The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service (22 page)

Chapter 29

“He’s never going to change,” Lara said to her mother the next morning as the two of them took Mullet on a walk—or, more accurately, a waddle—around the neighborhood.

Beside her, Justine sighed and slid her sunglasses higher on her nose. “I know that.”

“I mean, I sat there and held his dying puppy while he went out to the parking lot and made plans for his next foray into dog ownership.” Lara balled up her fists inside her jacket pockets.

“I understand you’re frustrated, but are you honestly surprised?”

“Yes! And that pisses me off even more because it just goes to show how stupid I am.”

“You’re not stupid.” Justine ignored the friendly waves from a pair of passing power walkers. “You want to believe the best of your father. That’s understandable.”

“But I mean, people
are
capable of change, right?” Lara scowled up at the sun. “Otherwise, what is the point of living?”

“Stop trying to make him change and change yourself instead,” Justine advised. “Adjust your expectations. Set limits and stick to them.”

“That’s exactly what Evan used to say.”

Justine tugged on Mullet’s black patent leather leash. “I’ve scheduled a meeting with my business lawyer for Tuesday at four o’clock. He’ll be going over the basics for setting up the nonprofit and registering with the IRS. Then, of course, we’ll have to see my accountant to set up the bookkeeping system and a checking account for the foundation.”

“How much does your business lawyer charge?” Lara asked.

“Three hundred dollars an hour.”

“Ouch.”

“But we’ve had a long, lucrative relationship, so he’s agreed to help out with Lucky Dog pro bono,” Justine continued. “Now, we also need to think about leasing some office space and, as you said, finding or constructing a kennel for the dogs. . . .”

“Yeah, about that. Once I actually sat down and started crunching numbers, I realized that my movie check’s not going to go as far as I thought.”

“No,” Justine agreed. “We’ll need a lot of capital for start-up costs. I’m thinking we should host a big benefit event, although I’m still debating between a formal ball and a more casual luncheon. I’ve already put in some calls to my former clients.” She adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat as they started up the steep hill toward Cherie’s estate.

“We can invite all my clients from the neighborhood, too,” Lara said. “And Claudia Brightling might give us a mention on the morning show. Ooh, maybe we could hit up some of the local pet boutiques and put on a dog fashion show. How about that?”

“Nauseating,” Justine declared. “But a sure crowd-pleaser.”

“We could let owners walk their dogs down the runway,” Lara said. “Cherie and Eskie would be first in line.”

“Make her pay for the privilege,” Justine said.

“Isn’t that kind of tacky?”

“It’s for a good cause, plus it’s tax-deductible. It would be tacky if she didn’t donate.”

Mullet, who had been lagging behind them and making it clear that every step was a chore, suddenly picked up speed and raced to the front of the pack.

Lara spotted a familiar little white pooch a few houses down. But for once, Ivory wasn’t making the rounds by herself. Today, she was being walked by a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman with ruddy cheeks and a shock of white hair. With his khaki pants and navy plaid wool jacket, he looked like a catalog photo for Brooks Brothers casual wear.

Suddenly the sullen little Shih Tzu was bouncing and snuffling and towing Justine across the street to meet her new friend.

Lara watched in amazement, then hurried to catch up. Ivory trotted over to greet her, and Lara gave the Maltese a few pats before she introduced herself to the older man in khakis.

“You’re Ivory’s owner?” she asked.

“I am now.” He offered up a hearty handshake. “Jay Bexner.” He looked perplexed as Ivory scampered around Lara’s feet, begging for treats and affection. “Do you two know each other?”

“Ivory’s a neighborhood celebrity,” Lara said. “I see her greeting her loyal subjects every morning when I walk my dogs, and she’s been tagging along on our evening jogs.”

“She’s an escape artist, all right. I couldn’t figure out how she was managing it for ages. Then I finally found the tunnel she’d dug under the fence. Little devil dug the hole right by the rosebush so she wouldn’t get caught.”

