by Debbie Burns
She tucked her hands under her knees and waited for him to get settled. He’d gotten up to meet her at the door and was now checking something on his computer. Zoe was coloring at a kindergartener-sized table in the corner next to a crowded bookshelf. She’d mumbled a hello as Josie walked in but hadn’t stopped coloring.
Josie’s heart went out to her; like Linda said, this wasn’t Josie’s first rodeo either. When her mother wasn’t reachable, Josie had been called in more than once to help create game plans that might corral Sam’s unruly behavior.
When Principal Wington finally started talking, Josie was as familiar with his spiel as he seemed to be.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” he said as he wrapped up, “but you’re the only parent listed on Zoe’s registration papers. You’d have made the office aware if there was a custody battle of any sort?”
“What’s a custody battle?” Zoe asked, looking up from her drawing for the first time since he’d started talking.
The principal glanced Zoe’s way and drummed his fingers on the desk. When Josie made no move to give him an out, he said, “A custody battle is a disagreement parents sometimes have when it comes to their children.”
“I wasn’t born with a father,” Zoe replied. “I’ve only got one parent.” She dared a quick glance at Josie before looking back at her work.
Zoe’s words scraped Josie like a knife, and she straightened defensively in her chair. The world was full of children growing up in atypical homes. And not everybody had two parents, not even close. “I have sole custody over Zoe. In case of an emergency, I included two contacts aside from myself on her paperwork.” Myra and Linda, but she didn’t need to tell him that.
“Of course.” Mark Wington’s cheeks reddened, and he turned his attention to Zoe. “Zoe, I’d appreciate it if you’d be willing to share a little more about what happened on the playground now that your mom’s here. Both Ms. Richards and I have heard Andrew’s recount of it. It’d be good to hear yours too. All you said earlier was that he was being mean. If you could explain what you meant by that, it could help us understand what happened today.”
Zoe paused with a purple crayon three inches above her paper. She looked from the principal to her mother, then back to her drawing. “He lied about being my best friend. Best friends aren’t ever supposed to be mean to you.” She lowered her head low enough so that her soft brown hair tumbled forward, covering her face.
“The thing is, Zoe, sometimes our friends can hurt our feelings without meaning to. That’s why I was talking to you about other ways to express your feelings when people hurt them.”
“I know that.” Her voice pitched.
Principal Wington seemed to pick up on the fact that Zoe was close to tears. “How about showing us your drawings?”
Zoe shook her head determinedly. “I don’t want to.”
“Zoe, honey.” Josie crossed over to the low table and swept Zoe into a hug. “Principal Wington can help if what’s bothering you has to do with Andrew.”
Zoe’s frayed composure broke like a dam. “Andrew wasn’t being nice at all.” Large tears spilled down her cheeks, and her chin quivered wildly.
“How so, Zoe?” Principal Wington asked, concern evident on his face.
“He said my idea was stupid.”
Josie’s own eyes stung as she swept back Zoe’s long, silky hair. “What idea, baby?”
For a second or two, she seemed about to answer, but then she buried her head in Josie’s chest and sobbed.
Clearly concerned, Principal Wington crossed over and flipped through Zoe’s abandoned pictures.
“I’ve only got three weeks to find a daddy!” Zoe bawled into Josie’s chest.
Josie pulled back to get a better look at her. “What do you mean, Zo?” Gently, she lifted Zoe’s chin and brushed the tears on her cheeks dry.
“Everybody has a dad to bring to Doughnuts with Dads but me. I know because they all said so!” Her words were muffled and broken up in a torrent of sobs and sniffles. “I told Andrew I was going to put up signs like people do for lost dogs, but he said that was stupid. He said I have to wait for you to find a daddy for me. Only you’re never going to do that.”
“That explains this,” Principal Wington said, holding one of Zoe’s pictures for Josie to see.
Dade wontid.
Myras tee gardin.
Nise won onle.
