After slipping on the jeans and T-shirt he had worn earlier in the evening, Cal opened his closet and pulled out his duffle bag. Bailey sat beside the bed scratching his ear. “What am I going to do with you?” Cal asked.
Heidi was right. He couldn’t take Bailey with him. If Cal needed to be at the hospital round-the-clock, he didn’t want to leave Bailey alone at his father’s house. Heidi and her kids would step up if needed, but Cal didn’t want to impose. They all had busy lives.
After stuffing jeans, khakis, underwear, socks, and T-shirts into the duffle bag, he went to his closet and pulled out three button down shirts. He would hang them in his car. Mission accomplished, he sat down on the bed and hit a contact number. Mitch answered the phone, his voice sleepy but surprisingly gracious about being awakened.
“No problem, Cal. Good thing Parker’s on board for trivia. Take all the time you need.”
Cal thanked him and ended the call, noting the cynical thought that Mitch would probably be happy if he didn’t return at all. And then, without thinking twice, he pressed the very number associated with Mitch’s assumed preference that Cal would return never.
“Cal?” Bryony asked.
“Sorry to call late,” he said.
“I was awake,” she said.
“I have to go to Cleveland. My dad fell tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Is he okay?”
The concern in her voice caused a hitch in his throat. She was someone with whom he could have shared his fears about someday losing his father. He ignored the surge of feeling and pressed on. “I don’t know. I’m leaving in a few minutes. Would you mind taking care of Bailey while I’m gone? He’s very little work. A walk in the morning. A walk at night. Food in his bowl. Water. He won’t drag you through the mud again. I’ll make him promise. I’m so sorry to ask last minute, but I think Bailey and I would both be happier if he stayed home.”
“I guess so,” Bryony said. “I’ve never taken care of a dog before.”
“He’s not much trouble. I have a cat now, too. You aren’t allergic, are you?”
“You have a cat?”
“Buggy showed up a few weeks ago.” Cal didn’t say, about the time you and I ended. “She’s a stray, and for some reason Bailey loves her, even though she bugs the heck out of him, hence the name.”
In addition to the addictive detective series, caring for the cat had kept him interested in something other than making a nuisance of himself with Bryony.
“Wow,” Bryony said. “I’m amazed. I don’t see you as a cat person.”
She was right, and Cal wanted to tell her the whole story, but that would never happen. He needed distance from her. A clean break. Because even though he’d declared himself understanding of her need to back off, nothing he thought or felt agreed with that plan. He’d only called Bryony for help because he couldn’t think of anyone else to ask on such short notice, in the middle of the night. “The cat requires minor oversight. I’ll leave a note and put everything you’ll need on the kitchen counter.”
“What if I mix them up, give the dog the cat’s food and vice versa?” Bryony asked.
Cal laughed. “They’ll be waiting at the door with sharp knives when you return.”
“I’m overthinking,” Bryony said. “Leave a note. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“I have a note ready to go.” He’d prepared it for his Cleveland dog-sitters. He would print it and make a few edits with a pen. “Thanks, Bryony,” Cal said. “I’ve missed seeing you.” His whole face immediately tensed, wishing he could take back the words. They matched his feeling, but not his better judgement.
Bryony’s silence said it all. She hadn’t noticed his absence. Better that way, cleaner, no drama.
“I’ll leave a key under the front mat,” he said. “Thanks, again. You’re a good friend.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Drive safely. I hope your father’s okay.”
They ended the call, and Cal finished the tasks on his mental to-do list.
The temperature outside had dropped. His car was cold. Cal threw his bag in the back seat, hung the shirts, and started the engine. It had been less than twenty minutes since Heidi’s call. Remembering one more detail, he turned off the ignition and exited the car to slip the house key under the porch mat. Prior to starting the car again, he took a breath and went over the list once again, ticking off each item in his mind until he reached the end.
List double-checked, he was good to go.
Backing out of the driveway, he reviewed his phone call with Bryony. Had he missed telling her anything vital? He didn’t think so. She had his number and could call if she had questions. He could count on her. And she could count on him to be a friend. An appropriate, distant friend with no other expectations. Cal turned on the radio.
Hard rock would keep him awake and drive away the worry and regret thrumming through his mind and body.
BRY FALLS FOR CAL’S KITCHEN
Streetlights still on, Bryony climbed the three steps to Cal’s front door. The key lay under the front mat as promised. Apprehensive, she unlocked and pushed open the door to enter.
In the brief time they had toyed around with dating, they spent all of their time together away from their homes because they always had somewhere else to be. She felt odd walking into his house now, too curious, like a trespasser, like an intruder.
“Bailey?” she called. Cal’s dog bounded down the last few steps of a staircase, fur flopping and tail wagging. He stopped at her feet, sat, and looked up panting, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth.
“Aren’t you the well-behaved one today?” Bryony asked. She patted his head. Bailey slurped her hand. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so hard after all.
“Show me around the place,” she said as she started wandering down the wide hallway.
Bailey wagged his tail and followed.
Cal lived in a neighborhood a notch up from hers. Bryony assumed homes like these were always owner-occupied. Maybe Charity knew the owners. Maybe she had suggested the arrangement.
The first door on the left opened into a massive living room, the second into a dining room.
At the end of the hall, she pushed open a swinging door, located the light switch, and gushed, “Wow!”
The house may have been built fifty to seventy-five years ago, but the update on the kitchen was recent, no more than five to ten years.
Floor-to-ceiling oak cabinets surrounded a granite counter reflecting under-counter lighting on its polished surface. A double sink with a gooseneck faucet sparkled. The six-burner gas stove sat atop a double-oven. Overhead lights bounced off the built-in microwave and a stainless steel side-by-side Sub-Zero refrigerator freezer.
Bryony sank onto a chair. Cal had been holding out on her. Had she known about the kitchen, she would have suggested a dinner date at his place. She sat for a full five minutes, reverence and peace descending over her. She belonged in a place like this, a shrine to that which made her spirit puff up like a perfect pastry.
Bailey sat in front of the kitchen sink, watching her. Bryony noticed cans and boxes on the counter. She pushed herself out of the chair to investigate. A page-long list of dog care tips quelled any leftover fear about not knowing what to do. And now she knew they had surpassed the proper time for a walk per the line, Bailey will expect you take him out the minute you walk in the door. All will go better for both of you if you follow his guidance.
A dog leash lay beside the boxes and cans. Bryony hooked it to Bailey’s collar. Two colorful plastic bags were tied to the grip end.
“Okay, boy,” she said. “No chasing cats, no digging in flower beds, and no knocking me down.”
He led her out the front door and peed on the first tree they came to.
“I guess we left at the right time,” Bryony said.
She had never lived with a dog. When she was five, she begged for a pooch, but her father nixed the idea, saying he had a dog when he was kid and he was not going through that again. Later, she learned her father had witnessed the dog’s death under the tires of a speeding car. As an adult, she could understand why he chose to not risk a repeat of such loss. But the five-year-old in her still yearned for a living being like Bailey, someone, or something, who would greet her with unrestrained welcome every time she returned .
