Worth a Thousand Words

by Doreen Alsen

  “Sure is.” Tracy knelt beside the dog and adjusted his collar.

  Danny cracked up and pointed at his sister. “You’re named after a dog!”

  “I am not!” she screeched. “They call me Cookie because I’m cute and sweet!”

  Danny only laughed some more and barked at her.

  Beth closed her eyes and counted to ten. “That’s enough, Danny. Come on. Let’s go get some ice cream.” She dragged the two kids away.

  Tracy stood and frowned. “Oh dear. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble.”

  Tim scratched Chester behind his tiara. “Danny looks for ways to cause trouble for Cookie. It’s his solemn duty as an older brother.”

  She laughed and patted him on the arm, maybe a little bit longer than was just between acquaintances. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” A very cool, Southern-flavored voice came from a few feet away.

  Angelique stood there all cool and calm, hands clasped in front of her, a serene smile on her face. Her eyes hid behind dark glasses.

  Interesting. Very interesting.

  He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the short blonde hair and the perennial dark glasses.

  Tracy looked from Angelique to Tim then back again. “I’m going to take Cookie here over to the parade stage. I’ll see you there. Hi, Angelique.”

  “Hi,” Angelique said back, her voice dripping ice chunks. Dare he dream?

  She was jealous. Jealous of him and Tracy.

  It was either a dream come true or wishful thinking.

  He picked dream come true, being the optimist he usually was not.

  Angelique straightened her shoulders and turned up the wattage on a bitterly tight smile. “Friend of yours?”

  He fought the urge to do his happy dance.

  Well, if he had a happy dance, that is.

  “Yeah, I’ve been friends with Tracy for a while.” He scratched his temple. “Actually, we go way back. She’s a hometown girl and we hung out when I’d come up here for the summer.”

  Angelique sniffed, much like a semi-mollified queen would. Chester whimpered and she looked down at him. “Oh, you poor baby! Mean daddy dressed you up like this.”

  “Mean daddy?” Tim scoffed. “I beg to differ. Chester loves his costume. Cookie made it for him.”

  Chester’s body language said otherwise, but Tim ignored him.

  “Well, if Cookie made your costume, you good boy, you best boy,” Angelique crooned to Chester, “then you need to go for it, baby.”

  Chester woofed.

  “Angelique! There you are!” Betts Quinn bustled up to them. “Helen Troy had to drop out of judging the dog costume parade and I need you to take her place.”

  Tim wanted to scream in frustration. He had Angelique here, with him, talking to him, maybe jealous of him, all good things as far as he was concerned. He took his Wayfarer shades out of his shirt pocket and shoved them onto his face.

  “Me? I don’t know nothing ’bout judging no dog parade,” Angelique said.

  “It’s easy. Just come with me.” Betts grabbed Angelique’s arm and dragged her away.

  Tim watched the two stumble up to the Yacht Club patio and frowned. He hoped this was a good sign. Chester chuffed out a little bark. “I hear you, buddy. We’ve got a parade to join.”

  ****

  Angelique allowed Betts Quinn to drag her across the lawn to the Yacht Club veranda. The lawn was soft from an earlier rain, and her three-inch heels sank like spikes into the dirt, causing her to stumble along behind Betts.

  She gritted her teeth. Those Jimmy Choos were her new favorites.

  “Now here is the judging criteria. It’s not rocket science.” Betts smiled and handed her a clipboard. “All the dogs will get a prize, but you just have to work here with Dylan to decide which dogs get what prize.” She turned to Angelique and pointed her in the direction of Lobster Cove’s veterinarian, Ms. Dylan Foster and the owner of April’s Animal Rescue, April Showers.

  Apparently, April’s parents had quite the sense of humor.

  Betts looked around the grounds with a self-satisfied little smile. “It looks like all those press kits we sent out and the ads we ran in the papers besides the Anchor did some good! Hopefully we’ll get a lot of donations because of it.” She gave a general wave in the direction of all the media types milling around.

  Angelique shivered and turned away from the crowd. People were here for the dogs, right? They wouldn’t think to find her at an event like this.

