Читать книгу Forever Home - Allyson Charles - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Izzy held tight to Ana’s hand as her daughter tugged her across the street toward her school.

“I’m going to be late. Again.” Ana might only be nine, but she could turn on the attitude of a cocktail waitress ten minutes after last call when it suited her. This didn’t bode well for her teenage years.

“You’re not that late. Besides, I was talking to a client. I couldn’t just hang up on him.” The client hadn’t been happy with Izzy’s recommendation to drop the price on his house by ten thousand, but the small single-family residence wasn’t selling. It was the best option.

Izzy smiled at the crossing guard and checked her watch. She was going to be late for a meeting with her boss, too, if she wasn’t careful. At the gate to the school, she turned her daughter toward her and leaned in for a kiss. “Have a good day, baby. Mama loves you.” She tugged on her daughter’s ponytail and was rewarded with a faint smile.

“Love ya, too.” Ana threw her arms around Izzy’s neck.

Izzy tried to hold on, make the hug last. They were becoming more infrequent, and soon she knew her daughter would feel she was too old for such displays of affection. Ana pulled out of her arms and skipped to her class.

Izzy stood, watching her go. This move to central Michigan, full of small towns and bucolic landscapes, had been the right decision. Lansing had been getting too expensive and too crowded. It had been a little over a year since their move, and Ana was adjusting nicely to the new way of life. New friends, fresh air, and now Izzy wasn’t afraid to let Ana go home to an empty house after school.

“Hello, Isabelle.”

Crap. Izzy shouldn’t have stood mooning about. Now there was no escape.

Stomach churning, she slowly turned to face one of the women who tried to make her life hell. “Hi, Sandra. How are you doing?”

“Busy busy. We’re getting ready for that field trip to Binder Park Zoo.” She bent down and gave her son a hug goodbye. He trotted off to class with a smudge of lipstick on his cheek. Sandra straightened. “We’re still looking for volunteers to come along with us to help supervise the kids.”

“Sorry, but I already told you I have to work.” Izzy kept a pleasant smile on her face even as she ground her back teeth. Sandra was the president of the PTA and an aggressive recruiter of parent volunteers. Well, of the mothers at least. The fathers she left fairly well alone, respecting that they had jobs they couldn’t up and leave.

Sandra shook her head and shoved her tortoiseshell Gucci sunglasses up onto her crown, the frames holding her hair back. “We haven’t seen much of you this year. You know how important it is to Ana’s development that she have a mother who’s involved and interested in her education.”

Anger warred with guilt. She wished she had more time to spend with Ana. But she was plenty interested in Ana’s school. She went over her homework with her every night, much to Ana’s annoyance, spent weekends helping with school projects, even bringing Ana along to her showings and letting her work in the houses Izzy was trying to sell. While Sandra might mean well, as a stay-at-home mom she didn’t understand the time pressures Izzy was under.

“I think it’s more important to Ana’s development that she have a mother with a job so she can get fed and clothed and have a roof over her head.” Izzy grabbed the strap of her purse and squeezed her fist around it. “You know, all that stuff a growing human needs.”

Sandra shook her head, pity in her eyes. “I know it must be tough for you. All alone. Barely scraping by. And poor Ana only getting the dregs of your time.”

Izzy cracked her neck. They were a far cry from barely scraping by. She made a good living, but she had to prepare for the future. Ana’s college expenses and her own retirement would all come out of her salary, so she didn’t buy designer sunglasses and vacation in Europe like Sandra. Or trade a paid day at work to herd a bunch of kids around a zoo. “Ana and I are doing fine. But thanks for the concern.”

She must have sounded as insincere as she felt, because Sandra narrowed her eyes. “If you’re doing so well, then you can take a day off work and help out with the field trip. You don’t want it to be known that you’re the only mother not doing her share.”

And there it was, the thumbscrews were coming out. Manipulation by guilt and threat of social shaming. The local leaders of the PTA had a nickname around town: the Mothers’ Mafia. They used social media to praise the mothers who fell in line and to drop sly recriminations on those parents they felt weren’t up to snuff. If Don Corleone had had Facebook, he wouldn’t have needed to sever a horse’s head.

“I can’t take a day off work for a field trip.” Izzy’s shoulders slumped. She knew she was going to regret this offer. “But is there something else I could do to help? Make phone calls, or…” She stopped, realizing she had no idea what all the PTA did besides harass her and make her feel two inches tall.

