I look at the box wrapped in striped blue paper. There’s a blue bow, too, but it’s squashed and the tape holding it in place has come loose so the bow dangles over the side of the gift like a broken wing.
“It’s not much,” Blake says. “Consider it a belated birthday gift.”
I rip off the bow and tear open the wrapping paper with my fingernail. When I lift the lid from the box, I find a cell phone.
“I couldn’t find the red color you wanted,” Blake apologizes.
“Mauve,” I whisper. “But black is fine.”
“Are you sure? I wanted to get you a deluxe phone with fancy features, but I had to settle on this basic model with a limited plan.”
I look down at the phone, an outdated model that no one in my school would buy. A limited plan will mean keeping track of texts and call minutes. I probably won’t be able to connect to the Internet on it either.
“I’m sorry it’s not what you had in mind.” The shame in his tone cuts to my heart.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Good.” He slows to a stop sign and wipes his hand across his forehead. “I was afraid you’d think it was too cheap.”
“Not at all,” I say, surprised that I mean it. Even a cheap phone is a huge expense for him. I tap on the keys, getting used to the feel. Actually, it’s not bad, a little clunky but I like how it feels in my hand.
“There’s something special about your phone,” he adds. “Your number is 555-3362.”
“So?” I look at him curiously.
“When I was keying it into my phone, I was looking at the alphabet letters and realized what the last five numbers spelled.”
“What?”
“Leena.”
My throat catches. “Mom’s name.”
He nods then turns away quickly to focus on driving.
I turn away, too, the tears I’ve been holding back streaming down my cheeks. I gently clasp my marvelous Mom phone to my chest.
Minutes later, Blake slows the car to a stop in our driveway.
Only then do I look, really look, at Blake and notice the dark circles under his weary eyes. We’ve both had really crappy days, and nothing I can say will make it any better. He’s losing the business, I’ve lost my dignity, and without the income from Bow-Wow Boutique we could lose our home, too, and become street people begging for scraps of food.
Blake tries to do the “dad” thing when we’re inside the house, and asks me if I want to tell him what happened. I shake my head, and he doesn’t press me. There are important things he needs to know, though, so after I’ve showered, slipped into comfy flannel pjs, and am feeling close to human again, I sit beside him on the couch. I take a deep breath then explain that the Mayor never wanted one of our dogs.
“It was a prank to hurt me, but it hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“So, that’s why no one showed up and the number Maud gave didn’t work.” He slumps against the couch cushions.
“I know who did it, but I can’t prove anything.”
He sips his steaming coffee then pats my hand as if I’m the one who needs comforting. “Damn. I should have remembered that when something sounds too good to be true it’s usually false.”
“That’s not what Mom would say. Remember her twist on that quote?”
He nods, smiling sadly. “‘If something’s too good to be true, it could be a great opportunity.’ Always the eternal optimist your mom.”
“She’d want us to fight for Bow-Wow Boutique.”
“I’ve been fighting, but it’s a losing battle.” He blows a loose strand of hair from his eyes then spits out what I already know.
Bad news: Bow-Wow Boutique will have to be sold. Immediately.
Good news: If it sells quickly, we can afford to keep our house.
Worse news: All the dogs will have to be sold.
“But not Toffee,” Blake adds with a forced smile as if this small scrap of news makes everything better.
“What about the stud dogs?” I point to Cretin, who sits loyally by Blake’s feet, hanging his head on his front paws, probably lonely with his pal Brutus out for stud duty.
“They’re the most valuable assets.” He frowns. “You won’t miss them.”
“But you will,” I say miserably.
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
I know his heart is breaking. He loves those snarky little dogs, probably for the same reason I can’t stand them. When I look at them, I see a rainy night and a car crashing out of control. But Blake must see something different, something to do with how much he loved Mom. It hits me that I’m blaming two small dogs for my mother’s death, and the future dog psychologist in me is ashamed. Dogs are only as well-behaved as their owners, and while Blake does spoil the stud dogs, I’ve never given them a chance. I’ve deserved all the growls, bites, and pee stains. Dogs can tell if you like them, and if you don’t like them, they won’t like you.