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t I leave you two alone for a few minutes?” He smiled at Josie sympathetically before stepping out and shutting the door.
Josie pressed her cheek against the top of Zoe’s head. Zoe’s tears were soaking through her sweater just as the rain had done. There was so much she needed to say, but she couldn’t summon the words to save her soul.
She remembered that feeling of being scraped raw inside after her own father left. She was young—not much older than four. It surprised her, the strength of the sorrow that returned with the memory, even after all these years.
She survived. Sam survived—that, at least. Kids all over the world survived without fathers. It hurt, but you got over it. You moved on. Grew stronger. Learned to need people less.
Zoe had no idea how good she had it—the love of the wonderful people all around her—right down to the regular customers who brought her Christmas and birthday presents. She was loved. Protected. Doted upon.
Life could be worse. Much worse.
Principal Wington returned with a sympathetic look on his face and a bag of popcorn and a carton of apple juice in his hands. He smiled sheepishly as he passed them to Zoe.
“Here you go, Zoe. For you. But you have to do me a favor and not tell any of your classmates. If all my students thought you got popcorn and juice every time there was a scuffle on the playground, it’d be utter chaos at recess.”
Zoe wiped her nose on her arm and nodded, sniffling heavily.
“Did Ms. Richards explain that Doughnuts with Dads isn’t only for actual dads?” he said. “Anyone can attend—grandpas, uncles, cousins, friends of the family—so there’s no need to put up posters. I’m sure you and your mom can come up with someone once you put your heads together. I’ve even attended a few with some of the kids over the years. So has Janitor Mike. What’s important is that we’ll make sure you aren’t eating doughnuts alone, okay?”
“Okay,” Zoe muttered.
Josie wanted to thank Principal Wington for his kindness, but her throat was dangerously tight. This was different than it had been with Sam. An entirely different ballgame. This hurt.
“We’ll talk to Andrew’s parents again after we get the kids out the door and onto the buses. Thankfully, he’s no worse for the wear. And tomorrow morning, hopefully you can apologize, and the two of you can make up.”
“I don’t think he’ll want to be my best friend anymore.” Zoe sucked on the paper straw of the apple juice box.
“If you ask me, I think it’s better not to have a best friend, at least not right away. Sometimes it’s better to give everyone an equal chance to be your friend.”
The principal was about to say more, but he was silenced by his walkie-talkie going off. Amidst the static, Josie overheard one of the secretaries give a five-minute warning call for dismissal.
“Well,” he said, looking from Zoe to Josie. “Duty calls.”
Josie glanced through the window toward the front at the row of busses that had lined up. Carter was standing on the front steps, looking down at his phone.
“Are we okay to go? Our ride home is here. I asked him to meet us outside.”
Zoe slid off Josie’s lap and ran to the row of windows facing the front of the building. “Carter!” Without pausing to ask permission, she plopped the popcorn and empty juice on the table and dashed out the door.
“Zoe!” Josie stood up, her hand covering her mouth in humiliation. �
�I’m so sorry. She’s just…”
“Unencumbered?” he finished. From the window, they watched Zoe fly down the front steps. She dashed over to Carter and wrapped her arms around his waist in a bear hug.
“Looks like you have a candidate for the doughnut breakfast after all,” the principal said, slipping his hands into his pants’ pockets. His eyes were kind, but the way he said it made Josie’s cheeks flush.
“He’s…a New Yorker.” A New Yorker? Yeah, Josie, that makes everything crystal clear.
“Well, I meant what I said. Neither Mike nor I like to pass up the opportunity for doughnuts and coffee.”
Josie thanked him and reached for Zoe’s drawings. “If we’re excused, I should go talk to her about not running out of a school building without permission.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll walk you out. I have bus duty.”
They reached the front door as Carter and Zoe rounded the top step.
“Mom, I have to get my backpack.” Zoe tugged on Josie’s shirt as they met up on the wide front entryway.
“Okay. Want me to go with you?”
