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The mutt had parked himself near the water cooler and stared longingly at an empty box of donuts on Calhoun’s desk.
Ryan walked in from the back room and stopped in his tracks when he noticed the dog.
“What isthat?”
“Why, it’s a dog. Are you blind?” Mrs. Jones asked.
“That’s not a dog. That’s a walking furry garbage can.” Ryan frowned.
“If you clean him up, I bet he’ll look like a dog again,” Mrs. Jones said with a finger wag.
“That’s mighty optimistic of you, Mrs. Jones.” Ryan walked to the other side of the office, holding his nose.
“It’s under control,” Jack said.
Surely Calhoun would take pity on the dog. Man of God and all. How could he turn this poor animal down?
“I’ll be going home now.” Mrs. Jones rose to leave, and both Jack and Ryan moved in her direction, but she held up a hand. “And I don’t need any help.”
It took Mrs. Jones several long minutes to make her way to the door, during which Jack stared alternatively at the mutt and at Ryan, who stood, body wound tight as a new guitar cord. He wanted to open that door, but he also knew better.
“What will you do with that?” Ryan frowned in the direction of the dog after Mrs. Jones left.
“I thought you loved dogs.” The mutt stared at him. Jack stared back.
“I love dogs. That thing isn’t a dog.”
“Oh c’mon, stop exaggerating.”
“We’ll need to have the station fumigated now.” Ryan went around the office opening windows.
“Take him home, and tomorrow Calhoun will take pity on him,” Jack said.
“I can’t take him home. I live in an apartment. At least you live in a house.”
“I can’t have a dog.” He stopped short of saying that he didn’t want any attachments even though it was the truth.
“Like you told me. It’s just for one night.”
He lived in a house with no lease, a month to month arrangement with a landlord so desperate to fill the vacancy that she didn’t mind a short timer. Because that’s what Jack was around here, and no amount of pitiable dogs, elderly ladies, troubled teens, or beautiful mothers would change that.
They were goingto have a serious talk. No more waiting patiently until Lexi wanted to confide in her. Maggie wanted to know everything—the names of Lexi’s friends and their parents’ names, where they lived, where they went to church, and possibly their drivers’ license numbers and blood types. Secrets were dangerous, and she couldn’t allow Lexi to keep them from her. How could she protect her if she didn’t know what she was doing at all times?
Even so, she had no idea how to approach the subject. Matt was always best at tiptoeing the fine lines of confrontation. To Maggie, the best way was to just dive right in. Except that hadn’t worked so well in the recent past.
“We need to talk.” Maggie pounced the moment Lexi walked in the door after school.
“About what?” Lexi put her backpack down and turned around, her brown eyes narrowed.
“I know you have a boyfriend—“
“No, I don’t!”
“Let’s not do this. If you and I can’t be honest with each other, we’ll never make it.”
Lexi pouted. “What’s the point? You don’t believe me anyway.”
“I can see you really like Anton.”
