Linny's Sweet Dream List (14 page)

Kate caught her eye and said casually, “Come help me put food up.”

She nodded mutely, and followed her sister into the kitchen.

“You okay?” Kate tilted her head.

Linny leaned against the sink, and flushed guiltily. “I'm happy for you, Kate, I really am . . .”

“I know you are.” Her sister gave her a sweet smile.

Linny swallowed around the lump in her throat. “What if I've already gotten my whole life ration of happy moments?”

“I don't think you have, sweets.” Kate's gaze was steady. “I really don't.”

“I'm ninety percent happy for you, and only ten percent wallowing in self-pity.”

Her sister cracked a grin. “I appreciate you doing the percentages, sweets.” She reached over to touch her arm. “And I understand. You're allowed, Linny.”

Linny gave her a tremulous smile.

Back home, the trailer seemed cold and empty, a stark contrast to Kate's warm nest. She was making progress, but her life was still hard. Pouring herself a large glass of a boxed wine, she slumped on the sofa, mulled over Kate's news, and stuck a metaphorical finger in the sore places to try to figure out her feelings. She wasn't desperate for her own baby, she realized. She didn't think she could just adopt, go to a sperm bank, or endure the invasive procedures Kate and Jerry had undergone—certainly not as a single mother. Raking her fingers through her hair, she exhaled. Emotionally and financially, she couldn't afford a baby now anyhow. She just wanted family—whether that meant creating the homey and familiar routines with a husband, helping raise a man's children, getting a pack of dogs, or becoming the best aunt in the world with her new niece or nephew. Knocking twice on the wooden end table, she sent up a quick prayer for Kate's safe pregnancy.

At her laptop, she checked email. Nothing interesting. As she reached to shut the computer down, an ad flashed on the home page. M
EET
E
XCITING
L
OCAL
S
INGLES
! Impulsively, she clicked.

She peered more closely at the screen, and grimaced. “Successful Executive” was a “48 year-old man looking for beautiful woman between 21 and 28 years of age for . . .” Linny sighed heavily and clicked on. Next. “The Total Package” described himself as, “Embarrassingly blessed—handsome, six pack abs, MBA from Wharton, cultured. Low tolerance for boring women. Basically, I'm a WINNER, and you should be a WINNER, too. I'm . . .” Linny clicked, disgusted. Here was another winner. “Mile High Club?” wrote, “Successful entrepreneur who pilots his own small plane interested in a sexy co-pilot for naughty . . .”

“Give me a break,” Linny groused, but was strangely compelled to look at even more profiles. “Complete Me” posted a photo of himself shirtless, wearing what he probably thought was a brooding, soulful look, but Linny thought he looked confused. He had big breasts for a man, too. She needed to spray her eyes with Lysol.

But “Family Man” wrote, “Honest, grounded, nice guy looking for partner for the second and best parts of our lives.” Hmm. He sounded normal. “Looking for My Best Friend” wrote, “Decent, low key, outdoorsy guy looking for my better half.”

Okay. Not all these guys were bad.

Kate met Jerry when she hired him to repair her house after that pine tree fell through her roof during Hurricane Jamal. Stranger things could happen than meeting a nice man online. If she wanted her own family, she needed to take a few risks. But she felt the old familiar doubts creep back. She'd taken a risk on Buck, and look how that had turned out. Sighing, she shut down her laptop. She'd think about it tomorrow. Draining her glass, she headed for bed.

T
he next morning, Linny stirred and Roy groaned. Though only half-awake, Linny registered that the puppy wasn't doing his usual morning routine—leaping off the bed and doing his let's-get-this-day-started dance. Sitting up, she eyed him worriedly, but he looked fine. Was he just having a lazy morning? She rubbed his belly and he groaned again, lumbered off the bed, and vomited.

Alarmed, Linny cleaned up the mess and then had to coax him to go outside to go to the bathroom. The flutter of worry in her stomach grew. A few minutes later, Linny watched him anxiously as he only sniffed his breakfast, plodded heavily back to her room, vomited again, and clambered onto the bed. The stomach flutter was now gnawing anxiety. Something wasn't right. As she lay down beside him on the bed and stroked him carefully, he moaned softly and gazed at her with limpid brown eyes. Softly scratching his head, a wave of protectiveness and love washed over her. He meant so much to her, and she loved every one of his mannerisms—the way he chased his tail, hogged her bed, and marched across the yard like a very short General Patton. He was so blissfully happy to see her when she came home after being away. She drew a shuddering sigh. If anything happened to him, she didn't know what she'd do.