“We should get plenty of sleep. I’ll leave early in the morning to do inventory,” Blake says, and I see a shine of tears in his eyes. “It’s been a rough day, and tomorrow will be worse.”
I can’t sleep, tossing and turning, finding only small comfort in the warm blanket or Toffee’s soft body curled beside me. When I finally do fall deeply into sleep, I don’t dream of Derrick or anything; it’s like my thoughts are blank pages in a book that will never be written.
When I wake up, my pillow is damp. For a moment, I can’t think why. Then I remember. The remote control in Beatrice’s hand, Derrick’s shocked expression, the drowning of my mauve phone, and Bow-Wow Boutique closing. I glance at the clock and almost choke. After ten and I haven’t fed the dogs yet.
I jump out of bed, slip into my work overalls, and waste about ten minutes searching for matching socks, ultimately giving up and going with one red and one white-striped sock. It’s not like anyone is going to see me anyway, except the dogs and they won’t notice mismatched socks. They’ll just be glad I finally showed up with their food.
I’ve put on my boots and gloves and am tucking my tangled hair under a hat when the house phone rings. I dash out of the mudroom and grab the phone before the answering machine kicks in.
“Why aren’t you answering your cell?” Rory demands.
“It’s gone.”
“You lost your phone?”
“Drowned it, and there’s no chance of CPR. But I have a new phone.”
“Is it the same glam shade of mauve?”
“No. Color isn’t important.” I suck in a deep breath, working up the courage to tell her about losing the business.
“You shouldn’t have ditched the competition last night!” she interrupts. “You missed a major meltdown.”
“I was already on meltdown overload. Or didn’t you notice I ran off the stage in front of hundreds of people – most of them students and teachers from our school—practically naked?”
“You weren’t that naked. It’s not like anyone could see your nipples or undies. Besides, your little oops doesn’t compare to what happened when Mayor King announced who won Talent-Mania.”
I don’t need to hear the gory details, especially when I have a kennel of hungry Q-Bees waiting. Tears well up as I think of selling the dogs. It shouldn’t be hard to sell the pups, especially if we cut their price low. Bargain champion-sired Q-Bees, it makes me sick to think about it.
“ASHLEE!” Rory’s shout startles me, and I almost drop the phone. “Are you listening?”
“Sure, sure.” I sigh.
“Are not or you’d be begging me to tell you who won Talent-Mania.”
“Beatrice,” I guess with a heavy heart.
“She wishes!”
“You mean, she didn’t?” That gets my attention, and I press the phone snug against my ear so I don’t miss anything.
“You’ll never guess who did win the contest.”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
&
nbsp; “Hannah.”
“Seriously? Beatrice’s loyal clone?”
“Not so loyal anymore.” Rory giggles. “Beatrice threw a full-blown tantrum when Hannah’s name was called. She shouted that Hannah didn’t deserve to win since she only entered because Beatrice told her to. Beatrice even accused Hannah of cheating, which isn’t possible because everyone saw Hannah do these sexy moves while playing blue grass music on her violin with such passion like the violin was her dance partner. But Beatrice wasn’t having any of it. She ripped the crown off Hannah’s head and grabbed the first place trophy.”
“No. She. Did. Not.”
“Oh, yeah, she did, and it was deliciously shocking,” Rory says with a grin in her voice. “Can you believe mousy Hannah fought back? The only thing missing was a mud pit for a really messy girl fight. They wrestled over the crown and trophy while the crowd cheered them on. I saw Max collecting money and taking odds on who would win. Then some guys in suits from the mayor’s staff ruined the fun by breaking them apart. As they pulled Hannah away, she glared at Beatrice and shouted, ‘I’m through with your bitchy and bossy attitude. And FYI, the scholarship DOES mean something to me.’”
