by Annie Knox
I passed a squirming Jinx to Taffy, pushed my way through the growing crowd, and yanked open the front door.
Right there on the sidewalk, Sherry was having a screaming match with a gawky man in a Vikings sweatshirt. The man—Nick Haas—held a massive Rottweiler on the end of a leash.
I made my way toward the arguing couple, careful to give the dog with his blocky head and pugnacious stance a wide berth.
“What the holy heck is going on out here?” I hissed.
“He’s deranged,” Sherry barked.
“I’ve changed, Sherry,” the man pleaded. “I’ve changed for you. We’ve been apart for a couple months now, so you don’t know. But if you’d give me another chance, you’d see. I’ve cut back on the booze, cleaned out my apartment, got rid of the weed. I’ve done it all because I love you. Why don’t you get that?”
“Oh, I get it all right. You’re a pathetic loser, Nick. You say you’ve cut back on the drinking, but you reek of whiskey right now. You’re thirty-six years old, and your ‘apartment’ is in your mom’s basement. Pathetic. I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s over.” She glanced at the curious faces pressed against the front window of Trendy Tails. “Please just go, before you ruin everything.”
“Sherry—”
“Loser!”
In a blink, Nick’s mournful expression morphed into one of pure rage. He raised his arm, hand curling into a fist, and I instinctively drew back.
Sherry, however, lunged at him, pushing him away with outstretched hands.
And that’s when the dog sprang forward, snarling and gasping as it strained against the leash in an effort to attack the person who threatened its master.
A terrified bleat escaped my lips, and I instinctively scrambled backward, away from the dog . . . even though I knew that was exactly the wrong thing to do.
Nick yanked hard on the leash. “Razor! Down! Heel!”
At first I thought there was no way the commands would seep through the bloodlust in the dog’s brain, but Razor must have been well trained at some point, because with one more “Down!” he dropped back on his haunches.
I looked at Sherry and saw she had stood her ground, wrapping her arms protectively around Gandhi. I had to give her credit for thinking of the safety of her pet before her own, though she’d been supremely foolish to go on the offense against a man with that kind of dog.
“Listen,” I said, “you both have to leave. Right now.”
“I’m engaged in a lawful protest,” Sherry said. “You can’t make me leave.”
“I can call the cops and report a fight in front of my store. Disturbing the peace? Assault? Half a dozen people saw you push this man.” I pointed at the row of faces pressed against the glass, watching the drama unfold.
“Sherry, please, come with me,” Nick said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I’d been so wrapped up in the fight, I hadn’t realized Rena had joined us.
“You two both need to cool off.” Rena handed Nick a white paper bag. “Some pupcakes for Razor. Take her home, Nick. Get some sleep.”
Her? That behemoth of a dog was a girl? I was impressed.
To my surprise, Nick smiled wistfully at Rena and took the bag of treats. “You’re good people, Rena Hamilton.”
“Thanks, Nick. Tell your mom I said hi.”
His mom? How on earth did Rena know Nick Haas’s mother?
He walked off, tugging at the leash to keep Razor in check. He looked back over his shoulder at Sherry once, but he never stopped.
Rena then turned her attention to Sherry. “Go home.” Rena’s voice was hard, urgent.
Sherry’s brows knit and her lower lip softened, quivered ever so slightly. “Rena,” she said softly.
“I’m not messing around. Leave. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”
Sherry sneezed, then straightened her spine and hoisted her sign. “I can’t do that. Putting animals in clothes just isn’t right. I have to stand up for what I believe.”
“Right. You stand up for your principles as long as it’s not an inconvenience. Is that it? I mean, you sure didn’t have any trouble backing down in Minneapolis.”
Minneapolis? I had no idea what Rena was talking about. But Sherry sure did. Even in the weak light of the street lamps, I could see the color drain from her face.
“That’s not fair, Rena.”
