Page 3 of Forget About Me

“No. I don’t—?” I swallow whatever I was going to say and wipe damp palms on my shorts. I’m fucking this up already. “I’m just saying, I might need help. I can pay. I just don’t know what to do, how to take care of a dog. Like, can he ride around with me in the delivery truck?”

She finally looks directly at me. “You’re still delivering cabinets? Didn’t you finish college and move away?”

“I did. I’m… helping out my dad right now.” I’m kind of surprised she doesn’t know more about my situation. Her mom always had a finger on the pulse of Arlington gossip, plus it seems like half of Boston has read or heard all kinds of things about me. A few of them are actually true.

“Huh.” She gives me a cryptic look before pulling something out of her pocket and shifting the dog’s position on the table.

“In fact, I’m actually kind of late to do some deliveries. Do you know how much longer this will take?”

As I watch her go through the dog’s fur with a fine-toothed comb, it burns to be treated like just another customer, but also, it’s pretty cool to see little Lucy all grown up. The way she moves is different. Precise. Self-assured.

“Well, he’s got fleas, and he’s a bit underweight. Since it’s possible he’s been on his own for a while, I would recommend that we keep him for a few hours—give him shots, do a test for worms, which he likely has, and treat him for those as well as the fleas. The vet will look him over and decide whether this wound needs an antibiotic. You can pick him up anytime between four and five o’clock.”

“Wait—you’re not the vet?” I look around the room for the answer, as if the posters on the wall warning of the dangers of diseases I can’t pronounce might enlighten me.

She drops the comb in a box on the counter, keeping a hand on the dog. “No, I’d still be in vet school if I’d gone that route. I dropped out of UMass after—after Tony—and moved back home.” Her eyes don’t stray from her examination of the dog. “I’ve worked my way up from assistant to animal technician.”

My heart plummets. I’m such an idiot.

She scratches out a few notes on the chart. “Just a warning: the tests, the shots and everything? It’s not going to be cheap.”

I’m still grappling with the fact that the accident robbed her of her future, as if losing her brother wasn’t bad enough. “Yeah, uh, sure. That’s fine.”

She shifts the dog to the floor.

Even though each pained look from her is another punch in my gut, I’m not ready to lose her again, so I start babbling. “I guess I need to get some supplies, but I don’t know what he needs. I suppose I can just ask the people at the pet store and they can tell me. Maybe there’s a book I can read on?—?”

She groans, placing a palm in the space between us. “Stop. Pick him up at five, and I’ll meet you at the Pet Palace after dinner. Without me there, they’ll upsell you on everything. Seven thirty. Got it?”

I squelch a triumphant smile and give her a thankful one instead. “Okay. Great. Thanks.”

Halfway out the door, she turns back. “Do you want to give him a name or should I?”

“Oh.” Another chance to do something right. “I can do it.”

Problem is, I never was good at improvisation. My brain is full of Shakespeare, so I sift through some of those names, mumbling, “Uh… Romeo? No… Paris?” Then it hits me. The mischievous fairy that brings lovers back together. “What about Puck?”

This gets the dog barking, but Lucy isn’t impressed. “Like in hockey?”

Her confusion’s warranted. I never played the sport, though Tony and I were on a ton of other teams together. “No, like the character inMidsummer Night’s Dream. Remember, we did that in high school?”

She nods curtly, her mouth tight. Tony was in the play, too. “Puck it is.”

When the door shuts behind them, I sink back onto the bench. “I’ll see you guys later. I’ll miss you.” My voice drops to a whisper even though I’m alone. Again. “I’ve been missing you.”

I’ve met hundreds of drop-dead gorgeous women since leaving Arlington for Los Angeles. Not a single one measured up to Lucy. Not a one had her easy, musical laugh. Not a one had skin as soft as hers or curves that I couldn’t resist. Not a one had caramel-colored eyes that lit with pleasure when they caught mine or cheeks that turned from olive to rosy when she said my name.

That ease, that softness, that color—they’ve all disappeared.

And it’s all my fault.

CHAPTER TWO

“Treat Me Right” - Pat Benatar

Lucy’s Right On Rock On Mixtape, Song #2

LUCY

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