Then the phone rang.
It was Ernie across the street. “God bless you.”
“Thanks,” she said sweetly. “Now turn that sonic ear thing off and stop eavesdropping on people, you nosy old fart!” Ever since he’d gotten that listening device, no one had any privacy.
He chuckled. “I was born to spy. Back in the war, they used to call me—”
“The Black Weasel, I know.”
“Gopher, not weasel! You don’t know nothing ’bout spying.”
“I know I don’t like being spied on.”
“Sorry, Stacy. I won’t do it no more.”
He always sounded so darn sincere, and she always believed him. Until the next time.
“It’s all right. It’s not as if I ever do anything that interesting.” She thought of the interesting science dude and then stopped thinking about him.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ernie muttered, and he had the nerve to sound disappointed in her!
“You still need help with finding that old book you’re after on the Internet?”
“Sure do. Been looking for the Tall Book of Tall Tales for years now. Appreciate you coming over and helping me climb the Web.”
“Surf the Web, Ernie.”
“How can you surf a Web, now tell me that? I’m climbing it.”
“Fine, climb it,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll be over tomorrow—oh, got another call coming in. Bye!” She pressed the talk button twice and said, “Hello? This is Stacy Jenkins.”
“This is Bob over at Mary’s Grooming. You applied for the grooming position?”
Her heart started thumping. She was a shoe-in! She helped Arlene with her poodles and Betty with her miniature schnauzer. They would give her glowing references, along with her boss over at the shelter. “Yes, yes, I did.”
Finally, a job. A real job with a regular paycheck and benefits. Direction.
“I’m afraid we hired someone else. Now, it’s nothing personal, you’ve got to believe that. We chose someone more qualified, that’s all. Good luck with…finding something else. Just remember that we were real nice about it.”
She dropped the phone on the grass, feeling as deflated as the beach ball Buddy had popped with his teeth earlier. She’d failed again. Not that she necessarily needed the money. Granny’s house was paid off, and her expenses were minimal. The folks at Sunset City always paid her for her help, even though she always refused. What she wanted was purpose and a college fund for the baby.
What she had was a drooling dog staring at her with the phone in his mouth. “Give that to me!”
Buddy took off, ready for the chase. After she finally retrieved the phone and dried it off, she loaded Buddy into her old pink boat of a convertible and headed to the Humane Society. His ears flopped in the wind, but he didn’t seem to mind much. As usual, she got caught up in visiting the other animals at the shelter before she was able to head home. She started the engine and sank into a Celine Dion song while her car idled. A mushy love song, of course. She’d think that love was overrated, except she’d never been in love and couldn’t say for sure.
Then, miracle of miracles, a handsome man had entered her world—and he was all wrong for her. Too smart, too handsome, too temporary. Bummer. That was all right. She’d gotten used to the reality of not finding a soul mate. Well, mostly. And she had three successful men vying to give her what she really wanted—a baby. A software engineer, five foot eleven with blond hair and blue eyes. An artist who painted landscapes and portraits, six feet with brown hair and blue eyes. Or a model, six foot one with brown hair and eyes.
The fact that she didn’t know their names or what they looked like hardly mattered. No, not at all. Oh, there was a fourth candidate, and she did know his name—Ricky Schumaker, the maintenance engineer at Sunset City. He’d seen the three profiles of the sperm donors taped to her dresser mirror when he was fixing a leak in her bathroom. He’d been bugging her ever since to be the father of her child.
When ferrets flew.
For some reason, that face in the hedge popped into her mind as Celine crooned about everlasting love. No, he wasn’t going to be an everlasting love. He’d be a nice distraction for a while, nothing more. The best thing to do would be to forget he was there. Yeah, that’s what she’d do, put him right out of her mind. Not another thought.
She put the car in gear. He probably wasn’t much of a cook. Maybe he was too busy to worry about food. All right, she’d be a good neighbor and bring him dinner. No harm in that. And after that, not another thought.
Decision made, she pulled out onto the highway, images of homemade biscuits, ham and cheese soufflé and apple pie in her head. Unfortunately, she wasn’t much of a cook, so she pulled into a fast-food chicken joint and ordered a bucket of extra crispy.
AFTER NAVIGATING the ten speed bumps leading to her street—some of the residents liked to race down the main drag—Stacy pulled into her driveway. Balancing the bucket and the side containers, she headed next door.
The first sign of trouble was the golf cart parked in the driveway. It, like most of the golf carts and cars in Sunset City, had a poofy flower atop the antenna. That thanks to Granny, who had given one to all her friends one Christmas. Because the flower was blue, she knew it belonged to Arlene of the blue poodles. Said poodles—their silvery-blue fur tinted the exact shade of Arlene’s hair—were sitting in the golf cart in a car baby seat. Arlene also had a niece with a curvy figure. A single niece she’d been trying to find a husband for, because her only offspring had become a priest and wasn’t likely to produce any grandchildren for her. That left Tanya as her only hope for sort-of grandchildren.
Hugging the warm bucket to her belly, Stacy advanced up a walkway lined with pink flamingos—they lit up at night. Arlene was standing at the doorway talking to Barrett.
“It’s called Pissin’ in the Snow, one of my specialty dishes. See, it’s coconut gelatin, that’s the snow part, and the lemon drops spell out your name.” The white mold jiggled obscenely. “Where I was born in the Appalachian mountains, that was a compliment, spelling out someone’s name in the snow. It was trickier for the gals, of course, but we managed.” Arlene chuckled. That was an image Stacy didn’t particularly need. “I guessed at the spelling. My niece, Tanya, now she’s a whiz with names. Did I tell you about her? Beautiful, single, has a great job. Did I mention she’s a mechanic? How handy is that? You probably know how hard it is to find a good mechanic.” She glanced at the black Saab sitting in the driveway. “Are you having any car trouble at all? Any knocks or pings? I could have her come out and take a peek under your hood.”
Barrett’s mouth was slightly open, as though he wasn’t sure what part of that to address.
“Hi, Arlene, Barrett,” Stacy said, taking some delight in the relief that passed over his face when he took her in. Of course, he could have been eyeing her bucket of chicken.
“Tell him how beautiful Tanya is,” Arlene said, beaming as proud as a mother. “And didn’t she
