I recall we argued that point to the judge, but since both names were on the deed..." he shrugged.
"As you should recall," she said, emphasizing the 'you', “that was because Craig lied to me. Remember? We needed to borrow for the kids' college expenses and had to put the house up for collateral. The bank wouldn't lend us money unless Craig's name was on the deed. He promised to deed it right back to me after we got the loan."
"But he didn't."
"He said he'd taken care of it. Stupid me. I trusted him."
"Unfortunately, in the eyes of the law, you both own that house."
"No wonder Lady Justice wears a blindfold. The law is blind. Guess I was blind, too." She leaned forward and rested her hands on the edge of the desk. "Isn't there some way to save my house? Something we can do?"
"I'm afraid not." He stood up to indicate the meeting was over. "I wish I could give you better news."
"So do I."
Charlotte gripped the steering wheel tight, fantasizing it was Craig's neck. She would not give up. Mc Bride was not the only game in town. There were plenty of attorneys. She'd go through the phone book from A to Z if necessary.
As she let herself into her house, all four of her dogs greeted her, anxious for their afternoon walk. She had never intended to have so many dogs. She had adopted them one by one as she met them during her volunteer stints as a dog walker at the Humane Society. Now she had Lucky, a rambunctious Labrador, Gunther, an aging German Shepherd, Corky, part Corgi and part terrier, and Sophie, a small mutt of unidentifiable parentage. She couldn't understand how people could abandon their pets just because they were old and no longer frisky. On the other hand, Craig had done the same to her, so why should she be surprised?
Charlotte cut the meat from her uneaten lunch into marble-size pieces she parceled into four bowls on the kitchen floor. The dogs eagerly chowed down. Except Corky, her half Corgi, half terrier mutt. He sniffed at his dish and walked away. Charlotte followed him, reached down and felt his nose. It was hot and dry. When she started to pick him up, his body stiffened and started to quiver violently. Alarmed, she called Mark Kamron, the veterinarian she met at the Humane Society. "Bring him in right away," he instructed.
Corky was too listless to protest as she gently pulled him from under the table. This was not a good sign. The phone rang as she was leaving. She had no time to talk, but it might be Meredith. Her daughter called her about this time every week. Snuggling Corky against her body with one arm, she picked up the receiver.
"This is Sheila Barnett," the caller said. "I'm Craig Armstrong's realtor. I'd like to come over. When would be a good time?"
"I can't talk now," Charlotte snapped, and hung up.
Corky whimpered as the vet prodded him gently. "We'll need to do some tests," he said. "Leave him here overnight."
Charlotte stroked Corky's head. "I hope it's nothing serious."
"I'll call you when the tests come back," he said.
The next morning Charlotte sat at her kitchen table, drinking her third cup of coffee, when the phone rang.
The vet sounded somber. "I'm sorry to tell you, but Corky's lungs are filled with tumors. He can hardly breathe."
Charlotte felt the same way.
"I can try to keep him comfortable," he said, "but he would have to be heavily sedated."
Charlotte's mouth went dry."What would you do?"
"His time has come. You've given him a good life. Now it would be doing him a kindness to put him to sleep."
"Okay," she whispered.
"Do you want to say goodbye, or would that be too difficult?"
"I"ll be there. I can't let him go alone."
The reception area of the clinic was empty as Charlotte was the last client of the day. She sat on one of the orange vinyl couches and plucked a magazine from the pile on the corner table. She was only there a few minutes before the young assistant appeared from the back and invited Charlotte into the examination room. Charlotte shuddered as she followed her in. The room was windowless and cold, with white cabinets lining one wall and a steel table in the center.
As soon as she saw Corky, Charlotte knew there was no choice. Even in his semi-conscious state, his breathing was labored. She could hardly stand to stay in the room, but she had to do this for Corky's sake. He opened his soft brown eyes and seemed to recognize her as she cradled him in her arms. Mark administered the fatal injection. Corky took his last breath, his coat dampened with her tears. Mark took the limp body from her and handed it to his assistant, who carried it from the room. Charlotte leaned her forehead against the wall.
Mark put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "You made the right decision."
She wiped her eyes. "I know."
"This is not the best timing," he said, "but I have a Keeshond in the back who needs a home. Some idiot abandoned her, and she was found half-starved. I know she can't replace Corky, but I can't think of a better home than yours."
"I can't take her." Her hand shook as she reached in her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. "I may be homeless soon myself."
"Oh?" His eyebrows rose, but he didn't press her. However, her inner turmoil did. The pressures of the last few days bubbled into a head of steam and her story poured out. He listened, arms folded across his chest. When she finished, she clapped her hands to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload on you."
Mark held up a hand. "Wait here a minute." He disappeared into his office, leaving Charlotte in the sterile examining room. He returned with a business card. On the back he'd written a name and number. "This is my aunt. She was one of the best divorce lawyers in town, a real ball of fire. She's slowed down some, but give her a call. Maybe she can help you."
Charlotte stuck the card in her purse. She appreciated his concern, but she didn't need a "slowed down" lawyer. She needed a warrior.
As she turned to leave the assistant appeared from the back and handed her a brown paper bag. "I think you'll want this."
Charlotte peeked inside. It was Corky's collar.
Charlotte answered the ringing phone. "Why did you hang up on my realtor?" Craig barked.
Charlotte cringed. She'd completely forgotten about the call. "I had an emergency."
"What happened?" He sounded suspicious.
"My dog died."
He laughed harshly. "C'mon Charlotte. You can do better than that. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."
"I'm not trying to make anything difficult."
"Good. She wants to see the house. We'll be there at four o'clock."
"Not today. I don't feel well."
"All right, tomorrow."
"Make it Monday."
"Monday at
