A Dog's Perfect Christmas Page 14

  “Thank you so much for coming to see me,” Dr. Lombard said.

  Hunter nodded and swallowed, bracing himself.

  “I want to speak to you about Juliana’s condition. How do you think she’s doing?”

  Hunter was surprised. Why did it matter what he thought?

  Dr. Lombard seemed to read his mind. “I ask because you’ve been here virtually around the clock. No one else has been observing Juliana so intently.”

  “I don’t see much of a change at all,” Hunter confessed.

  Dr. Lombard nodded. “Precisely. I want you to know that I am a bit baffled as to why she is in this static state. Normally—almost always, in fact—a patient would show signs of recovery by now, or else…” Her eyes turned sympathetic, and Hunter could have finished the statement for her. When she saw that he understood, she continued. “We have her on dialysis, which is one of my main concerns—her kidneys. And we’ve been doing daily blood draws, and”—she glanced down at some papers on the table between them—“I’m concerned about some of her numbers. They aren’t improving.”

  Hunter licked dry lips. “Dr. Lombard?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you telling me my wife is going to die?”

  * * *

  “I worked for the Saturn division of GM in Detroit until 2009,” Sander told Claire autobiographically. “Basically, my job was to try to prevent the spread of GM’s lethargy to what was supposed to be a new, innovative brand. Did pretty well until the UAW dissolved their labor pact and treated us the same as every other division. That pretty much ended it. So I decided, what the heck, I always liked building things, and went to work putting up houses for a contractor.”

  Claire raised her eyebrows at that. “You started building houses. In Detroit. In 2009,” she summarized slowly.

  Sander laughed. “Oh, I know. For a while there it looked like I was the only rat swimming to the sinking ship. But even though the market tanked, there were still people who wanted to build their own places and could afford to hire us. We had a good reputation.”

  “I would love to give you a list of things that are going wrong in my house,” Claire observed wryly.

  “I’d be happy to help.”

  “Oh, no,” she replied, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t do that, have you over to my place for home repair.”

  “Oh.” He frowned.

  “You were thinking you would come to my house and rescue me from my appliances,” she teased. “The hero with a toolbelt.”

  “Something like that,” he admitted. He smiled at how easily she had read him.

  “Sometimes I think the choices we make early on can have an effect on how things turn out later,” Claire advised. It sounded like a lighthearted observation, but when she peered at him, it was as if they were speaking about something else entirely. She did that a lot, it seemed.

  * * *

  Hunter felt a presence in his bedroom doorway and turned.

  “Welcome back,” Sander greeted him.

  Hunter shrugged. “Just thought I should maybe put on some fresh clothes.”

  “Any change?”

  Hunter shook his head. “No. Everything okay here?”

  “Ello and I got it all handled.”

  Hunter grunted and looked around. “Okay, I just had my car keys in my hand. Where the heck did I put them?”

  “Speaking of that,” Sander said after a moment, “I’m thinking of selling the Monte Carlo.”

  Hunter looked up sharply. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But that thing’s your pride and joy, Dad. You clean it with a toothbrush.”

  “It’s just a car, Hunter,” Sander replied levelly. “Yet even without its engine, you’re right; it’s in pristine condition. But I’d like to park something else in its place in the garage. Something fun. Sort of tired of driving around in a minivan.”

  Hunter grinned. It felt strange, stretching his face, an expression long disused. “What? You don’t feel masculine cruising around with pony stickers in your window?”

  * * *

  Later that day, Hunter stepped out of Juliana’s hospital room and checked his text messages. The only work-related item was from Kim, complaining that when people opened the front door, cold air came in.

  He suspected he knew why Mrs. O’Brien hadn’t reached out. He’d done the same thing himself—frozen out an employee he knew was about to be terminated. She probably saw no point in wasting further words on Hunter Goss.

  Still, he hadn’t been fired. Yet.

  He dialed Robert Gethers, the CFO of Colfaxette. Prepared for voicemail, Hunter started in surprise when Robert answered.

