by Annie Knox
I held out a hand and pulled Rena up into a hug, reaching out to clasp Ingrid’s hand, too.
“Ladies, we’re all turning a page in our lives. Here’s hoping the next chapter is more wonderful than the last.”
CHAPTER
Three
The night of the grand opening, Jinx, Packer, and I got decked out in our best duds. Packer wore his green-and-gold hoodie in honor of the Green Bay Packers, for whom he was named. Jinx endured a posh purple capelet, to satisfy the Vikings fans in the crowd, and a jeweled dangle on her collar. I was the Switzerland of local football, so I slipped on my one and only little black dress.
Even Rena dressed up for the occasion in a fitted red satin dress and fishnets. She still sported her Doc Martens, but she spiffed them up with red ribbon laces, and she exchanged her usual messenger bag for a tiny black patent cross-body purse. Her ferret, a chocolate roan named Valrhona, wore a ruff of black velvet edged in rhinestones around her neck.
We opened the doors to Trendy Tails promptly at six o’clock. The sun had just set, and the streets of Merryville were draped in indigo twilight, the old-fashioned streetlights slowly humming to life. The air smelled of frost and woodsmoke, and the golden light from the antique chandeliers inside the store beckoned warmly. Postcard-sized announcements about our pet costume contest at the annual Halloween Howl were scattered about the store, and the scents of Ken’s delicious hors d’oeuvres wafted through the shop.
Within the hour, guests poured in, many with their pets in tow. Xander Stephens had wisely decided against bringing his brilliant green iguana. But all the furry beasts were in attendance.
I was in the middle of greeting my sister Dru and her tabby, Poppy, when Rena grabbed me by the arm.
“Look who just showed up,” she hissed. Rena jerked her head toward the front of the store where I saw Priscilla Olson and her husband, Hal, had shown up with their Persian, Kiki. A perfectly coiffed silver chinchilla, Kiki looked like a puff of dandelion fluff. Her mommy, Pris, held her draped over one shoulder of her cobalt dress. Limp and passive, the cat could have passed for a fur stole. “After all the trash she’s been talking about Trendy Tails, I can’t believe her nerve.”
“Actually, thanks to the Halloween Howl, we’ve been forced to declare a sort of cease-fire in the pet wars,” I explained.
Every year, the Merryville merchants hosted a safe alternative to trick-or-treating for the kids in town, the Halloween Howl, at Dakota Park. Lots of candy for the little ones, more substantial fare for the adults, face painters, apple bobbing, even hay rides around the park’s perimeter. Most of the businesses in Merryville’s historic district would be involved this year: the Grateful Grape, the Happy Leaf Tea Shoppe, Joe Time Coffee, and the Thistle and Ivy were providing refreshments, and Xander was reaching into the Spin Doctor’s vaults to DJ some spooky music. The Merryville Gazette, which sponsored the event, had asked Prissy’s Pretty Pets and Trendy Tails to coordinate a new feature of the Howl: a pet costume contest.
“I don’t expect the cease-fire to last past Halloween. Still, I should go make nice,” I said.
I made my way across the store and greeted Pris and Hal with a tiny wave.
“Hi, Prissy. Thanks for coming.”
I extended a hand in greeting. Pris barely brushed her long delicate fingers over mine, as though she didn’t want to be rude but was worried she might catch something from me. As if to confirm her worst fears, I picked that moment to sneeze, which sent me scrambling for the tissue I had tucked in the sleeve of my dress. Pris’s glossy peony pink lips slid into a closemouthed cocktail party smile.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” she oozed. “And bless you.”
Hal Olson, the RV king of the upper Midwest, leaned in to shake my hand properly. His massive hands enveloped mine. A few stray hairs, bleached gold by the sun, curled around a chunky signet ring on his right hand. “Always happy to support new business in Merryville. Lifeblood of the community. If I have my way, this little burg will be growing like gangbusters over the next couple of years.”
Hal’s smile was all teeth, square, white teeth that contrasted sharply with the permanent tan of a veteran golfer. He was a solid man, stocky and barrel-chested, his thick sandy hair cut brutally short to eliminate any hint of a curl.
