The Art of Wag (11 page)

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Authors: Susan C. Daffron

BOOK: The Art of Wag
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“It will be okay. She can’t stay here forever.”

“And tomorrow Roxy arrives. That will be just fantastic. Hey, look Mother dear, it’s another dog! Guess what? It sheds too! And this one has a warped sense of humor about hiding and destroying the house.”

Joel rearranged himself to sit up straighter on the bed. He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face toward the light. “Are you crying?”

Kat snorfled and moved her head, snuggling her face back down into his shirt. “No.”

“Yes you are. Is your mother really getting to you that much? You lived with the woman for years. Is something else going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just go to sleep?”

“All right. It has been a long evening.” Joel disentangled himself from Kat and got off the bed. He headed for the bathroom and closed the door.

Kat gripped the bedspread and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the brown bag from the drug store she’d hidden deep in the back of the bathroom vanity.

Very early the next morning, Kat opened her eyes at the sound of crashing noises downstairs, followed by a sharp bark from Linus.
Uh-oh
. What was her mother doing to her office? What might she
find
in her office? Kat leaped out of bed and dragged on a pair of jeans.

Joel rolled over and looked at her. “What was that noise?”

“I’m going to go investigate. It’s possible my mother is snooping.”

“She snoops loudly.”

“You should have heard her when she was trying to find my diary when I was thirteen.”

Joel snuggled back down into the covers. “Glad I missed it. I’ll just stay here.”

“Good plan.”

Kat crossed the living room and was joined by Linus, who was standing at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Big Guy. Did she wake you up?” Linus wagged and started down the stairs. Kat followed him and stood in the doorway of her office, aka the guest bedroom. Her mother was on her hands and knees, looking under the bed. Kat put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

Mary looked up from the bed. “I’m rearranging, dear. I had trouble sleeping. It’s too quiet here. The flow of this room is all wrong. I can’t move around in here with all this clutter. I went to move that floor lamp so I could see better and then I saw what was under the lamp. How can you live like this? Don’t you own a vacuum cleaner? And good heavens, what are you wearing?”

Kat looked down at herself. “My night shirt. And jeans.”

“What if someone saw you like this? What if you have an accident and the paramedics see you wearing that? And you’re not wearing makeup. Don’t you ever comb your hair?”

“Mother, I just woke up.
You
woke me up. And the only one who is going to see me at this hour is Joel. He doesn’t care. Only you care.”

“Well, of course he doesn’t care. Consider the source. He hardly looks respectable himself.”

Kat put her hands over her face. “It’s way too early to have this conversation. I’m going back upstairs. We have a dog arriving this morning.”

“A dog? Another one?”

“I told you that I’m boarding dogs. We’re building a kennel in the spring.”

Mary got up, brushed off her slacks, and sat down on the bed. She picked a clump of fur off the bedspread and placed it in the garbage can. “Why is a dog coming here now?”

“I told the owner the dog could stay here. There are two other dogs coming soon, as well. They’ll stay in the outbuilding. Joel still needs to fix the door for that, though.” Which would be difficult if his arm was still messed up. It was beyond time to talk to him about that again.

“I see. You keep saying
we
. Is this Joel person staying here permanently?”

“As far as I know. Why don’t you ask him?” Kat turned and stomped up the stairs back to her bedroom, followed by Linus.

Joel had gotten dressed and was sitting on the bed, putting on his shoes. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night, but I’m going to take the chain saw into town to Frank’s Repair. I think it needs work. It’s running kind of rough.” He stood up and reached into the closet for a flannel shirt.

Kat walked over and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll miss you. Please come back soon. Don’t leave me here alone.”

He peeled her arms off his body and gave her a kiss. “I’m just dropping of a chain saw, not fleeing to Borneo. Don’t worry.”

After Joel left, Kat took a shower. She could hear her mother continuing her redecorating and snooping project downstairs. That meant Kat had the bathroom all to herself, at least for the time being. She rummaged around in the back of the vanity and pulled the test out of the bag. She leaned against the counter and unfolded the paper with the long list of instructions. As she went through the steps, she thought about the unappreciated technical writer who must have had to write the directions. Maybe she even had to try them out. Did she have to sit around waiting with a stopwatch in some sterile office ladies’ room? “Hi Georgette, don’t mind me. I’m testing to see if my directions are correct.” Ugh. Kat didn’t miss being a tech writer one little bit.

A loud rapping on the door startled Kat from her flashbacks of cubicle life. Mary said, “Are you okay in there? What are you doing? You’re not sick, are you?”

“Mother! Could I please have a little privacy here?”

“You’ve been in there for a long time. Are you okay? I’m your mother. You can tell me.”

Kat stared down at the plastic wand, which was indicating nothing conclusive so far. “I’m fine. Go away.”

“Do you expect me to go outside? I need to use the facilities, dear.”

Kat looked at her watch. Eight minutes to go. She shoved the stick and packaging back into the brown paper bag and jammed it into the little plastic garbage can that sat under the sink. Clutching the can to her chest, she opened the door and marched out. “Fine. All yours.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

“I’m emptying the trash for you. Because I know you like that kind of thing. This is me being tidy.” Kat scampered off to her bedroom and slammed the door. She leaned against the door and slid down to the floor. Six more minutes to go.