I remember the rumor about Hannah’s dad being in debt, and I nod with understanding. I’m glad the scholarship is going to someone who needs it. I just wish that someone could have been me.
“Guess what else?” Rory goes on excitedly. “EVERYBODY wants a Q-B.”
I almost drop the phone. “Huh?”
“I know you think all anyone cares about is how you looked standing on the stage in a bodysuit, but get over yourself already. It’s all about Toffee, not you. The audience loved her tricks and was talking about how smart Q-Bees are.”
“They were?” I reach out to feel the solid wood of a chair behind me and sink down.
“Love, love, love! All for your cute doggie. Teachers, parents, and kids were raving over Toffee’s epic cuteness and asking how to buy one like her. Reminds me of how when I post something clever on Facebook and no one comments but when I post a cute picture of my cat I get tons of comments. Your dog upstaged you.”
I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing.
“So, you don’t mind?” Rory sounds surprised.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!”
“You adorable little upstager,” I tell Toffee after I hang up the phone. I bend down to pick her up and kiss her wet nose. “You deserve a treat!”
Not just any treat, I decide, going to the pantry and reaching to the highest shelf where we keep Paw-Fection treats, the most expensive brand of canine cookies. They have a line of premium treats for cats, too, called Purr-Fection. I’m putting the package away when I hear a slurp-slurp noise from the kitchen and peek through the door at Cretin, who’s sipping from a dog dish of water. He looks up at me suspiciously then returns to lapping water.
I know he loves treats, but he doesn’t expect any kindness from me, which makes me sad.
I reach into the package and pull out a dog cookie. “Here, Cretin,” I offer, holding out my hand.
He growls at me.
“It’s okay, boy. I won’t bite.”
He eyes the cookie and sniffs. I crouch low, motionless, holding my hand out like a peace treaty. Sniffing, he moves a step closer and then stops. He’s drooling for the cookie but doesn’t trust me. Well, I know enough about dogs to realize trust isn’t earned in a day.
Speaking softly, I gently toss the cookie to him. He ignores it.
I leave the room but wait outside the door, listening.
After a few seconds I tiptoe back to the door, open it a crack, and watch Cretin gobble up the cookie.
I head out to the kennel, smiling.
I hum to stereo music as I roll up pee-drenched newspapers. It’s probably weird, but I’ve grown to love kennel smells and enjoy the solitude of being with the dogs. They’re all about unconditional acceptance. They don’t judge me for how I look or what I say or my mistakes. They just wag their golden tails and love me.
They’ll love their new owners, too. Buyers have to pass strict conditions to be approved. They aren’t buying merchandise; they’re adopting a family member and have to sign a “Caring for Your Queen Bee” contract. Only the best homes for my doggie darlings.
I’ll miss them.
Wiping my eyes (not because I’m crying, because selling dogs is what we do and it would be silly to get all weepy), I get back to cleaning. I spread the cage floors with crisp newspapers then scoop exactly two cups of kibble for each dog. After the dogs chow down, I pet and cuddle and play. Sugar’s pups yip after each other, nipping tails and playing tough. Sugar will be so sad when they’re gone. Of course, Sugar may be leaving, too.
Honey loves to be scratched behind the ears, and when I stop she nudges me with her cold nose as if to say “continue, please.” I usually shake my head and move on to the other dogs, but today I sink down on her doggie bed with her in my lap and scratch her itch.
I always save Daisy for last because she needs extra care as she grows bigger and bigger. She’s due next week, and it’s her first litter, so I have no idea how she’ll do. Most dogs are natural mothers and pop out the pups like it’s no big deal. But some get so scared they panic, and things don’t go well. One new mom refused to nurse her pups. She just left them and wouldn’t come back. We were able to bottle-feed two of the pups successfully, but the third, a sickly runt, died in my arms.
I pray Daisy won’t be sold before the pups come. She’s timid and wary of strangers. How can I leave her when she needs me most? I give her kisses and promises I may not be able to keep.