  They agreed that the winter was oddly dry. They decided the Detroit Lions wouldn’t make the playoffs next year, either. Their chitchat was as artful as Ello ice dancing with a partner, each skating around and around in synchronous avoidance of the topic at hand.

  Well, time to face the music. “So, hey, Robert, about the furniture … I guess there was some damage.” Hunter laughed dryly as if there was something funny in all this. And maybe characterizing the complete destruction of the shelves as “some damage” was funny. Hilarious, even.

  “Yeah, I saw the scratch on that one desk. It’s not too bad, and it’s sort of an extra one anyway. No problem,” came the reply.

  Hunter paused, pondering his answer. “Well, sure, but the hutches sort of broke apart.… I’m sure you noticed.”

  Robert said, “Oh, yeah, that.”

  Yeah, that.

  “It actually sort of saved us some effort, since nobody wanted the hutches anyway. Our offices already have built-in shelving. We were just going to throw the things out.”

  Hunter gripped the phone. “So everything’s okay?”

  Robert sighed. “No, not okay. That’s why I’ve been dodging your calls. Our next round of funding is held up, and I’m running on fumes here. I can’t process your invoice for payment until probably after the first of the year. I’m sorry—I made the agreement in good faith—but you know how it is.”

  Hunter considered this. He had gone from Tell them we’re not going to pay to have the junk removed to I’ll have to wait for payment until after the first of the year.

  “I understand. That’s fine, Robert.”

  “It is? Oh, man, I owe you one.”

  “No problem,” Hunter answered faintly.

  This minor reprieve wouldn’t salvage his career, but it was something.

  * * *

  Ruby greeted Hunter when he walked in the door, going crazy with joy. He tossed his keys down and patted his pockets for his cell phone. He returned to the car to retrieve it, and when he walked back in Ruby was waiting, wagging and licking, so happy to see him again that Hunter fell to his knees and put his hands out for the little dog. “You silly … you just saw me ten seconds ago. Oh, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby,” Hunter murmured to the wiggling puppy. “You’re not going anywhere, are you, little dog? Even if Ello could give you up, I can’t. You can live with me and my family in the homeless shelter.” He peered into the canine’s innocent eyes. “I’ve made a mess of my career, Ruby. Things are going to be pretty bad soon. And if Juliana doesn’t recover, that will truly be the end of me, baby girl,” he whispered.

  When Hunter released her, Ruby darted off with crazed energy, racing around the room in celebration, because puppies know how to celebrate everything.

  Hunter meandered into the kitchen to see what his father and daughter were making for dinner. He jerked in surprise: an attractive older woman was bustling around, and wonderful cooking odors were coming from something sizzling on the stovetop. She turned and grinned at him. “Hi!” she greeted him. “You must be Hunter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  To Hunter’s utter shock, the woman tossed off her oven mitts like a hockey player getting ready to fight, but instead of taking a swing at him she moved across the kitchen and gathered him in a forceful hug. Hunter was immediately uncomfortable with how muc
h chest was pushing into his.

  “You poor man,” she whispered. “Sander told me about your wife. Is she doing any better?”

  “No.” He extricated himself from her soft embrace. “But she’s not any worse, either. That’s all we can cling to at the moment, but … I’m sorry, who are you again?”

  She laughed. “I am a friend of your father’s.”

  “My father?” Hunter repeated, as if he had never met the man.

  “A very special friend,” she corrected herself. “He’s out in the backyard playing with his grandkids. I’m Lucille.”

  Now they shook hands, though after the hug it seemed like a weak second act. Hunter looked away from the teardrop opening below her neckline. Then he walked over to the sliding doors and joined Winstead. The backyard spotlights were stabbing out into the darkness, and the light flurry of snow that had been filling the air with desultory flakes seemed to be gathering a bit more energy, producing white flares in the harsh beams. Winstead was watching anxiously as Sander, the twins, and Ello endeavored to place the middle portion of a snowman on top of the big round base that had already been positioned. Ruby hadn’t joined Hunter and Winstead; instead, she was industriously shredding a rope toy in a corner of the dining room.