  Dylan gave Angelique a little wave. “I’m taking care of the health/appearance thing. You’re judging the cuteness/creativity factor.”

  Angelique looked over to the lineup of dogs. There was just too much adorableness. In particular, a small dog dressed up as Tinkerbell leaped up and down and yipped like it was his job, although people were going to need earplugs if he kept it up. Those yips were on steroids.

  And was that a cat? In a dog show? The cat dressed in a dog suit was bigger than the little yipper. “Um, is that a cat?”

  Dylan glanced over. “Yep! That’s Alice Dalton’s Maine Coon Cat, Buster.”

  Buster? The cat’s name should be Bad Ass. He looked like he could gobble up Tinkerbell in two big bites.

  Angelique had a flashback to Dr. Suess’ Go Dog Go, like she was on the top of a tree at a big dog party. If she’d been wearing a hat, she would have asked Dylan if she liked it.

  As she watched, Tim and Chester took their places behind Buster and in front of Tinkerbell, who immediately commenced dancing. His yips had turned into screeches, much to Chester and Buster’s dismay.

  Between the Doberman and the Maine Coon Cat, the cat was the bigger threat to Tinkerbell.

  Go figure.

  Oh and lookee there. Nurse Tracy and her dog Cookie, cutting in front of the miniature pinscher so she could stand next to Tim and Chester.

  Where was a damn gator when you needed one?

  And oh wasn’t Nurse Tracy oh so cute? Smiling, laughing at everything Tim had to say, touching his arm, petting his dog

  There was just so much hate and so little time.

  Although, Tim didn’t look like he objected too much to Tracy’s attentions.

  He’d lost some weight. He really looked tired; he must be having nightmares again.

  Maybe she’d waited too long to listen to him. Maybe he’d gotten tired of waiting.

  He told her he still loved her and wanted her back, but could she trust that? Nurse Tracy looked like a solid Plan B. She guessed that she’d find out after the dog show.

  Angelique took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over her heart. She had to move forward no matter what.

  “Are you all set to check out the dogs?” Dylan smiled at her.

  And right now that meant peeking at the pooches.

  “You bet.”

  ****

  Tim desperately wished for a set of earplugs. Tinkerbell wouldn’t stop jumping and barking and was managing to make all the other dogs crazy. Chester, usually so obedient, was having trouble keeping still.

  If God was good, the parade and competition would be over soon.

  Like yesterday.

  Then there was Tracy, sporting her Chatty Cathy side. He’d never had very much to do with her. He barely ever saw her as she worked in the Lobster Cove Emergency Room and he had yet to go there. He’d seen her around, sure, especially back in the high school days when she’d hung out with Julia Stewart, now the high school principal, and their friend Edie. He’d remembered a quiet, serious person. Shy, even.

  Boy, was he wrong.

  In between “umm-hmmming” absently to things Tracy babbled on about, he snuck glances at Angelique. She was very studiously ignoring him. At least he thought she was.

  He hoped she was.

  Color him pitiful.

  Actually, please, God, color him invisible, which he’d absolutely embrace right now, to get his ears some relief from both Trac
y and Tinkerbell.

  Betts Quinn wandered up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the dog parade! Thanks to each and every dog owner for taking part in this special part of our afternoon.” She beamed. “The fur babies look adorable! Let’s bring them up to the stage!” Stepping away from the microphone, she motioned for the first dog to move forward.

  A pit bull dressed like a pirate. A poodle dressed like a leprechaun. A dachshund dressed as Darth Vader.

  A couple of teens with three dogs as the Three Stooges, aka: Larry, Moe, and Curley.

  Heh. A beagle dressed up as a World War One flying ace. Obvious, but cute.

  Speaking of cute, Angelique looked wicked cute up there smiling at the dogs and clapping when they did tricks.

  He loved her so much. He adored her and come hell or high water, he’d convince her to forgive him and marry him.

  Maybe his brand spankin’ new therapist was right. Maybe he did deserve a second chance at life and to grab with both hands all the love that came his way. He’d finally broken down and talked to a professional. He hated to admit that it might be helping.

