by Laura Quinn
“No, no, he’s telling you what happened,” Claire said. “That’s part of his commission. Come on, we’ll sit at the table upstairs. I’m starving!”
Marti arranged the Chinese buffet while Claire opened a bottle of champagne.
“I thought you were saving that for opening night, not that I’m complaining.”
“We are toasting a $683 sale to our best, and only, customer and her guest, Miranda Lambert,” Claire announced with a dramatic arc of her glass.
“What? Miranda Lambert came here? Salute!”
The two clinked glasses, then Claire told all about her visitor. Baron snored under the table, knocked out from the day’s excitement.
“I’ve heard of Lana Vanderloft, but never met her. A friend of mine handled the estate’s sales contract a few years ago, while you were in New York. Lana bought the old DuPorte mansion and had it completely remodeled by a team she flew in from Paris.”
“She has a beautiful Rolls, complete with a very charming chauffeur, who might be just perfect for Barbara,” Claire said. “I couldn’t help but notice her stunning diamond wedding ring; so large it would have made Elizabeth Taylor jealous. But, she didn’t mention a husband.”
“If I remember correctly, Lana is a widow,” Marti said. “She’s in the society photos all the time, but somehow manages to keep a low profile. I haven’t heard anything substantial about her, a rarity for this town.”
“I invited her to the ice cream social Friday, so maybe you’ll get a chance to meet her,” Claire said. They discussed the day’s news and finalized plans for the Fourth, finishing the meal by cracking open their fortune cookies. Marti scowled and threw her fortune into the brown paper bag. Claire laughed when she retrieved the crumpled paper and read aloud, “patience is a virtue.”
“Hilarious,” Marti, famous for her quick temper, said. “What did you get?”
“Even a hare will bite when it is cornered,” Claire read. “Why do I never get the ‘Fortune favors you’ message?”
Baron barked, encouraging Claire to wrap it up. “Okay, I better get this guy home. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will be another one.” She apologized for dining and dashing, but her friend was glad to have an early night.
Claire loaded everything she needed for the next day into the Land Rover, with only the insulated water jug to remember in the morning. As she drove home, the smell of sulfur hung heavy in the humid air. Rogue fireworks crackled, whooshed and whistled into the darkening sky. The cats would not be pleased.
Chapter 3
Monday, July 4th
Claire sang a medley of patriotic songs as she got dressed in her white shorts and special-edition red Posh Pup t-shirt, adorned with blue and white crystal fireworks. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, secured with a red scrunchie.
Birds chirped outside and sunlight radiated through the kitchen as she prepared breakfast for everyone. The purring pair gobbled creamed tuna from their dishes. Baron sniffed the organic beef stew kibble, then looked to see what Claire had. Neither the grapefruit nor the multi-grain toast spread with fresh strawberry jam appealed to him, so he returned to his bowl. Claire treated herself to time reading the special edition of the North Haven News as she drank a tall glass of iced latte, brewed perfectly by the usually daunting machine in the corner.
“I should always wake up early,” Claire said aloud. “It’s nice to know what’s going on in town. Maybe I’ll even get to read the society pages.”
Crash. Two cats came barreling down the hall, the chase ending with Hercule’s leaping on the plate of toast, flicking a jam-covered slice off his paw and knocking over the glass. Coffee funneled through the newspaper and drenched Claire’s white shorts. “You two!” she shouted as she jumped up to escape the icy liquid. The cats glared at her, shaking their paws when an ice cube slid their way.
“How is this my fault?” Claire demanded of her accusers, before capitulating and accepting responsibility. She offered them their favorite shrimp and mackerel treats, which they eventually ate. Claire tried blotting her shorts with a wet paper towel, to no avail. She ran upstairs, and tore through her dresser to find the white linen culottes she bought at the end of the season. She changed into the new pair, relieved they still fit. On the way down to the washing machine to soak her coffee-stained shorts, she felt something chafing her skin. Following a rummage through her junk drawer, she found scissors to cut off the store tags. Panic struck when she saw the time flashing on the washer’s digital display.
