Chapter 8

Setting her bags down, Doris removed her hat and coat. “Oh, what are you making?” she asked. “That smells divine!”

“Thanks.” Noelle shrugged, flipping the dish towel she’d been toying with over her shoulder. “I was in the mood for… pie.”

“I thought that’s what I was smelling!” Doris paused to inhale deeply. She was still a beautiful woman, Noelle thought, especially with the last rays of sun fading behind her. Her hair was turning white already, and sometimes she looked a little older than her fifty-five years, thanks to all she’d been through, but she was lovely. And she knew it.

“Your hair looks nice,” Noelle said as her mother came out of her stance and approached the island.

Running her fingers through her hair, Doris smiled, her perfectly painted red nails a sharp contrast to the white-blonde. “Thank you, dear, but we both know it looks exactly the same as it did when I left here this morning.” She winked at her daughter, and Noelle laughed.

“It does look slightly shorter,” Noelle protested.

“I think Maurine took off a quarter of an inch.” Doris winked at her. They both knew her weekly trips to the salon were more about girl talk than improving her appearance. “How is Pooch?”

Noelle’s countenance changed. She felt a wave of anxiety wash over her, as if her mother had asked about an exam she’d taken at school--and failed. “He’s okay, I think,” Noelle said. There were only two minutes left on the oven. She’d have to take the pie out soon. She wished the chiming had interrupted her ability to have this conversation, but she knew her mother would be compelled to ask about the dog--and the man who had brought the dog in--because that’s what her mom did. “We put him on hold, posted some pics of him on social media. Hopefully, his owners will show up soon. He’s a cute dog.”

“He’s adorable,” Doris agreed, taking a seat on a barstool across from where Noelle was standing. “He came right to me. Silly thing. Did… you meet Mr. Rogers?”

Noelle remembered how rude she’d been to the gentleman who’d just been doing his civic duty in bringing in the little dog. “I did.”

“And?”

“And what?” The oven beeped, giving Noelle the chance to turn her back on her mother long enough to slip on some holiday themed oven mitts and pull the pie out. The warmth from the oven radiated against her face, and the scent of spice and pumpkin filled her lungs as Noelle put the cookie sheet containing the pie on top of the oven just long enough to bump the door closed. She flipped some switches to turn off the timer and the oven and then moved the pie over to a waiting cooling rack. When she turned back around, her mother had an expectant look on her face.

Doris hadn’t answered her question or asked her another one, but that didn’t mean her mother didn’t want an answer to the unspoken inquiry. Noelle sighed, wishing the pie was cool enough to eat now. It would be a while. She leaned on the island across from her mom and shrugged. “He was nice.”

“And?”

“And what?” Why were they making the same statements again and again? “And nothing. I spoke to him for a few minutes. About a dog. What were you expecting to happen, Mom? That he’d bring in the dog you told him to drop off, take one look at me, and declare we were madly in love?”

A snicker escaped her mother’s lips. “No, not that, I guess.” Her slight shoulders went up and down, as if that would’ve been an acceptable outcome. “I just thought… he’s new in town. He’s quite handsome, about your age. Maybe the two of you would hit it off.”

Noelle shook her head and dropped her eyes to focus on the light brown granite countertops for a moment. She needed to put her mother’s expectations into perspective. “Mom, when he walked in, I assumed he was dropping off an unwanted dog--his dog. I yelled at him.” Doris’s eyes bulged. “It was wrong of me, but I was frustrated because Mr. Gibson had just brought in yet another unwanted puppy. I yelled at Mr. Rogers for a few minutes before I even gave him a chance to explain himself.”

Once her eyebrows relaxed, Doris asked, “Did you apologize?”

Standing up straight, Noelle declared, “Yes, of course I did! My mother did teach me some manners.”

Doris rolled her eyes, and Noelle knew that was because she wanted to say her mother had also taught her not to shout at strangers. “Well, that’s a good thing.”

“Yes, it is… but I wouldn’t be holding my breath on that one, Mom. The chances of Brady Rogers ever wanting to speak to me again are about the same as Cliff deciding you can adopt Pooch if we don’t find him a home.”

Her mother let out a hot breath. “Oh, how I wish we could.” She shook her head. “Those ridiculous allergies of his. Havanese are hypoallergenic! Pooch shouldn’t make him sneeze!”

“I know. But your friends the Godwins have a poodle, and those are supposed to be hypoallergenic, too. He can’t be in their house for more than five minutes before he’s sneezing his head off. Some people are just really sensitive to dog dander, even when the dog is supposed to be allergy proof.”

“I know, I know.” Doris shook her head. “It’s too bad. Pooch is so cute. What a cuddly little fellow!”

“I agree. He is adorable. But… either his family will find him, or someone will snatch him up as the perfect Christmas present. This is one pup I’m quite sure will not be spending Christmas in the kennel.” She thought of Blacky and the others, the ones she was fairly certain would be spending the holidays--and months and years beyond that--behind bars that made them seem like prisoners, even though they’d done nothing wrong. It hurt her heart in a way she couldn’t voice, in a way she’d never thought possible back when she’d taken this position three years ago, right out of college and having no idea just how quickly she could become attached to a sweet face, wide eyes, and four legs.

Her mom placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing wonderful things, dear. There’s nothing wrong with being passionate about your job.”

There was that word again--passionate. It had been the same one Brady had used to describe her earlier. She smiled at her mom, appreciating the praise. But if she didn’t find a way to improve the situation at the shelter, Blacky might not have a kennel to stay in until next Christmas. The idea that he and the others might have to go to other shelters, ones that were not so humane, ones that didn’t guarantee an animal could stay there for however long they needed, broke her heart. She had to find a way to keep that from happening--one way or another.

“Where’s Cliff?” Doris asked, sliding down off of the barstool. “Upstairs watching football--asleep?”

Coming back to the present, Noelle laughed. “Yeah, something like that. I told him you wanted him to help me put up the outside lights tomorrow and he mumbled something about the Patriots playing the Eagles.”

Doris laughed. “Sounds like my Cliff. If there’s a football game on, he’ll be pretending to watch it--until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore!” She chuckled and then reached over and patted Noelle’s arm again. “I love you, sweetheart. And I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.” Noelle watched her mother head upstairs and then went around to take a seat on the barstool herself. Once the pie had cooled, she planned to eat a big slice, topped with whipped cream, and drown her sorrows in sugar and sweetness. The false happiness wouldn’t last, but for now, it would have to do because there was no solution to the shelter problem buried at the bottom of that pie pan.