In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

  “Lila Alders? She’s back. She just helped me try on engagement rings downtown.”

  “Oh! Oh! I know!” Bree smiled triumphantly. “Lila Alders’s mother. She moved to Europe.”

  “For now,” Jocelyn said.

  “The woman lives across the Atlantic. That counts as relocating.”

  “Mrs. Alders didn’t grow up here.” Jocelyn lifted her chin in vindication. “She grew up out of state. But back to you. What’s this about Philadelphia?”

  “You know how I’m always running my mouth about applying to law school? I finally did it this year. I got my act together really late but they do rolling admissions, so I might still be able to get in for the fall semester. Assuming I can get in at all, which is a big assumption.”

  Jocelyn refrained from sputtering out questions long enough to remind herself that she was a good friend. A friend who wanted only the best for Bree. And if the best meant moving across state lines . . .

  “But there are law schools in Delaware!”

  Bree looked determined. “It’s tough out there for a law grad these days. The job market’s unbelievably tight. It’s not enough to graduate from law school anymore—you need to graduate from a top-ten program.”

  At which point, Jocelyn realized that Bree was probably referring to the university to which Chris’s family had donated a building. “As it happens, I might be able to get you a recommendation from an influential donor.”

  “Oh yeah? How’re you going to manage that?”

  “I’ll ask him while we’re drunk on champagne in France.”

  Bree’s eyebrows shot up. “He has some pull?”

  Jocelyn explained about the campus library.

  “Then I take back everything I just said. Try on diamond rings with wild abandon.”

  “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

  “I have to. I can’t keep going like this.” Bree shook her head. “Snaking drains and digging up septic systems. Replacing toilets in the middle of the night. I want a real job. A job with benefits and a retirement plan and, God willing, an expense account.”

  “I get that.”

  “We’re almost thirty, Joss.”

  “We’re twenty-seven,” Jocelyn objected. “No need to round up.”

  “It’s time to get our act together. And the timing is perfect—we’ll both escape to the big city.”

  “Yeah.” Jocelyn’s smile faltered. “Except . . .”

  “Your mother.”

  “Yeah. And the business.” Jocelyn sighed. “Oh, and don’t forget the dogs.”

  “Mr. Allardyce’s dogs?”

  “Yeah, they need me.”

  Bree shook her head. “No offense, but dog sitters are replaceable.”

  “That’s not what Mr. Allardyce says.” Jocelyn recounted that afternoon’s post-run conversation. “He forbade me to go to Europe.”

  “Are you kidding me with this? You saved his dog’s life, out of the kindness of your heart.”

  “It was more of a thoughtless reflex that almost got me killed.” Jocelyn brightened. “By Chris. See? We’re meant to be.”

  Bree ignored the little detour to rainbow-and-unicorn land. “That crusty old jackass owes you a debt he can never repay. He should be sending you to Europe.”

  “It’s not that simple. I think he sees me as the daughter he never had.”

  Bree thinned her lips. “Is he even paying you minimum wage?”

  “I haven’t sat down and figured out the hourly rate, but . . . probably not.”

  Bree made a noise of disgust low in her throat.

  “I feel guilty,” Jocelyn admitted. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Curtis doesn’t do well with change, and we’re trying to find a good prospect to breed Carmen with, and—”

  Bree held up her palm. “I say this with a lot of love: they’re just dogs. As long as they get food, water, and exercise, they’re good to go.”

  “But Hester is pregnant!”

  “Hester is a fancy show dog that probably cost more than my first car.” Bree started waving both hands. “You can’t knuckle under to the Mr. Allardyces of this world. What has he done to deserve your hard work and loyalty? Has he ever once acted like the father you never had?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “That’s how the summer people are. They think that just because we don’t live on the private beach, we don’t notice how wasteful and entitled they are. They think we’re worthless. If you’re so important to him and his precious dogs, he should cough up some more cash to keep you around.”

  “You’re pretty fired up about this.”

  “I’m just getting started.” Bree’s expression darkened. “We need to value ourselves more. We need to demand that other people value us.”

  Jocelyn opened the dryer door. “We need to start folding these sheets before the wrinkles set, is what we need to do.”

  “I mean it.” Bree yanked out a pillowcase and waved it like a battle flag. “Our days of settling for the bare minimum are over.”

  Jocelyn winced against the edge in Bree’s words. “Did something happen today?”

  “What? No. Something like what?”

  “I don’t know, but you’re being weird.”

  “No, I’m not.” Bree huffed and puffed for a moment, then relented. “Okay, fine. I ran into Dan today.” When she saw Jocelyn’s confusion, she added, “Dan Hernandez.”

  “Senior Year Dan?” Jocelyn asked. Bree Heffling and Dan Hernandez had bonded over two things in elementary school—the fact that in any alphabetical-order situation, they were invariably seated together, and the fact that they were the only two children in Black Dog Bay’s tiny school who weren’t (as Bree put it) as white as the driven snow. In middle school, they bonded over their shared love of playing FIFA Football on PlayStation and watching the TV series Scrubs. In high school, Bree and Dan found something else to bond over, which were hormones and their mutual attraction. They had a hot, steamy romance during the first half of senior year. They weren’t speaking to each other by Valentine’s Day. Even Jocelyn had never gotten the details on what went wrong, but every alphabetical-order situation from then until graduation was beyond awkward.

