The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (30 page)

Lately he’s been thinking that maybe he’s ready to go out on his own, be the master of his own schedule, build in a little more free time for himself. He wants to enjoy his home more, wants to spend some of the money he’s been saving up. And who knows—the last time he walked through Avalon Park, he saw plenty of people with puppies and dogs. Maybe he’ll invite Alicia up for a visit, if she’s interested. She already said that Avalon looked like the kind of place someone would be happy to call home. Maybe he’s being presumptuous that she’d want to see him again, but it can’t hurt to ask.

After all, what does he have to lose?

Chapter Thirteen
 

Connie whacks at a patch of wild dandelions that are threatening to take over the garden. It’s early on a Saturday morning and the October air is cool. She has a full day of food prep ahead of her, and she needs to return some calls to people who want to book the tearoom for an upcoming event.

The tea salon is becoming popular with wedding planners who like to recommend the space for bridal luncheons or small engagement parties. Connie’s designed a paper tea packet that brides can customize with their name and wedding date. She can add a quote about love or marriage, or put a title like “Love Is Brewing” or “The Perfect Blend.” It’s a simple thing that adds a personal touch, and when tied with a satin ribbon looks as professional as the ones that cost an arm and a leg.

Connie pulls the dandelions up by the roots, tossing them into the growing pile next to her. She knows Serena will eat them, the flowers and leaves, at least, and it would be so much easier to let her roam free and help keep the weeds in check. The only problem is that Serena won’t restrict herself to the weeds, instead going for anything green and edible. Madeline doesn’t want her to bother patrons or create a problem for the neighbors. In short, it’s this or nothing.

Connie glances at the goat. Serena looks conked out even though it’s too early in the day for her to be tired. She wishes there was more space for Serena in the pen, but since they converted the backyard for additional seating and a small lounging area for customers, it’s not possible. Connie can hear Madeline remind her that the property’s not set up for livestock, and that there could be a zoning issue, too.

“Have you asked around yet?” she’ll ask casually. It’s not nagging exactly but Madeline’s not giving it up, either. The thought that Serena might no longer be a part of her life is unbearable, but Connie doesn’t want Madeline or Walter Lassiter getting involved, so she finally sat down and printed out copies of her missing goat sign.

“Leave some in the tea salon,” Madeline suggested yesterday. “In case anyone wants to put it up in their place of business, too. The more people who see it, the better.”

So Connie had reluctantly left a pile on one of the tables in the entryway along with their take-out menu and business cards. So far no one’s taken any. She’s counted them out, twenty in all, and each time she goes by, she counts them again. Still twenty. She feels encouraged each time she sees the small stack, knows Madeline can’t say she isn’t trying to get the word out.

“So what’s wrong with your goat?”

Connie looks up and sees Walter Lassiter peering over the top of the fence. He gives a nod toward Serena, who ignores them both.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Connie says as she digs out some crabgrass. “She’s just tired.”

“Nope,” Walter says. “She’s sick. Maybe she ate something she shouldn’t have.”

“Sick?”

“Look at her. Something ain’t right.” He jerks his thumb toward the pen.

Connie bites her lip. “You’re saying that, Mr. Lassiter, because you want me to get rid of her.”

“Of course I want you to get rid of her!” he snorts. “Are you just figuring this out? She doesn’t belong here.
She’s a goat
. She belongs on a farm or in a zoo. Has she even been dewormed?”

Connie looks at Serena, who’s lying listlessly in her doghouse. She doesn’t hop on top anymore, which Connie finds odd. She figured Serena was pouting because Connie couldn’t play with her as much as she’d liked.

“Goats can have all sorts of parasites,” Walter continues. “They need to be vaccinated. After all, this is a neighborhood, with people. Do you see any other goats around? No.”

Do you see any other fussy neighbors around?
Connie wants to retort.
No
.