Hal was only a few years older than me. But two decades spent walking the largest RV lot in all of Minnesota and the Dakotas had pickled his features to a sort of indeterminate middle age. Near as I could tell, he had two modes: the “damn glad to meet you” enthusiasm he was exuding that night and a grim-faced, no-nonsense, businesslike bustle. On, or off, nothing in between.
In contrast, Pris had mastered a carefully neutral grace. She glided through rooms, bestowing the blessing of her smile on the privileged, not deigning to acknowledge those she found unworthy. She presided over church socials, hospital guilds, and the garden club like one to the manor born. Pris had been homecoming queen our senior year in high school, and it seemed she’d never really gotten off the float.
She still looked like a homecoming queen, too. Wide cornflower eyes, upswept wheaten hair, the sort of willowy figure only granted to the young and the genetically gifted . . . the only thing missing was the sash.
“Well,” I said, “I’m glad you two could make it. And thank you for bringing Kiki along.”
“Oh, she’s just our precious, precious baby,” Pris oozed. “Isn’t that right, Hal?”
“Yes, dear.”
“In fact, we just had her portrait done. Hal, show Izzy the pictures.”
Hal sighed, but did as he was bid. He fished around in his back pants pocket for his wallet and flipped it open. He let the little plastic picture sleeve unfold, accordion-style. There were three pictures: one of Kiki wearing a big blue satin bow, one of Kiki wearing a tiny tiara (that I have to admit I admired just a bit), and one of Pris holding Kiki up like some sort of Olympic medal.
“They’re lovely,” I said. “She’s beautiful.”
I reached out a hand to stroke Kiki’s silky white head.
Either the cat was psychic or had some sort of bionic sense of smell, but somehow she knew I was close before I touched her. She reared back in Pris’s arms, bending like a world-class gymnast, claws spread wide and teeth bared in a crazed hiss.
“Whoa!” I jerked my hand away as Pris stumbled to keep hold of her off-balance little bundle.
Hal laughed, a booming chortle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that cat move so fast in my life. Usually just lies there like a pelt.”
Pris snapped at him. “Hal!”
“Oh, well, you know what I mean.” He cleared his throat and patted his stomach, obviously discomfited by his wife’s anger. “Always been more of a dog person.”
I took that opening and ran with it. “Would you like to meet Packer? Or my sister Lucy’s dog? Both Packer and Wiley are extremely friendly.” In fact, Wiley was a bit too enthusiastic for a party environment, always jumping and leaping and lunging. As much as I loved the dopey guy, I half wished Lucy had left him at home. I couldn’t shake the fear that he’d snatch a canapé off someone’s plate or try to French kiss one of my guests.
Hal’s eyes lit up, but Pris put a restraining hand on his arm. “You don’t want to smell like dog, dear.”
“No. No, I suppose that’s right. Wouldn’t want to upset the, uh, cat.”
Poor Hal, I thought. Everyone should be allowed to smell like dog now and then. But then, I got the distinct impression that Kiki wasn’t the only member of the household who would be offended by a dog-smelling Hal.
“Well, I should mingle,” I said before I got stuck negotiating a marital spat.
I beat a hasty retreat to the barkery area, where Rena was busy feeding bits of a canine cookie to a tiny schnauzer.
“Good heavens,” I said, “that cat’s out for blood.”
“Where?” Rena craned her head to see where I’d come from. “Who, Kiki? She looks like she’s asleep.”
Sure enough, when I glanced over I saw that Kiki had once again collapsed over Pris’s shoulder.
“Huh. Go figure. Cat must be schizophrenic.”
“If I had to live with Pris and Hal, I’d be a little crazy, too.”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . Hal’s all right,” I muttered.
Rena chuckled. “You’re right. Pris is a special kind of horrible. But Hal’s no prince himself. Kinda handsy, you know?”
“Really?” I was genuinely surprised. Hal had always been a straight arrow. Eagle Scout, deacon at Trinity Lutheran . . . and I heard he was thinking of running for mayor of Merryville.
“Oh, he’d never make a pass at you,” Rena said.
“Thanks,” I deadpanned.
