A Last Goodbye (2 page)

Come Christmas, there was more of same. On Christmas Eve, while other people were focused on Santa Claus coming down chimneys, Bob Larson spent most of the night cooking up a movable feast of ham strata baked in disposable aluminum baking tins, along with trays of Edie's sweet rolls. Early Christmas morning, the goodies would be packed into his aging Bronco and hauled to the makeshift campsite at the top of Schnebly Hill Road that was home to a ragtag group of destitute people, many of them veterans suffering from PTSD, who spent both winters and summers huddled around campfires in the trackless forest.

• • •

This year, due to the wedding, Bob would be out of town on Christmas Day. That meant that, for the first time ever, he would not be in charge of leading what he liked to call the “ham strata delegation,” and he was having a tough time letting go. Derek and Elena Hoffman, the Sugarloaf's new proprietors, had assured Bob that they were more than happy to carry on his long-established traditions. Derek had even accompanied Bob to the campsite on Thanksgiving evening so Bob could show Derek how to find the place and introduce him to the erstwhile leader of the group.

Even so, Bob was still worried. He wasn't threatening to skip the wedding exactly, but he was making noises about skipping the wedding supper and renting a car so he could drive back home to Sedona a day early, in time to make sure the Christmas morning expedition went off without a hitch. The prospect of his possibly making an early departure meant that Bob and Edie weren't exactly on speaking terms when they took their room keys and headed for the elevator lobby.

As they disappeared into the corridor, Ali turned to B. “Whew,” she said in relief, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. “It's a good thing this is a small wedding. I don't know how I'd survive a large one.”

Up in their room, B. announced that he had rented a car and was taking Colin and Colleen out for a last-minute shopping trip so their parents could be surprised with gifts from the kids on Christmas morning.

“Do you want me to go along?” Ali asked.

“Nope,” he said. “I have some last-minute shopping to do for you, too. You stay here and rest.”

Which was how Ali had ended up taking her ease in that immense soaking tub. The water had cooled down again. This time she stepped out of the tub and into the glassed-in shower, where she shampooed her hair and rinsed off the lingering soap bubbles from the soaking tub. By the time she finished drying her hair and putting on makeup, she started worrying about what was keeping B., because their dinner reservation was only half an hour away. She was just reaching for the phone to call him when she heard a key in the lock.

Ali was surprised when the first person to enter the room was a bellman carrying several loaded shopping bags. Colin and Colleen followed the bellman while B. brought up the rear. Ali could see that he was cradling something in his arms, but at first, with the others in the way, she couldn't see what it was.

“Look what we found, Grandma,” Colin announced. “A puppy.”

“A what?” Ali asked in disbelief.

“A puppy,” Colleen agreed. “We were done shopping and were waiting for the valet to bring our car around when someone drove past, opened the door, pushed the dog out into the driveway, and took off.”

“I was the one who caught him,” Colin announced proudly. “If it hadn't been for me, he would've run out into the street and got runned over.”

Ali strode over to the door to see for herself. B., who thus far had yet to say a word, was holding the dog with both arms. The animal in question was a reddish-brown long-haired miniature dachshund. The tiny dog was frightened and shivering.

“You brought a dog up here?” Ali asked, still not quite believing her own eyes.

Colleen put her hands on her hips. “Of course we did,” she said in a tone that indicated Ali's question was barely worthy of a response. “We couldn't just leave her in the car, could we? Are you and Grandma going to keep her, B.? And what are you going to call her?”

“What we're going to call is the pound,” Ali said firmly. “We can't deal with a stray dog and a wedding, too.”

“You can't send her to the pound,” Colleen objected. “Do you know what happens to dogs that end up in places like that? It's awful. A lot of them get put to sleep.”

The bellman, having deposited the bags, returned to the entryway, where he stood looking back and forth between Ali and B. and waiting for his tip. Without a word, B. handed the shivering waif over to Ali and pulled a money clip out of his pocket.

“Our dinner reservation is in just a few minutes,” he said to the bellman. “You're sure the dog sitter will be here by then?”