  “He’s not Senior Year Dan,” Bree corrected. “He’s Dan Who I Totally Forgot about until I Literally Ran into Him at the Drugstore.”

  “Oh right. That Dan.” Jocelyn studied her friend’s expression. “And? How was it?”

  “Oh fine. He’s back in town for a while.” Bree cleared her throat. “Planning his wedding.”

  “Who’s he marrying? Anyone I know?”

  “Some girl from Bethany Beach.” Bree shrugged. “I didn’t recognize the name. Anyway, he just finished medical school.”

  “I didn’t know he went to medical school.”

  Bree nodded. “I guess all those seasons of Scrubs took hold.” She looked anywhere and everywhere except at Jocelyn. “He’s back for the summer, planning his wedding, being finished with medical school. He looks good.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Really good.”

  “Too bad he’s engaged.”

  “It’s not like that,” Bree insisted. “But . . . you know how you have chemistry with some people? And no matter how long it’s been or how far apart, the minute you see them, it just picks up where it left off?”

  Jocelyn turned away from the washing machine and focused on her friend, who ducked her head.

  “It’s chemistry, that’s all.” Bree was trying to convince herself at this point. “Nothing to see. Just a tall, dark, handsome guy who happens to be a doctor now.”

  “Are you going to see him again, do you think?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Not if I can help it.” Bree got back to work. “He had his chance, and he blew it. I wish him nothing but success and happiness.”
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  “And for him to always think of you as the one who got away.”

  “Obviously.” Bree shook out a pillowcase. “Anyway, back to you. When are you going to ask for what you deserve?”

  Jocelyn gazed down at the top sheet she was smoothing out. “I guess I could talk to Mr. Allardyce about a raise.”

  “You can and you will. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “Well, he could . . .” Jocelyn cleared her throat. “Not like me anymore.”

  Bree staggered backward in mock dismay. “Oh no.”

  “Not that he likes me very much now.”

  “We may not be multimillionaires with giant houses and designer labels plastered all over our bodies, but where would all these pampered summer people be without clean towels and fresh sheets?”

  “They’d probably just order new ones off the Internet,” Jocelyn said.

  “Shipping takes time.” Bree’s smile was diabolical. “And even the biggest mansion has only so much closet space. Time to take back our power.”

  chapter 5

  “Good news, Mom—we’re taking back our power.” Jocelyn used her hip to push open the hospital room door so she could carry the vase full of wildflowers with both hands.

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Rachel lifted the remote and turned off the TV, which was blaring an afternoon talk show. She shifted slowly on the mattress, wincing as her back changed positions.

  “You okay?” Jocelyn put the vase down on the floor and hurried to her mother’s side. “Do you need more pain medicine?”

  “I took some an hour ago.” Rachel’s face was pale and tense. “Still waiting for it to kick in.”

  “Let’s call the nurse.” Jocelyn reached for the bedside button, but her mother stopped her with a hand on her forearm.

  “I’m fine. Stop fussing. Now, what kind of nonsense is Bree filling your head with while I’m out of commission?”

  Jocelyn did a double take. Even through a haze of opioids and discomfort, her mother was sharp as ever. “What have you heard? And how’d you know it was Bree?”

  Rachel just watched her daughter and waited.

  “She told me I need to start making Mr. Allardyce pay me what I’m worth.”

  “Hmm. And how much is that?”

  Jocelyn didn’t have a ready answer. “More than he’s paying me now.”

  “You don’t have a dollar figure in mind?” Rachel pressed.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You can’t reach your goal if you don’t know what your goal is.” Her mother turned her head to look out the window. “Hot outside?”

  “Hot and humid.” Jocelyn picked up the vase and placed it on the bedside table. “But it might rain tonight, so hopefully that’ll cool things down.”

  “Better bring a raincoat on your big date with the rich boy.”

  Jocelyn froze.

  Her mother was still watching her closely. “I hear about you two. Still kissing and holding hands all over town. Going to fancy restaurants every night.”

  “First of all, he has a name. It’s Chris. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Rachel didn’t try to hide her smirk. “Mm-hmm.”

  “He is!” Jocelyn insisted. “He’s very nice. Smart. Considerate. I won’t need to bring a raincoat tonight because he’ll bring an umbrella and carry it for me.”

  Her mother sighed and turned back toward the window. “Oh, Joss.”

  “Mom.” Jocelyn hadn’t meant to sound so sharp. “Please don’t start.”

  “How many times have I told you—”

  “And how many times have I told you that my life is different than your life?”

  “You know what? I think I will ask for more pain meds.” Rachel pressed the call button.

  “Don’t be like that,” Jocelyn said.

  “Then don’t you tell me that you’ve gone and fallen for Christopher Cantor the damn Third.” Rachel’s brown eyes blazed. “I raised you better.”

