Читать книгу Sisters Like Us - Susan Mallery, Susan Mallery - Страница 14

Chapter Five

HARPER COULDN’T SHAKE the feeling of being watched—probably because she was. Even though Thor and Jazz were lying down on huge beds that nearly filled her tiny office, their eyes were open and firmly fixed on her. As if waiting for something. She supposed some of her unease came from the fact that they were huge, muscular dogs trained to do God knew what. For all she knew, they were assessing her and if she showed weakness, they would simply kill her and hide the body, then pretend nothing had happened.

“I can’t believe I’m dog sitting,” she muttered, as she moved the picture around on her computer screen. She had a one-off job to provide online content for a new boutique by the boardwalk. The owner had called in a panic after realizing that just because her twelve-year-old could design a slick website, he wasn’t necessarily prepared to develop content. Harper was hoping the owner would be happy enough to keep her on to-do monthly updates.

She forced herself to concentrate, despite the sense of foreboding the two dogs engendered. She’d been expecting to have to deal with Jazz, but then Lucas had told her he was adding dog sitting to her duties. She would have refused only she not only needed the money—Jazz ate more than the average grizzly, and the food Great-Aunt Cheryl recommended cost as much as dinner for five at a decent restaurant—but she thought the two dogs might keep each other company, thereby freeing her from having to entertain Jazz.

She settled on a location for the pictures, cut and pasted the text, then studied the effect of the page. She’d added a section for featured clothes and had made the “style of the week” section bigger. Fifteen minutes of brainstorming over coffee had given her a list of suggestions she planned to share with the owner. One of them—a shop-your-closet feature—could give clients a reason to either come to the website or read the newsletter without feeling they were being sold to at every turn.

She got up to pour herself more coffee. Both Jazz and Thor raised their heads to watch her. She couldn’t tell if they were curious, still confused about their new location or assessing her viability. She paused to lightly pet each of them before going into the kitchen. Clicking nails told her she was not alone. So far the dogs had followed her from room to room, including trying to get into the bathroom with her. She’d insisted they wait in the hall, telling them that she wouldn’t watch them go and in return they couldn’t watch her.

Now she poured her coffee, then turned and saw they were both standing there, staring.

“I know you want something, I just have no idea what,” she admitted. “Do you want to go out?”

They both glanced at the back door, then at her. She sighed. She’d been very clear with Great-Aunt Cheryl. The last thing Harper wanted was one more life-form to take care of. She had enough on her plate—but had the woman listened? Okay, sure, technically, but not really. At the end of the day, Harper was still going to be a pet parent, whether she liked it or not. Becca had taken care of Jazz over the weekend, but the dog was still new to her. How long until her daughter was too busy or wasn’t home to handle things?

Harper’s cell rang. She pushed the button on her Bluetooth headset. “This is Harper.”

“Harper, it’s Cathy. Do you have a sec?”

“Sure.”

She carried her coffee back to her office, then quickly found Cathy’s file. The event planner used Harper to fill in when she needed an extra pair of creative hands. Harper could address two hundred envelopes in decorative calligraphy or paint a pin-the-tail-on-the-elephant poster or make custom napkin rings for a high-end dinner party.

“Okay, I talked to my clients, the ones hosting a fiftieth anniversary party for the parents. They’ve chosen the gift bag they want.”

“Great.” Harper sorted through the pictures she’d taken and slipped into the file. Next to each were the supplies needed, along with what they would cost and how long it took to assemble each bag.

She’d created three custom gift bags—not what went in them, just the bags themselves. Cathy had wanted them to be special, so they were all unique and not easy to put together.

“I have my information right here,” Harper said.

“They’ve picked number three. Now you said it was going to be twenty dollars a bag, but we both know that’s ridiculous. I told them I could get it for five dollars. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Harper stared at the picture, then scanned her notes. The bag was rose gold with a raffia handle. She’d applied delicate printed paper from France to the front of the bag, then edged it in tiny beads. After making by hand a flower done in shades of gold, she’d stenciled on the couple’s name and the date of their wedding, fifty years ago.

