Linny's Sweet Dream List (15 page)

 

Early the next morning, Linny gave a final pat to the sleepy puppy and handed him to the vet tech at Red Oak. She pushed open the lobby door, glanced out, and instinctively ducked back inside. Good grief, she was turning into a spy. But still, she peered out, watching a private drama unfold in the parking lot.

A tense-looking Jack Avery stood beside his red truck, arms crossed. Frowning, he glanced at his watch, as a sleek black Mercedes convertible glided in beside him.

Linny glimpsed Vera's white blonde head in the driver's seat. Malibu Barbie stepped from the car and waved, her red smile looking brittle. Linny eyed her rich girl outfit of black capris, a red blouse, and black and white houndstooth-check flats. She felt a burn of jealousy at her petite perfection. For an ex-wife, she sure seemed to spend a lot of time at Jack's office.

The passenger door of the Mercedes opened part way, and a skinny boy climbed out, clutching a handheld game. With a finger, he pushed his glasses up his nose, and waved at Jack.

Jack broke into a wide, open smile.

This was Neal, and Linny had a front-row seat at the divorced parents' child swap. She felt a wave of sadness for Jack and Neal—and even for Vera.

Jack hugged the boy, helped him unload a duffel bag from the backseat, and put it in the truck. When Neal kissed Vera good-bye, she caught the boy in an extravagant hug, and let him go. Her shoulders' slumped as she slipped behind the wheel of the car and pulled off. With Jack's hand resting on the back of the boy's neck, father and son walked slowly toward the clinic door. Neal chatted animatedly, and Jack nodded, listening.

Embarrassed at having witnessed the personal moment, Linny stepped backward, crashing into a potted plant. Catching her balance, she grasped the stems of the tottering plant and tried to steady it as Jack and Neal stepped in the lobby.

“Hey, Linny.” Jack sounded pleasant and seemed unsurprised to see her wedged in a palm tree.

“Oh, hey Jack.” She could feel her face was crimson.

“This is my son, Neal. Neal, this is Linny.”

“Hey, Neal.” Linny stuck out her hand—and felt her face heat up as she realized that a simple hello would have been more appropriate.

But looking grave, Neal shook her hand. “Hi, Linny.”

Jack said, “Linny's puppy, Roy, is getting over pancreatitis—that's where the—”

“. . . the stomach enzymes cause problems,” Neal finished.

Her embarrassment forgotten, she shook her head admiringly. “What a smart young man.”

The boy blushed, and looked down at his sneakers.

Jack squeezed Neal's shoulder, looking every inch the proud papa. “He's been reading my old textbooks. He thinks he wants to be a vet.”

As Ruthie yoo-hooed a greeting to Jack and Neal, Linny waved and made her exit. “Good bye. Nice to meet you, Neal,” she called over her shoulder. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she blushed again, thinking about colliding with the plant. Why couldn't she act normally around the vet? She shook her head, but found herself wondering how Jack's young girlfriend did with a boy so close to her own age. Linny knew her own view of parenting was idealized, and saw a mental picture of her younger self and a handsome husband cooing over the bassinet of a fresh-smelling infant. She slipped on her glasses and shuddered, remembering Mary Catherine's tales about Dare's teen years. She sniffed, and smiled meanly. If Jack allowed Velvet/Bunny to be part of his family unit over the next few years, the girl probably had her work cut out for her.

Cowboy
was far too kind a description for the employee who greeted her when Linny arrived at Spivey's Garage for her ten o'clock appointment. The young man behind the counter with the too-cool attitude and greasy hair kept his eyes glued to the computer screen for several minutes before he deigned to look up and greet her. Now, thirty minutes later, she saw her car still in the parking lot.

He talked quietly on his cell, but she could hear every word. “Yeah, they rocked in the first set. We got trashed, but hey . . .”

She narrowed her eyes at him, betting his boss, Ronnie, had a policy about employees not using the business line for personal calls. Using his cell was probably the young man's way of getting around the rule. Rising, she walked to the counter, stood in front of him and gave him a finger wave to get his attention.

