A Perfect Love (12 page)

Buddy leaned back on his bed and dropped the magazine onto his chest. A constant companion! An adorable little animal that would go everywhere with him and, when appropriate, would pop out and charm anyone they met! A sugar glider would also be small enough to hide, so the pastor couldn't complain if he took it to church. If anyone objected to the glider's presence, why, he'd just slip the pouch into his jacket. The little guy would sleep most of the day and only come out to play at night, when Buddy was usually sitting alone in his room, bored and desperate for something to do. A sugar glider would be the perfect pet!

Inspired, he raced through to the end of the article, then jabbed his finger at a blue box on the side of the page. The sidebar listed a number of sugar glider breeders, and each one had an e-mail address. With a little luck . . .

Tucking the magazine inside his back jeans pocket, Buddy stepped outside and marched up to the house. If Mike didn't mind, Buddy would use his computer and write a couple of breeders. With a little good fortune, his lonely nights would soon be a thing of the past.

To whomever has the sugar gliders:

My name is Buddy, and I would love to have one of these animals for a pet. I would take very good care of it, feed it whatever it needs, and wear it around my neck. I live alone, and think one of these little critters would be perfect company.

Please e-mail me back right away. Thanks!

mail to: [email protected]

Buddy

Buddy leaned back in his chair and studied the note. He had learned all about computers in the Navy, and he knew he could hear back from someone within minutes of sending the e-mail. The thought made him shiver with anticipation.

In the address box he typed in the e-mail addresses of three sugar glider breeders, double-checked the spelling, then clicked “send.” A moment later his message vanished.

Rising from his chair at the dining-room table, he stretched and yawned, then realized he'd better make a few preparations. If one of these folks responded, they'd probably send the little creature by Federal Express, and that meant his pet could arrive by the end of the week.

Stepping out into the hallway, he scratched at the tuft of hair on his neck and called, “Dana!”

“What?” Her voice, coming from the kitchen, held a note of impatience.

“You don't still have a parakeet, do you?”

She stepped into the kitchen doorway, her arms holding a mixing bowl. A wrinkle of exasperation marked her forehead. “Buddy, that bird died two years ago. It drowned in the goldfish bowl when you left the cage door open.”

Buddy scratched again. “Oh.”

“Why? You wanting a bird?”

Buddy squinted at his sister. The look on her face was anything but pleasant. “Did I say I wanted a bird?”

“No, but if you're thinking of getting an animal, you can just forget it. I have my hands full keeping the three of you men fed, and I'm not going to add one more thing to my list of responsibilities. No birds, Buddy. Besides, it's too cold up here. When we had that bird I had to keep the heat cranked up to seventy-six even when we went out of town, and I can't afford that kind of extravagance in winter.”

Sighing, Buddy dropped his hand. “I don't want no bird. I wanted the cage.” He tilted his head. “You still got that?”

Dana's eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “It's out in the workroom somewhere, probably under some boxes. It's sure to be a mess.”

“That's okay.”

Her blue eyes were now openly suspicious. “What are you up to, Buddy?”

“Making somethin', that's all. Don't worry, you won't have to do a thing with it.”

“I'd better not.” She moved away as the timer on the stove buzzed. “Take whatever you need from the carriage house, just don't ask me to help. I don't have the time.”

Buddy shrugged and turned, about to shut down the computer, but then he heard the tiny chime of an electronic mailbox. Checking his excite.com inbox, he discovered a single note:

Hi, Buddy!

My name is Rozella Jones, I live in Florida, and I breed sugar gliders. I have a group of joeys ready to find new homes right now. If you're seriously interested, write me back, and we'll discuss details. I prefer to sell them in pairs, if at all possible, because they tend to get lonely when their owners go to work.

They are wonderful pets. I know you will fall in love with one of these little guys.

Rozella

His long fingers flying, Buddy tapped out a response:

Dear Ms. Jones:

You wouldn't have to worry about one of them being lonely with me. I don't have a job, you see, and even if I did, I'd take the little guy with me. I am trying to open my own restaurant, but it is a long process and I don't know how long it will take. So I have plenty of time to train and take care of a new pet.

