The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (11 page)

She really ought to read for the next Knit Lit Society meeting. Never a fan of Shakespeare, she’d procrastinated since their meeting the week before. Of course, she could just choose not to read
Romeo and Juliet
and be done with it, but she’d made a vow to herself to try to do better this year, at least when it came to the reading assignments. The knitting, well…

She carefully hung her silk suit on a padded hanger and stowed her pumps in their appropriate cubby. Her nightgown and robe were in the lingerie drawer, neatly folded and waiting for her. Her bedtime routine—removing her makeup, washing her face, and slathering on regenerating cream—took less than ten minutes since she had it down to a science.

She settled into bed, adjusting the pile of pillows behind her, and reached for the book on her nightstand.

Romeo and Juliet.
She’d read it in high school and remembered thinking it was awfully dramatic. To Esther, romantic love was not only overrated but something to be avoided. Marriage was—and always had been for her—about forming the right alliance. Building a life together. Working as a team. Not this nonsense about dying of love for someone.

Esther picked up the book, thumbed past the overview and the introduction, and proceeded straight to act 1, scene 1, where the servants of the Capulets and Montagues were insulting one another. Romeo had just entered when she heard the phone ring.

Esther looked around. Usually she kept the portable handset nearby, but it wasn’t on the bed or the nightstand.

“Where is that thing?” She climbed out of bed and went in search of the receiver, found it, and then paused when she didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID.
Wireless Caller
, the display said.

She pressed the button to answer. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Jackson?” The deep male voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes.”

The caller cleared his throat. “This is Brody McCullough. We met week before last out on the lake road. I helped you with the dog. The vet’s office gave me your name and number.”

“Oh, yes. I remember.” For no discernible reason, she felt her heartbeat accelerate. “What can I do for you?”

“How’s the dog doing? Was Doc Everton able to help him?”

“Yes, yes. He’s going to be fine. His hip was displaced, but the vet took care of that.”

“Is the dog still at the animal hospital?”

“Actually, no. He’s here with me.”

There was a long pause. “With you?”

Esther bristled at the hint of disbelief in the man’s tone. “I can assure you, Mr.—I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Brody McCullough.”

“I can assure you, Mr. McCullough, that the dog is in good hands.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” But her tone let him know that she
knew exactly what he’d meant. “Is there anything else, Mr. McCullough?”

“I’m sorry if I offended you. You just didn’t seem to be a dog kind of person, and if he was still at Doc Everton’s, I was going to offer to take him off their hands.”

“You want the dog?”

“Want? No. But I’ve got room enough at my place, and I thought I’d at least offer until I could find him a good home.”

That took a bit of the wind out of her sails. “Oh. Well, it was nice of you to follow up.” She paused, unsure what else to say.

“The thing is…” His voice trailed off

“Yes?”

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Jackson, but are you sure you want to deal with that dog?”

Anger sparked in her chest. “Mr. McCullough, are you implying that I would neglect or hurt that animal? As I recall, I’m the one who rescued him.”

“You were also the one who hit him.”

“Well, I never—”

“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“No. It didn’t.” She clamped her mouth shut and bit back the words that wanted to spew forth. Esther refused to admit that perhaps a bit of the sting came from her own conscience. She didn’t really want the dog, had only agreed to bring it home so that she wouldn’t look heartless in the eyes of Dr. Everton and his assistants. But now, after Mr. McCullough’s comments…

Did she really appear so unfeeling to the world?

The thought hit her hard, extinguishing the little flames of anger. The veterinarian had only reluctantly turned the dog over to her. And now a complete stranger was questioning her fitness to care for the animal.

“Mrs. Jackson—”

“Please call me Esther.” While the words invited informality, her chilly tone did not.

The man sighed. “I’ve offended you, and I apologize. I shouldn’t have judged you—”

“But you did.” She didn’t want to continue this conversation. “I can assure you that the dog is safe. Good night, Mr. McCullough.” She moved her finger to the Off button.

“Wait—”

Something in his tone kept her from disconnecting the call. “Yes?”

“I’m not usually such a cretin.”

“Cretin?” An impressive vocabulary for a farmer, she thought, and then cringed when she realized how snobbish the thought was.

“I owe you an apology. More than an apology.” Brody McCullough paused. “I don’t expect you’ll agree to this, but I’d like to buy you dinner to make up for my insult.”

Esther swallowed back the sharp retort that rose to her lips. Men’s minds were so difficult to understand. Why would he think that spending more time in his company would make her feel better about his misjudgment of her?

“I don’t think so.”

“But—”

“Good night, Mr. McCullough.”

There was another pause. “Good night, Mrs. Jackson. Again, I apologize.”

She didn’t answer. Just hit the Off button and stared at the receiver.