He lowered the phone and flashed her a look of annoyance.

“Excuse me, but how much longer do you think it will be?” she asked pleasantly.

He frowned. “I don't know, lady. One of the boys called in sick . . .”

A booming voice behind her commanded, “Denny, put the phone down and show the lady some manners.”

Linny turned and saw a round, red-faced man bustle in and chug toward the counter.

The young man scrambled his feet, hurriedly ended the call and mumbled, “Sorry, Ronnie.”

The man looked at her apologetically. “Ma'am, I'm Ronnie Spivey, and I'm the owner. I am very sorry for any delay we've caused you, and I'm particularly sorry for the manners of this young man.” He shot the boy a look, and shooed him from behind the counter. “Fortunately, his mechanical skills are much better than his meet-and-greet skills.”

Denny had the grace to look sheepish as he ducked toward the door to the bays.

Ronnie called after him. “Please get her car back there now. I've got the desk.” He turned to her. “You're Linny, right? Jerry called and told me about you. He said you taught classes on treating customers right?”

Linny smiled. “I did . . . do . . . customer service training.”

“We could use it around here.” He blew out a sigh. “These boys drive me crazy. They're smart and work hard for the most part, but they don't know how to deal with people. They were all raised in barns.” Ronnie shook his head in disgust. “And we've got professional-type customers that come in here, so we need to be on our toes.” He hooked a thumb toward the framed dollar bill on the wall behind him. “I started this business twenty-five years ago. For a long time, it was just me—a one-man show. But I've grown and now I've got contracts with the state to maintain their car fleets, and thirteen awful-mannered employees I've got to manage. Can you help me, doc?” He gave her a cheeky grin.

She smiled, instinctively liking the man. “I'd like to help, but I need at least fifteen participants to run a class, and between my fee and the time lost when your guys are in class, it usually costs too much for a small business.” Linny tilted her head. “I can email you a few articles, but let me think about it . . .” Somewhere in her brain, an idea began to take hold.

 

Linny pulled out of the service station and glanced with satisfaction at the gas gauge, now registering a half tank. The back of her shirt clung to the seat, even with all the windows rolled down, but she could handle not having air conditioning for a while. At least she wouldn't have another breakdown. The gates came down at a railroad crossing, and as she idled the car waiting for the train to pass, she heard the ping of an arriving text and saw it was from one of her favorite ex-co-workers. She pulled it up.

 

 

She smiled at the idea of Annalise being outed as a wench, and, meanly, hoped Walt felt both foolish at his bad judgment in believing in the girl, and regretful about letting Linny go. As she watched the long train roll by, she felt a buzz of anxiety. Jarod's vote of confidence warmed her, but she needed to get cracking with designing programs and materials in case she landed even more training work.

 

The next morning, she dressed to take Roy back to the vet for the day. Glancing in the mirror and chided herself, knowing why she'd gussied herself up, and slipped on the pretty floral skirt she'd bought at the thrift store for a dollar. The side seam was slightly frayed, but you'd hardly see it unless you looked for it. She secretly hoped to run into Jack. Maybe she could act normal around him.

As she turned onto Red Oak Road, she saw two joggers bound toward her and veer off down a side road. She drew in her breath sharply, realizing the man was Jack Avery and his pony-tailed partner with the sculpted calves and the effortless stride was the nymphet she'd seen him with downtown.

In a plaintive tone, she said to the puppy. “Roy, what is it with these guys and the much younger women? Don't you think it's kind of pathetic?”

Roy sighed heavily.

As she pulled into the vet clinic, her breathing was shallow. Channeling Indigo, she took several deep cleansing breaths. She needed to get a grip. How could she feel possessive of a man with whom she'd never even had a date? It was ridiculous.

 

When Linny picked Roy up that evening, the puppy looked bright-eyed, and gave her face a tongue bath as she gathered him in her arms.

Ruthie called, “Bring him in tomorrow morning for one last day with us. If his numbers look good, Dr. Jack will probably let you take him home in the afternoon.”