“Mew-lay, come back here immediately!” Justine seemed a bit alarmed that her dog would deign to socialize with anyone else, canine or human. “Muumuu!”

But Mullet ignored her. The Shih Tzu was too busy frolicking with the Maltese, both of them chasing after birds and tangling their leashes together.

Justine tried to regain control of the situation, but Mullet refused to be contained.

“That’s quite a collar.” Justine pointed out Ivory’s pink rhinestone–studded little band of ribbon. “Did you pick it out yourself?”

Jay looked amused, but not abashed. “Nah, my daughter has a thing for pink. A few months ago, she left for graduate school at the London School of Economics. Now that she’s gone and my son took a job out east, I needed someone to fill up the house.”

Lara noticed he hadn’t mentioned a wife.

Jay shrugged. “I know her name’s a little froufrou, too, but it fits her. I didn’t have the heart to make her answer to Buddy or Butch.”

“Ivory’s perfect for her,” Lara said, but Jay had shifted all his attention to her mother.

“You’re Justine Madigan,” he said.

“I am.” Justine admitted this grudgingly. “Have we met?”

“Not officially, but I’ve seen you around. Is that your dog?” Mullet was lying on her back, pedaling all four feet in the air while Ivory pranced around snapping at flies.

“Yes. She’s not usually so undignified.”

“They sure seem to get on together. Maybe we could take them to the park and let them play sometime.”

Lara flashed Justine a thumbs-up. Justine ignored her.

“I don’t think so. I’m starting a new business, and as you can imagine, my schedule is jam-packed.”

He nodded, undeterred. “Still have to walk your dog, though.” He checked his watch. “You usually come out with her around this time?”

“Yes,” Lara interjected, before Justine had time to make up any more excuses. “She and Mullet will be out tomorrow at eight.”

“See you then.” He kept looking at Justine. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Lara replied. She waited until Jay and Ivory turned the corner, then rounded on her mother. “What is wrong with you? He was so sweet.”

“Ugh.” Justine wrinkled her nose. “Sweet just complicates things. I told you once and I meant it: I don’t want a man. And you!” She shook her head at Mullet. “What a traitor.”

“I told you so.”

* * *

Lara clipped Murphy’s leash on, walked the little dog out to her car, and opened the back gate of the station wagon so he could clamber into one of the padded crates.

He turned around three times, then collapsed on top of his Nylabone and immediately closed his eyes. Lara wasn’t surprised he was tired. The scruffy little dynamo had spent the whole day running across a soundstage, hitting his “mark”—the built-in bench on a picnic table—and snatching a hamburger from an actress before running back to Lara, who was standing on the sidelines, giving hand signals and doling out treats. She’d spent the past week training him to perform the behaviors on cue, then devoted this morning to rehearsing on-set.

As she’d predicted, Murphy had enjoyed every minute of the job. He was clever and outgoing, with an incredible work ethic, and he definitely had “star quality.” He knew that he’d done his job well, and he practically glowed with pride. Even the director had commented on the terrier’s charisma.

“I think today is the beginning of a long and successful show biz career,” Lara told the tired pooch.

Cleo the dock-diving begollie might have a cameo or two in her future as well. While Lara had gathered up Murphy’s gear, one of the producers had approached her and asked if she’d be interested in booking a commercial for a flea-and-tick preventative.

“We need a dog who will run across a wooden dock and jump into a lake,” the producer explained. “Do you work with any who can do that?”

“I do,” Lara replied. “But you’ll have to pay her in blueberries.”

She backed out of the parking lot and checked the directions to Peter’s house. He’d been delighted to send Murphy out for the job; he couldn’t have been prouder if a talent scout had offered
him
a movie role.

Fifteen minutes later, as she was preparing to turn right at a busy intersection near the mall, a huge brown dog darted across the street directly in front of her car. She slammed on the brakes, missing the animal by inches.

For a split second, she closed her eyes, her heart slamming in her chest. Then she turned on her hazard lights and jumped out of the car.

