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“Sure,” Logan said with a rumbling laugh. “And maybe the Colts make the playoffs this year.”
Both of us turned and gave him a look.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Low blow.”
Turning back to Braden, I said, “It’s okay, buddy. You’re an NFL wide receiver. I’m sure there are plenty of fans who would love to go out with you. Fans who are women, and definitely not scammers living in Siberia.”
Braden held up a middle finger while scrolling on his phone.
“There we go,” Logan said, cranking up the volume on the TV. “My fight with Vasili.”
We watched as Logan and the Blackhawks player circled each other on the ice, fists raised like boxers. Logan dodged the first swing, then returned a wicked right hook that sent a spray of sweat flying into the air in slow-motion.
“Did your sister teach you how to hit like that?” Braden asked.
“Yes,” Logan replied, completely serious. “She did.”
“I shouldn’t have joked,” Braden said. “Leslie has told me stories about Emily. If half of them are true…”
“All of them are true,” Logan said. “The way we grew up…”
He trailed off, then reached into his jeans to pull out his cell phone. He frowned at the number, then tentatively answered it with a brusque, “What?”
I got up to get another piece of pizza. And another beer. I usually kept a clean diet during the season, but after today’s loss, the beer was comforting. Besides, it wasn’t like it would make a difference. After starting 0 - 4, our season was pretty much guaranteed to be a failure.
“What is it?” Braden was asking Logan. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Logan lowered the phone and stared straight ahead. “Remember Caroline?”
“Your college girlfriend?” Braden asked. “The one with the tattoo sleeve, who popped your cherry?”
Logan nodded somberly.Uh oh. Something’s wrong,I realized.
Like his dog Pickles, Braden was oblivious. “How’s she doing these days?” he asked.
“Bad,” Logan replied bluntly. “She’s dead.”
3
Beth
Dead, I thought while staring at the phone on the kitchen counter.This business hasn’t begun yet and it’s already dead.
I had been staring at the phone for an hour, trying to make it ring by willpower alone. I had given my card to those women at the hockey game on Sunday. Now it was Thursday, and I hadn’t gotten a single call inquiring about dog boarding. I went over to the old phone, picked up the receiver, and made sure there was still a dial tone.
“That’s what I deserve for getting my hopes up,” I muttered. “Maybe Trip was right.”
Hank, my Chocolate Lab who was laying on the kitchen tile, let out a long sigh on my behalf. Next to him, the tiny Yorkie named Princess grunted in solidarity. If business ever picked up, I didn’t intend to allow boarded dogs to come inside the main house. But for now, Princess was the only customer I had—and it was only a daytime boarding while her owner was at work.
Not if business picks up,I told myself.When. Positive thoughts only, Beth.
I started to make myself a cup of tea, but stopped when I heard car tires rolling up the long gravel driveway to the house. Excited, I hurried outside with Hank and Princess close on my heels.
My late grandma’s property was a big open field surrounded on all sides by tall pine trees. It was a gorgeous October day, with a pleasantly warm sun that balanced out the chilly wind stirring the treetops all around. Even though I had inherited it all from my grandma two months ago, it still didn’t seem likemine. I felt like I was a temporary caretaker watching over the property until she returned.
Any excitement I felt disappeared when I saw that it was Trip’s truck rumbling up the driveway, and not a potential customer. Then a different curiosity filled me. What was Trip doing here? I hadn’t seen him in person since the game, and we had only exchanged a few brief text messages. Was he coming to apologize to me for what happened?
“Hi,” I said as he hopped out of the truck. “I didn’t expect to see you here in the middle of a workday.”