 

As soon as she and the puppy walked in the door to the trailer, the phone rang, and she saw Mary Catherine's number. Kicking off her shoes, she lounged on the couch. “I've missed you! Where have you been? I've called and texted and written . . .”

Her friend sounded harried. “Work is crazy busy, but the big news is that Dare was in an accident.”

Linny gasped. “No! Is he okay? What happened?”

She sighed. “He's bruised up, but basically fine. I'll fill you in.” Her voice brightened. “Will you walk with me before work tomorrow? I can come out at 6:15 and we can power walk and catch up.”

“You're on.” Linny exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. She loved Dare, and felt a knee-weakening flood of relief that he'd not been hurt more seriously.

 

“Hold your rear end cheeks together when you walk,” Mary Catherine advised the next morning as they puffed down the driveway. “Gives you buttocks you could bounce a quarter off of.”

“You read that in a tabloid, right?” Linny grinned, trying to squeeze as she walked. “So fill me in. What's happened to Dare?”

“He spent the night on a friend's couch after a late-night party with that crowd from the restaurant where he works. He'd been drinking.” Mary Catherine's mouth looked like she'd bit a lemon.

“Oh, no.” Linny's heart sank. Mary Catherine and Mike felt so strongly about underage drinking, and tried to hammer that home with Dare. “But not driving if he'd been drinking was a good decision.”

“He did drink and drive though—on his bike.” Mary Catherine shook her head, looking disgusted. “He woke up real early, still under the influence, and decided to pedal on home. According to Dare”—she shot Linny a skeptical look—“a car almost hit him, and he had to careen down an embankment to avoid getting hit. We just picked him up from the hospital yesterday afternoon.”

She gasped. “No! He had to go to the hospital?”

“He's just banged up. He's got two black eyes, cuts and bruises, and he knocked out two teeth.”

“Oh, boy.” Linny shook her head sympathetically. “Was he wearing his helmet?”

“He was. Backward.” She cracked a weary smile. “He's going to drive us crazy.”

Sighing, Linny shivered as she thought about how much worse it could have been. “We both thought we were immortal at that age though, didn't we?”

“I know.” Her friend nodded grudgingly. “But we're not letting him off the hook. He's going to spend the rest of the summer with us, and Mike's still so mad he's hardly speaking to him.”

“Uh-oh.” Linny winced, remembering Dare's short-lived joy ride in the truck on the eighteenth hole of the Raleigh Ridge golf course, the goat in the narthex of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, and Dare's forgetting to put the drain plug back in and sinking Mike's two-week-old bass boat. Mary Catherine and Mike always made him pay for or work off every penny of damage he caused, and their tough parenting style had helped grow Dare into a basically responsible, kind, young man. He was the Prince of the Near Misses, but this was his first bout with trouble involving alcohol, and Linny knew how upsetting that was for her friend, given her mother's unquenchable thirst.

“He's going to pay us back for the dental work he needs, and he's not going back to the party hearty restaurant. We want to put him to work, but Mike took care of every project around our house when he was unemployed.” She cocked her head. “Do you have any hard labor that needs to be done, preferably in the hot sun? Any tobacco to be picked? Any asphalt to be laid?”

“Ah, I see. Atonement. A reminder of the importance of good teeth and a college education.” Linny bobbed her head and thought about the moldering pile of carpeting and paneling that still sat in her driveway. “I've got a few projects that might just fit that bill.”

“Good.” Mary Catherine nodded decisively. “I'll have him call you.”

“How's work?” Linny rubbed the stitch in her side, and slowed her pace.

“Let's see.” Mary Catherine tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The usual—husbands finding younger, perkier replacement brides, people connecting with old flames online, wives leaving husbands for married co-workers, and custody battles that have nothing to do with the best interest of the children. Lately, couples are divorcing because they married in the years of high cotton, and now have to live on a budget.” She shook her head ruefully. “They liked the ‘for better' part but not the ‘for worse.' ”