by Elle Casey
Greg stands up and rubs his face with his sleeve, trying to remove some of the dog saliva. “I’ve never felt so appreciated,” he says as his face is pulled out of shape by the force of his shirt wiping down his cheek.
“I’d offer you the bathroom, but Amber is camping out in there.”
“I thought you said she was building a log cabin.” He pauses and frowns in confusion.
I just shake my head at him. Poor guy. It takes everything I have in me not to burst out laughing at his naïveté. Or his class. I can’t figure out which is keeping him from understanding what a log cabin is. “Yeah. Well, anyway, don’t you have a plane to catch?”
The awkward feeling between us is back. I know he was trying to tell me something earlier about why he didn’t bring my breakfast, but I don’t understand it and I’m not even sure I want to. After talking to Amber, I realize one thing about Greg: he could seriously complicate my life, and my life is already complicated enough.
“I could . . . catch a later flight.”
I have a hard time swallowing. What is he saying? I can literally feel the blood drain from my face as my entire body goes cold. “What?”
“If you need any help here or whatever. I have a little free time in my schedule.”
I find myself shaking my head, and I don’t even know what I’m saying no to. Do I need the extra help? What would that extra help mean? Does he feel sorry for me, or is he into me like Amber said he is?
“Or not,” he says hurriedly. “I can still catch the flight I have.” He looks at his watch, his eyes opening wide in surprise. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. I need to take off.” He reaches his hand out toward me.
I look at it, slowly raising my arm and putting my palm against his. His grip is firm and businesslike as he shakes my hand up and down a couple times. “It was nice talking to you and seeing you again,” he says. “Take care.”
“Yeah, you too,” I say in a daze. This feels so weird. And I’m pretty sure this would be weird to anybody, not just a girl who never gets off the farm and who hasn’t had a date in eight months. What the heck just happened? We went from friendly and easygoing to suddenly . . . what? Lawyer and client?
He pulls his hand from mine and walks to the front door, turning around as he holds on to the doorframe. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but then he drops his eyes and lifts his hand in a silent goodbye and walks out, shutting the door behind him.
Not two seconds later, Amber emerges from the bathroom. “Well? How did it go?”
I shake my head at her, supremely disappointed in her shenanigans and how it all worked out. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
“What? All I did was go to the bathroom.”
I leave her there, going into the back room to nurse my patients’ wounds along with the new ones I just inflicted on myself by starting to fall for a guy who is wholly inappropriate and not at all interested in me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Two weeks go by, and I find myself thinking about Greg a lot more than I should. Of course I haven’t heard a word from him. Why would I? That stuff Amber said about us having a spark between us was just her imagination. Hers and mine. He was just being a nice guy, helping out a woman in need. He’s a dog lover after all, like I am. I would do the same thing if I saw somebody else’s dog needing a hand. It meant nothing.
I wish that was the only sad news I have going on, but it’s not. Banana is doing great, but the rest of my life . . . not so much. The legal document that was sitting on my desk when Greg dropped by has now become a huge problem for me. Normally, I’d just send that stuff off to my lawyer, but this time it’s not going to work.
“He loved you guys so much,” my lawyer’s secretary says, sniffing over the phone. “He said it always brought him so much peace to spend time out at the farm. You really made a difference in his life. He probably would have had a heart attack a lot sooner if he hadn’t spent a month every year with your family, decompressing from the stress at work.”
“That’s really nice to hear. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know you two worked together for a long time.”
She sighs, her voice quavering when she responds. “Yes. Twenty-two years we worked side by side. He was a great boss. He really cared, you know? That’s pretty rare these days.”
“Yeah. I do know.” I can think of at least one lawyer who seems like he cares, but the rest of them? Nope. All they think about is money and making me pay it. “Thanks, Winifred. Let me know if we can do anything from over here.”
“You did a lot for Robert. Thank you for that. Have a good day. Give my love to your family.”
“Will do.” I hang up the phone and stare at the stupid lawsuit that has both my name and my business name on it. They’re not just suing the clinic; they’re going after me personally. According to them, I’m violating some rules against running a certain type of business on our land, and I don’t have the proper license—and can’t have one—to do what I do. I know for a fact that they’re incorrect about this, because we’ve already gone around and around this issue with them, but now I don’t have a lawyer anymore, and I don’t know what the heck I’m doing when it comes to the law. It’s almost as if they knew Robert was ill and waited until he was a goner before they filed this suit.
The only other lawyer I know who isn’t in the town council’s pocket is Greg Lister, but there’s no way I’m calling him. Besides, he probably isn’t even licensed in Maine. He won’t be able to help me, and I’ll put him in the awful position of having to tell me that to my face, or over the phone, which is almost as bad. No, I have to solve this problem another way. I chew my lip as I consider my options:
Option One: I could contact a lawyer in another town. An appointment with an out-of-town lawyer would cost me a fortune, at least two hundred bucks just for the privilege of sitting down with him or her to talk about my case. And it wouldn’t be a short conversation either. I have a box full of documents that pertain to my relationship with the town that would take hours to go through.
