Almost Home. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ be gone in a couple of days. He’s a reporter. A successful, award-winning, blood-sucking, dirt-digging, story-sniffing, lie-detecting reporter. His job is to find out all about me. And then everyone on the island will know.”

      A sudden stab of anxiety hit my stomach, and I bent over double. Family secrets die hard. Once you’re told, as a child, to keep your mouth shut, you take that into adulthood with you. Revealing the secret is only slightly less difficult than lifting the state of Oregon out of the ground and shifting it to Hawaii.

      “A beer. A beer will help,” Brenda said. “Two beers? Or, how about if we throw off our shirts and drive naked through the night? That’ll get the ole hormones pumping again! Or skinny-dipping! Let’s get your sister! The water will hold that mammoth stomach up for her …. How that woman walks is a mystery to me ….”

      “’Morning.”

      Bent halfway over to pet my new dog, a black poodle named Nutmeg Man, I froze right where I was in the kennel when I heard that gravelly voice.

      The man who had kept me up most of the night for two nights worrying about what he would do to my sorry life was right behind me. Staring at my ample buttocks.

      “It’s you, isn’t it?” What a special moment this was.

      “Yep, it is. A pleasure to see you.”

      A pleasure to see your butt. I sagged, then straightened up.

      I had no makeup on. I hadn’t showered. I smelled like garlic. Brenda had made chicken garlic pasta while she guzzled white wine and whimpered that she would never write a word again, she was lost, done, a failure. That writer’s block was killing her. She slept on the kitchen floor so she could get a different “perspective.”

      “How are you today, Chalese?” he asked.

      “I’m dandy.” Go away, please. Go away. “So dandy I feel I will whistle a merry tune and dance a jig.”

      The dogs barked, and I let them out of their kennels one by one. They kissed me, jumped up to my shoulders, ran around my ankles, then went to sniff Aiden. He got down on his haunches and petted each one of them.

      I ran fingers through my hair. I knew I was the spitting image of Mrs. Godzilla.

      “I didn’t hear you drive up,” I said.

      “I’m not surprised.” He eyed the barking, jumping dogs.

      “Right. I call it my Canine Chorus Line. I have to walk them, or I’ll never hear the end of it. They’ll complain.” I winced. I sounded like Gina, my pet-communicator friend who translates for humans what their pets are thinking.

      “The dogs complain?” He raised an eyebrow.

      “Uh, well, not in English. Not in any other language, either—for example, French or German.” Stop talking, mouth, I told myself. “They don’t have conversations, they don’t communicate to me, but they … uh … they whine and yip and screech.”

      “I didn’t think dogs had conversations, but thank you.” He straightened up. The man towered over me. “That clarifies things.”

      “No, they don’t talk. Animals don’t talk.” Why must I babble? “That’s silly. But Gina thinks they do.”

      “Gina the hippie?”

      I paused. Shoot. I could see the headlines now: “Reclusive Writer Friends With Pet Communicator. ‘I know what horses think!’ Gina Martinez proclaims. ‘I can tell you if your hamster is depressed or if your cat struggles with multiple personalities from past lives!’”

      I put a leash around Shortcake. “I have to walk the dogs.”

      “I’ll come with you.”

      “That’s not necessary. I won’t get lost.”

      “No.” He smiled at me. “I know you won’t get lost. You are one of the most ‘found’ people I think I’ve met. But I thought I’d help out.”

      Why did Aiden have to be charming? “Fine. But you have to know that I haven’t showered, I was up late last night working, I have paint in my hair, Brenda made me smell like garlic, and I’m tired and cranky.”

      “I’ve already seen tired and cranky, and I’m okay with it.”

      I glared at him.

      “I see you have blue and purple paint in your hair, and I love garlic, so all is well there, too, and I’ve seen what diving through a skylight does to your face. Now, that was precious.”

      I opened another kennel, and Rocky jumped up and down, a giant dog-rabbit with a long tail. I stole a peek at Aiden’s face. He was trying not to laugh.

      I scowled at him. “It wasn’t funny.”

      “But I think it was.”

      I handed him four leashes with poorly behaved dogs on the ends of them. I took another three. Though my property is fenced, I am trying to teach this mangy gang to walk on leashes so they’ll be somewhat respectable members of society. The “respectable members of society” part isn’t working very well, as they are uncontrollable beasts.

      “I’ve also seen you in the police station. Even in the poor lighting, you still somehow glowed, as if you were pure and innocent.”

      “Thanks. Gee. I’ve always been tremendously worried how my complexion would hold up under the station’s lighting.” We headed out of the kennel, into the sun and down a path lined with ferns and pine trees.

      “How long did you date Stephen?”

      “I don’t know ….” I glanced at him. The change of subject threw me. “Three months. I didn’t sleep with him.” I crammed my eyes shut. “I have no idea why I said that. It’s none of your business who I sleep with or don’t sleep with at all, and it’s not my business who you sleep with or don’t sleep with, and I’m not going to ask you anyhow.” Message to mouth: Please. Shut. Up. My hot flash began.

      “You’re not going to ask me what? To sleep with you?”

      I flushed harder, redder, sweatier. Darn these sweatfests. “No! Forget it.” A vision of me and a naked Aiden on a red blanket in a field filled with daisies appeared in my brain in 3-D. I could almost smell the honey the bees were making.

      “I’ll try to forget it,” he mused. He smiled that friendly smile again. Why is it that some people are born with smiles that demand you smile back? “Yes, I’ll try to forget it, but it might be hard.”

      The dogs decided they wanted to yank my shoulder socket out. I stumbled as they lunged. They yanked again. I stumbled and yelled at them. Nutmeg Man glanced back and smirked at me. No kidding—this dog knows how to smirk.

      This lunge-and-stumble routine went on for quite some time as we headed for my blue picnic table in a clearing in the forest. I gave up, unleashed them, and let all the furry monsters run free.

      We settled at the table on the same bench, and Aiden studied me for long seconds while I studied the ocean through СКАЧАТЬ