Page 19 of Until Landon
He disconnects before I do. I turn toward Carol, whose eyes are burning a hole in my back.
“That was quick,” she says.
“He said everything he needed to. We are going to dinner tomorrow.”
I rise and grab the keys. Time to lock up. Just as I reach the door, the little scruffy mama dog shows up in front of the clinic. She takes a seat on the sidewalk, just staring at me. Oh, damn. Thinking fast, I grab a couple of doggie bones from the lobby table.
“Here’s that dog!”
“Open the door! Put the treats down and see if she wants it bad enough to overcome her fear,” Carol says.
The bones get deposited about four feet inside. Very slowly, I open the door, all the while trying to make myself as invisible as possible. She doesn’t take off. We hold our breaths. Slowly the tired dog creeps forward. Her skin must be itchy poor little baby. She’s filthy and feces is matted against her backside.
July stays against the doorway to the offices. The hungry pup smells a bone. Hesitantly at first. But when she decides it is safe, quickly goes for the next two. I gently push the door shut.
CHAPTERFIVE
Landon
Entering the living room, I check my watch. Again. That makes four times. Barney jumps up from his half-sleep and comes at me. My hands block the jumping.
“Don’t even think about it.”
His one-eyed brother from another mother shows up, and the click of nails on hardwood pulls the big guy’s attention.
“Here, boys,” Dad calls, shaking the faded squeaky blue dolphin.
“It’s time to trim Biscuit’s nails, isn’t it?”
I have never had to prompt my father to groom his dogs.
“I know. It’s on the list.”
The dog jumps atop his favorite bed. Dad’s belly. “Do you need a pedicure?” he says, kissing his head.
There’s just time to check the mirror. I adjust the collar of my favorite shirt and know that’s as good as it gets. Set into the old bookshelves, the mirror backs the small bar with the tiny wine cooler underneath. A few good bottles wait to be poured. Needs restocking. Having a glass of wine, a beer, or for dad a scotch while lost in the pages of a good book, is something the Podestas have perfected. Drinking and reading. Should be the family motto.
When I was a kid, my parents would set the stage by picking the drink that best suited their novels. Always thought it was a revealing detail about who they were. Eventually I was old enough to follow their lead. Now there is just two of us honoring the tradition. Comfortable seats are within a few steps, and the right lighting illuminates each spot. It’s this house in particular that lends itself to a bar with books. Somehow it doesn’t translate to my condo. Maybe the new place will be a better fit.
“Are you bringing her flowers?” The delegate from the nineteen seventies speaks.
“What? No,” I say, slightly surprised my father thinks I need guidance.
On second thought maybe he just wants to father me a little.
He is holding court from the couch. Stretched out in his dirty work clothes. Not used to seeing that.
“Where’s the caftan? Mixing things up?”
“I just haven’t made it to the bedroom yet. That lawn is getting bigger or maybe it’s me. Your old man is actually old now. Didn’t see it coming.”
“You’d still take down any man stupid enough to give you any shit.”
“You could cut some roses,” he continues, ignoring my compliment. “All women like that. It shows them we have some elegance in us. We’re not all grease and sweat.”
“Elegance? You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Laugh all you want. A little bit goes a long way. For example, want me to get the secateurs?”
