Barefoot Season Part 38

Mich.e.l.le laughed. "I'm open to suggestions on that one. Any ideas on improving doggie confidence?"

"Not really. I'm still trying to fix myself."

"Right there with you on that one." She hugged the dog. "Looks like you're going to have to figure it out yourself," she told him. "But whatever happens, I'll be here, taking care of you."

Thirty-Two.

The Fourth of July dawned with clear skies and warm temperatures. Mich.e.l.le and Chance arrived at the inn before seven and did a quick check of how things were going in the restaurant.

The smell of ribs and simmering barbecue beans. .h.i.t her as they entered. The delicious scent mingled with the decadent aroma of chocolate-chip cookies being taken directly from the oven.

"Get that dog out of my kitchen," Helen said when she spotted them coming through the door.

Mich.e.l.le paused. "Chance, sit."

The dog looked at her with worried eyes, but planted his b.u.t.t right by the back door.

"Stay."

He whined, but didn't move.

"Impressive," Mich.e.l.le murmured. Once the summer madness ended, she was going to talk to the dog trainer at the pet store about finding out what Chance could do. Maybe an obedience cla.s.s or even agility would help his confidence. G.o.d knew she could use the distraction, as well.

She hadn't had a drink in ten days. She was finally sleeping reasonably well and eating more. Her clothes were hanging a little less loosely and she thought maybe her face didn't look so gaunt.

She knew she was still having the nightmares and screaming at night. For the most part Chance slept in his bed, but every now and then she woke up to find him pressing against her, his warm body giving comfort.

The best news of all was that she hadn't had to deal with her father or Lana since their arrival, but she was sure that reprieve would end sooner rather than later.

"You're coming to check on me?" Helen sounded more amused than concerned.

"Making sure you have what you need for today."

Instead of having a traditional lunch, they were offering lunches-to-go for their guests and anyone else who preordered. Picnic boxes and baskets were stacked on tables, waiting to be filled.

"I have it handled. Cammie's staying straight through until one, when we're closing. There were seven more orders for picnic lunches on the answering machine this morning. I'm making up a half-dozen extras for the idiots who can't figure out that preordering means pre and order."

Mich.e.l.le grinned. "There's one in every crowd."

Helen looked past her to Chance. "How's he doing?"

"Better."

"I saved him a little something."

She handed Mich.e.l.le a bowl with a couple of big rib bones. There was still meat on them, although not any sauce.

"Thank you." Mich.e.l.le took the bowl. "I thought you were a cat person."

"I am, but he seems to be a decent sort of dog. I respect that." Her eyebrows drew together. "Just keep him out of my kitchen. Even Mr. Whiskers isn't allowed in here."

"Yes, ma'am."

Helen beamed. "You're a good girl, Mich.e.l.le."

"I'm trying."

She went back to her office, Chance trailing along beside her. Once she'd booted her computer and checked to see if there were any messages, she took the dog out to the front lawn and handed him a bone.

He sniffed it first, then took it gently and carried it to a spot of sun. He collapsed on the gra.s.s with a contented sigh and started chewing.

"Chance!"

Gabby shot out the front door and went running toward the dog. Mich.e.l.le started to intercept her, not sure how the once-starving dog would react to what could be seen as an attack while he was eating.

"Gabby, wait."

But she was too late. The ten-year-old flung herself at the dog. Chance released his bone and seemed to brace for impact. Gabby wrapped both her arms around the dog and they rolled together a couple of feet. Chance's tail thumped on the gra.s.s.

Mich.e.l.le exhaled, relief causing her to sink to the gra.s.s. "I'm too old for this kind of stress," she muttered.

She watched the girl and the dog play, then Chance settled down with his bone, Gabby leaning against him, reading her latest book.

Mich.e.l.le told herself to get to work, but she couldn't seem to move. Sitting here in the sun felt too good. A few minutes later, a shadow moved across her. She opened her eyes and saw Pauline standing beside her.

"You look relaxed," the other woman said. "And better."

"Thanks."

Pauline sank onto the gra.s.s. "Want to tell me about it?"

"Don't you ever go off duty?"

She grinned. "Occupational hazard. Technically, you can tell me to go pound sand."

"I'd probably put it another way."