Sandra pressed her lips together. “We really need bodies on that field trip.” She blew out a breath. “But we also need help with the fund-raiser for it. We’re planning a bake sale—”

“Yes! I can make something for the bake sale. Cupcakes.” She liked baking, Ana liked licking the bowl clean, and it would help the kids. All in all, a tidy solution.

“That isn’t quite what I had in mind. We’ll need a coordinator, a treasurer, a—”

“Nope, I’ll bake cupcakes. That’s my best offer. Take it or leave it.” She hadn’t become the number one agent at Goldstar Realty by backing down.

“Fine,” Sandra gritted out. “I’ll put you on the list. Now, about the field trip—”

“I’ve got to get to work.” Izzy hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’ll see you at the bake sale.” And without waiting for the next guilt trip, she hurried across the crosswalk and to her SUV.

The high of winning that small battle with the Mothers’ Mafia stayed with her until she stepped inside Goldstar’s office. And met a smirking Tariq.

He leaned against her desk in the large open-concept office. Sunlight streamed down from the skylights and gilded his dark head like a mini crown. He thought he was the prince of Goldstar Realty, so it seemed fitting he’d look like one. “Hey,” he said and cocked his head in fake sympathy. “Sorry again about needing the drone yesterday. It turns out my client wasn’t ready for the aerial footage of his house after all. You could have used the camera for your project.”

Sure he was sorry. Tariq had been the number one seller for Goldstar until Izzy had been hired. He didn’t take kindly to being relegated to number two. He took every opportunity to sabotage Izzy.

She put her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and gave the younger Realtor a bright smile. “No problem. I got some great shots of my own. I know boys like their toys, but I can get the job done the old-fashioned way just fine.”

His eyes telescoped to pinpricks. Tariq was a good-looking man in his early twenties, but he knew his youth was a disadvantage and hated to be reminded of it. He’d been successful at making clients comfortable with letting someone barely out of college handle their transactions, but he couldn’t beat the trustworthiness of a shrewd single mother.

“Hey, everyone!” Liz Greenberg, the owner of Goldstar, leaned out of the conference room. “Meeting time. Grab a cup of joe and get your butts in here.”

Taking her tablet from her purse, Izzy headed for the weekly meeting. She skipped the coffee but zeroed in on the platter of doughnuts sitting in the middle of the conference table. Her boss knew caffeine and sugar were the keys to productivity and kept her real estate agents fully supplied. Along with Tariq and Izzy, three other agents sat around the table, and they all turned to look at their boss, waiting for her to start the meeting.

“Okay, status updates.” Liz stirred a little tub of creamer into her coffee. “Let’s go around the table.”

Every week Liz wanted to hear what had sold, what had offers, and what wasn’t moving. If anyone had any tips or help to offer, they did. Aside from her rivalry with Tariq, Izzy had found Goldstar Realty to be a great environment to work in.

Cindy Perkins started them out. Her latest client hadn’t disclosed a mold problem from five years ago, and she wasn’t having any luck finding a remediation specialist in time for the house to close.

Tariq spoke up. “I know someone who owes me a favor. I’ll call him for you and he’ll get his company over to your listing tomorrow.”

Cindy smiled at him gratefully, and Izzy raised an eyebrow. For the agents who weren’t competing with Tariq’s sale numbers, he could be a fairly decent coworker.

“Well, I have a new client this week,” Tariq said, his turn up next. “They had started working with Izzy but felt that she didn’t have enough time for them, so turned to me.” He lifted one shoulder and tried to look apologetic. “Sorry, Izzy, but I didn’t want Goldstar to lose them.”

“Who?” Izzy drummed her fingers on the table.

“The Gilberts.”

Son of a bitch. That couple had two duplexes they wanted to sell.

“Thanks for stepping in, Tariq,” Liz said. “We all help each other out when we have to.”

“Yes, thanks, Tariq.” You lying, scheming snake. Izzy tried to obliterate him with her glare, but his smile only widened.

“What’s going on with Bob Burker?” Liz asked Izzy. “Have you put together a proposal yet?”

“The photos I took yesterday are with the printer, and they’ll go in my pitch.” Izzy flipped through the images on her tablet. They really had turned out well, though the drone’s shots would have been better. “Bob is being…well, Bob.”

Liz nodded sympathetically. She’d known him the longest, after all.

“I was at his house yesterday morning”—a shiver zipped down Izzy’s spine and she only just stopped herself from making the sign of the cross—“and he’s nervous about whether to list his properties.” More like bat-shit paranoid. She’d known from the first that Bob Burker was a tad quirky. She hadn’t realized until she stepped across his threshold that quirky was just one nut on his crazy-as-crap sundae. His house was so cluttered with stacks and boxes full of paper, she’d worried about being crushed to death if one of the towers toppled over. The man printed out every article he came across that spewed a conspiracy theory and, as far as Izzy could tell, hadn’t thrown a single piece of paper away in over thirty years.