“You've hired a dog sitter?” Ali asked. She hardly believed her ears as each succeeding revelation topped the previous one.

“I was afraid she might start barking when we left her alone in the room to go to dinner,” B. said quickly.

The bellman nodded and pocketed his tip. “Thank you, sir. The sitter's on her way here from Henderson right now. If she's gets caught in traffic and ends up being late, don't worry: One of us will come up stay with your little doggy until the sitter arrives. We told her about what happened and how you found her. She said she'll stop at a pet store and pick up a collar and a leash on her way, and someone from downstairs should be up with your dog package in just a few minutes.”

“A dog package?” Ali repeated.

“If you want me to, I can ask the kitchen to send up a burger patty, fried with no salt. Salt's bad for dogs, you know.”

“Sure,” B. said, looking at Ali as he answered but nodding to the bellman. “A ground round patty would be great.”

The bellman left with all of them still standing crammed in the entryway.

“Okay, kids,” B. said, herding the children out into the corridor, “we'll leave all the presents here for the time being so your parents can open them on Christmas morning. Right now, though, we'll leave Grandma to look after the dog while I take you back to your room. You need to get ready for dinner.” To Ali, in a voice that pleaded for forgiveness, he added, “I'll be right back.”

Dumbfounded, Ali stood there holding the dog as the door slammed shut behind them. Unaware of Ali's dismay over her arrival, the little animal heaved an exhausted sigh, snuggled into the crook of Ali's arm, and closed her eyes. Colin had said the dog was a puppy. True, she was no bigger than a puppy—not more than seven or eight pounds—but she was most certainly not a baby. The dog was old enough to have a sprinkling of white hair on her muzzle.

The doorbell rang, startling both Ali and the dog, who jerked briefly and then returned to her slumber.

“Bellman,” a male voice announced from outside in the corridor. “Dog package.”

When Ali opened the door, a different bellman stood there holding the promised goods, which included a bed that was three times too big for the tiny dog, two equally huge dog dishes—one for water and one for food—and a cellophane-wrapped bag of dog treats. Those at least appeared to be small enough for a very small dog to tackle.

“Heard what happened,” the bellman said as he proceeded to arrange the items in the room. He placed the dog bed near the window, then unrolled a plastic mat and put it next to the bed. He set down the food dish at once but held on to the water dish long enough to fill it with a bottle of water he pulled out of his pocket. Once full, the water dish was placed on the mat as well.

“Had no idea how small she was,” the bellman observed once he was finished. “Would you like me to go downstairs and see if I can find smaller dishes?”

“No,” Ali said. “These will be fine.” Still holding the dog, Ali pointed at her purse. “If you'd just hand me that . . .”

“No, ma'am,” the bellman said. “You don't need to worry about no tip. It ain't just everybody who'll go out of their way to rescue a poor little mite like that. If there's anything else you need, you be sure to give us a call.”

After the bellman had left, Ali carried the slumbering dog over to the love seat by the window. The animal was so tiny, it felt like holding a baby. When Ali ran a hand down the dog's side, she noticed that her ribs protruded in a way that indicated she might not have had enough to eat for a very long time.

Sitting there with the dog in her lap, Ali realized that this wasn't something she had done often. Growing up, she hadn't had pets. Her parents had maintained that running a restaurant and having pets didn't mix. That didn't mean she'd never had a pet, however. A few years earlier she had been drafted as the temporary caretaker of an aging cat, Samantha, after her good friend Reenie Bernard was murdered. Reenie's children had adored the ugly, one-eyed cat dearly and had wanted to take Sam with them. Unfortunately the kids' new living arrangement with Reenie's parents as their court-appointed guardians precluded that. Their grandfather was allergic to the creature. As a result, Ali's supposedly temporary fostering arrangement morphed into being permanent.

Despite initial misgivings on Ali's part and reservations on Samantha's part, too, the two of them finally sorted out their differences. The cat was won over to her new household as much by Leland Brooks's patient kindness as by Ali's. But a dog? A dog was a different story entirely, and Ali didn't think she wanted to go there.