The price she’d quoted wasn’t just all the paper and trim, it was the time. Her heart sank. Cathy frequently tried to undercut Harper’s prices and most of the time Harper went along with it, but there was no way she could do the bag for that.

“The supplies cost more than five dollars,” Harper said, trying to sound firm. “It will take me thirty minutes to complete each one.”

“Can’t you work faster? My God, it’s a gift bag. Seriously, Harper, no one is going to pay twenty dollars for that.”

“Then they should pick one of the other ones.”

“They want the one they want.”

Harper’s stomach tightened. Irritation mingled with fear. She needed the work, but refused to take a loss. “The paper is imported...there are multiple layers. If you want something unique and handmade, that is the cost. I’m sorry, but my price is firm.”

“I’m sorry, too. I hate to lose you as a resource, but if you’re not going to work with me, then I don’t know if we can keep doing business together.”

The threat was like a kick to the stomach. Harper didn’t think she made any noise, but suddenly Jazz and Thor were both standing next to her, looking intent. Thor glanced toward the doorway and growled low in his throat.

She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stood up for her like that. The unexpected support brought tears to her eyes, which was completely insane. She swallowed and petted both of them before clearing her throat.

For a second, she wondered if she could somehow buy the supplies cheaper. Maybe on eBay. No, she told herself. There was no time to search them out.

“I’m sorry, Cathy. That’s my price.”

“Then goodbye.”

The other woman hung up. Harper did her best to ignore the knot in her stomach. She drew in a breath. “I might have just lost a client. No problem for you, Thor. Your owner has plenty of money.”

She wasn’t exactly sure how Lucas had so much cash to throw around. He drove a very expensive two-seater Mercedes convertible and she didn’t think detectives made that much. Still, she wasn’t going to ask too many questions. He paid his monthly bill the same day he received it—she knew because she paid his bills for him and why, yes, she did pay herself first. It was one of the very few perks of her work.

She returned her attention to the boutique website and continued to add pictures and text until she was happy with the layout. She saved everything, then sent a note and the link to the owner, asking for feedback.

“That’s done,” she told the dogs, who were still watching her. She swiveled in her chair to face them. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just tell me what you need.”

Before they could answer, her phone rang again.

“This is Harper.”

“It’s Cathy. You’re being ridiculous, so you know, but you do good work and I want to see if we can find a point of compromise. How about ten dollars a bag and I’ll need them in three days?”

Harper held in a groan. There were forty bags, at about thirty minutes each, plus she had to go to three different stores to buy the supplies. That was twenty hours of work plus all the running around, for a grand total of four hundred dollars.

She didn’t dare do the math to figure out the pitiful sum she would be making by the hour, but if she stayed up most of tonight and tomorrow night, she could meet the deadline.

“Harper?”

“Fine. Ten dollars a bag.”

“Great. I’ll let them know and I’ll be by Thursday morning to pick them up. You’re the best, Harper. Thanks.”

Cathy hung up before Harper could say anything. Harper returned her attention to the dogs.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she muttered. “I’m letting her take advantage of me. That I’m probably making two dollars an hour on this job. Well, it’s not this job, is it? It’s all the other work she brings me.”

Jazz’s steady gaze never wavered. Harper sighed.

“You’re right. I let her take advantage of me and that doesn’t make any sense. I should be firm. I should tell her my price and stick to it. I’m training her to always undercut me. I get that.”

She was sure the dog had more to say, but before they could continue the conversation, the doorbell rang. Thor and Jazz immediately rose. Jazz looked at Thor, who gave a low warning bark.

“Yes,” Harper said, pushing past them. “I heard it, too, but thanks for mentioning it.”

The dogs kept pace with her, but didn’t walk ahead of her or run. When they reached the front door, they both sat and waited.

“I really need to read that instruction book Becca got,” Harper told them as she opened the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”

A tall, gangly twentysomething guy stood on her porch. He was blond and wore board shorts, a T-shirt and athletic shoes. The T-shirt had a drawing of a cartoon version of him on it, along with the phrase Leader of the Pack.