“He wants to know what he can get for his lots before deciding to sell, and my best guess doesn’t cut it with him. He wants semi-firm offers on the table before signing a listing agreement. He thinks if he makes his intentions public that somehow the government will intervene and take his property.” Izzy blew out a breath. “I’m trying to discreetly come up with a list of potential buyers. I’ll present the proposal to those I think might be interested and see if my asking price is in the ballpark.”

“Good. I know Bob can be a pain in the ass, but he’s harmless. He ran into some problems with the IRS a couple decades ago and never really got over it.” Liz shrugged. “But he’s used Goldstar for over ten years now. He’s been a good client, so treat him well.” She took a sip of her coffee and checked her phone. “If you can convince him to sell, this will be a huge account for Goldstar. If you need help with anything, ask for it.”

“I’m more than happy to offer my services.” Tariq jumped in. “We all know how busy you are with your kid’s soccer practices. I can take on some of your caseload.”

Izzy smiled so sweetly her back teeth hurt. “That’s nice, but completely unnecessary. Even as a single mom, I still manage to get all my work done. But thanks anyway.” She turned her chair away from him and froze. Crap. Ana did have soccer practice that afternoon. And Izzy didn’t have time to go watch. Again. She swallowed down her guilt and concentrated on the rest of the meeting. Ana would understand. She knew her mom had to hustle to make a life for them.

When the meeting ended, she shot a quick text to her closest friend in town. Lydia was co-owner of Tannert Winery, part of a new breed of wineries cropping up in Michigan. Over a tasting of Tannert’s ice wines, where Lydia poured liberally and Izzy shared the Tcho chocolate bar in her purse, they’d become fast friends. Not only did Izzy now get a lot of free wine, but Lydia had a loose enough schedule to help her out picking up Ana when Izzy couldn’t make it. A very good friend to have.

She hit send and swallowed, the back of her throat growing thick. Lydia was a dear friend, and she always assured Izzy that she loved spending time with Ana. But Izzy was starting to worry that Lydia was seeing Ana grow up more than her own mother was.

And no amount of wine in the world could take that worry away.

* * * *

Brad’s lungs burned and the back of his throat felt raw. It was his own damn fault. His body couldn’t keep up with Gabe’s, but pride made him run step for step with his friend’s six-minute-mile pace until his legs locked up and his heart felt like it would burst from his chest. He stumbled to a stop along Galt Park’s southern jogging trail and bent over at the waist, heaving for breath.

The yellow Lab he was exercising licked his chin, and the shepherd mix he held with the other hand strained at the leash, eager to catch up with his buddies.

Gabe doubled back and trotted over to him, the two dogs he held tangling their leashes. He stopped jogging in place long enough to sort them out. “You okay?”

“Just”—heave, heave, gasp—“great.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

Brad gave his friend the gimlet eye. They’d known each other for three years, ever since Brad had hired Gabe to be the veterinarian at his new shelter. Gabe should accept by now that Brad wouldn’t settle for a diminished lifestyle. He was finally healthy, and he would push his body as much as he damn well wanted.

“Let’s go.” He straightened and steeled himself for the last mile. “I’ve got my second wind.”

“Maybe you do, but Stephanie doesn’t.” Gabe pointed at the Lab, who had rolled to her back and exposed her belly, her tongue lolling to the pavement. “I think we walk from here.”

Thank God for out-of-shape dogs. Brad fell into step next to Gabe, the dogs forming a rotating wall of fur around them. He rubbed his side. “We’re down to our last couple of thousand in the shelter’s back account. We need to fund-raise again.”

“Shouldn’t that be a constant occupation?” Gabe asked. “I do enjoy being paid, after all.”

Brad shrugged. “Easy come, easy go. I’m sure I’ll be able to scrounge enough for operating expenses for the next couple months. Besides, you’re just part-time at Forever Friends. Your vet practice keeps you in pizza rolls and beer.” Gabe had a small office in Clarion Township where he spent half his working hours. The rest of the time he spent at Forever Friends. He took whatever pathetic paycheck Brad doled out, but Brad knew his friend would work at the shelter for free if push came to shove.

Sighing, Gabe stopped and turned to face him. “That’s a hell of a way to run a business.”

