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Liv took a seat across from her, her glance taking in the time. “Long day.”
“For you, too.”
Liv shrugged. “I got to spend my evening watching two cute kids, neither of whom yelled or screamed or stomped their feet.” She jerked her head toward the upstairs, where Skeeter lay sleeping. “Got my homework done, studied for a chem test and watched cable, all while getting paid.”
“Nice gig.”
“It was.” Liv stood and stretched, the day catching up with her. “But as much fun as it is watching the Bauers’ kids from time to time, I want to get a real job.”
Rita raised a brow. “What about sports? Running? After-school activities?”
“Lots of people juggle both,” Liv answered. She rubbed her eyes, stretched once more and shrugged. “Something to think about. I hate making you chauffeur me around more than you already do, though. I know that’s tough.”
“It’s no biggie, Liv. I’m your mom. That’s what I do.”
“But with our schedules all so different, it’s not easy,” Liv argued. “I just don’t want to make things tougher.”
Rita hesitated. Was Liv weighing this choice so heavily because she was afraid Rita would cave under pressure? She stood and hugged Liv’s shoulder. “If you’re ready for that step of independence, take it, kiddo. Seriously. You’ll be sixteen in less than a year and then you can drive yourself places, at least some of the time. And you can become my part-time cabbie, tote your brother and sister all over for me.”
Liv mock-scowled. “Great.”
Rita grinned. “This could be a total win-win. I’m one hundred percent okay with that.”
Liv’s sigh of relief told Rita she’d nudged open a door for her daughter, curtailing her concerns.
Rita knew there were times when Brett and Liv held back, fear dogging their choices. Neither one wanted to be a catalyst in pushing her over an unseen edge, resulting in a fall off the wagon. With her one-year medallion safely tucked in her pocket, she wasn’t quite as concerned as she used to be.
One day at a time. Sound advice.
“I’m heading to bed, Mom. You’re off tomorrow?”
“Yes. Since it’s my Saturday to work, I’ve got tomorrow to kick up my heels. Shop. Visit the spa. Do lunch.”
Liv laughed. They both knew that Rita’s scheduled day off meant playing catch-up on all the stuff back-burnered during the other six days of the week. Cleaning, laundry, shopping, errands, banking. The short hours between Skeeter’s morning bus and afternoon bus were crammed full of tasks and chores needed to maintain some small vestige of normalcy.
And she just might outline her prospectus, push things forward. If she could hurdle this cycle of fear, of rejection, she could possibly plant herself into the dream job she’d hoped and planned for.
An image of the storefront in Canton filled her brain, her creative side painting, trimming and polishing the scarred space into something warm, cozy and inviting, a respite from the long days of winter and the heat of the summer. A place to buy amazing pastries, cakes and cookies.
Did she dare put her mind to the test tomorrow? Give it a shot?
She yawned and realized she was too tired to make that decision now, but tomorrow…
Liv interrupted her musings. “Be sure to treat yourself to a nice massage once your nails are done.”
Rita almost sighed. The very idea of a relaxing massage sounded absolutely wonderful and totally impossible. “I’ve decided pampering is overrated.”
“And probably detrimental to womankind as a whole,” Liv agreed. She hugged Rita one more time, understanding. “’Night, Mom.”
“Good night, honey.”
Rita turned out the lights as Liv’s footsteps faded, the deepening shadows peaceful and quiet, a perfect contemplative time for prayerful thought and consideration.
Skeeter had settled down once they got home, probably too tired to battle it out. Rita hoped she’d wake in the morning in good humor, find something in her drawers that tickled her fancy, choose to wear the dry shoes they’d left at home tonight, have breakfast and get on the bus all smiles, like most seven-year-olds.
Then return home tomorrow afternoon the same way.
Her gaze strayed to the kitchen where her computer lay dormant, its silence commanding attention.
Change the things you can…
Once Skeets was on the bus, Rita was tossing in the first load of laundry, starting the dishwasher and writing a prospectus. Once done, she’d have Brooks read it over, see if she’d covered all the bases. And then, applications.
Yeah, she could get knocked around emotionally, always a dicey thing for a recovering alcoholic. The chances of procuring the loan were slim.
But the chances went from slim to none if she did nothing, and that wasn’t acceptable. Not anymore. She’d gotten braver and bolder in the past year. High time she took a chance. With her strengthening faith and the support of AA, she could take this step forward.
Fingering the bronze chip in her pocket, she nodded as she climbed the stairs. One day at a time.
Chapter Four
The metallic crash yanked Brooks from his bed later that night. Battle ready, one hand grabbed a weapon resembling a worn kitchen broom while the other sought the corner of the closed Venetian blind, his gaze searching the night.
A flash of red-gold skirted the pavement, enough to tell Brooks he’d been undermined by a four-footed varmint with a penchant for homemade mac and cheese.
Again.
He barreled toward the door wishing he’d remembered to turn the heat on after Brett’s soccer game.
No.
Huffing against the cold, he grabbed the first thing his fingers hit, an old Baltimore Oriole’s afghan. He yanked it around his shoulders and headed out the door, to no avail. Like previous times, the minute the door handle clicked left, the dog disappeared, obviously faster and smarter than Brooks.
Which didn’t take much at 3:00 a.m.
Strewed garbage lay ankle deep across his small yard.
He bit back useless words, shook a fist, then danced sideways on the cold step, the chill of his feet knife-blading up, his outside thermometer reading twenty-nine degrees.