Rena laughed harshly. “No, you know what’s not fair? You coming around here trying to run us out of business. You’ve never had to work a day in your life, but the rest of us have to. So we can pay our bills. So we can eat. So we can keep a roof over our heads. You get to play at being the great crusader without any thought at all as to how your behavior affects other people.”
Rena’s words took me aback. I knew she hadn’t had a steady job in years. Rena didn’t have much of a filter. If it was in her brain, it was on her tongue. That candor made her a delightful friend, but it got her in lots of trouble with bosses. You can’t expect to keep your job at a high-end boutique when you tell a customer she needs to dress like a grown-up, or continue to wait tables after you dump a bottle of ketchup in the lap of a guy who grabs your tush.
Still, while I knew Rena needed a job, I hadn’t realized how passionate she was about our business venture succeeding. In fact, she’d shrugged off the idea of putting her name on the incorporation papers I’d be signing the next day, insisting that she was just along for laughs.
“You can work without hurting animals,” Sherry bit out.
Rena threw her hands up. “We’re not hurting animals. Did you see what was going on in there?” She gestured wildly toward the store. I glanced over her shoulder and saw that the partygoers were still glued to the entertainment we were providing.
“There are dozens of animals inside, all of them getting love and attention from their people, enjoying tasty snacks, being coddled. Not one of them has been hurt tonight. Not one.”
Sherry, too, started yelling. “How would you know? You can’t talk to them. How would you know if they were miserable?”
“You’re right, I can’t talk to them. But neither can you.”
This fight was going nowhere fast.
“Both of you, enough’s enough.” I looked Sherry square in the eye. “As long as you don’t cause another scene, I won’t call the cops on you. And you”—I turned to Rena—“let’s go back in there and show these people a good time.”
Rena screwed up her face like she was prepared to argue the point with me further. But I held out my hand, and she took it.
Together, we walked back into our boutique. Together, we were going to get our grand opening back on track.
CHAPTER
Four
After I made the rounds inside, assuring all my guests that the fuss was over and that there was nothing to be concerned about, I pulled Rena aside to make sure she was okay.
“I’m sorry I lost my cool out there.”
“It’s okay, Rena. She got on my last nerve, too.”
Rena hoisted Jinx in her arms and pressed her face into the cat’s downy fur. Jinx went limp, allowing her big body to relax into the curves and angles of Rena’s frame.
“You might have been angry at Sherry, but you didn’t go off on her,” she moaned. “She really knows how to push my buttons. But I shouldn’t have gotten into an argument with her. It doesn’t accomplish anything. It’s like hitting your head against a wall.”
Taffy joined us, handing me a cup of mulled cider. “There’s only one way to deal with nut jobs like Sherry. Kill them with kindness.”
Rena snorted. “Or just plain kill them.”
“Taffy’s right,” I said. “I probably should have let her come inside when she wanted to.” A sleepy Packer, worn out from frolicking with all the other dogs (and maybe toying with a cat or two), waddled up to me and pressed the top of his head against my calf. I dropped to one knee so I could massage his wrinkly head and give his ears a good scratch
. “Maybe if Sherry’d seen how happy the animals were, she would have backed down. Or I could have introduced her to Mom. Mom would have worn her down to a nub, taken all the fight right out of her.”
If you really could kill people with kindness, my mom would be the equivalent of a nuclear bomb. Forget lemonade . . . Mom could turn lemons into a meringue pie with nothing but a smile and the cheery force of her will.
“I made amends,” Rena said. “I asked Ken to make a plate for Sherry. He wasn’t very happy about it, but he fixed a plate and wrapped it in foil to keep it warm. I took that, a bag of my human chow, and a couple of melon balls for Gandhi out to her.”
“Really? Rena, I’m proud of you. That was remarkably mature of you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Geez, I’m in my thirties. You shouldn’t be shocked that I acted like a grown-up.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that I get the sense there’s bad blood between you and Sherry. It must have been tough to swallow your pride and make that peace offering.”
She shrugged, but I could see a hint of color in her cheeks. She began futzing with Jinx’s collar, tucking it beneath the edge of the kitty capelet.
