When her tirade finally wound down, she ended up staring at the ground, spent. Although her mouth was set in that same straight line, Travis thought he saw tears, and he wondered whether he should offer to bring her a tissue. They were inside the house—too far away, he realized—but then he remembered the napkins near the grill. He rose quickly, grabbed a few, and brought them to her. He offered her one, and after debating, she took it. She wiped the corner of her eyes. Now that she’d calmed down, he noted she was even prettier than he’d first realized.
She drew a shaky breath. “The question is, what are you going to do?” she finally asked.
He hesitated, trying to draw a bead on what she meant. “About what?”
“The puppies!”
He could hear the anger beginning to percolate again, and he raised his hands in an attempt to calm her. “Let’s start at the beginning. Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
“Of course I’m sure! Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“Have you had her checked by a vet?”
“I’m a physician assistant. I spent two and a half years in PA school and another year in rotations. I know when someone’s pregnant.”
“With people, I’m sure you do. But with dogs, it’s different.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve had a lot of experience with dogs. Actually, I—”
Yeah, I’ll bet, she thought, cutting him off with a wave. “She’s moving slower, her n**ples are swollen, and she’s been acting strangely. What else could it be?” Honestly, every man she’d ever met believed that having a dog as a kid made him an expert on all things canine.
“What if she has an infection? That would cause swelling. And if the infection is bad enough, she might be in some pain, too, which could explain the way she’s acting.”
Gabby opened her mouth to speak, then closed it when she realized that she hadn’t thought of that. An infection could cause swelling in the n**ples—mastitis or something like that—and for a moment, she felt a surge of relief wash through her. As she considered it further, however, reality came crashing back. It wasn’t one or two n**ples, it was all of them. She twisted the napkin, wishing he would just listen.
“She’s pregnant, and she’s going to have puppies. And you’re going to have to help me find homes for them, since I’m not bringing them to the pound.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t Moby.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“But you should know—”
She shook her head furiously. This was so typical. Pregnancy was always a woman’s problem. She stood up from her chair. “You’re going to have to take some responsibility here. And I hope you realize it’s not going to be easy to find homes for them.”
“But—”
“What on earth was that about?” Stephanie asked.
Gabby had disappeared into the hedge; a few seconds later, he’d seen her enter her home through the sliding glass door. He was still sitting at the table, feeling slightly shell-shocked, when he spotted his sister approaching.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough,” she said. She saw the cooler near the door and pulled out a beer. “For a second there, I thought she was going to punch you. Then I thought she was going to cry. And then she looked like she wanted to punch you again.”
“That’s about right,” he admitted. He rubbed his forehead, still processing the scene.
“Still charming the girlfriends, I see.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my neighbor.”
“Even better.” Stephanie took a seat. “How long have you been dating?”
“We’re not. Actually, that’s the first time I’ve ever met her.”
“Impressive,” Stephanie observed. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What?”
“You know—making someone hate you so quickly. That’s a rare gift. Usually you have to know a person better first.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so. And Moby . . .” She turned toward the dog and lifted a scolding finger. “You should know better.”
Moby wiggled his tail before getting to his feet. He walked toward her, nuzzling Stephanie in her lap. She pushed the top of the head, which only made Moby push back harder.
“Easy there, you old hound dog.”
“It’s not Moby’s fault.”
“So you said. Not that she wanted to hear it, of course. What’s with her?”
“She was just upset.”
“I could tell. It took me a little while before I could figure out what she was talking about. But I must say that it was entertaining.”
“Be nice.”
“I am nice.” Stephanie leaned back, evaluating her brother. “She was kind of cute, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Yeah, sure you didn’t. I’d be willing to bet it was the first thing you noticed. I saw the way you were ogling her.”
“My, my. You’re in quite a mood this evening.”
“I should be. The exam I just finished was a killer.”
“What does that mean? You think you missed a question?”
“No. But I had to really think hard about some of them.”
“Must be nice being you.”
“Oh, it is. I’ve got three more exams next week, too.”
“Poor baby. Life as a perpetual student is so much harder than actually earning a living.”
“Look who’s talking. You were in school longer than me. Which reminds me . . . how do you think Mom and Dad would feel if I told them I wanted to stay in for another couple of years to get my PhD?”
At Gabby’s house, the kitchen light flashed on. Distracted, he took a moment to answer.
“They’d probably be okay with it. You know Mom and Dad.”
“I know. But lately I get the feeling that they want me to meet someone and settle down.”
“Join the club. I’ve had that feeling for years.”
“Yeah, but it’s different for me. I’m a woman. My biological clock is ticking.”
The kitchen light next door flashed off; a few seconds later, another flashed on in the bedroom. He wondered idly whether Gabby was turning in for the night.
“You’ve got to remember that Mom was married at twenty-one,” Stephanie went on. “By twenty-three, she already had you.” She waited for a response but got nothing. “But then again, look how well you turned out. Maybe I should use that as my argument.”
Her words filtered in slowly, and he furrowed his brow when they finally registered.
“Is that an insult?”
“I tried,” she said with a smirk. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention to me or whether you’re thinking about your new friend over there.”
“She’s not a friend,” he said. He knew he sounded defensive but he couldn’t help it.
“Not now,” his sister said. “But I get a funny feeling she will be.”
Two
Gabby wasn’t sure how she felt after leaving her neighbor’s, and all she could do after closing her door was to lean against it while she tried to regain her equilibrium.
