A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

The tiny dog looked incredibly out of place against Ron’s How’s Your Fern Hanging T-shirt. Lulu was slim, hairless—except for the white plumes that covered the top of her head, her lower legs and tail—and wearing a pink sundress. The latter as much to protect her delicate skin as to make a fashion statement.

Ron held her gently, whispering into her ear and getting doggy kisses in return. It was an amazing thing, Pam thought. Lulu was a total guy magnet. Seriously—the more macho the guy, the more he was attracted to the tiny dog. Pam’s friends teased her she should put that power to good use. Which was not going to happen. She was old enough to be Ron’s...

She glanced at her plant guy. Okay, maybe not mother, but certainly his much older babysitter. Not that the age thing mattered. She wasn’t interested in any man. She’d lost the great love of her life two years ago. While she would never forget John, the sharpest pain had faded, leaving wonderful memories. They were enough.

Ron reluctantly handed Lulu back. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“She is.”

“You’re wrong about the bush monkey flower.”

“When I prove to you I’m right, I will mock you for your lack of faith.”

Ron flashed her a grin—one she was sure sent hundreds of coeds swooning. “We’ll see.”

Pam put Lulu back in the tote, slung it over her shoulder and headed out onto the sidewalk. It was mid-March. She was sure there was a massive snowstorm happening somewhere in the country but here in Mischief Bay it was sunny and a balmy seventy-two. There were skateboarders practicing their moves in the park, people on bikes and mothers out with small children.

For a second she thought about calling her daughter and suggesting she and Jack join Lulu and herself for a quick lunch. An excellent idea in theory, if not in practice. Because Jen would obsess about Jack getting too much sun or not the right food. She would also fuss about the table being clean enough, and then point out that it was wrong for Pam to bring her dog into a restaurant. And while Lulu was technically not allowed, she stayed in her tote and never made a sound. Which was more than could be said for a lot of the human patrons.

The point being... Pam sighed. While she would very much like to spend an afternoon with her grandson the same couldn’t be said about her daughter. Oh, she loved Jen. She would die for Jen or donate an organ. She wished her only the best. But—and this was something Pam hadn’t admitted to anyone but Lulu—since Jack had been born, Jen wasn’t very much fun.

She was obsessed with her child. Was he growing? Was he sitting up when he should? Did he maintain eye contact? Being around her was exhausting and stressful. And thinking that probably made her a bad person. She knew what it was to worry about kids. She’d been a bit of an obsessive mother herself. But nothing like this.

She reached into her tote and patted Lulu. “What do you suggest?” she asked her little dog. “Should we live with our flaws and go get ice cream?”

Lulu barked. Pam took that as a yes. She would, she promised herself, gird her loins and visit her daughter in the morning. But for this afternoon, she would enjoy the beach and the fun of repotting her bush monkey flowers. Later, there would be ice cream.

*

Off to later switch down.

Zoe wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t sure where to place the blame. A faulty translation program or human error. Either way, the message was getting lost. She glanced at the second document open on her large computer screen and began to type.

To turn off the unit, press down on the power switch. After thirty minutes in standby mode, it will shut off automatically. Because if you’re stupid enough to walk away without turning off an incredibly hot iron, we will do our very best to keep you from burning down your house. Personally I’m not sure you deserve that much consideration, but no one asked me.

Zoe allowed herself a brief fantasy that she would simply hit the send button. If only. Then she carefully and responsibly deleted the last two sentences and moved on to the next section of the instruction manual.

She translated more semi-English to the real thing. This week’s work was small appliances. The week before had been some high-tech medical equipment. That had been more challenging. It wasn’t so much that the original manuals weren’t written in English, it was that they’d been written by people who spoke in code and abbreviations. Technicians in hospitals were busy with pressing problems. They didn’t have time to figure out what they thought the instructions meant. They had to do their job and move on to the next patient.

Zoe made that possible. She translated manuals from their original gibberish to something easily understood. She knew that for the most part the average consumer never bothered cracking a manual, but if they happened to read one of hers, they would find easy-to-understand instructions written in a way that made sense.

She reached the bottom of the section, then rose to stretch. Too much computer time made her back stiff and her legs ache.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be getting more exercise?” she asked out loud, then turned to Mason, who was asleep on the old club chair in the sunniest corner of her small home office. “Did you not want to talk about it now? Should I point out I’m the only person who feeds you, and I’m the only one who loves you? So if something happens to me, you’re going to be swimming in regret.”

She waited, but Mason didn’t even twitch an ear. Right before she reached down to scratch him under the chin, he gave her a little murr of greeting and began to purr.

“Ha! I knew you were listening. And yes, I get how pathetic it is that we’re having this conversation.”

Her phone rang. Saved by the ringtone, she thought as she glanced at the screen, smiled and pushed the talk button.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Why don’t I ever see you? What are you hiding from me? Did you get a tattoo? Shave your head?”