As soon as Red Oak Animal Hospital opened, she was on the phone. She managed to keep her voice steady, but her hands shook. “I need to bring my puppy in as soon as I can.”

By the time they made it to the vet's, Roy looked even more wilted. Linny checked in at the desk, rubbing the puppy's back as he rested dispiritedly on her shoulder.

Ruthie gave her a kind glance. “It's scary when your puppy's sick. We'll get Roy looked at in just a minute.”

Linny took a seat. Chewing at a nail, she fervently hoped that the vet whom they'd see would be one of the four other vets in the practice, but a moment later, Jack Avery called them back to the examining room. Linny reddened as she remembered crying in front of him last week. She would have been even more chagrinned had she not been so scared about the unnaturally languid puppy she cradled in her arms. Despite the fact that he was wearing half-glasses dotted with Pink Flamingos—no doubt another loaner from Ruthie—Jack's face was closed as he asked about Roy. He probably thought she was slightly crazy.

As she described Roy's symptoms, he jotted down notes. “Anything else unusual going on?”

She hesitated. “He did get into some carrot cake last night. And he may have eaten a half a can of cream cheese frosting.” Did she sound like the absent-minded mother who left the baby on the roof of her car? She hurriedly added, “There were two other dogs in the kitchen and I'm not sure who ate what.”

Jack nodded, looking serious. “Cake and frosting can cause real trouble.”

Linny started talking too fast. “He was only out of my sight for just a minute, and he had to climb up on a chair to get to the counter to get it. . . .” A wave of panic swept over her. What if Roy died?

The vet studied her, and his face softened. “Puppies get into everything. It's not your fault. Slow down, now. We'll get blood work run, and see what we've got.”

Linny gave a jittery nod, but felt a rush of relief as she handed Jack the leash. Roy was in capable hands.

Twenty minutes later, he strode back into the examining room and frowned. “Looks like Acute Pancreatitis—inflammation of the pancreas. High doses of fatty foods can cause enzymes to be released and begin to digest the body itself. This will give you more detail about the illness.” He handed her an article. “Right now, we're starting him on IVs and medication.”

Linny scanned the information sheet and gasped quietly. “ ‘Respiratory failure, brain damage, hemorrhages, sepsis . . .' It sounds so serious.” Her knees started to buckle, and she backed toward a chair.

He held out a hand, and steadied her elbow. “It is.” He nodded gravely. “We'll need to keep him for few days so we can get him rehydrated, and monitor him. Depending on how he responds, you may be able to take him home at night. Ruthie will call you later with a progress report.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Her voice was tight and strained. “That dog is my sweetheart.”

The vet gave her a crooked smile. “I understand.”

Her gaze caught his, and held it for a moment, wishing that he'd tell her Roy would recover fully. Instead, he closed the chart, and giving her a perfunctory smile, opened the door for her. Thanking him again, she ducked out.

 

Back home, she read every online article she could find about Acute Canine Pancreatitis. Instead of being reassured, Linny was even tauter with anxiety. Ruthie said they'd call at four with an update. Time crawled. Linny's stomach tightened into a knot as she imagined Roy gasping and writhing. Slipping the trusty rubber band back on her hand, she practiced banishing negative thoughts until her wrist was red. He would recover fully, she told herself. Linny made another disappointing attempt at pacing in a too-short trailer, and tried to distract herself with her Sweet Dream List, but could only concentrate enough to doodle.

On the computer, she scanned the job boards, blinked slowly, and woke several minutes later. Disgusted with her lack of drive, she gave herself a shake and brewed a pot of extra-strength coffee. Back at the desk, she sipped, desultorily played Bejeweled, watched the clock, and compulsively checked email and Facebook.

She slumped as she examined the photo her friend Shawn had posted—she and her husband Allen gazing at each other soulfully against a sunset backdrop at their Bald Head Island home. After wine at book club a few months ago, Shawn had told Linny that she and Allen were on the verge of divorce because of his online gambling.

She scrolled down. Her friend Jones posted,
‘My heart hurts for the impoverished people of this island nation.'
Made it sound like he was on a mission trip, but the photo was of him and Nicholas framed by palm trees, grinning and toasting each other with drinks in coconut shells. Linny raked her fingers through her hair and gave a noisy sigh reminding herself again that she just needed to quit Facebook, especially now.

An email notice popped up. Linny stared at the screen as her heart beat faster. The note was from an old favorite client from her days at Kipling.

