Laurel shrugged. “I think it’s fairly obvious. I’ve been having an affair with Jase Redlander, and now it’s over.”
“Bullshit. And don’t get that mulish expression on your face, Miss Priss. He adores you, and you’ve been in love with him since you were fifteen.”
“He left me.”
“He left you because Betsy Wetsy made a spectacle out of herself?” Sarah frowned at her. “Wait a minute—are you telling me Jase didn’t know about—about your father? You never told him?”
“How could I? All he could talk about was how great Daddy was, how much he’d influenced his life. I was afraid once he found out, he’d leave me. And he did.”
Sarah’s face hardened. “Then he isn’t worthy of you. Hold your head high. You didn’t do anything wrong. My father was a lawyer, and, as far as I know, children are not accountable for their parents’ crimes.”
“Maybe not legally, but the whole town hates me for what Daddy did, and when Mama was alive, they hated her too. You and your mother acted like we were dead.”
“That’s not true. My mother tried to be supportive of you and your mother, but your mama turned her away at the door, then sent us a letter saying our attentions were not welcome. Mother decided to give you all some private time, but the last straw was when Dad died last year and neither of you attended his funeral.”
Laurel hung her head. “She didn’t want to embarrass you.” Also, Mama had begun blaming Charles Bridges for the situation, as if his arrangements had caused them to have to withdraw from public life, not what Daddy had done.
Sarah sighed. “As I see it, there’s been a lot of rejection on both sides. But as to the town, sure, there are some people who are always going to be whispering behind your back, but people’s memories fade, and there are a lot of new people in Bosque Bend now.”
“I lost my job.”
“I know. Mom said that ol’ Betsy talked to the school board. But you can’t let people like her get to you. Move on with your life. Get a new job and find another tall, dark, handsome guy.”
“I’m not sure about a new guy, but—don’t laugh—I am thinking about getting a dog. The house seems so lonely now that Jase is gone.”
“A dog? What kind?”
“I don’t know. Just so it’s had all its shots.” She’d didn’t want to end up with rabies like her great-aunt.
Sarah took her arm and guided her to the stairs. “Then go get dressed and I’ll drive you to the pound and I’ll treat you to a nice dog with all its vaccinations up-to-date.”
*
Inwardly quaking, Laurel followed Sarah as she walked down the rows of cages. It was so noisy she could hardly think.
The dogs were throwing themselves against their wire doors as if they wanted to tear her to shreds, and the smaller the dog, the more desperate it seemed, barking and jumping like its life depended on it, and maybe it did. On the way to the facility, Sarah had described in graphic detail what happened to dogs that weren’t adopted.
They walked into the next room, which housed the larger cages. The dogs were quieter here, more despondent, as if resigned to their fates.
“You’ll probably want to start small,” Sarah said, moving quickly past the cages.
“Maybe not.” She’d always liked the Great Danes that Mrs. Bridges favored. She moved closer to read the index card taped to a cage: WALDO, MALE, LAB-RIDGEBACK MIX, APPROX. 6 YRS., NEUTERED, HOUSEBROKEN.
The dog limped slowly over to the front of the cage to look up at her. His leg was in a cast. Had he been hit by a car?
Waldo continued to stare at her. Without thinking, Laurel stuck her hand through the wire. Waldo regarded it for a moment before cautiously extending a long, pink tongue to lick her fingers. Then he backed off, sat down, and gazed at her, his heart in his eyes.
Laurel’s own heart answered him. “Sarah, this is the one.”
Sarah joined her in front of the cage. “Are you sure?” She read Waldo’s information card aloud and frowned. “He’s six now, so he won’t live more than four or five years longer.”
Laurel tightened her jaw. “I like him. But his name isn’t Waldo. It’s Hugo.”
Sarah shrugged. “Okay, then. Hugo it is. Get his number, and we’ll tell the lady out front.”
The attendant who helped Laurel fill out the forms told her “Waldo” had been deserted by his first family when they moved out of state, and the neighbors called the dogcatcher when he started begging up and down the street. Hugo’s second owner, a college student, had kicked him down two flights of stairs when he was drunk.
Sarah stepped in with her credit card when the woman added up Hugo’s adoption fees.
“Thank of it as a late birthday present,” she said as they loaded Hugo into the backseat of her Mercedes. “I’ve missed a couple of years in there.”