“Baron, we’ve got to go,” she called as she hopped into her left shoe. “We’re just going to make it.”
Baron met her in the foyer and stood patiently as she slipped on his ribbon collar and buckled his American flag harness. Claire turned to get her keys from the table, when she caught her pink-striped undies in the mirror. “Damn! I’ll be right back.” She ran upstairs and stripped off the new pants. She flung off the patterned panties and slipped into a nude pair. She left her shirt hang over the sheer culottes and twirled in front of the mirror to be sure. She raced back down to collect Baron and peeled out of the driveway, nearly running over the row of flags the association had planted in front of every house. “Sorry, I’m running late,” she called out the open window to the elderly couple across the street. “Happy Fourth!”
Finding all the designated parking spaces full, Claire sped to the North Haven Mall’s lot. She grabbed her bag from the back seat and jogged with Baron the half-mile back to the Village Hall. Just before she arrived, she remembered she forgot the water jug. An enterprising child with a water stand saved her from running back to the store, but she was still late.
By the time she reached the float, the Chamber was fully assembled, American flags in hand. Mike stood in the back, practicing with his custom-made Fourth at North Chairman’s pinwheel. Jill Tonelli, flexing in the pink Hummer behind the float, demonstrated her pageant queen wave as Ms. Midwest Fitness. Claire tried to sneak onboard while Mike leered at the bikini-clad beauty, but the flurry of attention to Baron busted them.
“We agreed on quarter past nine, I believe,” Mike snapped, looking at his watch. “I don’t know where we’re going to fit you in now.”
“Oh, give her a break,” Olivia said. “It’s only a few minutes past, and the parade isn’t starting until 10.”
“Part of our responsibility as the first float is to set an orderly example for the others. How will it look if we suddenly get up and make room for latecomers? I don’t know what option we have, if order is to be maintained.”
“They can ride in the car with me,” the driver of the classic red Mustang convertible called out. “I’ll make sure she waves in an orderly fashion.”
“Yes, well I suppose that is an adequate resolution. Thank you, Nick,” the chamber president said, looking at his watch again.
“Alright, young lady, let’s get going,” Nick said, tapping his watch. “We only have a half hour to buckle up before we roll.”
“Has anyone considered if Baron and I want to ride with a stranger?”
The young man hopped out of the car to open the passenger door. He tipped his straw cowboy hat, revealing cropped, sandy-blond hair. “My mama always says if I know your name, you’re not a stranger. I’m Nick Cooper, NHFD Assistant Fire Chief.”
Claire reached out to shake his hand, introducing Baron and herself. Baron extended his paw in formal greeting before jumping into the front seat. Once his two guests were settled, Nick walked back to the driver’s side. A gust of wind snatched his hat, but he jumped up in time to catch it. Claire couldn’t help staring at the tanned, toned abs. She pretended to fix Baron’s bandanna as Nick tucked in his shirt.
“Does he need some water?”
“Huh?” Claire was drowning in his deep blue eyes, rescued by Baron’s nudge. “Yes, I have a bowl for him here.” She refocused as she dug into her tote bag for the water, bowl, towel and snacks. She could feel that her face was flushed, hoping the heat was to blame. She had n
either the time nor the inclination to date, no matter how handsome Nick was.
Before Baron could finish his refreshments, parade participants gathered to meet him. He moved onto Claire’s lap to be closer to his fans, extending his paw as expertly as any of the royal family. The silky fur on his legs rippled gently in the breeze. Nick held the bowl of water, proffering it to the star between lulls.
Mike blasted a five-minute warning over his megaphone and the crowds were ushered back to their positions. The antique fire truck started its engine and the police chief sounded his squad car’s sirens. Nick flicked on the flashing red light on his dash, awaiting the official start.
“Thanks again for taking on stowaways,” Claire said. “Mike can get a bit too intense for me.”
