and the faucets coming out of the wall, imitating garden art.
Don’t get used to it, she told herself. Ease, comfort, luxury. It wouldn’t last.
But for today, this was the most fun she’d had at Christmas in a long time, and she couldn’t wait for Portia to get up and meet her dog. She skimmed a brush through her hair, let Alvin back in, and there was a knock at the door.
Her heart leapt and she rushed into the foyer to answer it, punching the numbers on the alarm to let the woman in. She carried a dog kennel, and Alvin, who’d been eager to see what was going on, lowered his head with an apprehensive expression. “It’s okay, baby,” Elena told him.
The woman said, “He’s been groomed and fed. I wish I could be here to see Portia’s face when she sees him.”
“I’m excited.”
“Thank you again, and please thank Mr. Liswood for the extraordinarily generous contribution.”
“I will.”
After the woman left, Elena knelt and opened the kennel to take out the young dog. He wasn’t much more than four or five months, still a puppy with his broad head and big paws. He wiggled and trembled in her arms, looking at Alvin, who was just perplexed. Elena knelt and let them smell each other. “Be nice, you guys.”
The pup shivered against her knees as Alvin sniffed him thoroughly, head to toe, stopping every so often—the joint of the left back leg, the edge of his ear, a spot midway down his back—to sneeze or snuffle or take another deep sniff. His tail wagged slowly as he inspected this creature, and then he stepped back and bent down and barked. Sharply.
The puppy jerked, then wiggled to get free, and dopily walked over, head down, to play. He was so adorable—big nose and soft fur and that wide bulldog head and the curly tail of a husky.
After she ascertained they’d be okay, Elena captured the pup and called Alvin and they headed upstairs to haul Julian out of bed so they could wake Portia up.
Portia’s reaction was squealing and absolute astonishment. “Oh, how did you know?” she cried, hugging the puppy, who obviously recognized her and wiggled in a far more effusive way when she hugged him than he had when the others greeted him. “He’s the best little pup and nobody wanted to adopt him, and oh, look at him!” She blinked back tears, and gazed at her dad with adoration. “Thank you, Daddy. He’s the best dog and I promise I will take very good care of him.”
Next to the bed, Alvin whined, his crocodile in his mouth.
“Oh, I still love you, too,” Portia said. “Do you have a toy? Come on!” She patted the bed. “Come on up!”
Alvin looked at Elena, who rolled her eyes. “Oh, go ahead, you traitor.”
Julian pulled her forward. “Elena helped.”
Portia grinned, rubbing both dogs with one hand each. “I figured. Thank you, Elena.”
“You are so welcome.”
“C’mon. Let’s go upstairs and open presents. I have stuff for you guys, too!”
They all tramped upstairs—two dogs, a girl, and two adults—and Elena realized this was the first Christmas morning that felt like Christmas morning in years and years. What if—
Don’t borrow trouble, said a voice. Her own. Live now.
So she shyly gave Julian his dual gift, and Portia her pile of dog things, and they each gave her boxes, too, and they all tore into them. Portia had a pile of things from her father, who insisted she needed to be spoiled at Christmas because she’d been doing so well in school and in her job. All she had required, it seemed, was a stable environment. She got new skis and ski pants and books and—
“A laptop? My own laptop?”
Julian nodded. “I’ll still be checking on you, you know, and you can keep it upstairs, but it’s yours. You don’t have to ask for permission to use it.”
For the second time that morning, Portia’s eyes welled. She leapt up and hugged him around the neck, her checkered pink and purple pajamas riding low on her strong hips. Elena ducked her head, feeling like an interloper.
And not. Because Portia had showered her with presents—beautiful cut-glass earrings and a silver bracelet and a blouse with airy sleeves, all exactly to her taste.
And Julian gave her a small package, not so small it was jewelry, but small enough to intrigue. “You first,” she said, nervous now. Ready to get it over with.
The first was obviously a book and he opened it.