The dog was ducking and weaving through four lanes of traffic, panicking. Lara waited for the light to change again, called out in her most authoritative tone to get the dog’s attention, and headed for the safety of the sidewalk while clapping loudly. The dog’s chase instinct kicked in, and it bounded after Lara, relieved to have a pack leader to follow.

“Good job.” Lara wrapped her fingers around the dog’s green leather collar.

The poor thing was wild-eyed and panting heavily, so Lara crouched down next to it and murmured in low tones while she moved her palms in wide, slow circles around its shoulders. This achieved the desired calming effect, but it also set off a river of drool, which hung down from the dog’s jowls in stringy white loops.

“You look like a bloodhound,” Lara told the dog. “And you drool like one, too.”

She led the way back to her car, where Murphy was still sacked out in his crate, unaware that anything had happened.

“Come on. Let’s get you a nice cool drink and we’ll see if we can find your owner.”

She poured bottled water into one of the collapsible canvas dishes tucked in the seat pocket, then twisted the green collar around to examine the brass tag attached to the buckle.

Sure enough, the tag listed a phone number and address.

A phone number and address that she recognized.

She sat back and stared at the massive, drool-drenched bloodhound. “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

Chapter 30

“It’s so good to talk to you, La-la. Come have lunch with me.” Her father’s voice on the phone was conciliatory. He knew she was angry, but he was pretending he didn’t.

“Dad, I can’t.” She sat in Peter’s driveway, waving good-bye to Murphy and keeping a close eye on the bloodhound, who’d spattered the back windows of the station wagon with speckles of drool.

“Come meet your pops for dinner,” Gil said. “Just you and me.”

“Can’t,” Lara said.

“Important work appointment?”

“Bloodhound in the backseat.”

He paused, unsure how to interpret this. Then he tried again. “Just have a quick drink with me. I’m at the place where they have the iced tea you like. We’ll sit on the patio so you can bring the dog, if you like.”

Because Peter was still standing on his front porch, holding up Murphy and waving to her with his little yellow paw, Lara kept a smile on her face. “Dad . . .”

“One glass of iced tea,” he pleaded. “Half a glass. That’s all I ask.”

Lara gave in, started the ignition, and unwrapped the square of dark chocolate she kept in her handbag for emotional emergencies. “If only that were true.”

* * *

“I ordered for you,” her father announced before she even sat down at the restaurant’s wrought-iron bistro table. “Cup of clam chowder and the ahi appetizer.”

She watched in dismay as a server approached, carrying a tray of hot food. “I told you, I can’t stay. I have a random dog sleeping in my car.” By the time she’d arrived at the restaurant, the bloodhound had crashed out in the back of the station wagon, so she’d parked near the patio, rolled down the windows, and let the poor thing nap.

“Calm down,” Gil chided. “You can make time to slurp a bowl of soup.”

Lara stopped protesting and simply pushed the steaming mug of soup away. This conversational merry-go-round could keep circling indefinitely if she didn’t force a direct confrontation. “I think I know why you want to speak with me.”

“You do?”

“Yes. About the adoption letter.” She kept her gaze fixed on the wisps of steam rising from the chowder. The opening lines of her rehearsed little speech were lodged in her throat. It was one thing to make a decision in her own mind, but to give voice to these words, to actually come right out and say,
I can’t endorse you as a parent
, seemed so harsh.

But she had no choice. There was no way she could sit down and write the recommendation, and so the end result would be the same.

She could dash his hopes with a quick, devastating assault or with a slow trickle of empty promises and strategic emotional retreat.

After years of chasing after a man in emotional retreat, Lara knew the direct approach was kinder.

So she would get straight to the point. Just as soon as she recovered from her panic attack.

“Sweetie.” Gil touched her wrist. “Are you all right?”

Her airway closed up. She felt as though she was literally, physically choking.

“I’m all right,” she finally managed. “Sorry. I guess the iced tea went down the wrong way.”

He offered her a sip of his water. “Better now?”

“Better.” She inhaled deeply. “So about the adoption recommendation. I can’t.”