“I can go by myself.” Zoe wiped her nose with the back of her hand and dashed into the school as the bell rang.
“I’m Mark Wington,” the principal said, holding out his hand to Carter.
“Carter O’Brien.”
“I hear you’re a New Yorker.”
“That I am,” Carter said, glancing at Josie curiously.
“Big fan of the Giants?”
“Of course.”
“Me too. And the Yankees. I used to summer in upstate New York every year.”
Josie turned away to flip through the rolled papers in her hand. The second drawing was another version of the poster she’d already seen but with some of the words crossed out as a result of Zoe struggling with the spelling. The third was a picture of a smiling Zoe in her bubbly cartoon drawings standing next to a man. Kartr was written beside it.
As she rolled them up, Josie spotted Zoe through the propped-open doors shuffling through the lobby with her narwhal backpack strapped to her back. She was sandwiched in the middle of a mass of kids heading for their buses. Her eyes were puffy from crying, but there was a happy grin splayed across her face. Oh, Zoe… she thought. How come nobody prepares you for this stuff?
* * *
Josie buckled in and shut the passenger door of Carter’s Mustang after getting Zoe tucked into the back. Beside her, Carter flipped the ignition, and the car rumbled to life.
Twisting in her seat, Josie turned to study Zoe. “We can wait until we get home for the whole story. But I will want it. All of it. And I’m sure you understand there will be consequences for hitting one of your classmates.”
“Did the girl hit back?” Carter asked.
“It was a boy,” Zoe interjected. “My best friend, Andrew.”
“Oh. Then how come you hit him?”
“He was being mean. I felt bad after, especially when he started crying.”
“Was he picking on you?” Carter glanced Josie’s way and dropped his voice. “If he was being mean, maybe the kid deserved it.”
“He wasn’t picking on her at all.”
“Mommy, don’t tell him!” Zoe blurted out, near hysterics once again. “You’ll ruin it. I know you will!”
Josie let out a controlled breath. She was getting a bad feeling about this whole thing. “We’ll talk about this when we get home, Zoe.”
“I know, Mom.”
They rode in silence for a few blocks before Josie noticed Carter was taking a wrong turn. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Actually, we’ve got one more passenger to pick up along the way.”
“Oh, no,” Josie protested. She heard him telling Myra earlier that the dog could be released today. “You’re not planning on putting that giant of a dog in this cramped car with us, are you? There’s no way I’m letting him ride in the back seat with Zoe.”
Carter cocked an eyebrow. “Who says you’d get the front seat over him, anyway?”
“Funny,” she mumbled, but she realized it was the only solution she’d ever be comfortable with.
A half hour later, Josie found herself crammed into the confining back seat next to Zoe, who was grinning ear to ear. The newest addition to Myra’s home—even if he was a temporary one—was leaning his head out the front-passenger window, his dark-pink tongue flailing in the air. Stitched up, rested, fed, and bathed, he was even more giant than he’d first seemed.
He was mostly black with a white chest and brown patches on his cheeks, paws, and above his eyes. Now that he was cleaned up and Josie was so close to him, the small patches above his eyes gave him an added level of expression she’d never seen on Tidbit.
He’d wagged his tail vigorously as he was brought up from the back of the office and spotted Carter, something Carter said was worth every bit of the $1,200 vet bill. He was a good man with a soft heart that he hid behind humor.
Unable to contain her happiness, Zoe clapped her hands and scrunched her shoulders together.
“This is the best day ever,” she said, wriggling in her seat.
Seated behind Carter, Josie reached forward and poked him on the back of the shoulder. “You do get that this totally negates any punishment she receives, don’t you?”
“Sorry. That’s timing for you, isn’t it? When I was a kid, I’d have guessed it was divine intervention. But then again, I suspect my father’s punishments were a bit more physical than yours.” After stopping at a light, he turned to appraise the dog, who looked his way and panted, releasing a single drop of drool on Carter’s leather passenger seat. “He’s a good-looking dog, isn’t he? What do you think we should call him, Zo?”