“Forever Friends isn’t a business.” Pulling a plastic bottle from his hydration belt, Brad squirted some water into his mouth and then did the same for the four-legged runners. “It’s a nonprofit shelter. It’s about helping dogs. You can’t put a price on that.”

“Sure you can.” Gabe held up a hand and lifted his index finger. “One, it’s the cost of the rent of our building. Two”—he raised his middle finger—“it’s the expense of your employees. You have me and a couple of girls who come in part-time when you need them. And when you can afford to pay them. And I assume you want to pay yourself so you can eat, too. Three, it’s the cost of food and supplies for the dogs. That’s a lot of numbers. You can’t ignore them just because you want to.”

“Christ, you sound like my parents. My dad’s so worried that I don’t already own a house and a brokerage account, he’s threatening to cut me out of his will.” Which made no sense, and besides, Brad couldn’t care less. His parents had quite a bit of money, but it hadn’t made them happy. When they’d divorced, every fight had centered around their bank accounts. “When Forever Friends needs money, I’ll get money. We’ll be fine.”

Gabe turned and started walking again, this time cutting across the wide field of Galt Park, which bordered a Japanese tea garden. The park was on Pineville’s south side, just two miles from the shelter, and had become a favorite of his and Gabe’s to exercise the dogs.

“What’s your plan this time?” Gabe asked. “Another direct mailing?”

“Maybe.” But he had an idea to kill two birds with one stone. “I was thinking about using Isabelle Lopez. Her rescue is an inspiring story, and I think it will draw attention. Maybe give her an award, get her picture under the Forever Friends sign in all the papers. That kind of thing.” No one had to know she’d broken into the abandoned apartments. They could say she’d found the door open when she went to investigate. And spending more time with Izzy could only help his chances with her. He was charming. He’d wear her down eventually.

Gabe tipped his head. “That’s not an awful idea. Presuming she isn’t the one who abandoned the dogs in the first place.”

“She’s not.” Brad blew out a breath. “Jesus, you have a suspicious mind.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know people the way I do,” Gabe muttered.

Stephanie barked excitedly and tugged at the leash. Brad looked in the direction she was scrabbling for. Judge Nichols sat on a bench in front of a small pond. The older man raised a hand in greeting, and Brad and Gabe strolled over to join him.

“Hello, Judge,” Brad said. “I didn’t expect to see you out here today.” Nichols was the one and only judge for Crook County, and although his jurisdiction wasn’t awash in lawsuits and crime, his schedule kept him busy. Too busy for an afternoon spent at the park on a workday.

“And I didn’t expect to be here.” Nichols leaned over, stroking the Lab’s back and murmuring in her ear. A gust of wind lifted a tuft of the man’s snowy white hair into a messy peak. He sat up, his shoulders drooping. “But sometimes difficult decisions are easier to make on a park bench than in my chambers.” He looked down at the dog. “I see Stephanie hasn’t been adopted yet.”

“Animals with physical deformities are hard sells.” Brad smoothed his thumb over the puckered skin covering her missing left eye. “But someone will want her. She’s too much of a sweetheart to go without a home for much longer.”

Judge Nichols gave a bare whisper of a smile. “I’m glad you’ve kept such an optimistic view of human nature.”

Gabe snorted. “Delusional one, more like.”

Brad ignored that. He plopped down on the bench next to the judge. “Something wrong?” Usually the man was as cheerful as everyone’s favorite grandfather. He’d also been a good donor to Forever Friends in the past. Maybe if Brad helped Nichols with his problem, he could hit him up for another donation.

Nichols spread the love around to a couple of other dogs. “Just wondering why a young man who seems to have every advantage would persist in acting like a jackass, excuse my French. I have to determine an appropriate sentence for a serial offender. But the problem is that I like the boy.”

“If the punk did the crime, he can’t be surprised when he gets the time.” Gabe widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “Everyone needs to understand there are consequences to our actions.”

Brad stifled his eye roll. Out of a misplaced sense of guilt, Gabe was a bit of an annoying hard-ass. He had all the love in the world for four-legged creatures. People, not so much.

The judge looked up at Gabe and pursed his lips. The dismal gloom in the man’s blue eyes gave way to a twinkle, and one edge of the judge’s mouth slid up. He looked between Brad and Gabe, his smile growing and opening until he was showing all his teeth.

Brad swallowed. No good could come from that look. He popped to his feet. He’d ask for a donation another time.

Gabe must have sensed the bad juju, too, because in unison they each took a wary step back. “Well, we gotta get going.” Brad rubbed the back of his neck. “Things to do.”