“Harper Szymanski?” the guy asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dwayne. I’m here to walk your dogs.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Thor and Jazz. It’s a daily service, which means Monday through Friday. I drive them to the beach and we walk along the boardwalk. It’ll take about ninety minutes.” Dwayne flashed her a smile. “Your husband paid for the top dog package. He must really like your dogs.”

Harper didn’t know what to say beyond, “He’s not my husband.” Because there was only one person who would have thought to arrange a dog-walking service. She would guess Lucas had done it for Thor, then added on Jazz. Damn the man for being thoughtful, good-looking and only interested in gorgeous bubbleheads in their twenties.

She held open the door for Dwayne to come inside. He saw Thor and Jazz and grinned.

“Oh, wow. Dobies. You guys are beautiful.” He held out his hand so they could sniff his fingers, then he squatted in front of them and said, “Shake.”

They both obliged.

“Lucas said you two were the bomb. He’s right. Super great manners.” He stood and looked at her. “I need their leashes.”

Harper got them from the bottom drawer in the table by the front door. She handed over a new roll of poop bags, hoping the dogs would do their thing somewhere other than her backyard.

“Thanks,” Dwayne said, snapping on the leashes. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half. Do you want me to run them?”

“That would be great.”

“Right? A tired dog is a happy dog. See ya.” He looked at the dogs. “Thor, Jazz, heel.”

The dogs stood and moved to his left side, Jazz taking the inside position. Dwayne walked them down the steps and out to his battered pickup. It was only after he’d driven away that Harper realized she probably should have checked with Lucas first. Just in case.

She quickly texted him, not sure when she would hear a response. Sometimes he was available, but a lot of the time, his phone was off. She supposed that came from being on the job catching bad guys or whatever it was he did in his day.

This time he answered her in a matter of seconds.

Are you concerned that someone cooked up an elaborate scheme to steal the dogs by pretending to be a dog walker?

Her lips twitched as she realized he kind of had a point.

I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you for including Jazz on the walk. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. I know I do.

Happy to help. You can deal with your guilt by baking me something.

You know I will.

That I do.

She was still smiling as she walked into her pantry and studied the shelf that held her baking supplies. Not cookies, she thought. They were too ordinary. Tarts. She would bake Lucas chocolate tarts. But first she would go get the supplies she needed for the gift bags, then drop off the T-shirts she was shipping to her comedian client, Misty, then swing by the post office to mail Lucas’s bills. Then she would bake tarts and tonight, while the world slept, she would make gift bags and curse her inability to stand up for herself when she knew she absolutely should.

* * *

Becca sat on the front porch step, her arm around Jazz. The dog was leaning heavily on her, her body providing comforting warmth.

“Are you still confused?” Becca asked the dog. “It’s been a few days now and we have a routine. I’m sorry I have to be gone for school, but you have Thor, right? I could talk to Aunt Stacey about Bay. Maybe you three could have a playdate.”

Jazz stretched out on the porch and rested her head on her paws, but even as she shifted positions, she still stayed close. Becca kept her arm around the dog, figuring they both needed the comfort.

Jazz wasn’t the only one confused—Becca was starting to think she would never know everything going on, even in her own life. She missed Kaylee so much—more so now that Jordan had gone totally drama queen about Nathan. Kaylee would have called her on her crap and told her to stop talking about herself. Kaylee would have made a joke and smiled at Becca and asked about Jazz because that was what Kaylee had always done. She’d been a buffer against darker forces.

But there wasn’t anything between Becca and Jordan, so Becca spent her day hearing about how amazing Nathan was and how he loved Jordan so much. Theirs was the greatest love ever and boyfriend-less Becca couldn’t possibly understand. Worse, Jordan chided her about being bitter and angry, which wasn’t true. Okay, not the bitter part. She didn’t care that Jordan had Nathan, but she was starting to get pissed about her friend’s attitude.

“Bay would never act like that to you,” Becca told the dog. “You have better taste in friends.”

