Must Love Dogs: New Leash on Life (19 page)

"
One question though." Carol yawned. "How can you come up with something like that when you always make such a mess of your own life?" 

I threw one of my pillows at her.

"Guess what?" Carol said. "Sarah's boyfriend asked her to drink out of a dog dish."

"
I hate you," I said.

"
Grow up, you two," Michael said. He pushed himself off the mattress and grabbed a pad of hotel paper from the desk. "Assuming Phoebe goes for it, what do I say to her when she shows up?"

"
I guess you wing it," I said.

Chapter

Twenty-five

Phoebe's parents lived on Jones Street, which everybody always said was the most beautiful street in the historic district of Savannah. Magnolias and enormous live oaks shaded streets and sidewalks still paved in brick in some parts, and tall elegant homes from the 1800s stood elbow-to-elbow in the steamy summer air.

A realtor might describe Phoebe
's parent's place as a three-story plus garden level antebellum brick townhouse complete with carriage house and oodles of charm. I wasn't quite sure what
antebellum
actually meant, beyond
old
, but it seemed to fit. An ornate black wrought iron railing followed two flights of stairs up to the freshly painted black front door, which was surrounded by a white portico. Some sort of serious-looking historical plaque adorned the brick to one side of the door.

I
'd only been inside the house once, the weekend of Michael and Phoebe's wedding, at a party that took place the night before the wedding rehearsal. Most of that long weekend was a blur, but I could still remember walking through the front door and being blown away by a banister that was an exact replica of the one in our family house in Marshbury. The same softly curved solid mahogany in the same shape and proportions, even the same turned white spindles. But while our banister began in a wide center hallway and went up only one flight, this banister was pushed all the way over to one side of the narrow house and then soared up to an extra third floor.

It was like discovering our house had a taller, thinner long-lost relative, a Southern cousin. At the time we all thought it was a sign Michael and Phoebe were meant for each other.

All these years later, my family and I were parked in our Ford Focus just down the tree-lined street from the house. A white delivery van pulled up in front of the house. Michael leaned forward between the two front seats so he could get a better view.

"
Right on time," Michael said. "Just like they promised."

It was Carol who
'd remembered that Garden On the Square had done the flowers for their wedding. As an event planner, Carol collected cards wherever she went and added them to a database in case one of her clients ever wanted a destination event. She'd pulled the address up on her iPhone with uber efficiency.

We
'd showered and changed this morning as soon as our alarms went off. After devouring coffee and egg sandwiches at a Hilton Head bagel place tucked behind some trees, we'd managed to find Abercorn Street. We'd just pulled into an empty parking spot in front of Garden On the Square when a pretty blond woman unlocked the front door.

The bell rang as we walked in.
"How're y'all doin' this mornin'?" she said.

"
A top o' the mornin' to you, darlin'," our father said as he tipped his Coast Guard Auxiliary cap.

Carol jumped in.
"Hi there. Beautiful morning, isn't it? Okay, so is there any way you can look up my brother's wedding to see what kind of floral arrangements you did for it? He needs one delivered ASAP."

"
I sure can." The woman smiled at Michael. "Almost forgot your anniversary, honey? Happens all the time."

"
Something like that," Michael said.

Michael copied over his note on a thick white card in his best handwriting. He sealed the envelope and wrote Phoebe on it. A few minutes later, we were looking at a mason jar wrapped in lace holding a bouquet of blue hydrangeas, magnolia leaves, and Spa
nish moss.

"
So sweet," Carol said. "I actually remember those from the wedding."

"
Let's hope you're not the only one," Michael said.

I reached into a pocket on the inside of my shoulder bag and pulled out a seagull feather. I had no idea whether it came from a laughing gull or not, but when I
'd found it in the parking lot this morning on the way to the car, it felt like it might be a good luck charm.

I held it out to the woman.
"Okay to add this?"

"
Of course." She slid it into the bouquet at an artful angle.

Michael coughed and turned away.

"Okey-dokey," our father said. "Now that we've got that squared away, do you have anything I can look at in a wrist corsage for a certain cray-cray Southern Lady?"

"
I sure do, honey," she said.

"
By the way," I said. "You don't happen to know what cray-cray means, do you?"

She smiled.
"I don't know what it means in your neck of the woods, but here in Savannah it means taking crazy to a whole 'nother level."

"
Hurry up," I said as the door to the florist van opened in front of Phoebe's parents' house. "Let's go." This whole stalking thing was making me flash back to high school, when my friends and I would drive by the houses of all the boys we had crushes on, hoping for a glimpse of them. It was both thrilling and embarrassing back then, but by the time you got to be my age, the thrill had gone and all that was left was the embarrassment. I hoped I wouldn't be reduced to driving by John Anderson's condo a few months from now. I hoped I could just move on.

"
Wait," Michael said. "I want to make sure Phoebe answers the door. If her parents recognize my handwriting on the card, they might not give the flowers to her."

