The Moment of Truth
* * *
“HERE’S TO YOU, MAN!” Ian McDaniel raised a beer to Josh at a table in the campus pub Wednesday night.
Josh raised his glass—one shot of a lesser brand whiskey than he was used to. The first shot of whiskey he’d had since leaving Boston.
The liquid trickled down his throat, burning a bit more than he was used to, but still good. Familiar.
He talked business. And basketball scores. And thought of Dana Harris. She’d left cookies. Good ones. He’d had several when he’d stopped in after work to let L.G. relieve himself.
As he waited for his second drink, he texted her.
Thanks. Cookies are great.
She didn’t reply.
* * *
WHEN HE CAME HOME during his lunch break on Thursday with a take-out sandwich from the school cafeteria, Josh set the sandwich down to let L.G. out and picked up the container of chocolate chip cookies to munch on while he watched the puppy play in the dirt.
L.G. peed. Stepped in his pee. Wagged his tail as Josh praised him, and carried on with his business.
Biting into another cookie, Josh looked up at the immense stretch of blue sky as he chewed. It was frigid in Boston right now.
Here it was warm enough to wear shorts.
He hadn’t called Sara once since she’d told him not to.
Unclipping his smartphone from the case at his hip, he checked to see if he had any messages.
There was a text from his mother. And nothing else.
Opening up yesterday’s text message window, he added a new message—You can learn a lot from a dog—hit Send, put his phone away and helped himself to another cookie.
L.G. didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go back in his cage.
Josh wasn’t in any hurry to get back to work, either, although he still had a number of things he wanted to accomplish that day.
But a break was good. Just ask LG.
Work hard, play hard.
One of his father’s truisms. And as Josh stood there eating cookies, soaking up the sun’s heat while he watched a little black runt nosedive in the dirt, shake himself off, and bounce around in glee, he re-formed his father’s teaching.
Work well, play well.
His phone beeped with a text message, interrupting his thoughts.
Like what? it said.
Grinning, he fired back, Like people spend too much time worrying about what other people think, and hit Send.
Agreed. Glad you like the cookies.
He glanced at the container he had lodged between his elbow and his side.
Liked.
They’re gone?
Yes.
There was half a container there this morning.
Lunch.
You ate half a container of cookies for lunch?
Yes.
It’s becoming very clear to me that you need a keeper, Redmond.
Good thing no one could see him standing there in his backyard, grinning.
Got two.
Oh, yeah? Who?
L.G. and you.
Oh. Well, eat an apple, then.
Don’t have any.
They sell them at the cafeteria.
You in class?
Yes. Now let me pay attention before I miss something important.
L.G. did both jobs.
Give him two treats. And I’m glad you liked the cookies.
He wanted to ask where she’d been the night before. But he knew better. He couldn’t have her thinking that what she did mattered to him in any kind of a personal way. Even if it did. She’d only get hurt in the end.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LORI AND MARISSA were friends again, having spent several hours at Dana’s Wednesday evening, after Dana returned from her trip to Phoenix with the pet-therapy club. That night the roommates had talked things over with Dana as mediator. It was Lindsey and Rebecca all over again.
Except that Lori and Marissa were a lot more open-minded than her spoiled sisters were.
Marissa had agreed to keep her boyfriend out of their suite. And Lori had admitted that she was jealous of Marissa’s new relationship, and had been acting snippy instead of being happy for her friend. They’d both cried. Apologized. And laughed until all three of them had tears in their eyes as they regaled Dana with stories from their childhood—like the summer they’d decided they were going to walk from Alaska to Argentina and couldn’t even manage the three miles to the bus station to find out the price of tickets to Alaska.
After class on Thursday—a class she didn’t get as much out of as she should have because she’d broken her own rule and texted during the lecture—Dana had a call from Sharon, the widow who’d had the plumbing problem, inviting her to dinner. She’d accepted, but not without first wanting to refuse in case Josh Redmond called.