Her father pulled away from her. “Lara.” His voice was layered with surprise and raw, undisguised pain.

She started shredding the empty straw wrapper by her glass. Anything she could say now would only make things worse. Any defense would be systematically dismantled.

He waited.

She waited.

The silence between them stretched into a standoff.

Finally Gill sighed and gave in. “I know you’re upset about Teddy. The pet store, the injections, everything. We screwed up—
I
screwed up. I admit it.”

“This isn’t about the puppy.” She remembered the feel of Teddy’s soft, warm body starting to cool in her arms. “It isn’t just about the puppy.”

“I know how you feel about dogs, but a puppy is not the same as a baby. Even you have to admit that.”

“I do.” She remembered Kerry’s teary, bloodshot eyes as she paced with her infant and pleaded for help. She imagined first her mother, then Trina, experiencing that same exhausted desperation all alone.

Her father’s eyes went dark with sorrow and disappointment. “I’ve changed, Lara. You underestimate my potential.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

“I deserve another chance from you.”

“I’ll give you another chance,” she said softly. “I’ll always give you another chance, whether I want to or not. You’re my dad and I love you. But I can’t do this for you.”

He glanced down at the floor, then took her hand again. “Don’t you see how important this is to me? I can fix my mistakes, make up for all the time I lost with you. . . .”

For a nanosecond, she considered saying that it must be nice to apply for a do-over child and where could she apply for a do-over father?

But she knew he was hurting, maybe even worse than she was. He would never see himself clearly, never recognize his own failings, and it was not her responsibility to make him. Her job was to accept him for who he was and to allow herself to start grieving for the relationship she would never share with him. So she kept her mouth shut and her head down and weathered the guilt trip without comment.

When he realized she wasn’t going to engage in his debate, he concluded with “I’m disappointed in you.”

Lara was shocked to realize how much these words stung, how deeply she still craved his approval. Even though she was an adult who told herself she’d given up on him long ago, it hurt to think that he would give up on her, too.

“We’re going to go ahead with the adoption anyway,” he informed her, his tone defiant.

She nodded. “I know.”

“I’m still going to get what I want.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you have to keep punishing me for things I can’t change?”

“I’m not, Dad. I . . .” But she couldn’t explain herself. More to the point, she didn’t want to.

“Are you’re saying I’m a bad father now? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No
.
”

“Then why can’t you just let it go?”

Lara looked up and decided to do exactly that. She gathered her coat and bag. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re just going to take off in the middle like this?”

“I have a lost dog to deliver.”

“If you walk out of here, you’re making a choice,” he threatened.

She put down cash for her share of the meal and left.

She’d finally done it: set her limit, stuck to her boundary. And while she knew her father was upset, she couldn’t worry about him anymore. All she could think about right now was the bloodhound waiting to be reunited with its owner.

* * *

Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of a well-kept house in a quiet middle-class neighborhood. She strode across the lawn, taking care not to trip on the hose lying in the walkway.

When she reached the front stoop, she jabbed the doorbell, tapped her foot, then jabbed it again.

She heard faint sounds of life from the other side of the door—muffled footfalls and the drone of a televised sportscaster.

“Give it up,” she yelled through the thick wooden panels. “I know you’re in there. I can hear ESPN.” She turned her fist sideways and pounded on the door, SWAT-team style. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

She heard the locks unbolting, and then the door swung inward just far enough for Evan to stick his head out.

For a moment, Lara drew back and took in his bloodshot eyes and thicket-like cheek stubble. He looked as tired and despairing as Kerry had a few weeks ago.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Lara tried to tamp down her instinctive pangs of sympathy as she gave him a thorough once-over. Then she reached out and plucked a single strand of chestnut-colored fur off the collar of his white T-shirt. “Aha! What’s the meaning of this?”

He ducked back into the house and tried to shut the door, but she blocked it with her sneaker.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” she allowed, “but you will. I’ve got something in my car that belongs to you. Or should I say
someone
.”