Chapter 6

Performances

A
s Tracy navigated The Turd around the potholes along Kat’s driveway, she pondered the day ahead. Considering the gloomy weather and gunmetal-gray clouds, she was feeling remarkably upbeat. Maybe it was because against all odds, the old car had decided to participate in the transportation program. Although it was probably stupid to go to this meeting and impersonate an artist, a part of her was looking forward to it. She had acted in a few school plays over the years; it could be fun to play dress up and pretend to be a hot-shot designer for an afternoon. She’d never see any of these people again, anyway—might as well really work it with an over-the-top performance.

Tracy parked under a tree, got out of the car, and was greeted with utter silence. No dogs were around and the birds weren’t feeling enough joy about the weather to say anything either. It was awfully early. Even Roxy didn’t seem to want to bark, for a change. Maybe she should make sure Kat was awake before she got Roxy out of the car.

Tracy walked up the steps and knocked on the weathered wood door. A thin older woman with light-brown hair opened it. Daunted by the woman’s penetrating and unfriendly look, Tracy shifted her stance and put her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Um, uh, is Kat here?” Tracy hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since she was a third-grader asking if her friend Lisa could come out to play. It was strange.

The woman frowned and stepped aside. “Yes. You must be the person with the dog. Please come in.”

A door in the house closed somewhere and Kat walked into the entryway with an unusually somber expression on her face. “Hi Tracy. This is my mother, Mary Stevens. Let’s go outside and get Roxy.”

Tracy nodded. “Okay.” The tension oozing from Kat was palpable. Yikes. What the heck was going on here? The last time she was here Kat was cheerful, surrounded by happy cavorting dogs. Today it was like the clouds had enveloped the whole place in a shroud of murky bleakness.

Kat helped Tracy unload the crate from the back of the car. They set it on the ground and Tracy shut the door. “So where’s Joel?”

“He’s in town. Could you grab the other end of the crate? We can bring it inside first, then come back for Roxy.”

Tracy obliged and the two women hauled the crate up the steps and into the house, where Mary was sitting at the table clutching a mug in front of her with both hands. She glowered at them again and Tracy was eager to get back outside. That woman was seriously unfriendly.

Back at the car, Tracy clipped a leash on Roxy, took her out, and placed her on the ground. She handed the leash to Kat. “So I hope it’s still okay for Roxy to stay.”

Kat looked down at Roxy, who was busy sniffing the ground around her feet. “It’s fine. I’ll do a better job of paying attention to her this time. And as you saw, my mother is here, so there’s another person to keep an eye on her too.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll be back tomorrow to get her. So it’s really just over night.” Tracy smiled in an effort to lighten the mood. Kat looked so unhappy. Should she ask? Maybe it was none of her business. “I know you don’t know me very well, but is everything okay?”

Kat looked back up at her. “I’m fine. Just stuff on my mind, I guess. And I have a house guest.” A corner of her mouth turned up. “Isn’t there some saying about house guests being like fish or something?”

“Yeah, they start to stink.”

Kat smiled for real this time. “Exactly.”

Tracy impulsively reached out gave Kat a hug, since she looked like she needed one. “Thank you again for letting Roxy stay. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Tracy got into the car and fired up The Turd, which after a few tries decided to sputter back to life.
Come on baby, just one more trip to the big city. You can do it
. After the weird vibe at Kat’s house, she was ready to hit the open road. At least her parents weren’t unpleasant and sour like Kat’s mother. In fact, Tracy’s mom was pretty much the ultimate Earth Mother who took care of everybody. Growing up, all of Tracy’s friends thought her mom was the coolest mom
ever
.

At her mom’s gift store, even the employees called Bea “mom.” They loved Bea and most of them had worked at the store for more than a decade. Pretty much everyone else in Alpine Grove loved her too, since for years Bea Sullivan had donated to every sport team, charitable auction, and fundraiser in town. Even though Tracy had endured a couple of huge fights with her father and he thought she was a flake, Tracy knew he did love her in his cranky, grumbling old dude kind of way.

Tracy slowed down and stopped at the Alpine Grove traffic light. Larry Lowell was standing at his big plate-glass office window, looking out at the street. She looked at him and he suddenly straightened and waved enthusiastically back at her. He looked like he might hyperventilate. Tracy looked away from him, up at the traffic light. There was no one around. Why was it red? Did the stupid thing break again? The Turd coughed, sputtered, and stalled out. The ancient station wagon was not fond of bad weather. There were clouds today and it was getting colder. Someday she was really going to have to get a new car—this was getting ridiculous. It used to be that the decrepit automobile didn’t like snow. Then it didn’t like rain. Now it couldn’t even cope with clouds. Sheesh.

Tracy looked over and saw Larry turning the door handle to come outside. She cranked the key hard in the ignition.
Go! I mean it, you giant hunk of scrap metal. Just start!
The car made a horrible screech and belched as it resurrected itself. Tracy revved the engine, trying to keep it alive. The light changed and as she let off the clutch, the car lurched gracelessly forward through the intersection. Tracy looked over her shoulder and saw Larry standing on the sidewalk, looking crestfallen.

After the guy had gotten her fired, Tracy wasn’t feeling terribly sympathetic. It was beyond time to get out of town.

Kat walked into the house with Roxy in her arms. “You have to be good this time, Roxy. I know you have teeth, but please don’t bite my mother. No matter how much you may want to, biting is really considered poor form.”

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