For a second, she wished she could talk to her mom and tell her what was happening. Her mom could be dorky, but sometimes she had really good advice. Even if she didn’t, she used to always make Becca feel better. They would bake something or do a craft project.

Not anymore, she thought grimly. Even if she was willing to do something so childish, her mom wasn’t available. She was always too busy with her VA business.

Becca leaned over and kissed the top of Jazz’s head, then straightened. She was about to pull out her phone and check the time when it buzzed with a text. She looked at the screen, then caught her breath when she read the message.

I’m tied up at work, kiddo. Sorry. Let’s reschedule for some time next week.

Tears burned in her eyes. Becca blinked them away, telling herself to get over it. She knew she couldn’t depend on her dad and she was stupid if she thought he would ever change. He always had something else he had to be doing. As for getting tied up at work—that was a complete lie. He was a podiatrist, which meant scheduled appointments. He wasn’t a real doctor who had actual emergencies.

She shoved her phone back in her pocket and wiped her cheeks, just in case. Before she could scramble to her feet and escape to her room, Lucas pulled up and parked in front of her house.

He walked up the path and sat next to Jazz on the stairs, then patted the dog and smiled at her.

“Hey, kid.”

His words were way too close to what her dad called her. “I have a name,” she snapped.

“Yes, you do.” She waited for him to call her on her attitude, but instead he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. You’re here early.”

“I was in court for most of the day. It’s boring, but it’s a shorter day. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I said nothing was wrong.”

“You also lied. What is it?”

She stared at the top of Jazz’s head. “It’s just...” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “My dad blew me off again. I need fifty supervised hours to get my license. Mom’s too busy and my dad swore he would help, but he never shows up.” She rolled her eyes. “He said he was stuck at work. With what? An ingrown toenail? He doesn’t care about me anymore. I don’t think he ever did. He just walked out like I didn’t matter and now he won’t teach me to drive.”

It was so much more than she’d wanted to say, but there was no way to call back the words. She folded her arms across her chest and did her best to hold in the pain.

“Interesting,” Lucas said casually. “It’s a drag about your dad, but there’s time. It’s not like you need your license right away.”

She rocked forward and dropped her gaze to her Keds. “Yeah, well, Great-Aunt Cheryl didn’t just leave me the dogs. There’s a car.” She glanced at him and started talking quickly. “It’s a really good car. Ramon, her boyfriend, said it was in great condition and they’d always taken care of it. It’s safe and has air bags, and it’s not like my dad’s going to buy me a car and Mom sure can’t afford it.”

She sucked in a breath. “I don’t think Dad remembered to tell Mom because he was sick and she hasn’t said anything. The car is paid for. I know there’s going to be insurance and gas and stuff and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that, but right now I need my license.”

Lucas nodded his head. “That’s a lot.”

“I know, right?”

He stood and called to Jazz, sent the dog in the house, then looked at Becca. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To practice your driving.”

“My mom’s not here.”

“I’m not taking you on the freeway, kid, I’m taking you to an empty parking lot to see what you know how to do and how we get along. If it goes well, I’ll talk to your mom when we get back.”

She stared at him. “Then what am I going to...” She spun to face the sleek, white Mercedes convertible. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew that one cost a lot. Maybe as much as their house.

“No way.”

He shrugged. “It’s insured. You’ll be fine. Do you have your temporary license?”

“Let me get it.”

She raced inside and dug her wristlet out of her backpack, then hurried back outside. Lucas stood by his car, the driver’s door open.

“The car’s not going to drive itself,” he called.

Excitement and hope fluttered in her stomach. If Lucas would really help her get her hours, then she wouldn’t have to depend on her dad or bug her mom. She vowed to do the best she could on their mini lesson so he would want to teach her more.

She joined him and got in the driver’s side. He sat next to her and explained how to set the seat and the mirrors.

“The car sits really low to the ground,” he told her. “It’s going to feel different than your mom’s SUV or your dad’s sedan. Also, it has a more powerful engine, so be careful when you hit the gas.”

