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KENZIE HEARD ABOUT Mrs. Wainwright’s rescue and returned early Sunday morning when I was mucking out the stalls. I handed her a rake and gave her an overview of what had happened.
“There are lots of gaps in your story,” she said. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I slept with Oliver.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Oh, hell, exactly. He did it to sabotage any chance I’d have getting back with Claire.”
“So why did you do it?”
“Momentary insanity. I screwed myself.”
“Mad, she was a serious relationship for you, but you know she’s had a series of girlfriends. What seemed so intense....it’s temporary.”
I turned my face away. “She kept my toothbrush in her bathroom. That must mean something.”
“Maybe she didn’t even notice it. Don’t take something insignificant and build it up,” Kenzie said, and scrunched her face the way she did when she was bothered by something. “I hate to say it, but better Oliver than Ben. At least he’s single.”
“He fucked me to fuck with me and fuck me up and fuck me over.”
“Maybe he wanted to sleep with you for the usual reasons.”
“I don’t discount that, but it was primarily hate-sex and now I feel...” I said, my voice thick and uneven.
“It was your decision, too, Maddie.”
“I was confused. Please change the subject.”
“Okay. Do you know what Sasha called you in her news report?”
“The brilliant and gorgeous Dr. Madeleine Whitney?”
“She called you trackers the Midnight Runners, after the band that sang ‘Come On, Eileen.’”
“Well, it beats ‘Crazy Bitch.’ I thought you were coming back after brunch. Is everything all right with Christopher?”
“Everything’s fine. He really wants to meet you.”
“Oh.” I spread clean hay out to the corners of the stall and repeated something my therapists always said. “How do you feel about that?”
“You know we’re a package deal, hon. I want you to meet him.”
“And what if he doesn’t like me?”
“Don’t pretend you’ve been putting it off because he might not like you. He’s ready to like you.”
“Okay, what if I don’t like him? What if I really really can’t stand him, Kenzie? What if I treat Christopher the way Oliver treats me? It shouldn’t matter what I think.”
“But it does. You’re aware...” She paused. “You’re aware I’m an individual with my own needs, right?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Everything will be okay if you give Chris a chance.”
“I’ll try.” I picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and steered it to the compost heap. I dumped the new horseshit atop a pile of old horseshit.
* * * *
I MADE AN AFTERNOON trip to the Suncrest Market and discovered I was now a respected member of the community. Jaison’s girlfriend waved from her checkstand, and called, “Ms. Whitney—sorry, Dr. Whitney, I saw the rescue on TV. I was so excited I woke Jai. He was mad to miss the whole thing.”
“I’m sure he was happier with you, Julie.”
“Next time, you should take him. He told me he’s been training with you on search and rescue.”
“I couldn’t do it without him.”
“He’s special, isn’t he? You have a good day, Dr. Whitney!”
On the street, teens and grade-school kids loitered by the benches in front of the market, the traditional hangout for kids meeting up. The younger ones liked the proximity to the ice cream parlor while the teens schemed to get someone to buy them beer. Zoe meandered on their periphery, hovering near a beautiful Goth boy. The moment she saw me, she ran over, wrapping me in a hug. “Maddie!”
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Oh my god, you were ah-mazing last night. My mother said how mental stuff helped you communicate with the dogs to get that the old lady, which sounds a little loony to me, so, you know?”
Kids, who usually sneered when I walked by, wandered within hearing distance, pretending not to listen.
“The dogs communicated quite well their usual way with tails and ears, but I was paying extra attention since coyotes enjoy snacking on old ladies.”
“You look like you got into a fight with a bale of barbed wire and lost.”
“It was a hillside of blackberry and you should see the other guy.”
“Can you train me for search and rescue? I want to join the Midnight Runners.”
“How old are you now?”
“You’re supposed to know. Seventeen. Almost. I will be soon.”
“If you’re not working full-time at the feed store this summer, you can call me and maybe we can figure something out, but I don’t want it to interfere with your other obligations—family, school, and home chores take priority.”
“I’ll call tomorrow!”
Zoe’s friends clustered around her as I left. The only adult in this teen domain was a good-looking man in a blue polo shirt and jeans sitting on the bench. I recognized Oliver’s handsome associate at the Country Squire. I meandered toward him as he answered his phone saying, “Hugo here.” He was occupied with his conversation and didn’t notice me lingering in his general vicinity.
I walked down the block, gazing into closed windows, until I was across the street from the Versailles Sandwich Bistro. Had Oliver already told Claire about what had happened? The glass reflected too brightly for me to see inside. Light illuminates and light blinds.
