The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(57)

John and Peter looked at Nina, who was finding all the noise and activity a little overwhelming.

John smiled. “Like I said, chaos central.”

Becky came back with another woman who was carrying a black-and-white collie mix and a handful of papers. The new dog had his tail tucked and his eyes were grave.

The woman was talking. “His shelter name was Boris, but they gave it to him, so who knows, and he’s negative for heartworm and neutered and about three.” She looked over, “Oh, hey, John.”

“Where did they find him?” John asked. “He’s gorgeous.”

“Someone found him running on the street and brought him in. No chip, of course.”

Becky took the dog from her and plopped him on the kitchen counter, where she could look at him without being swarmed by the other dogs. He stood there patiently, his tail moving very slightly at the end. She looked at his ears, his teeth, his eyes, then moved her hands over his body, feeling for injuries. He waited, and his tail moved a little more when eventually she stopped and cupped his head, tipping it up. “You,” she said—and his tail wagged completely now—“are a good boy, and we shall be friends.” She kissed him on his nose, and he licked her chin politely. She lifted him down and opened the back door. All the younger dogs bashed their way out to run around and get acquainted. The humans watched, jealous of the ease with which they handled it.

Becky sat down and stroked the head of one of the older dogs, who’d laid his heavy chin on her knee and was gazing up at her. “The problem with dad was that he kept disappearing. He’d promise to do this or that, but there was always a last-minute reason not to show up. Eventually we all stopped expecting anything from him; if you bend something too much it breaks, right?” She looked up at Nina, and her kind eyes had grown cool in memory. “My first husband, Peter and Jennifer’s dad, was like that.”

Nina looked at Peter and John, who were listening and drinking their tea. They were clearly so comfortable together.

“How old were you when your dad left?” she asked Peter.

His mom answered. “He and Jenny were three and one. They don’t remember their dad.”

“He’s not around?”

“No.” There was a slight pause, but nothing further.

“Luckily for all concerned,” said John, stretching his arms above his head and then ruffling Peter’s hair as if he were still three years old. “I showed up about twenty minutes after he left and made everything better again.”

“It was a couple of years, but same difference,” said Becky, still petting the dog.

“John’s my dad,” said Peter, shrugging. “There’s never been a better one.”

John made a face at him, but Nina could tell he was touched. “It’s a lot easier to know you want to take care of a kid who’s so cute that old ladies faint in the street,” he said, gruffly. He looked at Nina. “The thing about being a stepfather is you know what you’re getting into. I saw a beautiful woman with two fantastic kids and a totally ridiculous number of animals. I guess Peter’s dad had a different dream in mind, but for me, it was everything I’d ever wanted.” He looked at his wife. “I feel sorry for him every day.” He paused. “Except when something throws up on me, then I feel sorry for myself.”

There was a scratching at the door, and they turned to see the new dog, Boris, standing there. Becky let him in, and the dog docked his smooth head with her hand as if they’d been engineered together. He looked up at her with melted chocolate eyes, and when she spoke she was looking at him but may have been talking to her husband. “It takes a lot to join a family that’s broken, but sometimes it turns out you’re exactly the glue it needs.” Then she looked up at Nina. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want a dog? This guy is a total sweetheart.”

Peter laughed. “You know you’re going to keep him, Mom.”

John nodded. “She has a terrible weakness for sheepdogs. Show her something black and white and smart as a whip and she’s putty in their paws.”

Becky grinned and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Well, to be fair, there’s always room for one more in the family.” She looked up at Nina and grinned. “Even if you’re not a dog.”





Nineteen




In which Nina attends a wedding.

As a woman in her late twenties, Nina had attended many weddings. Indeed, the last several summers had been a painful forced march of dry chicken breasts and soggy canapés, stilted conversations with relative strangers and clammy dances with people she vaguely remembered from college. However, shortly after arriving at the wedding of Lili’s sister, Rachel, Nina realized this wedding wasn’t going to be business as usual.

The camel was her first clue. It was standing on one side of a large expanse of grass, tied to a tree by a long rope, wearing a jeweled, pom-pom-covered, traditional Rajasthani camel outfit of such incredible ornament that a crowd had formed. Admittedly, it was a crowd of children, but still.

Nina wandered over, spotting Annabel. “Hi there,” she said, casually. “Is this your camel?”

Annabel, who was wearing a sparkly dress and cat ears, looked surprised to see Nina. “I thought Clare was making it up, that you were coming,” she said. “But I’m really happy you’re here. We can talk about books later. I’ve got questions.”