  So, speaking of maybe, maybe he should just take a big ass chance and ask her to marry him right then and there when he and Chester got onto the stage.

  After he groveled first, of course. Jeff had assured him that the groveling was the key to success. If it helped him to win back Angelique, he’d be the best groveler who ever groveled.

  And standing in line with a Doberman dressed in a battery-operated tiara, a rabid miniature pinscher, and a flirting challenged woman dragging around a dog in a chocolate chip cookie suit counted as groveling in Tim’s book.

  He felt two doggie arms wrap themselves around his leg. Looking down, he groaned.

  He did not need a miniature pinscher humping his leg. Shaking it, he managed to knock the demon dog loose.

  “Sorry,” the woman with Tinkerbell told him. “He’s a little exciteable.”

  Ya think? “It’s okay.” He shrugged. “There’s lots to be excited about today.”

  The woman beamed. “Yes there is! And little Jackson here just loves to dress up and get all the attention.” She picked little Jackson up and crooned in a baby voice, “Aren’t you a good boy, puppy? Aren’t you just the best boy?”

  Jackson looked Tim right in the eyes and growled at him. Obviously, it had been love at first sight for Jackson and Tim’s leg and the little monster took exception to Tim’s less than enthusiastic reaction.

  Putting up with that dog definitely counted as major league groveling, to Tim’s way of thinking.

  Cookie, the girl, came running up to him, her face smeared with cranberry-blueberry ice cream. “Uncle Tim! Don’t forget to press the button on Chester’s tiara so the lights come on and the song plays!”

  “Why don’t you stick around and help me?” He had no idea where the button was, other than it was on the tiara.

  “Okey doke!” She scratched Chester behind his ears. “I’m gonna make sure you win, boy!”

  “Oh, isn’t she just adorable!” Tracy cooed at Cookie. “Aren’t you cute?”

  Cookie nodded but her face was filled with suspicion. “Yes, I am.” Obviously loyal to Angelique, she sniffed and looked away, dismissing Tracy and her dog with a haughty glance. In that moment, she looked remarkably like her mother Katie, Entitled Queen of All She Surveyed.

  For once, that was a good thing.

  Looking out over the grounds, Tim noticed a small cadre of photographers wandering around taking pictures. Most of them were local media, no big deal, but he thought he recognized a couple of guys from Portland, Manchester, and worst of all, The Boston Globe.

  He squinted. Were there some guys from People? Hadn’t they done enough damage?

  His protective instinct kicked in with a vengeance. He’d make sure they didn’t bother Angelique.

  “Can I hold Chester’s leash, Uncle Tim?”

  “Sure.” He handed it to her without a second thought. The first thing she did was push the button on Chester’s tiara so it blinked and jangled Happy Birthday.

  Kill him now.

  He heard Angelique laugh and turned in time to see her toss her head back. He remembered the dark silken curls of her hair spilled down her back. He remembered wrapping his hands in the glossy fall of hair, so soft and smelling of roses and exotic spices. He missed it, though her blonde pixie look was cute, but as far as he was concerned, very temporary.

  Very, very temporary.

  He had to get her back. Living the rest of his life without her was not an option. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  He looked down at his ballerina dog who was patiently enduring Cookie’s endless chatter and primping. It occurred to him that a body could put up with a lot when it came to true love.

  ****

  Angelique’s stomach jumped as Tim, with Chester and Cookie in tow, inched closer. She’d never gotten the warm fuzzies around children, but Cookie had wrapped herself all around Angelique’s heart, something she never expected. And seeing Tim with the little girl stirred up all kinds of estrogen-fueled fantasies.

  Her fingers twitched with the urge to rub her abdomen, right where she’d hold and nurture Tim’s baby.

  Then she shook her head. What the hell was wrong with her?

  He might not want to get back together with her. He may have already moved on. Maybe he’d realized he didn’t really love her, that he just loved the idea of her.

  That he only loved the fact that he could take pictures of her.

  If he felt that way then she was better off without him, bien sûr. Her throat clogged with misery.

