming.
Michelle dropped to her knees and took Chance’s face in her hands. “You have to stand up for yourself, big guy. You outweigh that cat by a good forty pounds. Once we get some muscle on you, it will be more. You could take him. I’m sure of it.”
Chance didn’t look convinced.
“Maybe if you work on his sense of self,” Carly offered.
Michelle laughed. “I’m open to suggestions on that one. Any ideas on improving doggie confidence?”
“Not really. I’m still trying to fix myself.”
“Right there with you on that one.” She hugged the dog. “Looks like you’re going to have to figure it out yourself,” she told him. “But whatever happens, I’ll be here, taking care of you.”
Thirty-Two
The Fourth of July dawned with clear skies and warm temperatures. Michelle and Chance arrived at the inn before seven and did a quick check of how things were going in the restaurant.
The smell of ribs and simmering barbecue beans hit her as they entered. The delicious scent mingled with the decadent aroma of chocolate-chip cookies being taken directly from the oven.
“Get that dog out of my kitchen,” Helen said when she spotted them coming through the door.
Michelle paused. “Chance, sit.”
The dog looked at her with worried eyes, but planted his butt right by the back door.
“Stay.”
He whined, but didn’t move.
“Impressive,” Michelle murmured. Once the summer madness ended, she was going to talk to the dog trainer at the pet store about finding out what Chance could do. Maybe an obedience class or even agility would help his confidence. God knew she could use the distraction, as well.
She hadn’t had a drink in ten days. She was finally sleeping reasonably well and eating more. Her clothes were hanging a little less loosely and she thought maybe her face didn’t look so gaunt.
She knew she was still having the nightmares and screaming at night. For the most part Chance slept in his bed, but every now and then she woke up to find him pressing against her, his warm body giving comfort.
The best news of all was that she hadn’t had to deal with her father or Lana since their arrival, but she was sure that reprieve would end sooner rather than later.
“You’re coming to check on me?” Helen sounded more amused than concerned.
“Making sure you have what you need for today.”
Instead of having a traditional lunch, they were offering lunches-to-go for their guests and anyone else who preordered. Picnic boxes and baskets were stacked on tables, waiting to be filled.
“I have it handled. Cammie’s staying straight through until one, when we’re closing. There were seven more orders for picnic lunches on the answering machine this morning. I’m making up a half-dozen extras for the idiots who can’t figure out that preordering means pre and order.”
Michelle grinned. “There’s one in every crowd.”
Helen looked past her to Chance. “How’s he doing?”
“Better.”
“I saved him a little something.”
She handed Michelle a bowl with a couple of big rib bones. There was still meat on them, although not any sauce.
“Thank you.” Michelle took the bowl. “I thought you were a cat person.”
“I am, but he seems to be a decent sort of dog. I respect that.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Just keep him out of my kitchen. Even Mr. Whiskers isn’t allowed in here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Helen beamed. “You’re a good girl, Michelle.”
“I’m trying.”
She went back to her office, Chance trailing along beside her. Once she’d booted her computer and checked to see if there were any messages, she took the dog out to the front lawn and handed him a bone.
He sniffed it first, then took it gently and carried it to a spot of sun. He collapsed on the grass with a contented sigh and started chewing.
“Chance!”
Gabby shot out the front door and went running toward the dog. Michelle started to intercept her, not sure how the once-starving dog would react to what could be seen as an attack while he was eating.
“Gabby, wait.”
But she was too late. The ten-year-old flung herself at the dog. Chance released his bone and seemed to brace for impact. Gabby wrapped both her arms around the dog and they rolled together a couple of feet. Chance’s tail thumped on the grass.
Michelle exhaled, relief causing her to sink to the grass. “I’m too old for this kind of stress,” she muttered.
She watched the girl and the dog play, then Chance settled down with his bone, Gabby leaning against him, reading her latest book.
Michelle told herself to get to work, but she couldn’t seem to move. Sitting here in the sun felt too good. A few minutes later, a shadow moved across her. She opened her eyes and saw Pauline standing beside her.
“You look relaxed,” the other woman said. “And better.”
“Thanks.”
Pauline sank onto the grass. “Want to tell me about it?”
“Don’t you ever go off duty?”
She grinned. “Occupational hazard. Technically, you can tell me to go pound sand.”
“I’d probably put it another way.”
Pauline laughed. “Which is why I like you. Now tell the good therapist what’s going on.”
Michelle stretched out her legs in front of her. “I’m not drinking. I’m going to meetings every day. The kind for vets, not AA.”
“Whatever works.”
“I’m still having trouble sleeping, but it’s getting better.” She pointed to Chance. “He helps.”
“I’m sure he does.” Pauline studied her. “And?”
“My dad’s back in town. I haven’t seen him since I was seventeen.” She did a brief recap of the soap opera that was her life. “He has excuses, but no real reasons for what he did.
”
“People have trouble admitting when they act for purely selfish reasons. Telling the truth about something like that forces them to redefine their sense of self. So they make up a story. We all do it. Tell stories to explain the unexplainable. To get by. Sometimes the stories even help us survive that which would otherwise destroy us.”
Barefoot Season Page 30