Josie frowned at the sound of Zoe’s nickname rolling off his tongue so easily.
“Buttercup,” Zoe replied without a bit of hesitation.
“Really? I was thinking something more masculine, since he’s a boy.”
“I always wanted a dog named Buttercup. My whole life.”
Your whole life of six years? Josie had never heard her mention the name, but she wasn’t about to give Carter this out either.
“A hundred-pound Bernese mountain dog named Buttercup, huh?” Carter said. “Think the other dogs at the dog park will make fun of him?”
Zoe cupped her hands over her mouth. “Buttercup!” She called loudly enough that the dog turned his head toward her. “He likes it! He likes it!”
“What’s your mom think?” Carter asked as the light turned green and the Mustang’s engine thrummed to life.
“Buttercup’s a great name,” Josie said, working to suppress a smile as their eyes met in the mirror. “I’d go with it if I were you.”
He chuckled, then reached over to rub the dog at the nape of his neck. “You’d better learn to come when I whistle, boy, because I’m not calling you Buttercup in public.”
A minute later, Carter pulled into Myra’s driveway at the back of the house. The dog turned from the window and licked him eagerly on the cheek. “Welcome to Myra’s, Buttercup.”
Chapter 19
“I simply can’t understand why anyone would want to watch a dog fight another dog.” Myra shook her head from where she sat at the kitchen table next to Zoe, who was making an apology card for Andrew. “How can that vet be sure he didn’t escape from his yard and end up in a scuffle with another free-roaming dog?”
Carter was splaying his legs on the floor against the far cabinets, feeding Buttercup pieces of dog chow by hand. “Mostly he was basing it on the degree of the cuts and bites. It’s hard to tell. He’s a healthy, purebred dog in his prime. If he’d had a caring home recently, you’d think there’d be posts on the lost-dog alert sites. The clinic staff has been checking, and there hasn’t been a single report matching his description all week. He wasn’t
microchipped either. If someone does end up coming forward to claim him, they’d better have a good story as to how he got away.”
“Well, it’s a shame to think a gentle dog like him might’ve been forced to fight another dog for someone’s twisted pleasure.” Myra tsked loudly.
Josie, who was chopping up kale for a salad to go with tonight’s dinner of oven-baked chicken, made an effort to keep her thoughts to herself. While she couldn’t think of a worse form of animal abuse than dogfighting, she wasn’t convinced Buttercup should be labeled gentle after one afternoon at the house. Timid and cautious could also be good descriptors, couldn’t they? And neither of those traits inspired her unending trust. Her hope—and commitment to herself for agreeing to let an unfamiliar dog his size reside in a home with Zoe—was that Carter would remember his promise to keep Buttercup under watchful eye. At least until the dog had actually earned a reputation as trustworthy.
Even so, she’d been a touch surprised how well Buttercup’s introduction to Tidbit had gone this afternoon. The two different-as-could-be dogs had been interested but not overly concerned with one another. Where Tidbit liked to be a part of everything, Buttercup seemed considerably more chill. At least for the moment.
Out of precaution, while Buttercup was eating dinner, Tidbit was shut away in Myra’s room. Though a dog sharing his home would be new to Tidbit, dogs often accompanied their owners on the outside terraces while dining at the tea garden, and Tidbit enjoyed their company. So as long as Buttercup continued to treat Tidbit like he did today, Josie suspected they’d be easy roommates.
Carter slid the dog’s dish behind him and held out his hands to show Buttercup they were empty. Clearly still hungry for more of the food in the bowl, Buttercup calmly took to licking Carter’s hands and wagging his fluffy tail.
“Can I feed him like that?” Zoe asked, losing interest in her apology card once again as she watched the activity on the floor.
“Not yet,” Carter said. “Your mom’s right about one thing. We have to build up trust with him slowly, especially when it comes to small fries like you. Just because he’s easily obedient to me, doesn’t mean he’ll naturally be that way with you.”