Keeping my head down and looking up at Rena through my lashes, I casually posed the question that had been eating at me all evening. “What happened in Minneapolis?”
She paused, midtuck. “It’s a long story. And old news. We were both there for a few months about ten years ago, while you were in Madison. I’d rather not dredge it up.”
We’re all entitled to our secrets, but it hurt to have Rena shut me out. We’d drifted apart when I’d left for college and Rena had stayed in Merryville to look after her dad, a chronic alcoholic with a failing liver and a nasty disposition. I knew, objectively, that we’d both had lives during those years. Friends, adventures, highs, and lows.
But when Casey started his residency and we moved back to town, it felt like Rena and I slipped right back into “best friend” mode. She had been with me during Casey’s great defection, had seen me at my most pitiable, had matched me spoon-for-spoon as I drowned my misery in ice cream. I thought we were transparent to each other, but now I learned there was a shadow, a part of Rena I couldn’t see.
“Okay,” I said, trying to mask the note of hurt in my voice. I stood up and smoothed down the skirt of my dress with my palms. “Well, whatever it was, I’m glad you moved past it,” I added briskly.
“Who says I moved past it? I took the woman a plate of food. We’re not BFFs.”
I bristled at her snappish tone. Whatever had happened between Sherry and Rena, it brought out the worst in my friend: the mercurial mood swings she’d inherited—or learned—from her unstable dad.
“Girls,” Taffy clucked. “Don’t let Sherry’s nastiness ruin the evening. It looks like she’s gone now, and I, for one, am having a wonderful time.”
I craned my neck to peer out the front window. Sure enough, there was no sign of Sherry or her doom-and-gloom placard.
I forced a smile. “I’m having fun, too. And I want to thank you both for helping me out tonight. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Rena had checked out of our conversation. She had retreated into her own grumpy little world. Her narrow shoulders slumped, and she let Jinx slither from her grasp.
The faint sound of an old-fashioned phone ringer prompted Rena to fish her cell out of her little purse. She looked at the screen, her frown deepening at whatever message she saw there.
She blew out a heavy sigh. “I need some air,” she said. “I think I’ll take Packer for a walk. Poor little guy’s been holding it for hours.”
I resisted the urge to snatch the phone from her hands and read the text myself. The urge to insist that she stay put until we’d closed the breach between us. The urge to demand she spill her guts to me right then and there.
“Sure,” I said, forcing a cheery tone. “His leash is hanging behind the counter.”
She tucked her phone back in her bag and headed toward the back of the store, pausing to grab Packer’s leash and her own down parka and to call my dog to her side.
“Wow,” Taffy said. “She’s in a funk.”
“I know. I wish I knew why.”
Taffy looped her arm through mine. “She’ll come around. You know Rena.”
“That’s the problem,” I muttered. “I thought I knew Rena. But now I’m not so sure.”
• • •
The party was winding down, guests drifting away in ones and twos, while those who remained settled into exhausted camaraderie. Ingrid, Aunt Dolly, my mom, and my older sister, Dru, formed a knot around Ingrid’s photo album, oohing and aahing over pictures of Harvey as a young man. Paul Haakinen, Ingrid’s erstwhile handyman, and my dad were passing a flask back and forth like a couple of delinquents at a high school dance while they traded fishing tips. Xander and my little sister, Lucy, shared a set of earbuds, their heads bobbing in time to something on Xander’s MP3 player.
As I gathered empty cups and plates into a trash bag, Taffy followed behind me with a damp cloth, mopping up stray crumbs and the occasional puddle of spilled cider.
I dropped the last of the cups into the trash bag at my feet. It wasn’t quite full, but I suddenly needed a breath of air, a minute away to think about the inexplicable tension between me and Rena and how I might make it better when she and Packer returned.
I cinched the yellow plastic drawstring on my bag and took Taffy’s bag from her, too.
“I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna run these out to the Dumpster.”
