Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,7
voice emanating from the machine.
“We held our weekly staff meeting this morning and decided it best Poindexter doesn’t return to class. Your full refund will be in tomorrow’s mail.”
The dial tone sounded briefly before the machine disconnected, and I narrowed my gaze on the dog. He rolled over onto his side, settling back into his daily routine, totally oblivious to the fact he’d just been booted from his fourth obedience school for his inability to sit, stay and refrain from tormenting the other students.
I didn’t know why I held fantasies about recreating my life when I couldn’t even train the dog.
At least this time we were getting a refund. My luck had either changed or the folks at the Canine Academy figured returning my money was a small price to pay to ensure Poindexter never set a paw inside their school again.
Hoping my luck had changed, I rapped my knuckles against the distressed oak of the coffee table. Poindexter charged the front door, fangs bared, barking like a fool.
“It was me, you goof.”
He tipped his head in my direction, squinting as if I were the fool. He retrained his focus on the crack between the door and wall, a low growl rumbling from deep inside his throat.
Perhaps I should have spent more time with the dog and less time with Ryan. Maybe then at least one relationship in my life would fall into the success category.
Poindexter left the door, jumped back up on the sofa and snuggled into the pillows, apparently spent from his guard-dog exertion. Napping was not an unappealing idea, but I had a better one.
I had just uncorked an ancient bottle of wine when Diane let herself in the front door.
“So now you’re not answering your door or your phone?”
I’d left her a message after I quit my job, but I hadn’t picked up the phone since then.
Pink splotches covered Diane’s chest and throat. She’d flushed like this for as long as I’d known her.
One time in third grade, Mrs. Haberstadt had sent Diane to the principal’s office for chewing gum, and the principal had sent her home sick with no punishment or warning.
Diane had broken out into so many spots on the way to his office he’d wanted nothing more than to get her the hell off school property before she spread whatever rare disease he thought she’d contracted to the entire student body.
“Are you listening to me?” Diane’s blotches marched north, threatening to overtake her cheeks.
I nodded without saying a word, trying frantically to remember the last time I’d seen her so emotional.
She yanked the bottle of wine from my hand. “Are you drunk?” One fist landed sharply on her hip and she glared at me.
I shook my head.
She pinched her lips into a tight line then jerked her thumb toward the television and the mess of junk food strewn across the coffee table. “Cookies. Ice cream. Wedding video. Wine. You have every right to feel sorry for yourself, but binging isn’t going to help anything.”
I shrugged. So I felt sorry for myself. Shoot me. “Is this lecture going anywhere or are you in one of those moods where you like to hear yourself talk?”
Harsh, I knew, but years of experience had taught me that Diane’s rants were best stopped before they could get started.
She glared at me then like I’d never seen her glare before.
Poindexter launched himself from the sofa and careened toward the kitchen at a full-out sprint. The dog was not only obedience-challenged, but he couldn’t stomach conflict in any shape or variety.
“I--” Diane splayed one hand against her chest as if she had a plan to save the world “--am here to keep you from falling into a funk.”
“Funk?” Now she was pissing me off. I returned her glare and straightened my spine. “What’s the matter? Is my shitty mood offending you somehow?”
Diane’s eyebrows lifted toward her hairline. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but the fact you’re in any mood at all is a good sign. Now we just have to channel that energy into moving forward.”
She gestured toward the front door as if she intended to shove my old life out in order to make room for the new one. Zip. Zip. Piece of cake.
“First of all, don’t call me sweetie. Second of all, what are you trying to say? I’ve been a zombie or something?” I squinted at her.
Diane shrugged. “If the robe fits.”
Her blotches had merged, giving her the appearance of a lobster with a hot