“Of course.” The judge patted Stephanie on the back and stood as well. “You two must be very busy running that shelter by yourselves.”

Brad and Gabe shot looks at each other. What was the old man’s angle? “Um, it’s not so bad,” Brad said. Gabe nodded.

“But still”—the judge advanced a step—“it would be nice if you got some more help around there. Someone who could walk all the dogs, give them baths, that sort of thing. That would take a lot off your plate.”

“Sure, but I can’t afford that right now.” Brad cleared his throat. “In fact, we’re just about to start a fund-raising drive and—”

Judge Nichols chuckled. “You misunderstand me. This is really quite perfect. I have a young man who needs to be taught a lesson, and you need free labor. It’s a win-win situation.”

“What is?” Gabe asked. His shoulders rounded, already resigned to the inevitable. If Nichols wanted something, he generally got it.

Brad wasn’t quite so fatalistic. “You can’t think that you’re going to put your problem child at Forever Friends.”

“Dax isn’t a child, even if he acts like one. He’s twenty-five, intelligent, and a nice guy. When he’s not acting like a jackass.” Nichols shook his head. “He just needs to learn he can’t do whatever he wants whenever he wants. I think several months of picking up dog poop will work wonders on his attitude.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll send you over a copy of my sentence that lays out all the specifics of Dax’s community service first thing tomorrow.”

Brad’s shoulders drooped to match Gabe’s. “Great,” he said, his voice flat. He and Gabe had enough trouble training unruly dogs to behave. Now they had to train an unruly punk? But Nichols was a generous donor. And the judge wielded a lot of power in Crook County. It would be foolish to refuse him.

“Well, I’d best let the young man in question know his fate. And let him know how easy he got off.” Nichols pointed a finger at Brad and Gabe in turn. “Don’t be nice to him. Make him do all the dirty jobs, and don’t let him slack off. If he does, tell me. I’ll have a jail cell prepared.”

Stephanie barked, concerned at the judge’s stern tone, and Nichols bent down and gave her one last pat. “I’ll see you two later.” He turned to walk away. “Oh, and don’t forget to put me on your mailing list,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll send my donation over first thing.”

Gabe stepped next to Brad. “Did he just bribe us? He dumps a convict on us and then says he’s going to make a donation so we don’t object?”

Brad rubbed his side and started back across the lawn to their van parked on the street. “I think that would qualify more as extortion. We take his problem child or else he withholds his donation. Either way, we’re stuck with this Dax.”

Gabe grumbled. “Who the hell has a name like Dax?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” They reached the van, and Brad opened the back door. He began loading the dogs up into their crates. Lifting the Lab brought a twinge to his side, and he winced.

Gabe grabbed Stephanie and settled her inside. “Your side bothering you again?” he asked in a low voice.

“It’s fine.”

“Having a kidney transplant doesn’t mean that you’re completely healthy when it’s over. Even though you didn’t have any complications after your surgery, you can still—”

“I said I’m fine.” Brad rubbed the back of his neck and tried to take the steel out of his voice. “Look, the surgery was a long time ago. But it’s left me a little slower than someone like you. Staying fit is good for me. After a hard run, maybe I feel it a bit more than the average guy, but it’s nothing to worry about. It’s all good.”

No one knew better than he how good he had it. After spending most of his teenage years in and out of hospitals, Brad could never be anything but grateful that he’d received a new kidney. Lagging a few steps behind his athletic friend was nothing compared to all those hours in dialysis.

“Well, when we get back to the shelter, I want you to get your ass hydrated.” Gabe closed the back door and gave him a hard look.

“Yes, Mom.”

Walking around him, Gabe knocked his shoulder into Brad’s, making him stumble. “Asshole,” Gabe muttered. “I don’t even know why we’re friends.” He climbed into the passenger seat and slammed his door closed.

Smiling, Brad strolled to the driver’s side and hopped in. He knew why they were friends. Beneath Gabe’s crusty exterior, he was a loyal person who just needed a little encouragement to lighten up. Kind of like Isabelle Lopez. Checking for traffic, Brad pulled out into the street.

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Brad remembered the real estate agent as he’d first seen her—ass up rescuing a puppy from under the dumpster. It was a pleasant image. Once he got back to his office, and after he hydrated, he’d find her card and give the professed non-dog woman a call. She might say she didn’t like animals, but once he impressed upon her how much the dogs needed her help to raise funds, Brad was sure she wouldn’t be able to say no.

And once she got a little practice saying yes, he’d ask her out again. After all, he was a decent-looking guy who liked kids and dogs. What single mother could resist that?