Maybe she shouldn’t have gone over there, she thought. It certainly hadn’t done any good. Not only hadn’t he apologized, he’d gone so far as to deny that his dog was responsible. Still, as she finally moved away from the door, she found herself smiling. At least she’d done it. She’d stood up for herself and told him exactly how it was going to be. It had taken courage to do that, she told herself. She normally wasn’t very good at speaking her mind. Not to Kevin about the fact that his plans for their future seemed to go only as far as the next weekend. Or to Dr. Melton about the way she felt when he touched her. Not even to her mom, who always seemed to have opinions on how Gabby could improve herself.
She stopped smiling when she caught sight of Molly sleeping in the corner. A quick peek was enough to remind her that the end result hadn’t changed and that maybe, just maybe, she could have done a better job of convincing him that it was his duty to help her. As she replayed the evening, she felt a wave of embarrassment. She knew she’d been rambling, but after being knocked down, she had lost her focus, and then her frustration had rendered her completely unable to stop talking. Her mother would have had a field day with that one. She loved her mother, but her mother was one of those ladies who never lost control. It drove Gabby crazy; more than once during her teenage years, she’d wanted to take her mother by the arms and shake her, just to elicit a spontaneous response. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked. Her mother would have simply allowed the shaking to continue until Gabby was finished, then smoothed her hair and made some infuriating comment like “Well, Gabrielle, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, can we discuss this like ladies?”
Ladies. Gabby couldn’t stand that word. When her mother said it, she was often plagued by a sweeping sense of failure, one that made her think she had a long way to go and no map to get there.
Of course, her mother couldn’t help the way she was, any more than Gabby could. Her mother was a walking cliché of southern womanhood, having grown up wearing frilly dresses and being presented to the community’s elite at the Savannah Christmas Cotillion, one of the most exclusive debutante balls in the country. She had also served as treasurer for the Tri Delts at the University of Georgia, another family tradition, and while in college, she had apparently been of the opinion that academics were far less important than working toward a “Mrs.” degree, which she believed the only career choice for a proper southern lady. It went without saying that she wanted the “Mr.” part of the equation to be worthy of the family name. Which essentially meant rich.
Enter her father. Her dad, a successful real estate developer and general contractor, was twelve years older than his wife when they’d married, and if not as rich as some, he was certainly well-off. Still, Gabby could remember studying the wedding photos of her parents as they stood outside the church and wondering how two such different people could have ever fallen in love. While her mom loved the pheasant at the country club, Dad preferred biscuits and gravy at the local diner; while Mom never walked as far as the mailbox without her makeup, Dad wore jeans, and his hair was always a bit disheveled. But love each other they did—of this, Gabby had no doubt. In the mornings, she would sometimes catch her parents in a tender embrace, and never once had she heard them argue. Nor did they have separate beds, like so many of Gabby’s friends’ parents, who often struck her as business partners more than lovers. Even now, when she visited, she would find her parents snuggled up on the couch together, and when her friends marveled, she would simply shake her head and admit that for whatever reason, they were perfectly suited to each other.
Much to her mother’s endless disappointment, Gabby, unlike her three honey blond sisters, had always been more like her father. Even as a child, she preferred overalls to dresses, adored climbing in trees, and spent hours playing in the dirt. Every now and then, she would traipse behind her father at a job site, mimicking his movements as he checked the seals on newly installed windows or peeked into boxes that had recently arrived from Mitchell’s hardware store. Her dad taught her to bait a hook and to fish, and she loved riding beside him in his old, rumbly truck with its broken radio, a truck he’d never bothered to trade in. After work, they would either play catch or shoot baskets while her mom watched from the kitchen window in a way that always struck Gabby as not only disapproving, but uncomprehending. More often than not, her sisters could be seen standing beside her, their mouths agape.
While Gabby liked to tell people about the free spirit she’d been as a child, in reality she’d ended up straddling both her parents’ visions of the world, mainly because her mom was an expert when it came to the manipulative power of motherhood. As she grew older, Gabby acquiesced more to her mother’s opinions about clothing and the proper behavior for ladies, simply to avoid feeling guilty. Of all the weapons in her mother’s arsenal, guilt was far and away the most effective, and Mom always knew just how to use it. Because of a raised eyebrow here and a little comment there, Gabby ended up in cotillion classes and dance lessons; she dutifully learned to play the piano and, like her mother, was formally presented at the Savannah Christmas Cotillion. If her mother was proud that night—and she was, by the look on her face—Gabby by that time felt as if she were finally ready to make her own decisions, some of which she knew her mother wouldn’t approve. Sure, she wanted to get married and have children someday just like Mom, but by then she’d realized that she also wanted a career like Dad. More specifically, she wanted to be a doctor.
Oh, Mom said all the right things when she found out. In the beginning, anyway. But then the subtle guilt offensive began. As Gabby aced exam after exam in college, her mom would sometimes frown and wonder aloud whether it was possible to both work full-time as a doctor and be a full-time wife and mother.
“But if work is more important to you than family,” her mom would say, “then by all means, become a doctor.”
Gabby tried to resist her mother’s campaign, but in the end, old habits die hard and she eventually settled on PA school instead of medical school. The reasons made sense: She’d still see patients, but her hours would be relatively stable and she’d never be on call—definitely a more family-friendly option. Still, it sometimes bugged her that her mother put the idea in her mind in the first place.
But she couldn’t deny that family was important to her. That’s the thing about being the product of happily married parents. You grow up thinking the fairy tale is real, and more than that, you think you’re entitled to live it. So far, though, it wasn’t working out as planned. She and Kevin had dated long enough to fall in love, survive the ordinary ups and downs that break most couples apart, and even talk about the future. She had decided that he was the one she wanted to spend her life with, and she frowned, thinking about their most recent argument.