Brr…
And since his apartment wasn’t much better, his living room offered little reprieve. Disgruntled, Brooks finagled a light, cranked the thermostat right, tugged on sweats and tried not to be upset that some scruffy dog had once again bested a decorated war veteran.
The drawer full of military medals offered small comfort as Brooks cleaned a frosted yard littered with disgusting debris. Why him? Why now? What was it about this garbage that drew the mutt repeatedly?
Probably your ineptitude to catch him, tweaked an inner voice.
Brooks couldn’t disagree. Like it or not, the dog had bested him multiple times.
Resigned, Brooks did what he should have done days ago. He hauled the garbage tote into the garage and closed the door, then stared into the darkened night, his backyard melding into state forest land, the dog gone from sight but not from mind. “Next time, pal.”
The promise of payback sounded thin. The dog was obviously smarter, quicker and sneakier.
And needed less sleep.
Brooks yawned, scowled, then headed inside. In one night he’d been bested by a cantankerous seven-year-old and a tenacious dog, both of which could use a lesson in manners. He eyed the clock, decided six hours was plenty of sleep, made coffee and headed to the wood shop, wondering why kids and dogs couldn’t just behave themselves.
“Toots, did Hy Everts drop off those frames I ordered?” Brooks asked later that morning.
Tootsie Lawrence nodded as she hooked her deep green fleece in the workroom. “Late yesterday, actually. Do you have the picture Cade left? I’ll frame it for you.”
“Right here.” Brooks handed an envelope to his longtime sales clerk. “The one with the blue matte is for Cade.” The town’s police chief had dropped off a family picture the week before.
“Beautiful.” Tootsie withdrew the frame with care. Hy’s work had become renowned, his wood carvings a natural expression of North Country life. The thick picture frames, a new venture for him, were engraved with north-woods symbols along the perimeter. Trees, bears, cabins, moose, wolves. The effect of the lighter wood recessed against the deeper stain held the pictures in relief. “Oh, Boss, look.”
Brooks peered over her shoulder as Tootsie withdrew Cade’s family picture, her expression beatific. “Isn’t this just lovely?”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not,” Tootsie protested. She sniffled.
“You are,” Brooks exclaimed, horrified. “Stop that. Now.”
“I can’t.” Tootsie trailed a finger along the frame, her gaze trained on the sweet family before them. “And how cute is that baby, Boss?”
“Cute enough.”
She swung around and offered him a stern expression. “He’s absolutely, positively beautiful. Couldn’t you just eat him up?”
Brooks couldn’t, actually, but he knew better than to argue. Cade called just then, saving Brooks from himself. “Hey, Chief.”
“Brooks, did my frame arrive yet?”
“We’ve got it. Tootsie’s actually framing the picture as we speak.”
“Sweet. Annie asked me about it and I promised I’d check. How does it look?”
Brooks eyed the framed print. Cade’s young family laughed back at him. He swallowed a sigh, worked his jaw and nodded. “Very nice, which is a good thing since these frames don’t come cheap.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cade told him. “As long as it’s right, the cost is insignificant.”
His words touched Brooks’ heart.
Brooks was frugal. His lifestyle reflected that. He was constantly amazed at how quickly Rita went through money, week after week. Shoes here, doctors there, school supplies, car repairs, food, clothes. Her expenses boggled the mind.
Picturing Cade’s family, Brooks realized he was the anomaly, not them. His singular status and prudence labeled him different.
Usually that didn’t bother him.
Today it did.
A movement outside caught his attention, a flash of red-gold skirting the parking lot. “Cade, have you noticed this stray dog that’s been hanging around?”
“No. How long’s he been around?”
“Off and on for the last week or more,” Brooks told him. He taped the edges and slid the frame into one of his distinctive cord-handled bags. “A retriever.”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“I just caught a glimpse of him alongside the parking lot. He’s been getting into my garbage at night, making quite a mess.”
“Tags?”
“Haven’t gotten close enough to see. He’s furtive.”
“Or smart.”
“Either way, it’s a pain to have to chase him off.”
“I’ll keep an eye out and let Bill Pickering know.” Bill was the animal-control officer for St. Lawrence County.
The idea of the dog being caged niggled, but the thought of not having to wrestle garbage constantly won out. “Thanks.” Brooks hesitated, then asked, “They won’t put him down, will they?”
“That depends on a lot of factors,” Cade explained. “If he’s got an owner, tags, if he’s healthy, adoptable. A lot of strays get put down. There are no guarantees.”
“But he’s not that bad,” protested Brooks.
Cade went silent for a moment. When he spoke his voice held more than a hint of question and a good dose of amusement. “You either want him caught or you don’t. Which is it?”
Brooks ran a frustrated hand through his hair and frowned. “I’m not sure, myself.”
“Well, when you figure it out, call me back. I’m just across the road, so I’m fairly accessible.”
“Thanks, Chief.
He wouldn’t call, Brooks decided. The thought of the dog locked up in a pound bothered him. Not as much as the dog rummaging his garbage, but still…
Nothing to be euthanized for, right? A few scraps of paper, some old mac and cheese and one worn shoe that Brooks really should have tossed months ago.
Definitely not worth a death sentence, but Brooks couldn’t deny he’d like to get a full night’s sleep on a more regular basis, and hoped the locked-up garbage bin would ensure that.
Chapter Five
Rita took a deep breath, breathed a prayer for strength and dialed her brother-in-law Ed’s home. “Heather, it’s Rita. Is Ed available?”
Her former sister-in-law’s voice faltered. “I’m not sure, Rita.”
Rita sent her gaze upward, compressed her lips and bit back what she wanted to say. “I only need a minute.”
