The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(56)

Nina and Peter followed Becky through the living room into what turned out to be the kitchen, which was marginally cleaner, at least in places. An older man was sitting at the table, deseeding an acorn squash.

“Hi there,” he said. “I’m John. I’m Peter’s stepdad.” He waved his sticky hands at her. “Welcome to chaos central.”

Becky clicked on a kettle and turned to face Nina.

“Do you want a cup of tea? Coffee?”

Nina nodded. “Whatever you’re having.” She looked around. Peter had launched into a conversation with his stepdad, and the dog pack had headed outside in order to run in giant circles and wrestle over a stuffed margarita dog toy. Why a margarita? thought Nina. Are dogs such big cocktail drinkers?

Becky’s phone rang, and she made a face but answered it. She listened, smiled, then said, “Sure, but only for tonight.” She listened some more. “I’m not promising anything. Bring him over.” She hung up and shook her head, putting tea bags in cups and eyeing the kettle, which was made of glass. Bubbles, but not boiling yet.

“John, you having tea?” she asked, and then with the next breath, “Do you like animals, Nina?”

“Yes, very much. I have a cat called Phil, and I’m always wondering if I could handle a dog.”

Becky nodded. “Cats are good. I have three or four dotted around the place. Or is it five? I can’t remember.” She looked a question at Nina as she held a teaspoon of sugar over her own cup, and Nina nodded. Becky gave John and Peter their tea, and sat down at the table with a sigh. “I’m not an animal rescuer, but I take animals from animal rescuers when they need to park them in a safe place. It’s not really fostering, because they usually move them somewhere longer term pretty quickly, but it takes the pressure off. I love them all, even the difficult ones.”

“I think you especially love the difficult ones,” said John, smiling. He looked at Nina. “What you see in front of you is one of the softest hearts on the planet.”

Nina asked, “And was that call another animal coming?”

“Yes. A dog.” Becky motioned out of the kitchen window, which was tall and wide, and Nina looked and saw a large but cluttered yard with a wire-fenced area in one corner. “I can take rabbits and chickens and things like that, too, in the smaller yard. I can’t take ducks, though, sadly. No pond.”

“Are there a lot of lost ducks in Los Angeles?” Nina asked, surprised.

“Oh God, don’t get her started,” said Peter, but it was too late.

Becky shrugged. “Lots of lost everything, unfortunately. Do you know several charities airlift small dogs from our shelter system to other parts of the country where they don’t have so many? Other areas have lots of large dogs, but no small ones, and we have too many. They get snapped up elsewhere and put to sleep here. Lots of people are working for animals, in this town. It’s as big a subculture as any.”

John finished with his seed work and went to wash his hands. “So,” he said, over his shoulder, “you two are sisters? That’s funny.” He turned off the faucet. “Bill Reynolds was a pain in the butt, but he sure made pretty kids.”

Becky rolled her eyes at Nina. “Ignore him,” she said. “I found him on the street with one of the dogs and he followed me home.”

Peter laughed. “Are we going to keep him?”

John flicked water at them both. “It was the luckiest day of your life.”

“That’s right,” said Becky. “Best dog I ever had.” She smiled at Nina. “It’s weird to think we share a father, right? How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“And I’m fifty-nine. He was twenty when he fathered me and fifty when he fathered you. Men keep on trucking, right?” She drank her tea, then leaned forward to call the dogs. “Only claws today, Peter?”

Her son nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

Becky shrugged. “I’m doing it for him, not you, you lazy swine.”

All the dogs piled through the door, and Becky grabbed the little greyhound and held him in her lap. She pulled a pair of nail trimmers from her pocket and swiftly clipped his claws as they talked.

“Do you remember your dad very well?” Nina looked at her sister’s face, focused on its work and filled with gentleness. She suddenly thought of Tom, whose eyes were equally as kind.

“Sure,” said Becky. “Not so much as a child, but from when we were older. He divorced Alice, our mom, and married Rosie when my sister and I were pretty young. But we still saw him a lot, because that’s what Dad wanted. He liked the concept of fatherhood, you know, the job description. He just didn’t want to do the actual work.”

“Was he abusive?”

“No, not physically, never. But he was a bit of a narcissist.” Becky grew more thoughtful, putting the greyhound down and watching the pack streak outside again. “You might have liked him of course; he was charming when he wanted to be, or when he’d had a few drinks. He loved to hold forth on his grand philosophies of life, you know, give romantic advice, for example, which is ironic for someone who couldn’t stay faithful for twenty minutes.”

The doorbell rang, and Becky stood up and nearly got knocked down by the pack as she went to open the door.