She blinked. “Of course. I’m part of something of strategic value on a global scale.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” he said.
A little huff of laughter. “If I’m honest, sometimes I don’t know what it means, either.”
“You’re already working for them while you’re here. You can get up at three a.m. and call England from here.”
She flicked him a glance. “You’re not ready to see me go? You were going to tear out the kitchen.”
He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t really feel. “I’ll still tear out the kitchen.”
“I’ll be in your way.”
“You bet your sweet ass you’ll be in my way,” he said as he pulled into his driveway, “because you’ll be helping.”
She laughed, and swung those long legs out of the truck. He got out and braced for impact from Duke, who shot out of the screened-in porch to writhe and twist around Lucas’s legs. He crouched down and got a snout in his face for his trouble. “Miss me, boy? Did you miss me? That’s a good boy. You’re a good dog,” he said, sending up a flurry of fur as he scratched Duke’s neck.
He looked over his shoulder to find Alana watching them. She had her phone to her ear, and the call must have connected because she crossed the driveway and bent over to examine the roses. “It’s me. Look—oh, India’s hot this time of year, I know—yes, yes, oh, that’s good. What else do you need? E-mail me the list. Oh. I was out of town and I didn’t check my phone much. Yes, no, I’m home now, I can check on it—no, I’m not in Chicago. I meant I’m home in Walkers Ford. . . . It’s kind of home.”
Lucas hoisted Alana’s suitcase from the truck bed, then crossed the driveway to set it inside the kitchen door.
“Look, Freddie, I’m going to stay here another couple of weeks. The city council approved the renovation project, and they want me to stay on and get the process under way. The mayor promises he’s close to hiring someone.”
Freddie’s unhappy shriek pierced Lucas’s eardrum five feet away.
“I’m not—Freddie—please, listen to me,” she said. “I’m handling most of my job from here. I can—Mother wants what? That’s ridiculous. It’s a dinner, not a state funeral. I’ll call her later.”
Freddie’s voice escalated again, but Alana cut her off. “I am—I can still—I am not playing at Library Director! I am the acting library director here, and this is my responsibility.”
Silence on the other end of the line. Perhaps Alana’s indignant tone got through to her sister. Lucas couldn’t make out the next words, but the tone was apologetic. “I’m sorry, too. I know it’s inconvenient for everyone, but I need to stay just a little bit longer. It’s last minute, but isn’t that how things always go?”
A question.
“I’ll be back for the Senator’s party. I won’t miss that.” She looked across the driveway at Lucas. “I need to go, Freddie. Love to Toby.”
“She sounds like a handful,” Lucas said.
“She’s Freddie Wentworth. She’s a racehorse on crack, my sister, and my best friend,” Alana said matter-of-factly as she slid her phone into her jeans pocket. “She says I’m playing at being library director.”
“We don’t think you’re playing,” Lucas replied. “We can’t afford for people to play at their jobs around here. We don’t have a depth chart. People serve on the school board and the city council and as church deacons and crossing guards and the library board because we need them. Everyone matters here.”
He climbed the steps to the screened-in porch and opened the door. Duke stood by the plastic mat holding his food and water dishes. The food dish was empty, which was odd. Duke didn’t scarf down his food the moment Lucas scooped it out for him. The dog grazed on kibble throughout the day, often finishing the previous day’s meal just before Lucas dumped the day’s portion into the stainless steel bowl.
The water dish was bone-dry. He’d been gone the better part of three days.
Lucas looked at Duke a little more closely, no problem given that the dog was standing over his dish, tail wagging expectantly. His bright blue eyes were cloudy and dim, the first sign of dehydration. Lucas lifted the lid on the plastic tote he used to protect the dog food from marauding squirrels and raccoons. The scoop sat in exactly the same place he’d left it when he fed Duke the morning he left.
He cursed, low and hard and vicious.
“What’s wrong?” Alana asked from the driveway.
Still cursing under his breath, he picked up Duke’s water dish and held it under the outdoor faucet. The dog stuck his snout between the dish and the water splashing into the bowl, lapping up water, spraying Lucas’s shirt with icy cold liquid. “I’m sorry, boy,” he said.
The dog braced, gave a tremendous sneeze, then shook droplets from his snout and ears. Lucas set the bowl down, then turned to the food tub.