me.
Mom ran her hands over the counters and paused for long appreciative moments at the double ovens and gas stove. “It’s amazing,” she breathed.
“There was a lot of space,” I pointed out. “It just needed updating.”
Mom turned to me and smiled. “Filene would love this,” she said, a tear spilling down her cheek. I had almost forgotten that Mom and Filene Easter had been friends. Since Filene hadn’t wanted a service or any kind of gravestone, it was like she’d become just a distant memory. But for Mom, I realized, that was not the case.
“And Filene,” Sally said, stepping forward and regarding us both with those wide blue eyes, “that’s the dog?”
“The dog?” I asked, shaking my head. “What dog?”
“The one you’re having all the trouble with. I’m getting a very strong German Shepherd vibe in here.”
I turned to my mother, narrowing my eyes. She didn’t need actual words to know exactly what I was telling her. This is stupid. There is no dog. This lady is insane. Thanks so much for bringing her over.
“Now, Addie,” Mom said. “Give this a chance.”
“Um, I don’t know anything about a dog, Sally.”
Sally nodded, wandering through the doorway and into the hallway, turning into the dining room.
I hadn’t been in the room since the previous night, when Michael and I had gone at it on the gorgeous dining room table, but looking at it now in the light of day with my mother and the pet psychic both gazing thoughtfully at the place I’d lain and orgasmed as Michael had thrust above me . . . well, it made me blush. And then I started coughing and choking when I noticed my underwear hanging off the back of one of the chairs.
Luckily, when I’d recovered, Mom and Sally had moved us into the parlor and then asked if we might go upstairs. I’d snagged the evidence and shoved it into my pocket.
“Honestly, that’s where we hear most of it.”
“That’s where the dog was most content,” Sally said, nodding as if she understood everything now.
After touring the entire house to the random accompaniment of Sally’s pronouncements about the dog who’d once lived here, we went back down to the kitchen, where I made both ladies some tea.
“So here’s the problem,” Sally said, when we were all sitting at the island. “The dog never had a chance to properly say goodbye to his owner.”
“Oh.” I had trouble summoning any enthusiasm into my voice.
“And he’s screaming in frustration.”
“Oh.”
“So you need to pose as the owner and allow the doggy to say his goodbyes.”
“I don’t really see how that would be possible,” I told her. “I don’t know who the owner was.”
“Oh, he said Elias was his name.”
I had no response to that. Elias was actually the name of one of the men who’d lived here. Lucille’s father. Maybe this lady wasn’t nuts.
“So, like, how would we do this?” I asked, suddenly a little more willing to believe the pet psychic might know what she was doing.
“There’s a man here, correct? Your mother said you were living with some terrible man.”
I glared at Mom, who shrugged. “Yes, Michael.”
“Good. You spend an entire day calling him Elias, and ask him about his dog as much as you can. He should speak fondly of the dog and allow as many opportunities for the dog’s spirit to come forward as possible.”
“By doing what, exactly?”
“Play with a ball, throw a stick, that sort of thing. Maybe bring out some dog food.”
“Ah, okay,” I said, still a little overwhelmed by the idea that a German Shepherd was actually haunting us. What use did the dog have for my bracelet? “Thanks,” I told Sally.
“Just let me know if it helps, dear. Maybe leave a review?”
“Sure,” I said, imagining myself writing a Yelp review about this engagement. “So do I owe you something?”
“No, honey. This was a favor to your darling mother.”
Mom beamed.
“Okay, well, thank you.”
After a little more small talk and another cup of tea, my mother and Sally departed, leaving me to garden for the afternoon with the spirit of an unhappy German Shepherd at my side.
Michael arrived home just after five, and I’d managed to pick up some drinks and dinner from The Shack.
But even after his truck trundled noisily into the driveway, Michael didn’t appear, so I went out to see what he was doing.
Michael was at the bed of the truck, unloading four white wooden rocking chairs. “For the porch,” he told me. Then he put down the chair