Page 129 of Save the Date
Brooke shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks, and stomped off.
“That sounds fine, Marie,” Harris called. Then he hurried off in his fiancée’s wake.
A few minutes later, they heard car doors slamming, then Brooke’s Volvo, roaring up the road in a cloud of dust.
“Oh my,” Libba said, shading her eyes with her hand as she watched Harris’s car follow a moment later.
Marie sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Libba. Brooke’s just a bundle of nerves these days. It’s this trial she’s working on. I’ll be so glad when it’s over. This is classic Brooke. She’s so intense and driven when it comes to her job. She was the same way when she was in school. She’d make herself sick worrying and studying before a big test. She’d convince herself she couldn’t possibly pass, and of course, she always did. I don’t remember her ever making anything lower than a B-plus.”
“Brooke is so unlike Gordon in that way,” Patricia piped up. “He’s always so calm and confident. I think he actually thrives under pressure.”
Marie gazed wordlessly at her ex-husband’s new wife. She started to say something, but stopped herself.
“Never mind,” Libba said soothingly. “Whatever is going on between the kids, they’ll work it out.”
“I hope so,” Marie said.
52
Cara felt like a wrung-out dishrag by the time she finally parked her car on the street outside Bloom. It was nearly 5:30, but she was surprised to see that the garden cart was still on the sidewalk, and through the window she spotted Ginny Best, still seated at the worktable, poking daisies and zinnias into a round glass bowl.
“Oh hi,” Ginny said. She held up the arrangement. “What do you think?”
“Mmm. Needs something else. Maybe some of those little miniature blue irises.” Cara looked around the shop. “Where’s Poppy?”
“Out back,” Ginny said, going to the cooler for more flowers. “Some guy came by to see you earlier. I told him you’d be back late in the day.”
“What guy?” Cara asked, grabbing a bottle of cold water from the fridge in the kitchenette. She left the fridge door open, uncapped the bottle, and swigged deeply as the cool air chilled her damp skin. She felt a tiny prickle of hope. Could it have been Jack? Was it possible that he hadn’t totally written her of?
“He didn’t tell me his name,” Ginny said. “He was kind of a hottie, though. Blond hair, Ray-Bans. Your boyfriend?”
Cara choked, spewing water over her chest and chin. She grabbed a paper towel and mopped her face. “Not even,” she said.
“Oh.” Ginny nodded. “I think I get the picture.”
“Thanks, Ginny. You can go on home now. I don’t want you working a ten-hour day. I can finish that in the morning,” Cara said.
“Okay,” Ginny said, hopping down from her stool.
Cara fished a puppy treat from the jar on the counter and unlocked the back door, bracing herself for Poppy’s typical rocket launch of unbridled puppy love.
At first glance, she thought the dog was sleeping. Poppy lay motionless on the sun-baked bricks.
“Here girl!” Cara called gaily. “Treat time!”
Poppy raised her muzzle and whined. That’s when Cara saw the taut rope leading from the trunk of the crepe myrtle to the dog’s neck. That’s when she noticed the reddish trickle staining Poppy’s platinum curls.
“Oh my God!” Cara cried. She dropped to the ground, her fingers shaking uncontrollably as she worked at the knot attached to her pet’s collar. Poppy whined again, but she didn’t squirm. All the fight had already gone out of her.
The bricks beneath Cara’s knees scorched her skin as she fumbled helplessly with the tangled cord. “Oh my sweet girl. My poor sweet girl,” Cara crooned. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than a minute, she tossed the rope aside. Cara unbuckled the dog’s collar, flinching at the sight of the bloodstained fur.
She felt Poppy’s nose. It was dry. She looked around for her water bowl and saw it, just out of reach, turned on its side.
Cara carefully gathered the forty-five-pound puppy in her arms. She found the hose bib, turned it on, and, placing a finger over the nozzle, gently sprayed the dog’s face and the top of her head with it. Poppy’s pink tongue worked furiously, lapping at the sun-warmed water. At some point, Cara searched for the thermometer attached to the courtyard wall. Ninety degrees, and it was now nearly six o’clock.
Somehow, she got to her feet, with Poppy still cradled in her arms. She jerked the back door open, sprinted toward the front of the shop.
Ginny Best was standing by the front door, her pocketbook over her shoulder, smiling into her cell phone. “Okay, if you’re sure you’ve done your spelling words, we’ll go out for ice cream when we get home.” Her eyes widened when she saw her employer.
