‘Buying supplies.’

The door opening, a blast of frigid air. ‘I love chocolate!’ said Shirlene, shucking out of her coat.

‘Help yourself,’ said Winnie, ‘but th’ one with sprinkles is for Coot.’

‘What brings you three doors north?’ He got an eyeful of the caftan-of-the-day: Palm trees. Monkeys. Distant islands.

‘I’m thinkin’ of gettin’ a dog and wanted your advice. I see you out with your dog all th’ time and figured you would know.’

‘Here’s my advice,’ said Abe. ‘Don’t get a dog.’

‘Why not?’

‘Vet bills through the roof.’

‘Get a cat,’ said Winnie. ‘You won’t have to walk your legs off, go out in th’ rain, or carry a poop bag in your pocket.’

‘I’m single, I think I should get a dog.’

‘What breed?’ he said.

‘I have no idea, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Not th’ breed of your dog, I can tell you that, he’s bigger than my sofa.’

‘You definitely want a barkin’ dog,’ said Winnie. ‘But not a yappin’ dog. An’ somethin’ small enough to sleep with, to keep you company.’

‘Ooh,’ said Shirlene, ‘I don’t think so. Where I come from, we don’t sleep with dogs.’

‘Me, either,’ said Abe.

‘Dogs are always after somethin’,’ said Winnie. ‘Sittin’ by th’ table, starin’ at you ’til you could keel over. I mean, dogs are so—’

‘Earnest!’ he said as his dog parked himself in front of Winnie and stared at the bakery box.

‘See?’ said Winnie. ‘Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life?’

‘That is th’ biggest dog I ever saw,’ said Shirlene, stepping back. ‘Did you adopt him?’

‘He adopted me.’

‘So what do you have?’ Shirlene asked Winnie. ‘A dog or a cat?

‘Goldfish. Two, actually.’

‘Not much good against intruders,’ said Abe.

‘A golden is a fine dog,’ he said. ‘Very noble and socially agreeable.’

‘Could I take it to th’ salon with me?’

‘You could,’ said Winnie, ‘’til it got hip dysplasia and could not climb the stairs.’

‘As for a cat,’ said Abe, ‘if it knew you wanted it to go with you to the salon, it would not go.’

‘Right,’ said Winnie. ‘You could not let it know you wanted it to go, and then maybe it would go.’

‘Somebody buy a book,’ he said. For Pete’s sake.

‘I could buy a book on dog breeds,’ said Shirlene. ‘What a fun idea!’

‘Right this way,’ he said.

‘Three great books on dog breeds.’ He placed them on the table next to the rubber plant. ‘See what you think.’

Shirlene chose a book, thumped into a wing chair. He stood on one foot, then the other.

‘Shirlene. Cynthia and I would like you to meet someone who loves Scrabble.’ He was relieved to drag his wife into this.

‘Really? Who?’

‘Just, you know, a friend. Very nice. Has a garden. Potatoes, mostly.’

‘But who?’

‘You don’t know this person.’

‘Is it a man, is it a woman? Scrabble is totally unisex.’

‘A man.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Omer.’

‘Homer?’

‘Omer. No H.’

‘Are you tryin’ to fix me up?’

‘Well . . .’

‘You are so cute to do this!’ She sat forward in the chair. ‘What does he look like?’

‘Big. Great smile.’

‘Wait a minute. Big. How big?’

‘Maybe six-two.’

‘Toned?’

‘Um. I don’t know about toned. Trim, for sure.’

‘Trim is great! Handsome?’

‘That’s a judgment you’d have to make for yourself.’

‘Okay, but I mean really—is he handsome?’

‘Shirlene, Shirlene. Are you in?’

She pondered this. ‘Big. Nice. Great smile.’

‘Trim,’ he said, to reprise. ‘Has a garden. Loves Scrabble.’

‘Wow. So, yes! Wow! I’m in!’

Lord help, he was glad to be done with it.

‘You are really cute to do this, Father. I am so excited. Maybe I don’t need to get a dog.’

‘Time will tell,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to put together a lunch before long. At the Feel Good, okay?’

‘How’s my tan?’