When I close the last cage door, I’m reluctant to leave, so I don’t. I find other things to do. I sweep the floor, wash countertops, walls, and doors so every surface shines. I organize the supply cabinet. When I can’t think of anything else to clean, I sprits the air with a can of spring mountain freshener.
It’s almost noon, and my stomach aches with a hunger that food can’t satisfy. I’ve been rushing around as if I can hide from my own thoughts, but even with the dogs for company, I’m feeling alone, and my thoughts drift to Derrick.
What’s he doing right now? I envision his castle home high on the hill where I humiliated myself last night. Shame aches through me. I shouldn’t have run away like I’d done something wrong. I should have calmly put on my clothes, called Beatrice out for ruining my act and snatched my remote away from her. But the “should haves” are only clear after the fact, and once again I let my emotions explode into disaster. I didn’t even stop for Derrick, who was only trying to help me. Will he give up or keep looking for me? He won’t have to look very hard. My real name is on the Talent-Mania sign-up sheet. Plus, most of the audience knows me from school. He can easily figure out where I live.
What will I do if he shows up? I wonder with rising panic and plunging hope. How can I face him after being exposed – literally! – on stage. I can still hear audience laughter when I close my eyes. I can’t ever go back to school and may have to leave the state or country. I’ve heard Canada is a nice place.
I hear a car outside on the gravel driveway. Not Blake, I know for sure. He’s stuck doing inventory until far into the evening, and his car engine rattles like it’s full of rocks. This engine is so silky smooth I only hear the tires rolling on gravel. It can’t be Rory because this is her Saturday to visit her father. I’m sure it’s not…I mean, it couldn’t be Derrick, not after the way I ran out on him. He wouldn’t come here, would he?
I go over to the reflective glass on the supply cabinet and check myself. My hair pulled back, dirt streaked across my face, and sweating like a marathon runner. I step out of my overalls and unwind my hair then fluff it out. Not perfect but less embarrassing.
I race outside to the driveway just as a silver BMW stops and the driver’s door swings open.
And now her two sisters found her to be that fine, beautiful lady whom they had seen at the ball. They threw themsel
ves at her feet to beg pardon for all the ill treatment they had made her undergo. (Perrault)
A girl steps out, long slender legs in skinny jeans and a silky rose camisole peeking from underneath a sleeveless fitted jacket. Her sleek mane of black hair is clipped back with diamond clasps, accenting her high cheekbones.
What the hell is Beatrice doing at my house?
“Don’t look so shocked,” she says with a lift of her dark brows, her tone mocking as if a visit from her is as common as the dirt her designer shoes are standing on.
As my shock wears off, dangerous emotions claw into my self-control, and I flash back to the hoop’s remote in Beatrice’s hand and her smug smile as she powered off my illusion. She ruined my best shot for a scholarship and humiliated me worse than any of the rumors she’d spread. But that wasn’t the worst part. The “prank” she and Hannah pulled on my stepfather was brutal, crushing his hopes for saving Bow-Wow Boutique. Sure, Rory said people wanted to buy Q-Bees, but she exaggerates a lot and there isn’t enough time with the bank deadline looming tomorrow.
Hate isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel for Beatrice. I don’t just want her dead; I want her tortured with sharp objects then tossed to blood-starved werewolves who rip her to shreds.
As I step toward her, my hands clench, daring her to push me too far so I can bare my teeth like a dog and sink my claws into her.
“Stop right there.” Beatrice holds up her hand and I’m surprised to see her usually glam fingernails uneven like she’s been chewing them.
“Leave before I do something you’ll regret,” I warn.
“I already regret plenty. Nothing you can do can make things worse than the tragedy that has become my life.” She sighs with the self-pity of a martyr. “Or didn’t you hear what happened to me after you left last night?”
I don’t trust myself to speak, not without swearing, so I press my lips tight.
“I’ve been through a traumatic ordeal and am emotionally scarred.” Her shoulders slump as if she’s the center of a very weighty universe.
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