A key card slid into the lock. The door opened and B. entered. “I know what you're going to say,” he said sheepishly.

“A dog?” she replied. “On our honeymoon? Are you serious?”

“See?” he said. “Just as I expected.”

“But, B.,” she argued, “this isn't our dog. She belongs to someone. We've got to find her owner.”

“She's got no collar and no tag, and she's not going back to the asshole who threw her out of the car,” B. declared with a trace of anger in his voice that Ali had never heard before. “You should have seen what happened. If Colin hadn't been quick on his feet, that dog would have been out in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard and run over in two seconds flat.”

Ali shook her head. She could imagine what Athena would say when she heard that her son had been darting through traffic in an effort to rescue an abandoned animal. B. had never had children of his own. His dealings with Colin and Colleen were his first efforts at either parenting—or grandparenting, for that matter. Ali knew that Athena was inordinately strict when it came to enforcing what she called “parking lot rules,” which meant that the children had to be holding hands with an adult at all times. B.'s version of parking lot rules were abysmal.

“What do you propose to do with her?” Ali asked, looking down at the sleeping dog, who had yet to move a muscle.

B. grinned. “First off, we're going to go to the non-rehearsal rehearsal dinner. The concierge tells me that there's an all-night veterinary clinic a few miles from here on Sahara. When we go out later to get the marriage license, we'll stop by the clinic on the way and have her wanded. If she has a chip, we'll have her back home with her real owner—most likely not the same asshole who threw her out of his car—sometime later tonight. No fuss, no muss.”

Ali said nothing as B. disappeared into the bathroom to shower and change. Moments later the doorbell rang again. “Room service,” someone called.

When Ali opened the door, a uniformed waiter stood outside, resting a meal tray on his shoulder. “May I come in?”

Still holding the dog, Ali stepped aside. “Certainly.”

The waiter deposited the tray on the desk. On it was a single plate covered by a stainless-steel cloche, the kind of thing servers usually whip off plates in fine dining establishments. “Would you like me to serve this?” he asked, handing her a pen and then holding the bill folder open so she could sign the check without having to relinquish the dog. She scribbled her signature and room number and added a generous tip.

“No, thank you,” she said. “We'll manage.”

B. came out of the combination bathroom and dressing room, showered, shaved, and dressed for dinner, complete with a suit and tie.

“What was that?”

“The dog's dinner arrived,” Ali said. “I guess it's up to you to serve it.”

When B. uncovered the meat patty, he found that it had been grilled perfectly, medium rare. Like the bed and the dishes, the patty appeared to be much too big for such a tiny dog. Wielding a knife and fork, B. cut the meat into minute pieces. Rather than putting the small portion of food into the immense food bowl, B. went into the bathroom and returned with a small stainless-steel soap dish.

“This is a little closer to her size,” he said.

After B. placed the makeshift dog dish on the mat, Ali carefully put the dog down in front of the food. She sniffed at the meat with arch disdain. Then, turning up her nose and without eating even a morsel, she stepped over to the water dish and lapped up a little.

“Whatever she's used to eating,” Ali surmised, “this obviously isn't it.”

The dog went over to the dog bed and gave it a sniff or two as well. Then, turning her back on that, she walked over to the king-size bed. The mattress was high enough from the floor that it should have been completely beyond her reach, but it wasn't. From a four-footed standing start she leaped up onto the bed with a practiced grace. Once there, she made her way to the head of the bed, where she immediately burrowed under the pillows and disappeared from sight.

Ali and B. stared at the spot where the dog had vanished, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Evidently dog beds aren't her thing, either,” Ali observed when the giggles finally subsided. “If she stays overnight, it may turn out that you and the dog get the foldout bed and I get the real one.”

B. nodded. “I suppose that's only fair.”

The doorbell rang again. Ali felt as though it hadn't stopped ringing since she stepped out of the tub. When she opened the door, a slender, silver-haired, seventysomething woman stood in the hallway, holding a PetSmart bag along with a purse that was large enough to hold the dog. “I'm Mrs. Hastings,” she announced. “The pet sitter.”