Yes, I am seriously interested. Write back soon, please.

Buddy

An instant after clicking send, he looked up to see Dana watching him from the doorway. “Dinner's almost ready,” she said, her eyes abstracted as she stared at the computer screen. “So you can get cleaned up now.”

“OK.” He pushed back his chair, ready to stand, but Dana came forward and pressed her hand to his shoulder.

“Who were you writing? An old Navy buddy?”

He shook his head. “A lady in Florida. I just met her.”

“You met someone on the Internet? Like in a chat room?” A warning light filled Dana's eyes. “You should be careful, I hear some really weird people hang out in those places—”

“It weren't no chat room, and you don't have to worry about
me.” Irritated, Buddy wriggled out of Dana's grasp. “You don't have to play big sister anymore. I'm a grown man, you know.”

Dana drew her hand back, and now her eyes were swimming. “Sorry, kiddo. I'm only trying to look out for you.”

“I don't need protecting.”

The chime of incoming e-mail broke into their conversation, and Dana's gaze drifted toward the screen.

“If you don't mind,” he pulled himself closer to the keyboard, “I would like to answer my new friend before dinner. I'll be out in a minute.”

Dana nodded without a word, then left the dining room. Buddy felt a twinge of guilt as her footsteps echoed down the hallway, but he forgot all about that unpleasant emotion as he opened Rozella's latest note.

Dear Buddy:

Okay! Here's how it will work. If you will send me $100 (you can send it through one of those Internet money-transferring services), I will send out one of my sweetest babies to you. She'll be coming by overnight Fed Ex (shipping will cost you another $45), and you must be able to guarantee you will be on hand to sign for delivery. Sugar gliders are desert animals, and they can't handle the cold, so we can't have this package sitting on a chilly doorstep. You gotta keep your glider warm. Okay?

In addition to the animal, you may purchase a six-month supply of special sugar glider feed (an additional $100), a sugar glider bonding pouch ($15), and a book that will tell you everything you need to know about the care and feeding of sugar gliders ($5).

Thank you very much! As soon as I've received your payment and shipping address (no P.O. boxes, please), I will send an adorable sugar glider straight to you!

Rozella

Buddy added the numbers, then consulted his mental bank balance. Out of his two thousand trust fund dollars per month, he had to spend $400 on a car payment (for an uninsured car that was stolen), $250 on health insurance, and $850 to pay down the balance of a credit card he no longer used—well, actually he was no longer allowed to use it. When he had first come to Heavenly Daze, Dana forced him to sit down and figure out all his liabilities and assets . . . and if there had been more assets, he was fairly certain she would have suggested that he pay her a monthly rent. But when she saw his lists of debts, she demanded his credit card, snipped it in half with a pair of scissors, and tossed the two pieces back to him.

“Your monthly expenditures are fifteen hundred a month, and your income only two thousand,” she said, her smile drooping. “By the time you tithe and keep a little for personal expenses, you won't have much left.”

“I'd be happy to sign my trust-fund check over to you,” Buddy offered, more than willing to rid himself of the hassle of paying bills. “Then I can just ask you for whatever I need—”

Dana threw up her hand. “Oh, no. You keep your money, you take care of your own expenses, and you can live in the carriage house. I'll feed you, too, but I ask this one thing—you have to come to church with us. The church is the heart of this community, and if you want to fit in, you're going to have to become a part of it.”

He had agreed, reluctantly, and he had managed to pull himself out of bed on enough Sunday mornings to keep Dana off the warpath. And now he was grateful he'd kept a hold of his own purse strings, because there was no way in this world Dana was going to shell out $265 for a sugar glider . . .

He did a quick search for an Internet electronic money-transfer site, found a good one, then signed up for an account. After typing in his bank account numbers, he clicked on the button that said “Send money. “

“Bud-deeeee!” Dana's exasperated voice rang out from the kitchen. “Your dinner's getting cold!”

