Life According to Lucy

He probably hadn’t been out this late since the Milligan’s New Year’s Eve party two years ago. What if he got tired and fell asleep at the wheel on the way home? What if all this socializing was too much for him and he had a heart attack? What if a drunk driver crashed into him…?

What if he decided to spend the night with his mysterious date?

She pushed the dog away, clutching at her own chest. Maybe the pain she felt wasn’t a heart attack, but it was definitely a heart ache. “Don’t go there. Do not even think about it.” After all, parents didn’t really have sex lives, did they?

“Woof!”

The pup cocked its head to one side and looked up at her. “What do you know about it?” she asked.

You know you have sunk to a new low when you spend a Friday night talking to a stray dog. What was worse, she actually imagined the dog looked sympathetic.

She tried watching TV, but all that did was put the dog to sleep. While the pup snored on one end of the sofa, Lucy went out into the potting shed and retrieved her mom’s garden planner. Maybe something in there would tell her what to do for the ailing roses.

The book was full of notes about gardening, all written in her mother’s careful hand. But she didn’t see anything that would help her save the roses. She found information on when to prune (missed that one already) and when to spray (missed that one, too.) Nothing about what to do with sick roses.

Of course not. The roses were never sick when Mom was alive.

I’ll bet that gardener I met today would know what to do. She shook off the thought. She didn’t even know the guy’s name, and it wasn’t as if she had any intention of going near Kopetsky again to find out.

She continued flipping through the book. August 15: plant fall tomatoes and asters. Order pyracantha and euonymus for new bed along driveway. Buy vitamins for Lucy.

She smiled. Mom was always telling her to take her vitamins. To bundle up when it was cold. To think positive. She used to view her advice as meddling. What she wouldn’t give to hear it all again.

With a sigh, she flipped the book shut, but it fell open again to the phone list at the front. The underlined words leapt out at her: When in doubt, Call Mr. Polhemus.

Of course. Mr. Polhemus would know what to do about the roses. She reached for the phone and dialed the number. No one would be in this time of night, but she could leave a message. “Polhemus Gardens, Leave a message and I’ll call you back.” Mr. Polhemus’s voice was a familiar growl on the answering machine.

“Hi. This is Lucy Lake—Barb Lake’s daughter. Her roses aren’t doing very well. I wonder if you could come over and take a look at them? It’s an emergency. Thanks.”

She felt a little better when she’d hung up the phone. At least she’d done something. The dog woke up and crawled into her lap. Her fur was soft as silk and her tummy was warm against Lucy’s thighs. All in all, she found the animal’s presence strangely comforting.

DAD FOUND THEM there on the sofa, asleep, when he came in. Lucy woke, heart pounding, when she heard the door click shut. “Who’s there?” She demanded, clutching the dog to her chest. As if a fifteen-pound poodle would be much protection.

The light came on and Dad stood in the doorway. “I told you not to wait up,” he said.

Meanwhile, the dog proved her watchdog capabilities by lunging toward Dad and launching herself at his chest. “Woof!” But the effect was spoiled by her wildly wagging tail and lolling tongue.

“Who is this?” Dad ducked away from the dog’s kisses.

“She was in the backyard. I guess she’s lost or abandoned.”

“Friendly little thing, isn’t she?” He scooped her up and handed her to Lucy. “And you found her in the backyard?”

“Yes. She was back behind the rosebushes.”

He chuckled. “Just what we need, another redhead who’s crazy about roses.”

Lucy glanced at the dog. Her hair was the same color as her mother’s. Her gaze shifted to the clock and she came instantly awake. “Dad, it’s almost three o’clock!”

He grinned. “Yeah, can you believe it?” He stretched and yawned. “I’m beat. I’m going to bed.”

She stared after him as he shuffled down the hall. She wanted to call after him, to demand he tell her what he’d been doing, and with whom. She frowned at the dog. “I don’t like this. And I don’t like that I don’t like it. What kind of a lousy daughter am I anyway?”

The dog whined and laid her head against Lucy’s arm. This must be why people like dogs so much, she thought. No one will adore you the way a dog will. They don’t care if you don’t look good or make a lot of money or if you have evil thoughts. Keep the dog biscuits coming and they’ll love you for life. If only men were so simple.

ENTIRELY TOO FEW hours later, Dad was pounding on the bedroom door. “Lucy, wake up! Greg Polhemus is here to see you.”

She surfaced from beneath the covers, grunting. “What time is it?” She mumbled and groped for the clock.

“It’s seven-thirty.”

Why did he sound so cheerful? She hated people who were that cheerful before noon. “What does he want?” She stifled a yawn and slid back down under the blankets.

“He said you called him.”

“Hmmm. Yeah. I guess I did.” Who cared about old Mr. Polhemus when this bed was so nice and comfy….

“Aeeeee!” She leapt out of bed, swearing and lunging around for the cruel person who would stick an ice cube in her side when she was trying to sleep.

How about a cruel dog? And it wasn’t an ice cube, but a cold, wet nose. The pup sat on Lucy’s pillow and wagged its tail, the doggy equivalent of a grin on its face. “What are you so happy about?” Lucy snapped.

“Woof!”

She figured that remark had something to do with breakfast. Not bothering to look in the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair and pulled on the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn last night. Every time she’d seen Mr. Polhemus, he was in the same stained coveralls and dirty ball cap, so he wasn’t likely to notice what she had on.

When she staggered into the kitchen, her dad was sitting at the table with a guy who had broad shoulders and thick blond hair. The stranger was laughing at something her dad had said and didn’t see her coming in. She froze in the doorway. Why hadn’t Dad mentioned Mr. Polhemus had brought a man with him? A man who might possibly notice her wrinkled shirt and rat’s nest hair, not to mention her leg stubble.

She backed toward her room. She’d just duck in, change clothes, wet her hair and blow it dry again, shave her legs, put on makeup—

“Lucy! What are you doing back there? Come on out and meet Greg.”

Her legs moved automatically as she stared, goggle-eyed, at the man with her dad. He had on more clothes today, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders and that smile. “Greg? You’re Greg Polhemus?”

He smiled and stood. “If it isn’t Miss Nothing.”

He actually stood up. Her mother would love that. Of course Lucy had known that already, hadn’t she? But where was the real Mr. Polhemus? “What happened to the old man in the coveralls?” she blurted.

His smile faded. “That was my dad. He died last year.”

Okay, could they just rewind and start over? She gulped. “I’m sorry.” That’s the way she liked to start every day—shoe leather for breakfast.

She dropped into a chair and the dog immediately vaulted into her lap. “Cute dog,” Greg said.

“Uh, yeah.” She rubbed the dog behind the ears. Anything to keep from looking at him. “Yeah. She showed up last night. I think she’s lost.”

He leaned over and patted the dog’s flank. He smelled like Irish Spring. The dog’s tail beat against Lucy’s side. “Maybe somebody dumped her,” he said.

Some man, she thought. She scratched the pup’s chin. “I guess if no one claims her, I’ll keep her.” After all, we women have to stick together.