Page 20 of Save the Date
“Bert Rosen! Are you hooking up with somebody you just met tonight? At the wedding?”
He looked insulted. “It’s not a hookup. It’s just a drink. An innocent drink.”
“Who is he? Do I know him? Did I meet him?”
“You don’t actually know him, but you did meet. He’s actually one of Ryan’s fraternity brothers.”
“You’re kidding.” Cara giggled despite her weariness. “You’re telling me one of Ryan Finnerty’s frat-tastic macho buddies is actually gay?”
“Shh. He’s not officially out. At least not to Ryan.”
Cara opened her door and climbed down out of the van. “If you won’t go with me, I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning. But I’m telling you right now, if he doesn’t hand over Poppy—I might do something radical.”
“Go get some sleep,” Bert advised. “I’ll go over there with you myself in the morning before we go get my car and we’ll storm the castle together.”
***
It was the first night she’d spent alone in her apartment without Poppy, and now the apartment was eerily quiet without her.
Cara undressed quickly. She washed her face and pulled on a well-worn oversized T-shirt and climbed into bed. It had been a long, busy day, and she was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. The bed seemed too big without Poppy stretched out on the other side of it. So she got up and arranged herself on the sofa in her combination living-dining room.
The living room’s big bay window looked out on the street. She heard cars driving slowly down the brick street, heard doors opening and closing, her neighbors, two SCAD art students, laughing and talking as they came home from one of their customary late nights.
Finally, she drifted off to sleep, maybe around three? She wasn’t sure.
***
Sunday. It was the one day of the week Jack Finnerty allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in. He was asleep, in a near-coma stage, when his cell phone rang. Blindly, he reached toward the packing-crate nightstand. The phone fell to the floor, but it kept ringing.
Jack leaned over the edge of the bed and groped around on the floor. Finally, his fingers closed on the phone. He thumbed the On button. Three-thirty in the friggin’ morning. The number on the caller ID wasn’t familiar. A wrong number at three-thirty in the morning? He tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, turned over, and tried to go back to sleep.
But the phone was ringing again. He snatched it up, prepared to give this loser an earful. He wasn’t prepared for what he got instead.
It was Zoey.
“Dammit, Jack,” she cried. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s nearly four in the fuckin’ morning,” Jack said, his voice thick with sleep. “What do you want, Zoey?”
“I want to know why you didn’t let me know you managed to lose Scheherazade,” Zoey demanded.
Jack rose up on one elbow and looked over at the dog asleep on her bed, not far from his own. Well, really his bed was nothing more than a mattress and boxspring. But still.
“Shaz is right here,” he said, yawning. “Have you and Jiminy Cricket been getting into some of that California weed?”
“His name is Jamey, and for your information, just because he’s a musician, does not mean that he is a dope fiend, not that it’s any of your business,” she retorted. “And I’d just love to know how my dog can be in two places at one time.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said, flopping backward onto the bed.
“I got a call earlier tonight from Dr. Katz’s office, telling me that somebody found Shaz running loose on Victory Drive. Thank heavens, some good Samaritan picked her up and took her to the vet’s office. They recognized her immediately, of course, but then they checked the microchip just to be sure, and they called me.”
That got his attention. He sat straight up in the bed and turned on the lamp. Now the dog was awake, too. Her ears pricked up, and her nose was quivering, as though she knew she was being discussed.
“Zoey? Are you telling me that the dog sitting right here in this bedroom is not Shaz?” He buried his head in his hands. The dog edged closer and licked his ear.
Her voice was shrill. “I don’t have any idea who or what you’ve got in your bedroom, Jack Finnerty, but yes, I am telling you that Scheherazade is being boarded at Dr. Katz’s office tonight. The vet tech said it’s a miracle she didn’t get hit by a car, crossing all that traffic on Abercorn Street. No thanks to you.”
“You’re saying Shaz is at the vet’s office?”
