Page 1 of Anchored

ChapterOne

Maple

“We listen and we don’t judge,” I say calmly for the tenth time.

The multicolored Lhasa apso on the other end of my screen tilts her head to the side. To the outside observer, my furry friend looks like the cutest little puffball of fur you’ve ever seen. To the trained eye I’ve developed over the years of counseling canines, I can see the devil behind those dark eyes.

“It was just such a hard breakup, and I feel like Buttercup isn’t being understanding enough. I can’t go for walks when my face is splotchy and my mascara is running.” My not-so-furry client also on the screen gives a dramatic sniff.

I nod sympathetically. I’ve been through one of those bad breakups myself. I understand how many boxes of tissues a girl can go through in those early days.

“Janessa, would you mind if I speak to Buttercup alone for a few minutes?”

Janessa, who has a startling array of blingy diamonds just on the top half of her body that I can see on the screen, gives me a nod, kisses Buttercup on the head, and leaves the room. The dog whines and lies down, her paws filling the screen right before her tiny snout lies on top, her dark eyes drilling into my soul. I know what she’s thinking. Her owner goes through a breakup every other month. At this rate, Buttercup will never get walked.

“I think we both know what needs to happen here, B. You gotta give a little to get a little.” My voice is soft and soothing, the same tone I perfected when I used to teach yoga classes. Maybe it’s the slight rasp. Maybe it’s a pheromone that can be detected through thousands of miles. Maybe it’s some as of yet undiscovered thing in the human experience, but animals fucking love me. Every single one flocks to me like I’m fucking Snow White dancing in the forest.

Buttercup whines again, but it’s a relenting whine.

“You need to snuggle up to her, lick her tears, and then the second the sobs end, you race over to the door. Do that move where you turn in a circle and sploot. She can’t resist it. In fact, show me your move right now. Let’s practice. Sploot, Buttercup!”

She responds to the excitement in my voice and springs into action to show off her maneuver. It really is adorable.

“Perfection!”

We end the call a few minutes later when Janessa—my highest-paying celebrity client to date—comes back in the room. I watch the screen go dark and lean back on my ergonomic chair with a deep, satisfied sigh. It feels good to know I’m helping my furry friends and their owners have the best relationship possible, even if pet psychologist wasn’t the career I planned to have as a fully grown thirty-two-year-old woman.

My phone rings and I frown at the area code. It’s someone from Anchor Lake calling. I snatch it up and answer before it goes to a second ring. The only person I know in Anchor Lake is Grandma Gracie. My heart thunders as I say hello.

A pleasant male voice is on the other end. “Is this Maple Thatcher?”

“It is,” I answer quickly, forgetting all about the rules for single women and giving out their identity.

“This is Doctor Ahmed, from Anchor Lake. I just had an appointment with Gracie Thatcher and you’re listed as her first point of contact.”

My brain feels jumbled. Dad has always been the point of contact for Grandma Gracie’s care. Did Grandma fire Dad? And if so, why didn’t Dad or Grandma say anything about this?

“Yes, I’m her granddaughter. Is she okay?” I stand quickly, the chair rolling back behind me.

“She took a bit of a fall in the middle of the night. Sunny Shores Retirement Home called me in this morning to give her a thorough exam. She has a nice goose egg on the back of her head, but she appears to otherwise be in good shape.”

Breath whooshes out of my lungs. “Thank God.”

“Yes, but what I’m calling for is about her cognitive ability. Doctor Johnson was treating her for dementia before he retired and left the practice. I have to say, after my examination this morning, I’m not sure if she’s suffering from a slight concussion from the fall or if her dementia is more advanced than Doctor Johnson first realized.”

“Dementia?” I pace the living room in my condo in Charlotte. I’m just a few hours away from Anchor Lake, yet the helplessness makes me feel like I’m a few planets away. “I don’t recall Dad mentioning that Grandma Gracie has dementia.”

I can hear beeps and voices on the other end of the line. The new doctor clears his throat and his words are far more rushed now. “Well, be that as it may, Gracie Thatcher is suffering from some decline. I think someone from the family should come check on her as soon as possible. We may need to make a few decisions about her level of care soon. Sunny Shores has higher-level-care rooms available, but the family will need to be involved in that decision.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” My mouth is saying things, but my brain is still trying to catch up. “I’ll, um, talk to the family and see if we can get someone out there as soon as possible.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be in touch.” And then Doctor Ahmed hangs up, leaving me staring at my phone.

My thumbs are quivering with worry as I type out a text to the family group chat.

Me: Grandma Gracie had a fall last night. The doctor says we should get out there and check on her. Something about her dementia being more advanced??

My older brother, Toby, is the first to respond. Probably because his cell phone is surgically attached to his palm. He’s an ass-kisser who graduated from college and joined Dad in his law firm like the silver-spooned, country club douchebag that he is. Okay, that’s a bit harsh. He’s not a bad guy, per se, he and I have just never understood each other.

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