  Jocelyn forced herself to take a breath before reacting. “We don’t need to get into this right now.”

  “I’d say we do, if you’re out gallivanting around with Lord Fancypants while I’m still out of it from surgery.”

  “That’s not fair.” Jocelyn’s voice was tight. “I’ve taken care of everything for the last two weeks. All the inventory is where it should be, the laundry is right on schedule, all the customers are happy. Nobody’s gallivanting; I’m busting my ass.”

  “Don’t swear,” Rachel snapped.

  “But you just said . . .” Jocelyn broke off in midprotest when she saw her mother’s expression. “Sorry. All I’m saying is, what happened to you isn’t going to happen to me. It’s a totally different situation. I’m twenty-seven. I know what’s up.”

  “Are you using birth control?” her mother pressed.

  “Mom!”

  “Are you?”

  Jocelyn prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. “Yes.”

  “Every time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” Jocelyn suggested.

  “Fine.” Her mother smoothed the crisp white sheet. “But just so you know, I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  Before Jocelyn could respond, a nurse bustled into the room. “You called?”

  “Yes, I’m in a lot of pain,” Rachel reported. “Is there something you guys can give me to tide me over?”

  The nurse glanced at the medical chart. “Let me page the doctor.”

  “When do you think she’ll be able to go home?” Jocelyn asked.

  “That’s up to her surgeon,” the nurse replied. “But if all goes well, it could be as early as tomorrow.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” Rachel shifted uncomfortably again. “I’m ready to get back to real life.”

  “Going home doesn’t mean going back to your normal routine,” the nurse warned. “You’re going to have some pretty significant restrictions. No strenuous exercise, no heavy lifting, no bending or undue pressure.”

  “The problem is, I run a linen supply company,” Rachel said. “Heavy lifting and undue pressure is my life’s work.”

  The nurse was gearing up for an argument, so Jocelyn intervened. “Luckily, she has me to do the heavy lifting for her. Don’t worry, she won’t lift a finger until her surgeon clears her.”

  “Good.” The nurse gave them both a stern look. “Because if she injures her back again, she’ll be incapacitated for a long time. She may never regain full mobility.”

  “I’m on it,” Jocelyn promised the nurse. Then she turned to her mother. “I have to go get ready for my big date with the guy you hate, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  “Don’t be dramatic.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate him. I’ve never even met him.”

  And, based on the scorn in her mother’s voice, Jocelyn wouldn’t be making that introduction any time soon.

  “And I also have eyes and ears everywhere.” She tilted her head toward the nurse. “So take it easy, okay?”

  Rachel muttered under her breath.

  “Mother-daughter spying works both ways.”

  “Aw.” The nurse smiled as she started dialing the doctor. “It’s so nice to see a family getting along.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Jocelyn sat in the driver’s seat of her ten-year-old Honda Civic, gazing up at the house where she’d lived since she was born. The tiny, two-story structure was more of a cottage than a house, really. The wooden deck in front had started to sag and the white paint had started to peel. Her grandparents had bought this place decades ago, long before property prices and taxes skyrocketed. Before the recent media campaign designated Black Dog Bay “the best place in America to bounce back from your
breakup” and turned this quiet, out-of-the-way beach town into a bustling tourist destination.

  The breakup boom had been good for the town; Jocelyn understood that on an intellectual level. Local residents had been able to start new businesses. Resort fees and revenue taxes had been funneled into the public school system and municipal improvement projects under the careful direction of Mayor Jansen. The influx of visitors had brought opportunity and revitalization.

  But the downside to living in a popular vacation spot was that the cost of living increased suddenly and exponentially. Housing prices and rents were beyond Jocelyn’s means now. She was in her late twenties and still living with her mother while she delivered sheets and towels to the seasonal residents who drove up property values. Until recently, this hadn’t bothered her. She’d maintained hope that, with hard work and perseverance, she’d be able to grow the family business enough to afford to buy her own place in the next few years.

  Then she started dating Chris. And when she looked at this house through his eyes, she didn’t like what she saw. No ocean view, no weekly landscape maintenance, no room to breathe. Her family was close-knit out of sheer financial necessity.

  Not that Chris had ever voiced any of that. He’d never seen her house in all these months because she was too embarrassed to let him see it. She knew that was shameful and petty, but it was true. She didn’t want to call attention to exactly how far apart their worlds were, though of course he already knew. And he didn’t care. She cared.

  Jocelyn got out of the car, crunched up the gravel driveway in her sandals, and opened the screen door with a rusty squeak.

  She put her handbag on the kitchen table and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

  The cramped room with the sloped ceiling at the end of the hall had been hers since the day she came home from the hospital as a newborn. In the last few years, she’d made efforts to redecorate and give the space a sophisticated, mature ambiance—dove gray paint on the walls, minimalist black and white photographs in sleek black frames, high-thread-count linens on a queen-size bed—but she would never forget the way these walls had looked as she progressed from little girl to teenager to woman. These walls had been plastered with posters of kittens and horses, followed by magazine pages featuring pop stars and film heartthrobs, followed by Sylvia Plath poems and mass-produced posters of Paris and Rome.