Option Two: I could talk to my moms and see what they say. I immediately cross this idea off my list because I know exactly what would happen if I did that: they’d get the band involved, and then all of them would start yammering on and on about that damn settlement and giving me their opinions about how I should be living my life and what I should be doing with it. Yes, the settlement would solve my money problem—easy peasy, lemon squeezy, as my sister would say. But I can’t take the easy way out. Like my mothers have always said: the easy way is never the best way, and down the easy path lies misery. Aren’t I miserable enough? That money has come to represent shattered dreams for me, and those are things I’d rather bury than keep alive.
Banana is recovering, but my love life is as crappy as ever. I’m too chickenshit to go to the bar and pick someone up to kick-start anything. And after spending that evening with Greg, the only guy I can think about in that way is him. He’s ruined me, at least for the time being. It’s this lawsuit that’s messing with my mind. I need to find an answer . . . a solution that won’t send me to the poorhouse or require that I bend my morals in order to make it work.
Option Three: I could pray. Praying is free and it certainly couldn’t hurt. I look up at the ceiling and send out my silent petition. Universe . . . God . . . Almighty One . . . Mother Nature . . . Zeus . . . if you’re listening . . . please send me a sign.
The phone on the desk rings, making me jump. A shiver runs through me. “Whoa. Talk about the power of prayer.” I pick up the handset and put it to my ear. I notch up the cheer in my voice because I could actually be receiving a call thanks to Jesus. “Hello, animal clinic, Rose speaking.”
There’s no one there at first, but then I hear breathing.
“Hello?” I frown at the phone. The caller ID is showing me nothing, and no one is responding. It’s more than a little disappointing that I’m getting static after asking God for a sign. I’m afraid it m
eans I’m sunk and out of options.
“Hello?” I swear I can hear someone there. It’s a man, I know it is. He’s blowing man-breath all over the phone. God sure has a sick sense of humor. “I can hear you breathing, you know. Not cool to call here and not say anything.”
There’s a really long exhale that feels like it’s creeping through the phone lines and going right into my ear . . . and then the line clicks and goes dead. I put the handset in the cradle and push the chair away from the desk, staring at the phone that until this moment never looked scary to me. Goose bumps stand out on my skin.
What the hell was that? Definitely not a sign from above. Below, maybe, but not above. It’s nothing. Of course it’s nothing. Crank callers are rarely evil, dangerous stalkers, right? Naahhhh . . . My brain quickly searches for an alternate, less alarming explanation for the call and the breathing.
Maybe it’s because I was thinking about Greg before the call came through, but the first thought that jumps into my head is: It’s him! Perhaps Greg called me but chickened out at the last minute when he heard my voice, just like I chickened out about going to the bar and executing my amazing pick-up-any-guy-that’s-breathing plan. Greg is shy. He’s probably having a hard time settling down after our magnetic encounters, just like I am. He can’t possibly be unaffected. We have chemistry. Amber says so, and Emerald has backed her up. That makes it practically a fact.
There’s only one way to find out whether my theory is correct, and I could kill two birds with one stone by following through on this idea.
Option Four: I could call Greg at his office. I’ll find out if he was my anonymous caller and I’ll also ask him for some legal advice. I won’t hire him or anything, but surely he can point me in the right direction. He’s a friend of the family, right? Amber might not agree with that, but Emerald would.
I feel energized over Option Four as I surf the Internet, using the iPad Amber left at my desk to find his number and dial it. This is totally going to work. After reaching the receptionist and being passed around to several other people at his firm, he finally picks up the line.
“Lister.”
He sounds so cold. I smile when the image of him being licked to death by a rambunctious border collie forces that sensation away. Greg couldn’t be cold if he tried.
“I thought your name was Greg,” I say teasingly.
“It’s Greg Lister. Can I help you?” The chill is still there, full force. It throws me off. I’m instantly battling with myself over the wisdom of executing Option Four. Should I hang up or push through to the end? The end is not looking good . . .
“Hello?” he prompts, sounding annoyed.
Now who’s the heavy breather? “Yeah. Sorry. Um . . . this is Rose. Rose Lancaster? From Glenhollow Farms?”
“Oh.” I hear shuffling and then silence. “Rose.”
“Yes. Hi. How have you been?” I’d say anything to melt the ice that’s coating his voice. This is the best I can come up with. I’m doomed. We are over before we even got started.
“Fine. Thank you. What can I do for you?”
Any trace of warmth he might have had toward me is clearly gone. I feel like a complete fool for calling him, but what’s done is done. I need to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Um . . . did you by any chance just call here?” I ask.
“Call where? The farm?”
“No. The clinic.” I already know his answer will be in the negative. I can tell by the annoyed tone in his voice. Why did I call him? I should have known he wouldn’t call just to breathe in my ear. He’s a New York City attorney who makes fifteen hundred bucks an hour. He’s got way better things to do than play stalker, and if he ever bothered to call, I’m sure he’d have no problem saying whatever it is he wanted to say.
“No, I did not.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, bye.” I have the phone halfway to the cradle when I hear his voice.
“Wait.”
I put the phone back to my ear. “Yes?”
“Why did you just ask me that question?”