Pauline laughed. "Which is why I like you. Now tell the good therapist what's going on."

Mich.e.l.le stretched out her legs in front of her. "I'm not drinking. I'm going to meetings every day. The kind for vets, not AA."

"Whatever works."

"I'm still having trouble sleeping, but it's getting better." She pointed to Chance. "He helps."

"I'm sure he does." Pauline studied her. "And?"

"My dad's back in town. I haven't seen him since I was seventeen." She did a brief recap of the soap opera that was her life. "He has excuses, but no real reasons for what he did."

"People have trouble admitting when they act for purely selfish reasons. Telling the truth about something like that forces them to redefine their sense of self. So they make up a story. We all do it. Tell stories to explain the unexplainable. To get by. Sometimes the stories even help us survive that which would otherwise destroy us."

Mich.e.l.le tore off a few pieces of gra.s.s. "You mean like Carly blaming me for her mother abandoning her to an alcoholic father?"

"Something like that. Sure."

"And me hating Carly for being here, while I was in the army, even though I volunteered."

Pauline nodded.

Mich.e.l.le sat with the information for a few minutes, watching her dog gnaw on his bone and the girl who used him as a backrest.

Whatever mistakes Carly had made, she'd gotten it right with Gabby. Mich.e.l.le didn't think she would have had either the character or the strength to raise a kid on her own. She was barely handling a dog.

"I don't want to let him back in my life," she murmured. "I want him to go away. Is that bad?"

Pauline touched her arm. "The idea that we have to unconditionally love our parents, no matter what they do to us, is a crock of s.h.i.+t." She grinned. "So to speak."

"Swearing. Good for you."

"You're not a patient. I get to be myself."

"I think I like you more now."

"I'm glad." The humor faded. "The last thing you need right now is your father opening old wounds. I agree with you. Get through the visit and then figure it out later."

"That's okay?"

"Are you asking my permission or do you want to know if that's a healthy decision?"

"Both."

"Go for it." Pauline stood and brushed off her jeans. "We have a session today. Seth and I decided anyone willing to give up their Fourth of July holiday to work on their marriage must be serious."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

By eleven that morning, most of their guests had departed for holiday festivities. Mich.e.l.le was well enough to add room cleaning to her list of activities. She finished the two she'd been a.s.signed and headed back downstairs. Carly was working the front desk, Chance tucked up under the bottom of the cabinet.

"How's it going?" she asked.

Carly shrugged. "Fine. They're at it earlier than usual."

Mich.e.l.le glanced in the direction she pointed and saw their therapy couples out on the lawn, blindfolds in place. The trust exercise, she thought.

"Where's Gabby?"

"She's already down at the beach with friends."

"You want to join her?"

"No. I can work longer." Carly's nose wrinkled. "They're coming with us."

"The parents?"

"Yes. I never realized it before, but my mother is a lot like Brenda. Everything is about her. She came by last night and I asked her why she'd left. She completely changed the subject and when I pushed, she said some of it was about me. Implying it was my fault she ran off with the man married to her supposed best friend."

Mich.e.l.le stared at her. "She didn't."

"There was more. I don't care."

Mich.e.l.le knew that wasn't true. "You care a lot."

"Because I'm stupid. I want..." Carly shook her head slowly. "You know what? I don't want to deal with her. I want my daughter to have a good relations.h.i.+p with her grandmother, but I don't want my mom around very much. I don't like her. Is that awful?"

"No. It's normal. What happened to a good old-fas.h.i.+oned apology? All they have to do is say, 'Hey, we were selfish weasels. We're sorry.' But that's too much for them."

Carly nodded.

Mich.e.l.le shook her head. "They'll be gone soon. Hang on to that."

"What? No hope for resolution?"

"Not every ending is tidy. I'm sober. You're a h.e.l.l of a mother. That's enough of a win for me."

Carly's breath caught and tears filled her eyes.

"What?" Mich.e.l.le demanded. She didn't think she'd said anything wrong.

"That was so nice," Carly whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"h.e.l.l," Mich.e.l.le muttered. "You are a good mother. And a good friend."

"You are, too."

"I'm a s.h.i.+tty friend, but I'm trying."

This time Mich.e.l.le was the one to step forward, to hold out her arms. To risk first.