  “What do you think, Winstead?” Hunter asked. “Dad just seems really different all of a sudden.”

  Winstead glanced up at him, then returned to sentry duty. Hunter turned back to the kitchen, trying to think of something else to say to Lucille, gave up, and went down the hall to change into jeans. In his bedroom, he knocked at the back window, and Sander and Ello stood and waved cheerfully. Ewan celebrated his father’s arrival by throwing a fistful of snow into Garrett’s face.

  When they all came charging back inside the house to change out of their wet clothes, Hunter took his father aside.

  “So, Dad, who’s this Lucille?”

  “Oh,” Sander answered. “She’s one of the women I’m seeing.”

  “What?” Hunter stared incredulously.

  “She’s a widow,” Sander added, as if that explained everything. “How’s your wife?”

  “No change. I just got tired of commissary food.”

  “Well, you picked the right night to come home for dinner. Lucille sure knows her way around a kitchen.”

  Lucille had made something out of a delicate white wine sauce and chicken and other unidentifiable but delicious-smelling ingredients. She wouldn’t eat with them, though. She insisted that the family enjoy their privacy, especially considering that their mother was still in the hospital. “I can’t wait to meet her,” Lucille added. Ello frowned suspiciously. Winstead sighed. Ruby licked the woman’s pants.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” Sander offered.

  Lucille waved a cheerful goodbye and left with Sander, her arm through his and her head briefly touching his shoulder.

  The second she was gone, Ello whirled on Hunter. “Who is that? Is that, like, Grandpa’s girlfriend?”

  “It’s one of the women he’s been seeing,” Hunter advised blandly.

  Ello flinched as if he’d just sprayed her with a fire hose.

  They delayed for a few moments, then decided that the food smelled too good to wait for Sander to get back. His absence from the table, as it became more and more prolonged, built up an awkwardness for Ello and her father to share. She broke the silence first. “What could he be doing for this long?”

  “Well…” Hunter began slowly, “they are dating each other. I suppose that he’s, um, saying goodnight.”

  Ello’s eyes bulged. “You mean they’re making out?” she shrieked. “That’s gross! He’s so old!”

  Hunter couldn’t help but laugh at her.

  “God, this is the weirdest family on earth,” Ello lamented.

  When he finally stopped laughing, Hunter leaned forward tenderly. “Ello, I just want to tell you how much I appreciate all that you’ve done. I know that between my work and being at the hospital, I haven’t been around at all. And you and your grandfather have picked up the slack and done everything. I am so proud of you.”

  Ello’s eyes were shining. Ruby, sensing something, left her station under Ewan’s chair, sidled over to Ello, and stared up at her.

  That reminded Hunter. “So, are you making any progress finding a home for Ruby?” he asked lightly.

  Ello shook her head, guilty as a thief lit up by spotlights.

  “Well, I guess Mom’s going to be pretty surprised to find out we have a new puppy.”

  Ello stared at him as the full impact of what he was saying landed on her. When she rushed over and wrapped him in a little-girl hug, Hunter felt all the stresses of the day fall away.

  * * *

  After dinner, Sander suggested that he and Hunter go for a walk with the dogs. Winstead seemed to be in favor of this suggestion, and Ruby was excited because Winstead was excited. Hunter demurred, saying he really needed to get back to the hospital.

  Sander shook his head. “I know Juliana. She would want you to spend some time with your family.”

  Hunter thought about it and nodded. “Well, but the boys are in bed, and Ello is in her room staring at her phone with her headphones on. So I think I’m good.”

  “Sure,” Sander drawled, “but I’m family, too, you know.”

  It was a good point. They struggled into boots, coats, gloves, and hats, leashed up the dogs, and clomped out into the snow. It was a quiet night, the crunch of their footsteps and the gentle sawing of their breathing almost all that they could hear. They walked in silence, stopping every few feet so that Winstead could mark his territory.