  The woman with the cat in a dog suit dragged her beast behind her. The cat yowled and hissed, the sound ungodly. Angelique didn’t know much about animals but she did know that cats did not do well on leashes. Or dressed up in costumes. No way was she getting near that.

  A small dog who looked like a Doberman who’d been shrunk and dressed like Tinkerbell screeched, pulled out of his owner’s grasp, and made a break for it while still attached to his harness. He bee-lined it to the cat and shoved his nose up her butt. Buster the cat shrieked and hissed, leaped up, fur raised, claws out, and landed directly onto Cookie the dog’s back.

  Cookie took exception and attacked the cat, knocking the cat’s mommy out of the way and barreling into Angelique, pushing her down on her hiney.

  Angelique threw her hands over her head to protect herself from various claws and teeth. The idiot deejay decided to start the music early with a rousing rendition of “Who Let the Dogs Out”.

  Might as well add insult to injury, right?

  No, wrong. Oh so very made of wrong.

  She struggled up onto her elbows only to get pushed backwards by an over-enthusiastic Chester who dragged Cookie the girl behind him, as she seemed to be the one at the other end of the leash.

  Screaming her little lungs out.

  Chester drooled on Angelique’s face as he barked his Dobie-sized bark in her ear. He blew hot, gross, doggy breath as he gave her slurpy doggy kisses. His big muddy paws pushed on her shoulders, tearing the lace inlays on her new ivory silk cami.

  Damn. She’d saved a month for that.

  One minute she was pinned by 110 pounds of enthusiastic dog, the next Tim had grabbed the dog by the collar and tried to haul him off her.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled, clenching his teeth with the effort to lift Chester with one hand and corral Cookie with the other.

  “Hey! That’s Angelique Durand!” Photographers rushed over to the stage, camera poised to shoot.

  “Fuck that.” Tim snarled and let both Chester and Cookie go. Fortunately, Jeff had gotten into the breach and grabbed his screaming child.

  Chester, giddy with his newfound freedom, raced away as fast as he could, probably on the tail of that hapless cat.

  Tim jumped off the stage, fists flying. “You asshole!” He pushed the guy and knocked him back a couple of
steps then grabbed the camera and threw it to the ground.

  The rest of the media swarmed around like sharks in a feeding frenzy.

  Angelique, freed from Chester, struggled to her feet. Breathless, she took a step and broke the stiletto heel off her shoe and twisted her ankle. “Ow!”

  Tim turned back to her. “Are you okay?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she nodded gamely.

  He bounded up onto the platform, scooped her up in his arms like she was Scarlett O’Hara and he was Rhett Butler. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Damn, they disappeared! Where would they go?” A photographer looked around, his head practically spinning like Linda Blair’s.

  Betts Quinn eyed him coolly. “I hear tell that Angie works at the Sea Crest Inn. They might have run there.”

  The guy from The Boston Globe pulled out his smart phone and thumbed over the keyboard. “Sea Crest Inn?” He grinned. “Got it.”

  He ran across the lawn to the parking lot, the rest of his brethren following close on his heels.

  Betts pulled her own cellphone out and tapped in a number. “Hello? Birdie? It’s me. A bunch of paparazzi are on their way to the Inn to find Angie and Tim.”

  She listened. “Yes, I know they’re not there. Here’s what I want you to do. Send those damn reporters to someplace else Angie and Tim aren’t. Make it someplace else they probably won’t find them. Got it?” She smiled as she listened. “Excellent.”

  Betts clicked off her phone and put it back in her pocket.

  “You’re an evil woman, you know that, right?” Dylan grinned. “I always liked that about you.”

  Betts nodded. “It’s a dirty job but somebody has to do it.”

  ****

  “Excuse me, young man, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave right away, or else I’ll have to call the Garda.” Birdie McCorkle stood on the veranda in front of the Sea Crest Inn, a formidable sentinel with her arms crossed underneath her impressive breasts. “You’re disturbing our guests.”

  “We’re looking for Angelique Durand and T.L. Baldwin and we got a tip that they’re here.”

  Birdie frowned and turned her accent up to eleven. “It’s too late that you are. You just missed them. I thought I heard them say they were headed to Mariner’s Fish Fry.”