Linny reread the message, and examined the attachment. When she Googled the company, her pulse quickened. Analysts called Grayfeather Networks “a winner” that was “well positioned for the future,” and the stock price had risen steadily over the past five years. She drew a deep breath and released it in a long whoosh, feeling a buzz of excitement. A job with Grayfeather Networks would give her a fresh start and the security of a salary and benefits. If Robert had any say in it, she'd probably get the position if she applied for it. After she got one of his most obstreperous teams to work better together, he thought Linny hung the moon. The note felt like a vindication after her humiliating release from Kipling.

Tilting back in her chair, she mulled it over as she gazed out the window and watched puffy white clouds drift in the cornflower blue sky. Could she leave North Carolina? What would she do without the anchors in her life—Dottie, Mary Catherine, Kate and Jerry? She didn't want to miss the birth of her niece or nephew, or not be a part of the child growing up. What if her mother got sick? She gave an involuntary shudder. Sighing, she took a slug of her now cool coffee, and felt overwhelmed. When the phone rang, she jumped. She glanced at the caller ID, hurriedly rubbed the Lucky Duck, and picked up. “Everything okay, Ruthie?”

“Roy is coming along.” Ruthie's voice was reassuring. “He's responding slowly. He's not out of the woods yet,” she cautioned. “But he can spend the night at home if you bring him back in the morning. You can pick him up at five forty-five.”

 

When Linny arrived at the clinic, Ruthie was on the phone with her back to the door. The woman on the other end of the call was so loud that Linny could hear her as Ruthie tried to interject. “Vera, I do understand . . . Yes, I told him . . . I'm sorry, he's had back-to-back clients, but I promise . . .”

Linny ducked down, retying her already tied sneakers. She felt a flash of guilt for eavesdropping, but not a big one. She wanted to learn more about how Jack Avery's marriage to Malibu Barbie worked. Ruthie's voice grew extra sugary and reassuring. “I promise I'll have him call you the first chance he gets.” Hanging up, she called to a co-worker in an exasperated tone, “Vera divorcing him was the luckiest thing that ever happened to Dr. Jack.”

Oh my.
Linny's heart raced. So Jack wasn't a slimeball cheater. Or maybe he was—had the affair with the nymphet caused the divorce? She grimaced. How much of that sort of behavior could a wife be expected to tolerate? If Jack wasn't a cheater like Buck had been, who was Velvet/Bunny? Could she be a newer wife, or was Jack like the “Successful Executive” she'd seen online last night—the 48-year-old who wanted to date women young enough to be his daughter? She shook her head in disgust.

Realizing how crazy she'd look if she was caught spending long minutes tying and untying her shoe, she popped up, and tried to sound breezy. “Hey, Ruthie.”

Ruthie put a hand to her throat. “Linny, you startled me. I didn't even see you.”

“Just tying my shoe.” She pointed toward the laces, a blushing female Forrest Gump. “I'm here to take Roy home for the night.”

 

“Sorry, precious boy.” Linny lifted Roy out of the car and cradled him, thrilled to have him back home, even if it was just for the night. He did not like the plastic protective collar he had to wear, and kept bumping her face with it. Roy wanted it off. “Sorry, buddy. Doctor's orders,” she murmured. Linny sat with him on the porch, carefully adjusted the collar, and put him down gently on the lawn. Listing slightly, he motored off to check out his yard. Though clearly still sick, he looked perkier. If his abdomen wasn't so tender, she'd have given him a rib-crushing hug.

She cocked her head, seeing a paper bag on the doormat, but Roy bumped into an Oak. Linny scooped him up, and brought him inside, and settled him into a clean nest of towels in his crate.

Remembering the sack, she retrieved it, and peered in at a metal cylinder. What in the world? She pulled out the note, and recognized Kate's perfect cursive.

Linny felt warmed by Jerry and Kate's concern. She smiled as she recalled how frequently Andy had checked the oil and tire pressure in her car. Those small acts of love made her feel protected, and she missed that. Tiptoeing back to her bedroom, she glanced in the crate to check the rise and fall of Roy's breath and felt a rush of tenderness. Her stomach settled down for the first time all day.

 

Back at the kitchen table, she stared at her phone. Despite work on the horizon, money was still a nagging worry. She didn't even want to think about how expensive Roy's day visits to the vet's would be, and now the car. Pinching her lip, she thought about it. Jerry was right. She couldn't risk being stranded again. She tapped in the number for Spivey's Garage.

“Can you hold?” a man said brusquely.

Yikes. No
hello,
no
do you mind holding?
Not a great first impression. Two or three minutes passed, and she mulled over Kate's suggestion about working with the cowboys. Sounded like they needed it.