The Other Wife

I cursed and tossed the useless cell onto the seat. It hit the hard surface of the armrest, bounced up and pinged into the backseat. Harvey let out a yip, then cowered in the corner.

And peed on the leather.

That was it. The last straw in a haystack that was already depleted. I started to cry, collapsing onto the driver’s seat in a useless heap. What was I thinking, driving this far? I could have just stayed in Newton, handing off the estate to some attorney who would tell Susan and Annie they’d get to split the dog and none of the things Dave and I had worked so hard to build together.

I didn’t want to hear that our entire life had been a group effort, that I had to triangulate my assets, as I had my husband.

Soon as the tire was fixed, I was turning around, heading back home. I didn’t want to know what Dave had been up to. I didn’t want his damned dog. And I especially didn’t want his other damned wife.

“Penny?” Susan’s touch was light on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Years of conditioning, of pretending everything was all right even as it crumpled around me, spit that word out on a sob.

“Don’t worry about the tire. Help has arrived.” She gestured beside her with a flourish, at the two hitchhikers I’d bypassed five minutes earlier.

They grinned at me. I gave them a watery, please-don’t-rob-us-and-leave-us-to-die-here smile back.

Somehow, given the circumstances lately, I had a feeling my luck wouldn’t be that good.

CHAPTER 7

It turned out Norm, the scrawny guy, knew how to change a tire and pop off a wheel cover, but lacked the strength to get the lug nuts off, so he had his girlfriend stand on the tire iron. Apparently neither one of them cared that she was six months pregnant—something Norm proudly told me as his girlfriend lifted up her Penn State sweatshirt and displayed a big round belly with an outie that seemed a lot like a tongue sticking out at us.

“Are you sure she should be standing on that?” I asked Norm. I had finished cleaning the seat with the wet wipes, given Harvey the evil eye, then swiped the whole thing down again with the remaining napkins. What I wouldn’t have given for a little Lysol.

He shrugged. “Rita’s cool with it. Aren’t ya, baby?”

She beamed at him and gave the metal rod a little bounce. “Absolutely. I do it all the time in the garage where Norm used to work.”

“Where are you guys headed?” Susan asked after the kid—the closer I looked the more I realized Norm couldn’t be a day over seventeen—finished jacking up, replacing, then jacking down.

“Dollywood,” his girlfriend answered for him. “Norm’s a country singer. A real good one, too. We’re headed there for this season’s American Idol tryouts. Norm’s gonna be a star.”

Her smile for him was so filled with adoration and hope that I didn’t have the heart to mention Norm’s chances of breaking onto the Billboard Top 100 were about nil. Particularly since he looked more like Charles Manson’s younger brother than Clint Black’s replacement.

“You’re all set,” Norm said. He swiped his greasy palms across his jeans, then stared at me expectantly.

“Uh… How much do you want?” I said, reaching for my purse, keeping it hidden behind the open door in case Norm and Rita got any ideas.

“Nothin’,” Rita popped in. “’Cept maybe a ride. Susan says you guys are going to Tennessee, too.”

I shot Susan a glare, but she ignored me. “We really can’t—”

“Get on in,” Susan said, ignoring me. “We could definitely use the company.”

Which meant she wasn’t having much more fun than I was. I said a quick prayer that neither one of them was a homicidal maniac, then slipped in behind the wheel. I did owe Norm, after all.

I pulled out onto the highway, easing into traffic, giving the tire a test before getting back up to full speed. Behind me, Harvey settled in between the two new passengers, sitting up and panting something that looked oddly like a smile.

“Oh my God!” Rita shrieked.

“What? What?” I whipped my head around, trying to ease across two lanes, back to the side of the road. Was she in labor? Had the wheel slipped off? Had Norm forgotten to reattach the lug nuts?

“It’s that dog, baby,” she said, smacking Norm on the arm, making his faux leather jacket crinkle. “The one from Letterman.”

Norm leaned around to look at Harvey head-on. “Holy crap, it is. Harry the Dog.”

“Not Harry, silly. Harvey the Wonder Dog.”

At that, Harvey let out a yip of agreement. He sat up and begged, then did a twirl of a dance around the leather. I thanked God that he didn’t get too excited. I only had so many wet wipes.

“You own Harvey?” Norm asked, clearly impressed. I could have been Dolly Parton for all the awe I saw reflected in my rearview mirror. “That’s, like, cool, dude.”

“I only sort of own him.” I concentrated on getting the car back on the road, without being creamed by a passing double semi.

“Oh, Penny, don’t be so modest,” Susan said. “She’s Harvey’s mommy.”

Only because you dumped him on me, I thought but didn’t say. “We’re both his owners,” I said, giving Susan a friendly you’re-stuck-with-me-in-this-one smile.

“Dude, this dog is, like, famous.” Norm let out a low whistle. “No wonder you’re driving an M.B.”

“M.B.?” I said.

“Mercedes-Benz, dude. A rich chick’s car.”

I wasn’t rich, nor was I a chick, but I let it go. The green sign on my right promised the Tennessee state line was only another forty miles away. Pigeon Forge was another thirty from there. Soon, Norm and Rita would be gone, off to pursue fame and fortune at Dollywood.

Or maybe just ride the rides and leave with their ticket stubs and some disappointment.

“So, like, what kinda tricks can you make him do? Can you get him to do that thing where he opens a can? Man, if he could pop open a brewski, he’d be a damned handy dog.” Norm thought a second. “Though, it might be better if he could open the fridge and the brewski. Save me from getting off the couch.”

I didn’t say anything about his obvious underage status and the fact that he was already sofa surfing and drinking beer. Not to mention the example he’d be setting for his future child.

“So, what can you get him to do?” Norm asked again.

“Hello,” I said, annoyed and frustrated with my passengers, “I’m not really his—”

I caught sight of Harvey in the rearview mirror. He was standing on his back paws again, waving the two others at me.

“Cool. He waves.”

I’d said hello, the dog had started to wave. Coincidence or was Harvey listening to me? I opted for the first one.

“He’s such a cutie,” Rita said. “Do you know how old he is?”

“How old are you, Harvey?” I asked, half joking, figuring the dog would ignore me and go back to his crumb hunt. Instead, Harvey began pawing at the seat, almost tapping on it. Once, twice, three times…eight times total. “Eight,” I said, not sure I’d just seen the dog count, but maybe…

I mean, he was called Harvey the Wonder Dog. Wouldn’t he at least be able to tell how old he was? Dave had mentioned a few tricks in the journal, but overall he’d been pretty vague, mentioning things like Harvey’s A Routine and his C Routine, whatever those meant. Either way, it didn’t matter to me. Soon enough, Harvey—and his routines—would be Vinny’s problem.