But she doesn’t say that, just stands up and wipes the dirt from her hands. She gathers up the weeds and dumps them into the small wheelbarrow she uses to garden. “Well, I’m trying to find the owner,” she says. “But if I can’t find them, then …”

“Then I guess you’ll have to find another home for her,” Walter finishes. The look on his face is all business now.

“That will be up to me to decide,” Connie says. She doesn’t want him thinking she’s easily bullied.

“No, missy. City ordinance. I don’t want to have to bring this up at the next town meeting, either. It’s bad enough you have all these people coming and going …”

“The tea salon is a legitimate business,” she interjects.

“But keeping a goat in a residential area, even if you have a commercial license, isn’t. I looked it up, missy.”

“My name is
Connie
, Mr. Lassiter.”

“I’m telling you this first, missy, because I know you’re doing your best and I appreciate the casseroles. But the minute I do a sit-down with Madeline, that goat is history. Again, nothing personal. I don’t have any intention of spending my retirement years living next door to a goat. There’s enough commotion going on as it is.”

Connie is suddenly weary. “I hear you, Mr. Lassiter.”

“And I’d get that goat to a vet, if I were you. Something’s not right with her.” He grunts and heads back to his house.

Connie pushes the wheelbarrow toward the trash and compost area, then goes over to Serena’s pen. “Hey, girl,” she says. She unlatches the gate and walks in. “How are you feeling?”

Serena gets up and walks over to Connie, nuzzling and leaning into her. Connie looks around and sees that she’s due to rake out the pen again, lay down some new straw. She read that male goats stink up their pens but female goats aren’t so bad. It’s just manure, after all, and it’s good for the compost heap.

Serena wanders away, then flops down, forlorn. Connie hesitates. They have a busy day ahead and then a busy evening with a monthly book club meeting in the sitting room. There’s no time for Connie to squeeze in an emergency visit to the vet.

Inside the kitchen, Madeline is covering a large container of fruit salad with plastic wrap. “I was hoping for a quiet morning but we already have quite a few call-ins. I also thought we’d be able to serve a butternut squash soup for the daily special but now I’m thinking we should use up the tomatoes instead …”

“I think Serena’s sick,” Connie blurts out. She scrubs her hands in the sink, suddenly anxious. “She hasn’t been herself lately.”

Madeline puts the fruit salad into the fridge just as the oven timer goes off. “Yes, I was noticing that myself.” She slides on her oven mitts and opens the oven door.

Connie reaches for her apron, then stops. “What should I do?” she asks Madeline.

“Depends.” Madeline pulls out a baking tray of blueberry Amish Friendship Bread scones and sets it on a rack to cool. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to take her to the vet,” Connie says. She lines up the empty butter dishes on the counter. “But there’s no time. And I can’t leave you here alone.”

“Oh,
pshaw
,” Madeline says. “I did run this place for a while on my own, you know.” Then her face lights up.

“Hannah!” she exclaims, snapping her fingers. “We could call her and see if she’s available to help us today. I’m sure she’d be delighted.”

Again? Connie grimaces. She’s been paying closer attention to the times Hannah joins them in the kitchen and was dismayed to discover that Hannah has the same sensibilities and preferences as Madeline in the kitchen. No Mountain Dew dumplings for her.

“I can take Serena later,” Connie says, reaching for the apron again. She doesn’t want Hannah coming in to help. Call her insecure, but she just doesn’t.

Madeline gives her a stern look. “Put that back,” she orders, referring to the apron. “And I’m calling Hannah. You call the vet and get your goat squared away.”

“But …”

The bell over the door tinkles as the first customers trickle in. “Taking care of an animal comes with certain responsibilities,” Madeline says as she heads out of the kitchen to greet them. “Go and make sure she’s all right.”

But when Connie calls the vet, the receptionist tells her Dr. Ballard is completely booked.

“Please,” Connie begs. “Could he just take a quick look? I need to know that she’s all right.”

The woman sighs. “Well, if you come now I can try to squeeze you in between appointments.”