“That man is wound tighter than a three-day clock. Anyway, you’re doing me a favor. A car like this needs a celebrity.”
“I’m pretty sure Baron prefers this air-conditioned, cushioned seat to the wooden float. It looks great, though, doesn’t it? My friend Traci designed it and each of us business owners added a pot with our name blooming from it.”
“It looks great now, but someone should have told your friend that fresh flowers are going to wilt before we reach the first turn. That’s why the Rose Parade is in January.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that. What a shame.”
“Not to mention, they’re going to be inundated with bees,” Nick said. “That’s how I became the lead car. Mr. Barbon is allergic to bees, so I need to be close by to treat him in case of anaphylactic shock. He wouldn’t accept a plain old ambulance to start the parade.”
“How ironic for someone who always has a bee in his bonnet,” Claire joked. She flicked her ponytail in case any buzzed her way.
The parade began on time, much to the delight of the parade watchers who stood in rows from the curb to the edge of the sidewalk. Baron barked whenever he saw a familiar face, signaling Claire to wave more enthusiastically. Claire called out as they passed Barbara’s coveted spot under the shady tree in the middle of the route. She spied Marti and ducked behind the visor, hoping to avoid her friend’s sightline. It was a futile attempt, as Baron outed Claire with a single woof. She would have some explaining to do after the parade.
As they pulled into Lakeside Park, Nick veered off to the prime “officials only” parking area. Steps away from the fest, the roped-off area included its own cooling tent and beverage station. “See, it pays to hang out with us officials.”
“This was so much fun! I felt like a beauty queen, even though I know Baron was the star attraction.”
“You did pretty well in your supporting role,” Nick said.
“How about if I treat you to lunch? I have connections at most of the stands, including the new creperie.”
“I reckon since Mr. Barbon is now in the presence of a team of paramedics, I can leave my post. You’re on.”
Baron was curious about the misting jets in the cooling tent and led Claire there. He stuck his nose in and immediately pulled it back when the water dampened his face. “Shnuff,” he snorted.
The reaction drew a new fan club and more selfies, allowing Nick a moment to check in with his team. As Claire waited, she glanced at her phone. Missed calls and text messages flashed furiously. She didn’t have to look at the list to know that most were from Marti. She braced herself as she hit redial.
“It’s about time,” the voice answered her call. “What were you doing in the that cool car and who was driving? He is seriously hot.”
“Yes, I can meet you at that tent later.”
“OMG, he’s there with you now, isn’t he?” Marti asked. “I’ve got to meet him! Where are you?”
“Okay, see you soon. Bon appétit!”
“Aha, code for the crepe tent. I’m stuck in the crowds outside the gate, but I’ll be there soon.”
Claire slid the phone into her pocket just as Nick returned.
“Sorry about that. There was a last-minute issue with the fireworks permit, but everything is set now,” he explained. “Are you ready to eat?”
Baron answered for her and they set off toward the creperie. Claire told Nick about the various savory and sweet options, but Baron veered in the opposite direction. He followed his nose to the grills marked with the Burger Baron logo.
“I’m sorry, this is one of his favorite restaurants. They made him honorary spokesdog.”
“Do you seriously think a Texan would be disappointed by grilled meat?”
The entire crew abandoned their posts to say hello to their favorite dog. The manager announced to the people in line, “Sorry, folks, our VIP just arrived.”
Claire and Nick ordered their burgers along with Baron’s standing order of lean-beef patty, extra cheese, hold the bun and toppings. They were escorted to the picnic table under the canopy and served drinks and homemade potato chips while they waited. Baron’s bowl was filled with ice water, and he made himself comfortable on the cool, damp grass. She excused herself to check in with her manager and sent a quick text to Marti with the change of venues.
Their burgers were served, steaming hot for humans and lukewarm for the star. Nick was hooked at the first bite. “I drive past this place all the time, but never had the chance to stop in. That’s going to change.” Nick grabbed another handful of chips. “It sure pays to hang with a native.”
