Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(11)
For the past fifteen years Lindsay had not once thought of having a dog. When Honey, a Golden Retriever, who for ten years tagged along behind her, died, she gave up all such thoughts. Several times her mother suggested they visit the pet shop and look at puppies, but Lindsay refused. No dog could ever replace Honey, she said, and she stood firm on that answer.
But after less than an hour on the Small Paws website, Lindsay knew—she not only wanted a dog, she had to have a dog. And not just a dog, it had to be that pitiful looking puppy. She was going to have to give up the apartment anyway, so she’d find a place that allowed dogs. All she had to do now was find that dog. She exited the site and tried again. After she’d entered SmallPaws.com into the search bar, the home screen reappeared. She again went through the entire site, dog by dog, sometimes double-clicking, sometimes a single click, but not once did she see the picture she was looking for.
When the telephone jangled, Lindsay answered with an air of frustration, “Hello…”
“Hi honey, how are you?” her father said.
“Not so great,” she answered absently.
“What’s the problem?”
“What isn’t?” Although she had far greater concerns, she zeroed in on the problem at hand. “This darn computer is acting up and…” in the middle of her words, her throat closed up.
“If you need a new computer,” John said, “I could—”
“It’s not just the computer, it’s...” Lindsay gave a sigh that stretched itself out like a clothesline, and then said, “It’s everything, it’s my whole life…”
“What’s wrong with your life?” John had been a single father for nine years and, try as he might, he’d never fully understood Lindsay. There was always a secondary meaning behind the words she spoke—it was a secret code that parents were not privy to. The life she was dissatisfied with could mean anything from boyfriend problems to a dress lost at the dry cleaner. He listened to the muffled sobs for a minute longer then said, “Lindsay, please stop that crying. Just tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
“You can’t,” she snuffed. “I lost my job, and my building is going condo. I have to be out of here by the end of next month.”
“Have you found another apartment?” John asked, trying to address the practicalities of the situation. “Do you need money to move?”
“No, I don’t have another apartment.” She started to sob again. “I haven’t even looked. This is New York—no building will rent to someone who doesn’t have a job. They want employment references. ”
Since Lindsay seemed unwilling to talk about what exactly she needed help with, John suggested, “Why don’t you move home? Take some time off and get your thoughts together. It’ll be a lot easier to decide what you want to do, if you’re not stressed.”
“Oh Dad, I can’t possibly…”
“Sure you can. You’ve got no reason to stay in New York.”
“Yes I do,” she answered, “I’ve got to look for a job and then there’s all this furniture…” Lindsay looked around the room and realized she actually had very little. A bed she’d ordered online, a dresser she’d gotten from the Salvation Army Thrift Store, a sofa that had been left by the previous tenant, two lamps, an on-again-off-again television and a bunch of books. The truth was that there was nothing to keep her here. Everything she’d once had was now gone. She could even feel herself disappearing by bits and pieces. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked.
“Mind? Why, I’d be delighted. You can have your old room. We can give it a fresh coat of paint if you want. Maybe have a few cookouts…”
He painted a picture that Lindsay rapidly became part of. It would be as it had always been. She could already see each and every room of the house, her car still in the garage, a flowered comforter covering her bed, the smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill, friends, laughter…she even pictured the dog running beside her. A warm surge of a happiness rose in her heart and she answered yes without pausing to consider that sometimes things change.
This is where it all starts to go wrong—I can already see it happening. Lindsay was supposed to go to Florida and visit Sara for a month—that’s where she was going to adopt the dog who would be her constant companion for the next three weeks. Then on a Saturday afternoon as she strolled along the sand at Saint Petersburg Beach, she’d meet the handsome young architect who is right now planning a Florida golf vacation. I had it worked out perfectly. But this all goes back to what I said earlier… Lindsay is totally unpredictable. Now I have to start scrambling around for a new plan which is not necessarily easy. Handsome human males with a pleasant disposition are not exactly falling off of trees, if you know what I mean.
Everything boils down to one simple fact—when humans are in love, everything is right with the world. If Lindsay fell in love with the architect, she’d have no problem with her father marrying Eleanor, but if she’s broken-hearted and miserable…well, let’s just say watch out!
The next morning, Lindsay rose early and began packing. By noon she had emptied out the refrigerator, packed her laptop, two books and the clothes she’d be taking. Anything that didn’t fit in the large suitcase, Lindsay left behind. After three years in New York, her life had become so small it could fit into one suitcase. When she wheeled the bulging bag into the hallway and closed the door behind her, there was no hesitation in her movement. She didn’t bother to look back or double-lock the apartment door.