Rena gave me a gentle shove. “That’s not what I mean. Hal’s not stupid. He’d never try anything with you, because he knows he’d never get anywhere. But girls he thinks are easy? That’s a whole other story. It’s never anything big, just a touch that lasts a little too long or a gaze that drifts below the neckline. That sort of thing. No overt come-on, but his interest is still unambiguous.”
“I can’t imagine Pris putting up with that.”
“Meh.” Rena shrugged. “Who knows what goes on behind closed doors? Or what people can ignore if they don’t want to see?”
“I guess you’re right.” Who was I to judge? I didn’t notice that Casey was carrying on an affair with six-percent-body-fat Rachel until their moving truck hit the Perry County line.
I scanned the room to make sure everyone was having a good time. A commotion by the front door caught my eye.
“Oh heavens,” I moaned. “Speaking of things you want to ignore.”
Sherry Harper stood in the open doorway of Trendy Tails, letting the biting night air inside, a crudely painted sign in her hand: NAKED IS NATURAL. Ingrid—who had surprised us all by donning a lovely green plaid shirtdress for the evening—blocked Sherry’s way, but I knew she couldn’t hold her off for long.
“I’ll be back,” I said.
I managed to make it through the milling crowd of partygoers with a smile on my face. But the moment I reached Ingrid’s side, I let the mask slip.
“Sherry, honestly? I can’t stop you from protesting my store, but you certainly can’t come inside with that sign.”
“I just wanted to warm up,” she said. Her gaze shifted, and she eyed a passing mug of steaming hot cider with a look of raw yearning.
“I know it’s cold, but if you want to protest, you have to do it outside. On the sidewalk. Otherwise, I’ll call the cops.”
“Of course you will,” Sherry said, a smile of grim satisfaction on her face. “You’d let Gandhi freeze, wouldn’t you?”
That’s when I saw that Sherry once again had her baby sling draped across her chest. The white canvas shifted, betraying the living being nestled inside.
“Well, geez, Sherry. Why would you bring him out on a night like this?”
Her smile faltered. “I couldn’t just leave him home alone.”
I suspected it was Sherry who didn’t want to be alone. In my experience, guinea pigs are perfectly content with the occasional hour of downtime.
“Be that as it may, you cannot bring your protest inside, Sherry. If Gandhi is cold, you need to take him home.”
“Fine,” she snapped. She struggled to get back out the door, fumbling the unwieldy sign.
“What was that all about?”
I turned to find my older sister, Dru, hovering behind me.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Dru narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.
Everyone said the McHale sisters could pass for triplets. Lined up in family photos, we were three Irish lasses with dark wavy hair, moss green eyes beneath straight raven brows, skin as pale as moonlit snow, and identical left-tilting smiles. But the instant we opened our mouths, our distinctive personalities left little room for confusion over who was who.
“Don’t mess this up, Izzy,” Dru chided. “Mom about died when Aunt Dolly said she was loaning you so much money. She’s a widow on a fixed income. If you don’t pay her back, you know Mom will, even if Mom and Dad can’t really afford it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m just being honest,” my sister said, lips turned down in a familiar scowl.
In Dru’s eyes, honesty justified all manner of mean and hurtful comments. Normally, I would just brush off one of her nuggets of sisterly honesty, but a part of me suspected she was right. Uncle Ned had actually left Aunt Dolly with a comfortable nest egg when he passed away, but I still felt awkward about borrowing money from family. Whether I liked it or not, my parents’ well-being was in my hands, because my parents weren’t as well-to-do as Aunt Dolly, but Mom would give her last dime to pay my debt to Dolly if I could not.
“Be careful, Dru,” our baby sister, Lucy, quipped, as she sidled up with a glass of wine dangling loosely in her grip. “If you’re not careful, your face will stick that way.” Lucy twisted her mouth in an exaggerated frown, then laughed. “Lighten up. It’s a party.”
“Life’s always a party for Lucky Lucy and Dizzy Izzy,” Dru snapped, invoking our much-hated childhood nicknames. Lucy had a particular knack for never getting caught doing the wicked things she did, a knack that had encouraged her to be impulsive and a little bit spoiled. In my case, my naïveté and overall gullibility had earned me my moniker. Well, that and the time in fourth grade when Rena challenged me to a playground spinning contest and I ended up puking all over Sean Tucker.