I instantly fall into panic mode. There is no way I can get out of this without sounding like a complete ding-a-ling. If I say there was some weirdo calling me, he’ll wonder why I thought it was him. He might even become alarmed and call my mothers. Or Amber. I’m not sure which of these options would be worse, so I fall back on the only plan I have left.
“Oh, shoot. Animal emergency just walked in. Gotta go!” I quickly hang up before either he or I can say another word.
I sit there panting, sounding like a freight train chugging down the line. My face is hot, and I can feel my pulse pounding at my neck. I’m embarrassed, afraid, and feeling totally out of my element. What was I thinking? I acted like a foolish woman desperate enough for a man that she makes up silly excuses to call him. I should have known it wasn’t him on the line; he would never be weird enough to call a woman just to breathe in her ear. I convinced myself it was possible because I wanted to hear his voice . . . and that makes me an idiot. A man like Greg Lister would never be interested in a hippie chick like me. Like my old boyfriend said: I’m basic, and guys like Greg never go for basic. They go for high-end, classy women who spend as much money on makeup and clothing in a week as I spend on this entire clinic in a year.
The phone rings and I literally jump in my seat. Looking down at it, I can see the caller’s number. It has a Manhattan area code. I stand and walk into the back room without touching it. There’s no way in hell I’m answering that call. Noooo way. I open up Oscar Mayer’s kennel and let him run out. Soon, Banana is hobbling into the room after me, and the two of them play for a little while. Even with only two fully functioning legs, my Banana holds his own against this very energetic puppy. Their antics help me to forget the heavy breather and the humiliation of having exposed myself to the band’s lawyer as a complete goober.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Three days pass, giving me enough time to forget how stupid I was to call Greg, and then I have to play the remorse game all over again when he shows up at the farm while the family is eating lunch together in the dining room.
“Greg, we weren’t expecting you,” Red says, standing as Greg knocks on and then walks through the door. I frown as Red walks over to greet our visitor with a handshake, giving the impression that he’s the man of the house. It’s true he has a natural charisma that pretty much everyone, including me, responds to, but I still don’t think it’s appropriate for him to take on an actual authoritarian role here. That’s not how we’ve ever operated before, anyway, but I can see from the bland expressions on my mothers’ faces that they don’t have a problem with this change.
Before I can completely remove the expression of disapproval from my face, I catch Emerald looking at me. She gives me a small shrug, letting me know she’s also put off by it. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s a little bit annoyed by his presumptuous behavior. I look over at Amber, but she’s oblivious. She’s smiling at Greg as she stands.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she says. “Did I forget to finish some paperwork or something? Did you come here to scold me in person?”
Greg lifts his hand in greeting to the group. His unsmiling gaze doesn’t include me. “Hello, everybody.” He shifts his focus to Amber and the band members. “No, I just had some documents to discuss with a few of you. I figured it would be easier to come out here and do it in person rather than trying to do it long-distance.”
“That’s funny . . .” Amber looks directly at me, her expression going sly. “Doing everything long-distance was working out fine before.”
“Yeah, sure. But this situation is a little more complicated.”
Barbara stands. “Come on in and have a seat. We were just having lunch. You’re more than welcome to join us. We have plenty.”
Sam gets up and walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab another chair.”
Amber starts waving her hands at people around the table. “Move o
ver. Move to your right. Make a space there, next to Rose.”
I really wish I could glare at her and send her silent promises of future revenge, but she’s not looking at me. I’d bet a hundred bucks I don’t have that she’s avoiding me on purpose. She’s playing matchmaker, trying to set me up with Greg, and not being at all discreet about it. I really wish I could keep my face from flaming up red, but it’s getting really warm and there’s nothing I can do about it other than drape my napkin over it, and that wouldn’t be obvious at all.
Sam puts a chair down next to me, as ordered. Greg takes a seat, and I hand him the plates and utensils Emerald has retrieved from the sideboard and passed to me.
“Thanks,” he says. His fingers brush against mine when I give him a napkin. They’re cold from being outside. This tiny bit of contact sends a thrill through me, which is completely sad. I really should’ve gone out the other night to the bar when Sam and Em invited me. Maybe if I’d had sex with some random guy, I wouldn’t be so sensitive to a man’s simple touch.
“So, what’s up?” Red asks. “Must be something pretty urgent if it dragged you out here.”
Greg helps himself to some leftover turkey. “It can wait until after lunch. This looks really delicious.”
“Thank you,” Sally says. “I hope you don’t mind leftovers. We had a big turkey dinner last night.”
Greg pauses and looks at his watch. “Did I miss Thanksgiving?”
“No,” I say, when no one else seems ready to explain. “But it was Tom’s time to go.” Several eyes around the table drop in respect.
“Tom?” He looks around for an explanation, but nobody wants to answer him.
I sigh, the duty falling to me. “Tom the turkey. On your plate.”
Greg is about to ladle some gravy onto his meat, but he stops. “Excuse me?”
Em picks up the story. “The meat we eat is from animals we raise here on the farm. Last night and today, we are eating Tom the turkey, may he rest in peace.”