“Just a minute!” he snapped, momentarily feeling ten years old again. While Dana clattered dishes in the kitchen, accompanied by Yakov's baritone rumble, Buddy e-mailed a payment of $265 to Ms. Rozella Jones, then followed up with a confirmation message containing his address.

“Thank you so much,” he concluded the note. “I look forward to many happy days with my new pet.”

“Maxwell Buddy Franklin! I'm not calling you again!”

Sighing, Buddy clicked his way out of the e-mail program and returned to the desktop. He wouldn't mention a thing to Mike, Dana, or Yakov about his new pet. He'd hang out on Main Street until the Fed Ex delivery arrived on the ferry, then he'd squirrel his little pet away.

What Dana didn't know couldn't hurt her.

While the last ferry docked at Heavenly Daze, Russell Higgs whistled a jaunty tune and strode over the gangplank carrying a Flower Tree bouquet in a crystal vase. The bouquet of pink minicarnations, pompons, alstroemeria stat-ice, and monte cassino waved under the bright streetlight. He had protectively cradled the bouquet in his arms on the windy ride.

“Barbara's gonna love 'em,” Captain Stroble had said as he guided the boat across the dark waters. “I need to bring my Mazie flowers more often. These days you can have flowers in the dead of winter; they fly 'em in from all over the world.”

“I'm glad they do,” Russell had answered, meaning every word. Barbara deserved flowers tonight. He would have rented a car and driven to Boston if he hadn't been able to find some in Ogunquit.

When he reached the B&B, Russell quietly eased the front door open, his eyes darting toward the empty parlor. Seizing the moment, he stepped inside the foyer, closed the door, then made a beeline for the stairway.

He didn't get far, for Cleta's Doppler radar was on full sweep. From the kitchen, she yelled, “That you, Russell?”

“It's me, Mom Lansdown.” His mood sank. A few minutes alone with his wife—was that too much to ask?

Cleta kept the bulletins coming. “Supper's nearly on the table—we have cod tonight!”

Cod was his least favorite anything.

Russell took the stairs two at a time, dimly aware that water was sloshing out of the vase and dampening his sleeve.

Cleta poked her head around the kitchen doorway, catching him on the landing. “You feeling all right today?”

“Fine, Mom Lansdown. Just fine.”

“Flowers!” Cleta smiled. “How nice. You should bring 'em down here, though, let me put them in some fresh water.”

“They're fine!” he called, tamping his rising irritation.

As the carnations gyrated wildly, he hurried down the hallway, then thrust the bouquet behind his back and flung open the door to his bedroom. Barbara sat straight up from the bed, her eyes wide. The theme from
Gilligan's Island
played from the little television on the bookshelf.

Closing the door with his foot, he walked to the bed, grinning foolishly.

“Hi, honey.” Barbara—and boy, did she look good with that haircut—gave him a sweet smile. “You scared me coming into the room that way.” She laid her journal aside.

“Sorry.” He sat down on the side of the bed, still trying to conceal the flowers. Barbara leaned in for a long kiss. The embrace lasted longer than he expected, so Russell had to pull away because his hand cramped from holding the heavy vase. Barbara didn't seem to notice.

His eyes focused on the black book. “Writing in your journal again?”

“Ayuh.”

“Yours or the one your mom reads?”

She wrapped her arms around her knees. “Mine.”

He grinned. “Don't you think it's deceitful to keep two journals?”

Barbara laughed.
“Not at all! One's private, the other's for the grapevine. Mom's happy thinking she knows everything going on in my life, and I get to keep my thoughts to myself. It's a great compromise.”

Barbara's beautiful eyes focused on his arm. “Is it sleeting outside? Your sleeve is wet.”

“No, not sleeting.” He brought the vase forward, smiling when his wife squealed with delight.

“For me?”

“For the most beautiful girl in the world.”

She threw her arms around his neck and showered him with kisses while he laughed and held the flowers out of the melee. When she finally settled down, he set the flowers on the bedside table, then he stretched out on the blue and green bedspread.

“Pink,” Barbara said, sniffing at the carnations. “My favorite color. Why, Russell, these must have cost you a fortune!”

“Not really, but what if they did? You're worth every penny.”