Maybe we
'd all time-traveled back to high school. "I thought Phoebe's parents liked you," I said.

"
Do we still like Kevin?" he said.

"
Good point," I said. "But then again, I don't think you ever liked Kevin."

"
Only because he was an asshole," Michael said.

"
Language," our father said. "Though, I might have to give you special dispensation on this one. Even on his best day, that husband of yours was a card-carrying cad."

"
Gee, thanks," I said. "Funny how when I was married to him, none of you ever said things like that."

"
We figured you already knew," Carol said. "Why rub it in, you know?"

"
Oh, right," I said. "I forgot how much you guys hate to rub things in."

Michael dropped his head down.
"She's opening the door. Come on, get me out of here. Fast."

Boston is a fantastic city, but the streets are a muddle of co
nfusing twists and turns and changing street names. Savannah is laid out on a grid that actually makes sense. The GPS on Carol's phone sent us onto Montgomery Street, took us past the Savannah Civic Center, and circled us around a couple of charmingly landscaped squares complete with walkways and benches. We found the riverfront, putted along in traffic, then pulled into a garage just up a side street so we could kill some time walking around.

Carol and I wandered into a souvenir shop while Michael and our dad hung out on the sidewalk.
"Do not let me buy anything that isn't for me," she said. She picked up a T-shirt in Maeve's size. Put it down again.

I found a Pinball Hero baseball hat. Picked it up, put it down, picked it up again.

"So," I said, as I put it down one more time. "How are we going to handle this thing with Dad?"

"
Well, obviously," she said. "We're going with him."

We dropped Michael off a block or so from Reynolds Square so Phoebe wouldn
't see that he'd brought his family for reinforcement. He'd asked her to meet him at The Olde Pink House, the restaurant she'd taken him to when he first visited Savannah. We were all sure he'd get extra points for remembering.

Michael reached for his door handle.
"Do I look okay?"

"
Smokin'," I said.

Our father turned around in his seat.
"Like a stallion. Now march right in there and use your best apple butter on that baby cakes. It got her circled to you once, and mark my words, you'll be back in fat city before you know it."

"
Thanks. I think." Michael managed a smile, but it didn't look very convincing.

"
You look fine," Carol said. "Just remember, if Phoebe tries to start a fight, do not engage. Tell her she looks great, ask her how her parents are. Ask her if the girls are having a good visit."

"
And whatever you do," I said. "Do not bring up Uncle Pete."

"
Thanks," he said. "I needed that."

"
Sorry," I said. "I just mean that you're there to talk about the girls and what's best for them. You need to stay focused on that and not on your personal relationship with Phoebe. At least for now."

I
'd suffered through more than my share of agonizing conferences with parents whose marriages were in the middle of a break-up. One minute we'd be talking about their preschooler's verbal skills and the next they'd be using their own to throw daggers at each other.

"
I know, I know," Michael said.

Our cramped economy car felt almost empty once he was gone. We sat there for a while, watching him walk down the street, ge
tting smaller and smaller.

"
He has a good swagger when he walks," Carol said. "Like I might be a nice guy, but don't mess with me."

"
I'm proud to say I taught him that swagger," our dad said, "after two young hellions from his cub scout troop gave him a hard time. I had him going back and forth and back and forth in the basement rumpus room all one Sunday afternoon until he had it down cold. The likes of them never bothered him again, thank you very much."

"
Good to know, Dad," Carol said. "I'll keep that in mind in case the boys need any swagger coaching. Wait, I'm not going to talk about my kids. They're fine."

"
Ha," I said. "Remember when Michael used to call his favorite stuffed animal Winnie of Poo? And every time he said it we'd all crack up because it sounded like Winnie was made of poo."

"
We were known for our sophisticated senses of humor," Carol said.

Our father let out a big laugh and hit the dashboard with his palm.
"Your mother and I used to tell you kids you weren't allowed to have broccoli until you were twenty-one. You'd get down on your hands and knees at the dinner table and beg for the stuff."

"
Nice, Dad," I said. "We couldn't have broccoli, but you'd give us sips of your beer."

Our father shook his head.
"Only when your mother wasn't watching. Children sampling a wee bit of alcohol did not go over well with Marjorie Hurlihy, let me tell you. And here we were both brought up in households that believed Guinness was good for anything that ailed you, the next best thing to mother's milk."

"
Remember," Carol said, "when Grandpa used to give us those disgusting orange marshmallow candies shaped like peanuts? He always had a bag hidden under his recliner when we came to visit?"

"
Ha," I said, "Remember that time Michael, no, maybe it was Billy, went toddling into Grammy and Grandpa's kitchen screaming, 'Where's my penis?" and Dad pointed to his diaper, and said, 'Right here, big boy, right here.' And he kept saying it and getting madder and madder, and we finally figured out he meant
peanuts
." I cracked up all over again, and Carol and our dad joined in.