‘Your tan?’

‘Do I need a refresher? What do you think?’

‘Talk to your sister,’ he said.

It was sort of a cool thing to get people together, albeit a little scary. Compared, however, to the apprehension of arranging the Kim and Irene meeting, this should be a piece of cake.

•   •   •

DOOLEY, SAMMY, POOH, AND JESSIE blew in after lunch, smelling distinctly of pepperoni. Jessie’s dog, Bouncer, brought up the rear.

Jessie was a plump, rosy-cheeked thirteen-year-old with a mane of chestnut hair and a good bit of makeup. Outgoing, loud, affectionate. A few years ago, he and Cynthia and Pauline had driven to Lakeland, Florida, and rescued Jessie from a dire situation with a relative. Pooh, sometimes plain Poo, and recently turned fifteen, had been with his mother all along. Pooh was nuts for his older brothers, and for baseball, softball, most any ball—from whence sprang the original nickname, Poobaw, after the pool ball he lugged around as a toddler.

‘Buck has bronchitis,’ said Jessie. ‘He’s pitiful.’

‘So we can’t come to your house to eat,’ said Pooh. ‘Can we come another time?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘We’re goin’ out to Kenny’s restaurant tonight,’ said Dooley, ‘and a movie after.’

‘Me an’ Jess are ridin’ in th’ crew cab,’ said Pooh. ‘Mama says she’s sorry.’

‘We’ll pray for Buck,’ he said. ‘Hey, Sam.’

‘Hey. Your plastic b-bag’s down.’

‘Wonderful. Who got up there?’

‘Me,’ said Sammy.

Bouncer sniffed Barnabas; Sammy, Jessie, and Pooh vanished into the books.

‘I checked with the trust people this morning,’ said Dooley. ‘Man.’

‘What’s up?’

‘A lot. Buying out the practice, paying for college, and on top of that looking at four years of vet school. Huge. There won’t be much left.’

Growing up. No wonder so many people resisted it.

Dooley stared at the floor for a time, pensive.

‘There’s no way we should get married ’til after vet school. Sometimes I feel like you and Cynthia want us to . . . you know . . . sooner.’ Dooley’s face flushed.

‘We don’t. Not at all. We hope you’ll marry—but only if it’s the best thing for you both. We agree that you should wait for the right time. We’re completely with you on this.’

‘Lots of people get married in vet school, then split. It’s a really tough ride, a lot of work. I don’t even know if I’ll be accepted—sixty-five percent of applicants don’t make it. I mean, think about it, Dad. Six more years of school. Man.’

Laughter in the stacks—a good sound.

‘Lace and I have some stuff to work out.’

‘I understand.’

‘Did you have stuff to work out?’

‘Did I ever. I’ll tell you sometime.’

He pulled out his wallet; removed a twenty. Dooley watched him fold it as many times as the currency would allow.

As on Dooley’s birthday more than eleven years ago, he placed it in his son’s outstretched palm.

Dooley’s cackling laugh.

‘Don’t spend it all in one place,’ he said.

‘Thanks. I’ll need it. Meant to tell you, th’ thing about Sammy’s teeth is goin’ nowhere.’

‘Gunpoint. That’s our only hope.’

Sammy came to the counter, book in hand.

‘How much is this?’

‘Sammy wants to garden with cow poop,’ said Jessie.

‘It ain’t n-nothin’ but grass that’s gone through th’ digestive system.’

‘Grass and bugs,’ said Jessie. ‘Besides, where are you goin’ to get cows?’

‘Let’s see,’ he said. ‘This book is twenty dollars. Less fifteen percent because the title begins with O for Organic.’

‘Seventeen dollars!’ said Jessie. ‘I’m good at math.’

He added the tax; Sammy laid several bills and change on the counter, took the book, and headed to the door.

‘Thanks for your business!’ he called after Sammy.

‘That’s a lot of money for a book,’ said Pooh.

Dooley pocketed the folded twenty; dug in his wallet and gave a twenty to Jessie. ‘For ice cream.’

‘Thanks, Dools!’

‘See y’all back here in twenty minutes, and I’m totally lookin’ for change.’