I concentrated, thinking Claire, Claire, I’m here, feeling stupid and sad and confused and guilty as I thought of Oliver in my bed and the taste of his kiss and the look on his face when he told me I wasn’t good enough for her.
I headed back to my truck and almost walked into Beryl Jensen, who was dressed in neutral linens that looked like pajamas. She said, “Maddie! Now I know why you couldn’t make it to my party. I’m meeting friends for brunch at the Squire. Why don’t you join us?”
“I’ll have to pass.” I became transfixed by an aquamarine scarf she wore over one shoulder, as sheer as a butterfly’s wing. The wind teased at the edges, yet it didn’t blow away. Her mahogany red hair gleamed in the sunshine.
“You must want some peace and quiet after your busy night!”
“You hit the nail on the head. Nice seeing you, Beryl.”
“Oh, don’t rush off, Maddie. Or do you prefer ‘Dr. Whitney’? No, ‘Maddie’ because we’re old friends. If you’d come last night, I would have introduced you to my caterer. She wants to adopt a dog. The kitchen TV was on and the staff was watching Eileen Wainwright being brought up from the well—”
“It was a culvert, not a well.”
“Anyway, to make a long story short, I told my caterer I knew you and you could help her get a dog. Do you still have those puppies? I’ll have Penelope call you. In fact, I’ll pay for the consultation.”
“My personalized dog matching service is triple my usual rehabilitation fee since it requires a high degree of expertise to identify the ideal partner for someone’s lifestyle and personality.”
“You’ll use your psychic connections? Wonderful! Penelope will call you soon. She’s very interested in talking to you.”
I tensed thinking about Beryl’s foodie friend. “My process requires an initial telephone consultation. I’ll send the invoices directly to you.” I hurried away before she could trap me in unprofitable conversation.
* * * *
I DIDN’T GIVE ANY FURTHER thought to Beryl’s caterer because I could barely keep up with all my consultations. The activity disturbed me and at dinner Kenzie said, “You’re fidgety tonight. I’m going to tie mittens to your hands, like mothers do with babies to keep them from scratching themselves. It’s your turn to do the dishes.”
“It’s always my turn to do the dishes.”
“Because you never cook.”
“Never is an absolute. It means without exception and I do cook, so never is not applicable.”
“Microwaving something I’ve prepared isn’t cooking so never is applicable.”
I was going to argue my point when her phone rang. She looked at the caller’s number and walked out of the room to answer it.
I dumped the dishes in a tub of water and left them to soak. I shoved a food-crusted cast-iron skillet in the oven, shut it, reconsidered, and took it out. I dunked the skillet under hot water, squirted it generously with soap, and scoured it.
Kenzie returned as I was drying the skillet with a towel and gave me a suspicious look before saying, “That was Raymond. He’s coming here this week.”
“Why?”
“He said he missed us.”
“He only misses us when he’s broke. Did you tell him we’re broke, too?”
“It’s been almost a year since we’ve seen him. I hope you didn’t use soap on the cast-iron skillet.”
“Kenzie, why would I use soap when I know it washes off the pan’s seasoning?” I hung the dish towel on a hook. “Call Mom and ask her to tell Raymond we’re too busy for a visit.”
“You call her. How long has it been than you talked to her? I mean, other than shouting ‘Hi, Mom,” while I’m on the line.”
“It’s the only way I can communicate with someone who thinks I’m the living embodiment of God’s punishment on her for having sex with El Professor Caliente Pantalones.”
“For heaven’s sake, stop feeling with the persecution complex.”
“It’s not a complex if people really are out to get me. Okay, I’ll call her.”
As I was staring at my phone, Ben called, saying how excited his family was that he was on TV.
“Maddie, I have something to tell you, and I’m worried you’ll be upset.”
Anxiety clouded over me. “What?”
“I broke my promise. I told my kids about Barking Mad Reviews. Are you angry?”
I laughed. “Furious. Did you swear them to confidentiality?”
“Of course, but they’re likely to blow the secret if someone offers them a juice box.”
“I guess I’ll have to live in eminent danger.”
“Also, the kids want to write reviews and Helen still confuses cartoon characters with real animal actors. She’s dictating her critiques. They’re rambling and incoherent.”
“Or maybe you’re unable to comprehend her genius. We can have a column for children’s contributions. What does Ava think?”
“She hopes we won’t limit our reviews to dogs and cats. She mentioned a movie she saw with a very moving role played by a chicken. A chicken.”
“I like chickens despite their intellectual limitations. I draw the line at insects because insects...” And my good mood vanished at the thought of flies rising like black mesh lifted off corpse. “Thanks for calling, Ben. See you soon.”