  “So, this Lucille…” Hunter began. “Is it serious?”

  “Oh, no, the thing with Lucille is not serious. But it is fun,” Sander responded dryly.

  “She seems really nice. She’s a great cook. And she’s a bit of a babe, Dad,” Hunter confided.

  Sander grinned. “Yes, she is. But she’s also a little pushy. She’s already talking about how we should move in together, even sort of made it sound like a done deal. She lives out at Potter Road and Three Mile, south of town. I’m not ready for anything like that yet.”

  “Wow. I had no idea.”

  “A lot’s been happening while you’ve been away.”

  “You said one of the women you’re seeing,” Hunter prodded shrewdly.

  “Well, I went out with a widow named Allison. But she’s very clingy, very needy. It’s like whatever I do disappoints her. The whole world seems to disappoint her. We were having coffee, and they didn’t have any of that sugar that comes in a brown bag, just the white stuff. Which, once you put it in coffee, tastes the exact same, but it ruined her whole day. You know what I mean?”

  “Honestly, no,” Hunter confessed. “Any other widows?”

  Sander chuckled softly. “Well, there’s this woman named Claire. She and I get along pretty well. It’s just friends right now, though.”

  They crunched on in comfortable silence. Sander glanced at his son. “How does it feel? I mean, me seeing other women—women other than your mother, I mean.”

  Hunter considered it. “How does it feel? I’m not sure I feel anything, Dad. I still think about Mom every single day. But most of all, I want you to be happy. It seems like you haven’t been happy for a long, long time.”

  Sander sighed. “I know. When your mom died, happiness seemed impossible—so I’ve been trying to settle for just not feeling awful. But you know what? I think maybe, now, I’ve got a shot at it. Happiness, I’m saying. But not because of these … widows. It’s because I have a reason for me to get out of bed in the morning. I have a function in this world. I matter to people. I matter to Ello, I matter to the twins.”

  “You matter to me, Dad,” Hunter said softly. The two men stopped and faced each other and, for a moment, it seemed like they might hug.

  The mood passed. Hunter kicked at a chunk of ice, sending it skittering. Winstead stared at it alertly as it shot past, but didn’t str
ain at the leash.

  “So,” Hunter began, his tone indicating a change of subject. “They’re letting me go January second. My company, I mean.”

  Sander and Hunter both looked equally shocked at this pronouncement. Hunter hadn’t articulated it out loud to anyone, not even himself, until this moment.

  “Why?” Sander demanded, aghast.

  Hunter explained how the engineers had sabotaged his innovations with cardboard barriers. Many had eyeholes cut in them so people could stare out with baleful eyeballs, like portraits in a haunted house.

  Sander was outraged. “They’re going to fire you for that? You should just tell them to take down the boxes. It’s a fire hazard!”

  Hunter grinned wryly. “Sadly, it doesn’t work like that. These guys have skills that are in high demand; they can work anywhere. We have enough problems with attrition as it is. I give them an ultimatum, they’ll just leave. Recruitment is one of our biggest soft costs.”

  “You should show them video of an office fire. That’d change a few minds.”

  “That’s right.… I forgot you were with the fire department.”

  “Loved that job. Your mom made me quit, though. Afraid I was going to burn up.”

  “When I was a boy I used to climb the dresser and open your drawer to look at your badge in the leather wallet,” Hunter confessed.

  Sander nodded. “Still got that thing, actually. I should probably think of a better place to hide it; won’t be long before the twins are invading my drawers. They’d love taking the badge to school and telling their friends they’re firemen.”

  Hunter suddenly stopped under a streetlight. Sander peered at him in the odd, desaturating glare. “What is it, son?”

  * * *

  There were only ten days left until Christmas. Sander had noticed that, whereas the twins were taking in the decorations and presents and tree like triple shots of espresso, a dark weariness had settled over Ello, each day without her mother sapping her vitality.