Dru stood a little straighter in her sensible, accountant-appropriate low-heeled pumps. “Some of us have to be responsible grown-ups.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Yes, thank heavens Dru the Shrew is around to save us from our silliness.”
Lucy and I didn’t care for our nicknames, but Dru positively hated hers. She turned on her heel and stalked off in a huff.
“You shouldn’t have called her that,” I said. “She’s not a shrew. She’s just . . .”
“Uptight?” Lucy suggested.
“A little. But she means well.”
“So,” Lucy said, craning her neck to take in the entire party, “this is what you do now, huh?”
“What do you mean?” I narrowed my eyes, studying my crafty little sister. Dru came right out and said mean things. Lucy tended to be more subtle, and I often missed the subtext of her comments. But even I could tell there was something snarky on the tip of Lucy’s tongue.
“It’s just that I thought you wanted to be a fashion designer.”
“I am a designer.”
“For dogs.”
“Not just dogs,” I said.
“Right. Dogs and cats.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, cringing inwardly at the needy note in my voice.
“Nothing,” Lucy said with a casual lift of one shoulder. “If that’s what you want to do.”
She leaned in close and cocked her head. “Is this what you want to do? I mean, you don’t even like dogs.”
“I do too like dogs,” I huffed. “I live with one, don’t I?”
“Casey bought that dog. You just got stuck with him.”
That was true. And it was also true that dogs—big dogs, at least—made me a little nervous. Once, when I was about eight, I went to a sleepover at a friend’s house. She had a Great Dane, almost as tall as I was. While the dog put up with all the other little girls patting it and wrapping ribbons around its neck, it took an intense dislike to me. When I touched it, the dog set off for the kitchen, ran two vigorous laps around the house, then ran past me, leg up, peeing on me as he went. True story.
Ever since, I had been a bit wary around big dogs.
“I like dogs,” I insisted.
“Still,” Lucy said, letting the word drag out like a fisherman’s line.
And like a fish, she hooked me. I felt the heat rush to my face in a ferocious blush.
Why was everyone so s
keptical that this was what I wanted to do? I admit, when I dreamed of a career in fashion, I had imagined designing clothes for a New York Fashion Week runway, clothes that would grace the pages of glossy magazines, clothes that would wow the paparazzi at red carpet events.
I had not imagined myself designing hamster hoodies and canine car coats.
But while my family, my former design school colleagues, and basically the whole wide world seemed to think I should want something more or different or better, I couldn’t imagine having more fun than I did sewing teeny tiny jackets for pugs and bejeweling collars for pampered Himalayans.
If only I had a better grip on the business end of things, I’d be over the moon with joy about my new venture.
“Maybe this isn’t what I imagined my life would be like,” I ground out, “but did you imagine you’d be working as a court reporter? I mean, what happened to law school?”
Lucy laughed. “Oh my. Touché, sister. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Izzy!” My friend Taffy Nielson, owner of the Happy Leaf Tea Shoppe just down the street, hustled over to my side. “Tim Hodges said his wallet’s gone missing,” she hissed.
“Oh, that’s got Val’s name written all over it.” I sighed. Rena’s ferret had a tendency to pick pockets. Thankfully, the rodent always stashed her loot in the same spot, in the fleece-lined hammock we’d strung up for her at the back of the barkery. “I’ll take care of this.”
I suggested Lucy get another pupcake for her amiable border collie, Wile E. Collie, Super Genius, and sent Taffy off to rescue my mother from the clutches of Diane Jenkins, a bartender at the Grateful Grape and one of Merryville’s most talkative souls.
After I returned Tim Hodges’s wallet to him, verified that all of its contents were still in place, and apologized profusely, I threw myself back into the happy mix of my guests and finally came to rest by the cash register. With Jinx nestled in my arms, her rumbling purr lowering my blood pressure with every passing minute, I’d settled into a quiet tête-à-tête with Taffy, picking her brain about whether the local penny saver was a better advertising bargain than the Gazette, when a ruckus outside drew people to the front window of the store.