“Thank you,” Connie says with relief, already reaching for her keys and wallet. “I’ll bring her right over.”

She updates Madeline before heading to the backyard. Serena looks up with mild interest as Connie approaches, and Connie feels hopeful that everything will be fine. She’s probably worried about nothing. She’ll get Serena into the car, drive to the vet’s, get some vitamins or whatever, and come right home.

Twenty minutes later, Connie is still standing in the driveway tugging unsuccessfully at Serena’s leash as she tries to get her into the car. Serena seems to know what’s going on and wants no part of it.

Hannah walks up, her purse slung over her shoulder, her long dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s dressed in khakis and a pressed white shirt, ballet flats on her feet. “Hey, Connie,” she begins, and then stops when she sees Serena. “Oh.”

“I’m … trying … to … take … her … to … the … vet,” Connie grunts. She finally collapses against the car in defeat.

Hannah glances at the tea salon, then back at Connie, her eyes filled with concern. “Do you need help?”

No
, Connie wants to say, but she doesn’t have much of a choice so she nods.

“Okay.” Hannah slips off her purse and looks at Serena uncertainly, unsure of what to do. “Do you want me to push? From, uh, behind?”

“That would be great. Steer clear of her kicking zone, you know, in case.” But even with Connie and Hannah at opposite ends, Serena doesn’t budge.

“Oh, come on now,” Madeline says, stepping out of the tea salon, looking exasperated. “We have work to do.” She holds up a bran muffin. “Let’s go, Serena!” She tosses the muffin into Connie’s car.

“I don’t think …” Connie begins, but then Serena breaks away from her and hops into the backseat.

Madeline looks satisfied. “There we are! Now let’s get inside, Hannah, I need your help in the kitchen. Connie, you better get on your way before she polishes off that muffin and starts in on your upholstery.”

Connie gives them a wave, then carefully backs out of the driveway. Serena finishes the muffin before they’ve reached the end of the block. She starts to stand up, wobbling as Connie takes a corner a little too sharply. She looks unhappy at being inside the car and starts butting the door in an attempt to get out.

“Serena, sit!” Connie commands, even though she knows Serena doesn’t know what that means. Fortunately, like most things in Avalon, the veterinarian’s office is only a few minutes away.

As promised, the receptionist has penciled her in and after half an hour leads them to an examination room. While they wait, Connie glances at the pictures on the wall. Dr. Ballard looks to be about sixty, his hair all gray, a kind smile on his face. He’s standing next to a horse while wearing a short-sleeved shirt and necktie. There are other pictures, too, with different animals and owners. Connie can tell that he loves what he does.

So when a young man with dark hair walks into the room wearing a white lab coat with “Dr. Elliot Ballard, DVM,” Connie is confused.

“Where’s Dr. Ballard?” she asks.

“I’m Dr. Ballard,” he replies. He looks at her and gives her a friendly grin, and Connie feels her cheeks flush. When he holds out his hand, Connie goes to shake it and feels a tingle that shoots straight up her arm and into her chest, resonating throughout her body. For a second her mind is a blank—she forgets about Serena, about the tea salon, about everything. All she can think about is the man standing in front of her and notice that her heart is doing flip-flops in her chest.

He smiles at Serena. “So what seems to be the problem?”

“I’m not sure,” Connie says. She glances at a mirror on the back of the door, relieved to see that she doesn’t look as flustered as she feels. “I’m sorry, but you don’t look anything like your pictures.”

“That’s because those pictures are of my father—he retired last year. But you can call me Eli. Most people do.” Eli looks at his chart. “So you haven’t been in before, Connie?”

Hearing him say her name sets off that tingling sensation again. She shakes her head.

“Usually I refer farm animals to Doc Handley,” Eli says. “He handles the larger animals and livestock. I see more of your domesticated animals—dogs, cats, the occasional parrot or turtle. Though I have been seeing quite a few chickens lately … Anyway, I’m happy to take a look and refer you to him if necessary.”