Taffy offered me a small smile of sympathy.
Next to Rena, Taffy was probably my best friend. The Nielson family had owned a cottage on Badger Lake for three generations. Taffy and her sister, Jolly, though, had moved into the cottage as year-round residents a half dozen years before, after their parents were struck and killed by a drunk driver while walking the family dog.
Taffy and Rena were both short, making me feel Amazonian in their company, but where Rena was all spikes and angles, Taffy was as soft and tender as a buttermilk biscuit. With a halo of golden ringlets, eyes like pools of melted toffee, Cupid’s bow lips, and Rubenesque curves, she defined comfort. Her smile felt like a hug, and I needed one about then.
Returning her smile with a weary one of my own, I hefted the bags, one in either hand, and pushed into the kitchen.
Ken was still puttering around, packing leftover chicken and pasties into tinfoil trays to send home with the last guests.
“Everyone gone?” he asked.
“Just about. The inner circle is still hanging around, but all the customers have left. You can head out whenever you want.”
“Great. I just need to wash up the last of the trays. Everything else is packed and ready to go.”
He leaned his hip against the edge of the kitchen sink and wiped his hands on a candy-striped tea towel. The dainty towel looked out of place in his large, square hands. He had the beefy build of a former football player, the sort of physique that seemed to fill up the room, consume all the air. He was carefully polished, dressed like an urban accountant playing at country squire, with his khakis pressed, his loafers spotless, his braided belt looped just so. Still, there was something vaguely threatening about him. Something that made me want to take a step back.
“You had a great turnout,” he said.
“Thanks. Yeah, I’m happy with how it all went.”
I found myself seeking the doors with my eyes, as though my subconscious was plotting my escape. I forced myself to meet his gaze.
“The food was great,” I said. “I handed out your cards to everyone.”
His lips flattened in a grim smile. “Great. Two years ago Midwest Magazine listed me as one of the top ten rising stars in the culinary world, and now I’m passing out cards, hoping to cater a company Christmas party or a sweet sixteen bash.”
I didn’t know quite what to do with that statement. After all, we weren’t friends.
“Well,” I said, “we do what we have to do.”
He laughed. “Ain’t that the truth. When you were a little girl, did you dream of designing clothes for spoiled schnauzers?”
His question hit home, and I felt a rush of warmth to my cheeks. As if my sisters weren’t bad enough, now this total stranger felt the need to question my life choices. “Honestly? No.” I hoped that would end the matter.
But then he nodded like I’d confirmed his grim worldview. For some reason, I didn’t like the idea that he and I were on the same side of some philosophical divide. “Life doesn’t always go as planned,” I argued, “but that’s not always a bad thing.”
Ken quirked one thick brow.
Well, Ken might not believe in the guiding hand of fate, but I sure did. I wasn’t about to let his sour mood put another layer of tarnish on my grand opening.
“Would you get the door for me?” I asked. I hefted the trash bags a little higher to emphasize my need to keep moving.
He strolled across the kitchen, that irksome half smile still on his face, and pulled open the heavy oak door.
I scooted past him, pushing open the storm door with my hip. Three concrete steps carried me down to the brick paved alleyway that ran between the houses on Maple and those on Oak, one block over. Now that many of the houses in the historic district had been converted to shops and galleries, the alley was lined with trash receptacles, stacks of wooden pallets waiting to be recycled, and the occasional storage shed.
The light in the alley came primarily from a number of security lights rigged with motion sensors. Down the block, a light blinked on as a stray cat skulked along the wall. My own movement tripped a light on the back of the Oak Street building that housed Xander’s Spin Doctor record shop and a salon called Shear Madness.
I paused to take a deep breath, letting the cool, damp air fill my lungs. From inside, I heard Ingrid’s shockingly deep belly laugh, and the thud of someone knocking something over. Maybe a chair.
The homey sounds, muffled by the warm redbrick walls, served to emphasize the delicious silence in the alley. I gave myself a moment to simply enjoy the peace.
