The Search

“Oh gosh, it’s been three or four months. There was this little incident. Really she barely broke the skin— barely—but Harry and I felt it best not to take her back.”

“I think you can give it another try.”

“Really? But—”

“Take a look.” Fiona held a finger up first. “Don’t overreact. Stay calm—keep your voice calm.”

Lissy glanced down, then pressed her free hand to her mouth as she watched Chloe sniff curiously at Newman.

“She’s checking him out,” Fiona said. “Her tail’s wagging, her ears are up. She’s not afraid. She’s interested. Stay calm,” she added, then signaled Newman.

When he stood, Chloe retreated, then froze as he lowered his head to sniff her in turn. Her tail wagged again.

“He gave her a kiss!”

“Newman likes pretty girls.”

“She’s making a friend.” Lissy’s eyes filled. “It’s silly. I know it’s silly to get so emotional.”

“No it’s not. Not a bit. You love her.”

“She’s never had a friend. It’s my fault.”

Mostly, Fiona thought, but things were never quite that simple. “Lissy, you brought her here because you love her and you want her to be happy. She has a friend now. How about we let her make a few more?”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

Lissy reached out, a bit dramatically, to clutch Fiona’s hand. “I really, really do.”

“Correct if necessary. Otherwise, just relax and let her deal.”

Fiona called the dogs off the porch, one at a time, to give Chloe a chance to acclimate. There were a few corrections, some retreat and advance, but before long they had what Fiona thought of as a sniff-and-wag party going on.

“I’ve never seen her like this. She’s not scared or being mean or trying to claw up my leg so I’ll pick her up.”

“Let’s give her a reward. Let her off the leash so she can run around with the boys and Oreo.”

Lissy bit her lip but obeyed.

“Go play,” Fiona ordered.

As the others ran off, bumping bodies, Chloe stood, shivering.

“She’s—”

“Wait,” Fiona interrupted. “Give her some time.”

Bogart raced back, gave Chloe a few swipes with his tongue. This time when he ran toward the pack, Chloe raced after him on her little designer booties.

“She’s playing.” Lissy murmured it as Chloe leaped to latch onto the frayed end of the mangled rope Bogart snagged. “She’s really playing with friends.”

Fiona draped an arm around Lissy’s shoulders. “Let’s sit on the porch and have some lemonade. You can watch her from there.”

“I—I should’ve brought my camera. I never thought...”

“Tell you what. Sit with Sylvia. I’ll go get mine and take some shots. I’ll e-mail them to you.”

“I’m going to cry.”

“You go right ahead.” Patting Lissy’s shoulder, Fiona led her to the porch.

Later, Sylvia rocked and sipped and watched Lissy drive away with Chloe. “That must be very satisfying.”

“And a little exhausting.”

“Well, you did give her two solid hours.”

“She—they—needed it. I think they’ll be all right. Lissy has to keep it up—and bring Harry on board. But I think she will. Our guys helped, a lot.” She lifted her foot and gave Peck’s rump a rub.

“Now that we’ve solved Chloe’s problem, what about yours?”

“I think that’s going to take more than a firm hand and some dog treats.”

“How mad is he?”

“Pretty mad.”

“How mad are you?”

“Undecided.”

Now that the dog party had ended, a trio of jewel-winged humming-birds dashed and darted along the flowering red currant that Starr had written about in the cursed article.

The blur of color should have charmed her, but it only served to remind Fiona of the harshness of the morning.

“I’m trying to stay calm, to be sensible—because otherwise I think, I really think I’d run screaming and never stop. And Simon’s angry I don’t run screaming. At least I think that’s part of it, and I’m not all ‘Oh, you’re so big and strong, please take care of me.’ Or something.”

Sylvia continued to rock, to sip. “It’s a wonder to me, it really is, Fee, how someone as insightful and sensitive as you can’t seem to understand how painfully hard this is on the rest of us.”

“Oh, Syl. I do! Of course I do. I wish—”

“No, honey, you don’t. Your solution is to block us out of some of the details, and your own fears. To make the decisions, on your own, about what to do and how to do it. And since I can’t completely disagree with that, I’m in a quandary.”

Guilt mingled with frustration, and irritation wrapped them with a frayed bow. “I don’t block you out.”

“Not often. You are a sensible woman, and you’re justifiably proud of your ability to take care of yourself and deal with your own problems. I’m proud of you. But I worry that your need to do that will box you into believing you have to do that, always. You have an easier time giving help than asking for it.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe. But honestly, Syl, I didn’t think telling Simon or you, or anyone, about that damn reporter was an issue. Was a thing. It happened, I dealt with it. Telling you wouldn’t have stopped her from writing the article.”

“No, but telling us would have prepared us for it.”

“All right.” Tired, next to defeated, Fiona pressed her fingers to her eyes. “All right.”

“I don’t want to upset you. God knows I don’t want to add to your stress. I’d just like you to think about... to consider that it’s time to really let those who care about you step in.”

“Okay, tell me what you think I should do.”

“I’ll tell you what I wish you could do. I wish you could pack up and go to Fiji until they catch this maniac. And I know you can’t. Not just because it’s not in your makeup, but because you have your home, your business, your bills, your life to deal with.”

“Yes, I do. It’s maddening, Syl, because I feel like people don’t really understand that. If I crawled in some cave, I could lose my business, my home, not to mention my self-confidence. I worked hard to build all of those.”

“In my opinion, honey, people do understand that, but they wish you could dig into that cave. I think you’re doing what you can, what you have to do—except asking and allowing others to genuinely help. It’s more than having James watch your house and dogs while you take a little trip, or letting Simon share your bed at night. It’s opening up to someone, Fiona, fully. It’s trusting enough to do that.”

“God.” Fiona huffed out a breath. “I’ve practically thrown myself at Simon’s feet.”

Sylvia smiled a little. “Have you?”

“I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. I didn’t get quid pro quo out of that.”

“Is that what you were after?”

“No.” Irritated with herself and everything else, she shoved to her feet. “No. But he’s not exactly the sort who tells you what’s on his mind—unless he’s mad. And even then...”

“I’m not talking about him, or to him. If I were, I’d probably have quite a bit to say. But this is you, Fiona.