She nodded, then wiped her suddenly damp palms on her jeans.

“Drive to the high school. Classes are out and there will be plenty of room to practice in the parking lot.” He winked. “Okay, start her up.”

She absolutely could not believe he was going to let her drive his car. Her mother had practically had a seizure the only time they’d practiced together.

She pushed the start button, then tried not to jump as the engine roared to life. She kept her foot on the brake as she shifted to Drive, then checked the mirrors four times before slowly pulling out onto the quiet street.

Mischief Bay High School was less than a mile away, but it took Becca nearly ten minutes to drive there. She stayed well under the twenty-five mile per hour speed limit and came to a full, lingering stop at every sign. By the time she pulled into the parking lot, she felt a little sick to her stomach.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted.

“Are you scared about driving or the car?” Lucas asked.

“Both.”

“Driving gets easier with practice. Right now you have to think about everything you’re doing. Once a few things become automatic, you’ll be more comfortable. As for my car, like I said, it’s insured. Okay, let’s start with the basics. Drive to the end of the parking lot, do a three-point turn, drive back and pull into that parking space.”

Becca tasted bile. “That’s your idea of the basics?”

He flashed her a grin. “I’ve seen Clueless, kid. At least we’re not going on the freeway.”

“I’m never going on the freeway.”

Thirty minutes later, Becca confidently circled the parking lot, making neat figure eights. She made a sharp turn ten feet in front of the flagpole and carefully backed into a parking space before turning to Lucas and laughing.

“I did it.”

“You did good. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. This car is great. It drives so easily and I’m in love with the backup camera. Thank you for helping me. I really had fun.”

“Me, too. Want to continue with the lessons?”

“Of course.”

Lucas had been calm the whole time. When she’d messed up, he’d had her stop so they could talk about what had gone wrong. She was still nervous about driving, but less so than she had been.

“I’ll talk to your mom,” he said. “If she agrees, then we’ll keep going. Oh, how are your grades?”

Becca felt herself flush. “They’re, um, okay.”

He looked at her without speaking.

She ducked her head. “I’m getting a couple of Cs and a few Bs.”

“I thought you were a good student.”

“I am.” Or she had been. Lately she hadn’t been that interested in school. What was the point? No one paid attention or cared how she was doing.

“I know you’re smart,” Lucas told her. “Something’s going on. If you want me to help you get your driving hours, you’re going to have to get your grades where they should be. A car is a lot of responsibility. If you can’t be bothered to take care of business at school, then you can’t be trusted with a car.”

No one had talked to her like that in forever. Becca was both thrilled and annoyed, which felt really good.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said automatically.

“In this case, I am. It’s my time so it’s my rules. If you want my help, then you will get Bs or better in all your classes.”

“No problem.”

“I want proof.”

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“There’s an old saying. Trust but verify. From now until you get your license, you will show me all your test scores. Understood?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Good. Now let’s go home.”

Becca made the return trip in half the time. She stayed at the speed limit, stopped at the stop signs for a quick count of one-two, then pulled up in front of her house just as her mom drove into the driveway.

They all got out at the same time. Harper turned toward them, then nearly dropped her purse. “What are you doing? Did you drive that car? You didn’t. Oh my God! Becca, no. Do you know what a car like that costs? Lucas, I swear, what were you thinking? No one asked me. Where’s your father? Weren’t you supposed to be practicing with him? I feel sick.”

Lucas shook his head. “She gets real wound up.”

“She does. I worry about her.”

“You should.” Lucas walked toward the SUV. “It’s fine, Harper. Terence couldn’t make it so I took Becca out for a practice session. Everything was fine and if it’s all right with you, I’m going to help her get in her practice hours.”

“Not in that car. There is absolutely no way.”

“I have insurance.”

“And a deductible!”

She started to say something else, but her phone rang. She touched her Bluetooth earpiece and said brightly, “This is Harper.”

Becca sighed. There was no talking to her mother now. Not when she was on with a client—and she was always on with a client.