The Truth about Family. Kimberly Meter Van
too long. It was the kind of place that Erin distrusted. She’d always felt apart from the shiny, happy people around her; always felt afraid that someone might judge her by the actions of her father. It hadn’t been easy being the only child of the town drunk. It probably hadn’t been any easier to be his sister but Caroline was one of a kind; she never gave up hope that things might change for the better. Unlike Erin, who’d given up on that pipe dream the day she left Granite Hills.
“Erin McNulty, line two.”
Erin stared at the sudden appearance of the blinking red light on her phone and wondered what more bad news could be waiting for her on the other end. She was half-tempted to let it blink for all eternity. Not possible, a derisive voice answered back. Besides, whoever it was would probably just call back anyway. She scrubbed the last of her tears from her face, and made an attempt to appear as if her world hadn’t just crumbled around her feet, before picking up the phone.
The officer with the New York accent spoke and the corners of her mouth turned down as fresh tears threatened to ruin her mask of composure. What now?
“I thought you should know the results of the BAC tests,” he said, pausing ever so slightly. “Aside from a little Robitussin for a cough, he was totally sober. I just thought you should know that before you made your decision.”
Sober? Impossible. “How accurate are those tests?” she asked.
“One hundred percent.”
Erin recalled Caroline trying to tell her that he’d stopped drinking a while ago but she hadn’t believed her. Actually, she hadn’t given Caroline much of a chance to convince her either. The thought of a sober Charlie was too fantastical to entertain and it tugged too hard on a childish dream that Erin had let die the night he beat her nearly senseless.
“You must have caught him on an off-night,” Erin retorted, a different sort of bitterness flooding her chest. “Ironic. The night he ends up killing someone with his driving is the night that he’s, according to your tests, quite sober.” A mirthless chuckle broke free. “Fate is a fickle bitch, isn’t she?”
Knowing there wasn’t an appropriate response to her acidic comment, she let him off the hook and changed subjects. She didn’t want to talk or think about Charlie. Ever again.
“My aunt had a dog,” she began, focusing on keeping her voice strong. “Her name’s Butterscotch. Can you send someone to get her? She’ll freeze out there by herself.”
“Sure thing,” he answered. He paused, then said, “We can hold her for three days, but if no one adopts her, I gotta be honest with you…she’ll be put down. Shelter policy. It’s a terrible thing but there’s just not enough space to hold all the animals we pick up.”
Of course. “Are you sure there’s no way the shelter could keep her until someone adopted her? I’d be willing to pay for her room and board,” she offered, yet, she knew that finding a family for an older dog was difficult at best. Most families wanted puppies or at least adolescent dogs who still had the energy to romp and play and fetch a stupid stick. She tried sweetening the deal. “I could even make a donation to the shelter, if need be.”
Money was one thing she had. If she had to she’d pay room and board for the dog until she died. If she had to empty her savings to build another wing for the animal shelter, she’d do that, too. But the man’s hesitation told her it wasn’t going to be that easy.
She could almost hear the man shake his head. “Sorry, ma’am, it doesn’t work that way. If the shelter ran like that it’d be a kennel,” he said, adding in a tone that was meant to soothe…or rile, she wasn’t quite sure. “But don’t worry, we’ll send someone out to get her. She’ll sleep warm tonight.”
But after that? Who knows. Criminy, what was she supposed to do? Fly to Michigan for a dog? She wasn’t a dog person. She wasn’t a pet person period. What was she supposed to do with the dog if she went and picked her up? Her apartment wasn’t conducive to other living things. The dog was probably better off taking her chances at the shelter. Someone was bound to adopt her. Judging by the pictures that Caroline always sent around Christmastime, she was fairly cute, as far as dogs went. A mutt of indeterminate parentage, but cute nonetheless.
And what if no one adopts her? a small voice shot back.
Then she’ll be put to sleep.
Can you live with that?
Don’t all dogs go to heaven?
Don’t be flip. This time the voice sounded a lot like Caroline’s and Erin actually flinched.
Caroline loved that dog. And Erin owed Caroline at least that much for all the times she stood by her, protected her, treated her like the daughter she never had the opportunity to have.
Once again her eyes strayed to the folder lying on her desk and she realized if she could manage it emotionally, this was an opportunity to hand Harvey his precious Hometown America wrapped with a gingham-print ribbon. But could she handle it?
She’d have to.
“Fine.” Erin closed her eyes and heard herself say the words that she never imagined herself uttering in this lifetime. “I’ll take the next flight out. I should be in Michigan by tomorrow afternoon.”
CHAPTER THREE
COLIN BARRETT’S SUV lumbered through puddles of slushy mud as he made his way carefully to Caroline Walker’s house. It was near nightfall and the rain had quickly turned to sleet with the promise of a full-blown, nasty snowstorm on the wind, but his wipers were doing a valiant job trying to keep his windshield clear and as long as he could still see, he wasn’t turning back.
A woman was coming all the way from San Francisco for this dog; the least he could do was make sure it hadn’t caught pneumonia by the time she got here.
He pulled onto the long, dirt driveway, his tires slipping a little in the mud, and turned the spotlight on. The dog, eyes reflecting the light, rose painfully to her feet from her place on the porch but managed to wag her tail in welcome.
“Poor thing,” he murmured, knowing from the dog’s stiff gait it wasn’t accustomed to staying outside for long periods of time. Caroline had probably let the dog out while she went with Charlie, figuring she’d only be gone for about an hour.
Colin pulled his slicker over his head and climbed out of the vehicle, narrowly missing a puddle that looked as if the Loch Ness monster could easily take a few laps in, and reached behind his seat for the control pole he’d borrowed from the animal control officer.
He walked slowly, offering soothing words of welcome until the old girl sniffed his hand and then gave him a warm lick with her tongue. Smoothing her damp fur, he started to slip the nylon loop around her neck but thought better of it. This dog was no Cujo, that was for sure.
“We don’t need this, do we, girl?”
She licked her chops and stared up at him expectantly. She was probably wondering where her master was, and if her dinner was coming, Colin realized.
“She’s on her way,” he said, feeling only slightly ridiculous for trying to make a dog feel better.
Suddenly his radio crackled to life.
“SR4, ten-nineteen.”
Return to station?
“This is SR4, ten-four.” Holstering his radio, he made quick work of getting the dog settled in the vehicle and jumped in himself.
Once inside, he switched to his Nextel for privacy.
“Hey, Joe, this is Colin. What’s going on?” he asked the dispatcher.
“Sorry, Colin, but Danni was hauled in while you were heading out to the Walker place. Thought you’d want to know right away.”
As soon as he heard his daughter’s name he felt a flush travel up his neck that was surely a result of his blood pressure