“Since I signed the store’s lease, I’ve been spending a lot of time in drive-throughs. Once I make it through this week, I think things will settle down a bit.”
“Not from what I hear. Everyone’s talking about your shop. I think you’ll be so busy, you’ll think you’re twins, as my grandpa used to say. You may be opening a second location by Christmas.”
“One shop suits me fine,” Claire said. “I’ve been travelling so much for the past several years, it’s a relief to be in one place for the foreseeable future.”
“Hey, Claire, what are you doing here?” Marti said, overplaying her innocence. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
“Sure,” Claire said. “Nick, this is my oldest friend, Marti Von Brandt.”
“She means longest friend,” Marti said. “She’s actually two months older than I am.”
“Pleased to meet you, mam. What can I get for you? The blue cheese buffalo burger was amazing.”
“That’s okay,” Marti said. “I have to meet another friend for lunch in a little bit. I’ll have a few of your chips, then I’ve got to run.”
Nick managed to evade most of Marti’s interrogation, diverting her with questions about her friendship with Claire. He even got to see a photo of the high school debate team, with the two girls holding the national trophy.
“No surprise that you became such a successful attorney,” Nick said. “I heard about how you took the former captain to the cleaner when he divorced his wife.”
“He was a real piece of work,” Marti said. “I don’t care if he was your buddy. He deserved much worse.”
“No argument here. I never met him, but I heard he was a grade-A prime asshole,” Nick said. “I also heard he limped home to West Roxbury to be with his mommy after it was suggested he look for a new station.”
“That lying prick,” Marti said. “He said he was personally requested by the Boston fire commissioner to take that job. You made my day, AFC Cooper.”
After two refills of the chips basket, Claire tapped Marti’s foot under the table.
“Well, I better get going or I’ll be late,” Marti said. “It was good to meet you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Nick said, standing as Marti got up to leave.
Claire waved goodbye, using their secret hand signal. She got up and stretched. “I should get going myself. Baron and I are going to are going to take a quick walk around the tents, if you want to join us. Then, I’ve got to get back to work for a few hours before the fireworks.”
Progress was slow, as everyone wanted to meet Baron. Several people told Claire they planned to come to the grand openi
ng events. A few of Claire’s friends pulled her aside to ask her if it was true about the celebrity singer’s appearance in North Haven later that night, though the names changed to artists from Lady Gaga to the late John Denver.
Claire picked up a few ponytail holders from the Golden Oaks Manor tent and grabbed one of their flyers. She hoped they would consider making ribbon collars, as they were much more elaborate than the ones she ordered online. As she tied one onto her ponytail, she tripped over a rope surrounding the neighboring fest committee’s tent.
“That wasn’t there yesterday,” she said, grimacing as she tried to get back on her feet. “They aren’t the royal family; why do they need to be sequestered?”
“Word is they have some pretty sweet swag,” Nick said. “Here, let me look at that ankle.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Don’t be silly,” Nick said. He kneeled down and reached for her foot. Claire jerked her foot back, Baron lurched forward and growled.
“What are you doing?” an elderly woman demanded. “Go get that girl the paramedics. You could ruin her leg for life.”
“I am trained,” Nick protested, but still backed away. Baron lay next to his charge, licking her ankle.
“Get the professionals,” she barked. “I’ll stay here.”
Claire heard raised voices emanating from within the judges’ tent. From her vantage point on the ground, she could just see a pair of blue Diesel slip-on sneakers through an uneven tent seam. She jumped when her shoulder was tapped.
“You should sue the city, and those stuck-up committee members for ordering that tripping hazard,” the woman said. “For a small cut, I’ll say I saw the whole thing and witnessed your tremendous suffering. No one doubts the word of an old lady.”
Claire recognized her defender from the neighboring tent, selling the hand-crafted accessories.
“With my nurse’s care, I’ll be fine. But, I appreciate the offer,” Claire said. “They should take these ridiculous ropes down before someone else falls. What’s going to happen when it gets dark?”
