Made to Order Family
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Rita turned out the lights as Liv’s footsteps faded, the deepening shadows peaceful and quiet, a perfect contemplative time for prayerful thought and consideration.
Skeeter had settled down once they got home, probably too tired to battle it out. Rita hoped she’d wake in the morning in good humor, find something in her drawers that tickled her fancy, choose to wear the dry shoes they’d left at home tonight, have breakfast and get on the bus all smiles, like most seven-year-olds.
Then return home tomorrow afternoon the same way.
Her gaze strayed to the kitchen where her computer lay dormant, its silence commanding attention.
Change the things you can…
Once Skeets was on the bus, Rita was tossing in the first load of laundry, starting the dishwasher and writing a prospectus. Once done, she’d have Brooks read it over, see if she’d covered all the bases. And then, applications.
Yeah, she could get knocked around emotionally, always a dicey thing for a recovering alcoholic. The chances of procuring the loan were slim.
But the chances went from slim to none if she did nothing, and that wasn’t acceptable. Not anymore. She’d gotten braver and bolder in the past year. High time she took a chance. With her strengthening faith and the support of AA, she could take this step forward.
Fingering the bronze chip in her pocket, she nodded as she climbed the stairs. One day at a time.
Chapter Four
The metallic crash yanked Brooks from his bed later that night. Battle ready, one hand grabbed a weapon resembling a worn kitchen broom while the other sought the corner of the closed Venetian blind, his gaze searching the night.
A flash of red-gold skirted the pavement, enough to tell Brooks he’d been undermined by a four-footed varmint with a penchant for homemade mac and cheese.
Again.
He barreled toward the door wishing he’d remembered to turn the heat on after Brett’s soccer game.
No.
Huffing against the cold, he grabbed the first thing his fingers hit, an old Baltimore Oriole’s afghan. He yanked it around his shoulders and headed out the door, to no avail. Like previous times, the minute the door handle clicked left, the dog disappeared, obviously faster and smarter than Brooks.
Which didn’t take much at 3:00 a.m.
Strewed garbage lay ankle deep across his small yard.
He bit back useless words, shook a fist, then danced sideways on the cold step, the chill of his feet knife-blading up, his outside thermometer reading twenty-nine degrees.
Brr…
And since his apartment wasn’t much better, his living room offered little reprieve. Disgruntled, Brooks finagled a light, cranked the thermostat right, tugged on sweats and tried not to be upset that some scruffy dog had once again bested a decorated war veteran.
The drawer full of military medals offered small comfort as Brooks cleaned a frosted yard littered with disgusting debris. Why him? Why now? What was it about this garbage that drew the mutt repeatedly?
Probably your ineptitude to catch him, tweaked an inner voice.
Brooks couldn’t disagree. Like it or not, the dog had bested him multiple times.
Resigned, Brooks did what he should have done days ago. He hauled the garbage tote into the garage and closed the door, then stared into the darkened night, his backyard melding into state forest land, the dog gone from sight but not from mind. “Next time, pal.”
The promise of payback sounded thin. The dog was obviously smarter, quicker and sneakier.
And needed less sleep.
Brooks yawned, scowled, then headed inside. In one night he’d been bested by a cantankerous seven-year-old and a tenacious dog, both of which could use a lesson in manners. He eyed the clock, decided six hours was plenty of sleep, made coffee and headed to the wood shop, wondering why kids and dogs couldn’t just behave themselves.
“Toots, did Hy Everts drop off those frames I ordered?” Brooks asked later that morning.
Tootsie Lawrence nodded as she hooked her deep green fleece in the workroom. “Late yesterday, actually. Do you have the picture Cade left? I’ll frame it for you.”
“Right here.” Brooks handed an envelope to his longtime sales clerk. “The one with the blue matte is for Cade.” The town’s police chief had dropped off a family picture the week before.
“Beautiful.” Tootsie withdrew the frame with care. Hy’s work had become renowned, his wood carvings a natural expression of North Country life. The thick picture frames, a new venture for him, were engraved with north-woods symbols along the perimeter. Trees, bears, cabins, moose, wolves. The effect of the lighter wood recessed against the deeper stain held the pictures in relief. “Oh, Boss, look.”
Brooks peered over her shoulder as Tootsie withdrew Cade’s family picture, her expression beatific. “Isn’t this just lovely?”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not,” Tootsie protested. She sniffled.
“You are,” Brooks exclaimed, horrified. “Stop that. Now.”
“I can’t.” Tootsie trailed a finger along the frame, her gaze trained on the sweet family before them. “And how cute is that baby, Boss?”
“Cute enough.”
She swung around and offered him a stern expression. “He’s absolutely, positively beautiful. Couldn’t you just eat him up?”
Brooks couldn’t, actually, but he knew better than to argue. Cade called just then, saving Brooks from himself. “Hey, Chief.”
“Brooks, did my frame arrive yet?”
“We’ve got it. Tootsie’s actually framing the picture as we speak.”
“Sweet. Annie asked me about it and I promised I’d check. How does it look?”
Brooks eyed the framed print. Cade’s young family laughed back at him. He swallowed a sigh, worked his jaw and nodded. “Very nice, which is a good thing since these frames don’t come cheap.”