Читать книгу Wednesday Walks & Wags - Melissa Storm - Страница 7

Chapter 1

Bridget Moore hesitated over the last of her boxes, letting her fingertips hover less than an inch from the taped-up flaps. Might it be better to leave the offensive cardboard container sealed up tight and pushed into the back of her closet where she could forget about it all over again?

That was the thing about moving.

You packed up your life into a series of boxes and prayed they would fit in well where you were going next. Sometimes once-precious belongings needed to be tossed, donated, or passed on to a friend, and sometimes the things you most wished to part with clung to the edges of your life like pesky, persistent burrs.

Bridget’s hands shook as she brought them closer to the box, then let them fall to her side. She moved to the window that overlooked the courtyard and stared down at the yellow-green grass. Spring breakup had ended, and now Alaska’s warm season was on its way in. The world around her became greener with each day. If the apartment brochure could be trusted, soon the space would fill out with a cascade of beautiful blooms in almost every color of the rainbow.

She watched as a man jogged through the space with two energetic huskies in tow. They picked up speed and soon zoomed out of view, but not soon enough. Her own dogs had noticed their neighbors and were now barking in an off-key chorus. Rosco and Baby, the rottie and pit bull mix she’d rescued from the shelter a few months back, both had deep, menacing barks. Meanwhile, Teddy, her Pomeranian, had a high, grating bark that sounded at random intervals throughout the day.

Luckily she had found a complex that not only allowed dogs but celebrated them. They even had an after-dinner walking club that allowed neighbors to spend time together and get to know one another, all while giving their apartment-bound canines the exercise they craved. Sure, the place came at a steep cost, but after being evicted from her last residence for illegally bringing pets into the building, she was not taking any chances.

Living here would be a blessing for both her and her canine family, but it did mean that she had to restrict her volunteer work at the shelter to one day per week so that she could pick up more paid shifts at the veterinary office where she worked as a technician while finishing her own DVM degree on the side. She lived on the far Southside of Anchorage, so far that it was almost out of city bounds, so far that it now took fifteen minutes or more to drive to work and to each of her friends’ houses.

She knew that the added bit of distance wouldn’t change anything with her friends, not when they’d already been through so much together. They’d met more than a year ago at the hospital, of all places. Each was taking care of a parent undergoing chemotherapy. Bridget’s mother had been the first diagnosed, but the last to die. Her breast cancer had been in remission for years, so long that her family didn’t even think to worry about it anymore.

Until it came back, and that was that.

Oh, her mom had fought hard, and it had been enough . . . the first time.

The second time, the disease had advanced too quickly, and her mother was already weakened by the first battle.

Bridget still missed her every day. Yes, she tried to stay busy so she wouldn’t have time to think about how much she missed her mom, but she had so many memories and so many stimuli to trigger them.

That last box of hers was where she tried to keep them stashed away. Notable among the contents were her baby blanket, her mother’s engagement ring, and—of course—the scrapbook she and her friends had prepared on the day of her mom’s funeral. It gave Bridget comfort to know that they were all nearby but also safely contained.

Her dogs went nuts again, drawing her away from her wandering thoughts. She peered through the window and spotted the man with the huskies returning. The dogs were gorgeous, one black and white and one all white—probably not a husky at all, now that she thought about it. The man had white-blond hair and very pale skin even though he obviously spent time outdoors. Probably took a standing bath in sunscreen before heading outside, she thought with a sad smile.

Bridget herself had never had this problem. Because she was part Inuit on her father’s side, her skin turned an alluring shade of light brown after mere minutes in the sun. She often joked that she had two looks—goth girl in the winter, and proud native in the summer. Her dark hair and eyes never altered, but her skin could change so much from season to season that she had quickly given up on trying to wear makeup. Better to have tired eyes than a face covered in the wrong color and sporting a clear line of demarcation at her jaw.

Man and dogs disappeared into one of the side stairwells, and Bridget scooped Teddy into her arms to calm him down. Otherwise the Pomeranian could easily bark for ten more minutes from the pure excitement of spotting another dog.

Jeez. Just how long had she been standing there hesitating over that box?

The sun still hung high in the sky, but that meant nothing this time of year. With the solstice approaching, it wouldn’t sink behind the horizon until around ten that night, which meant she’d be up until at least then herself.

Despite having been born and raised in Anchorage, Bridget had never learned to sleep with the sun up. Even with the best sleep mask and blackout curtains her meager budget could buy, her body somehow still felt it wasn’t yet time. That’s why she had to keep busy.

Her body was too smart, and so, too, was her heart.

In calm moments like this, both cried out to her, demanding the things they most craved.

Feed me mint chocolate chip ice cream, her body demanded.

Open the box, cried her heart.

And this was the exact reason she now carried a little extra weight around her hips and thighs. This change had come about only after her mother’s funeral, and at first Bridget didn’t even notice the added weight. When she finally realized she couldn’t quite zip her jeans any longer, she found she didn’t actually care all that much. Better to get a little chubby than to even think of giving up one of the things that made her happiest now.

When given the choice, she always went with the thing that would make her sigh with pleasure rather than sob in agony. And that something was often ice cream.

Okay, enough fretting over the box already.

Bridget set Teddy on the carpet, then sent a group text to her friends: I’m all moved in. Come over and check the new place out.

She paused, then added: Oh, and please bring ice cream.

As their excited replies began to pour in, Bridget grabbed the box filled with memories and buried it in the back of her closet. She pushed the hangers with her maxi dresses over it to add some coverage and then covered it with a stack of folded blankets for good measure.

She knew it wouldn’t be enough to forget the box’s presence, but it was enough to get her head back on straight so that she could focus on all the exciting things that came with her move—like new walking paths for her and the dogs, new neighbors, and maybe even new friends.