What a strange conversation. She picked up the book again and tried to concentrate.

Juliet was an idiot, Esther decided. No man was worth giving up everything for, especially not one’s life. Love was an illusion. If Juliet had ever made it past the age of fourteen, she would have figured that out.

Much later, Esther laid aside the book and reached over to turn off the lamp but hesitated before turning the switch. Since Frank’s death, she’d slept with the light on, which was absurd since they hadn’t shared a bedroom in years. He’d involuntarily taken up residence in the guest room when his snoring became too much of a disturbance.

Tonight, though, she was determined to return to her normal way of doing things. Despite Franks absence. Despite the ache of loneliness that pooled in her stomach. And despite the muffled whines and yelps she could hear from the kitchen downstairs. The dog would learn to sleep alone, just as she had. It was simply a matter of forming the habit.

Esther shut off the light with a snap of her wrist.

She fluffed the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. The darkness wasn’t absolute. Moonlight came in through the windows where she’d forgotten to draw the curtains.

No, the darkness wasn’t absolute, but it was oppressive. Her chest tightened, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating.

With a cry, she threw back the covers and bolted out of the bed. The fool dog needed her, she told herself as she jammed her feet into her slippers and hurried down the stairs. That’s all it was—anxiety about the animal. After all, the poor thing was helpless, alone, and had nowhere to go.

Just like her.

No, no. She couldn’t think like that.

She flipped light switches as she passed, bathing the house in a warm glow. The dog must have heard her coming, because he stopped whining. At the entrance to the kitchen, where she’d put up the baby gate, she stopped and reached inside the doorway to turn on the light.

The dog waited just on the other side of the gate, his nose pressed to the plastic mesh. He whined low in his throat and let out two short, sharp barks. Esther stared down at him, torn between resentment and compassion. If she gave in this time… Well, she’d learned that lesson long ago with Frank. And with her son, Alex. Once you gave in to a male, he never stopped pushing. Other people thought she was too rigid, but she wasn’t.
She was realistic. People went as far as you let them, so if they hurt you, you had no one to blame but yourself

“You can’t come upstairs,” she said to the dog. “You might as well accept it.”

He stared back at her, uncomprehending, and let out another sharp bark.

“Good night,” Esther said. She reached inside the door frame and turned the light off. The kitchen wasn’t pitch-black either. A soft glow from the outside lights came through the windows above the sink.

She wasn’t ten steps away when the dog began to cry, an agonizing whimper of fear. Esther stopped. Turned. Told herself she shouldn’t do what she was about to do.

“All right. Come on.”

She reached down and lifted the handle on the baby gate, dislodging it from the door frame. The dog bounded through like a prisoner making a dash for freedom. He headed for the stairs and raced up them until he was out of sight.

Esther followed at a slower pace. By the time she reached her bedroom, the dog had already made himself at home, curled up on her pillow.

“I don’t think so. Off.” She barked the last word. Might as well speak to him in his own language.

The dog looked at her, cocked his head, and remained right where he was.

“I said off.” She snapped her fingers and pointed toward the
floor. She should have brought up the old blanket she’d put in the kitchen for him. “Now.”

The dog stood, and Esther felt pleased. She would show the animal she was in charge. “That’s a good—No. You may not sleep on that pillow either.”

The dog appeared unperturbed by her scolding. He circled around three times and then settled into a little ball on what would have been, once upon a time, Frank’s pillow.

“I said—” Esther stopped herself. Did it really matter all that much? She knew she should make the dog move, at least to the foot of the bed. But the darkness was still there, and she was tired of being alone.

“Just for tonight,” she said as she got back into bed. The dog looked at her with those big, sad brown eyes. A lot like Frank’s eyes, to tell the truth. “I mean it. Tomorrow night it’s back to the kitchen. I’ll get you a hot water bottle or a ticking clock or something.”

The dog closed his eyes, heaved a deep sigh, and promptly went to sleep.

For Esther, the peace of sleep proved more elusive. She turned so that her back was to the dog and her eyes were fixed on the large green numbers of her alarm clock. She watched as the minutes ticked by, waiting for her eyelids to grow heavy and for sleep to overtake her.

Eventually it did, but not before she’d spent a good, long time listening to the dog snore almost as loudly as Frank.

By the end of the first week in October, Hannah had figured out how to get from one class to another without running into Josh. And if she got to honors English early enough, she could sit in the back of the room. He was always one of the last ones through the door—the popular kids hung out in the hallway until the very last minute—so he and Courtney usually sat side by side in the front row.

Fortunately, Josh didn’t ride her bus since he had football practice until five o’clock every day. On Fridays, though, she didn’t take the bus. Instead she walked to the library to meet Eugenie. Rev. Carson would take them out for dinner, and sometimes they went to a movie at the theater on the square.