Marion Lennox - Misty and the Single Dad

The vet was letting her off the hook. All she had to do was nod and go back to reading to the children. Nicholas would relay her decision and the problem would be solved.

But this woman didn’t work like that. He sensed it already and her response was no surprise. ‘How expensive?’

So she couldn’t save the dog at any cost. She was a schoolteacher, after all.

What to say? He ran over the options fast.

Could they talk outside? Could he say, Let’s talk without the children hearing. Let’s give you the cold facts-that this dog’s going to cost a mint; he’s a stray with a limited lifespan. No one wants him; the kindest thing is to let Dr Cray do what he thinks best, which is to put him down.

He’d come to Banksia Bay to be sensible. He had to be sensible.

But then…Bailey was looking up at him with huge eyes. Bailey would want details about what happened to the dog. Could he tell him the story about the distant farmer?

Could he lie?

All the children were looking at him. And their teacher?

Their teacher was looking trapped.

She had a dog.

The dog had trembled and cringed against her. He’d looked up at her, and she’d disappeared into those limpid eyes. His despair had twisted her heart.

But reality had now raised its ugly head and was staring her down.

How much was extremely expensive ?

Becky, her best friend from school days, had just spent twelve thousand dollars on her Labrador’s hip. But then, Becky had a property developer husband. Money was no problem. How badly was this dog’s leg damaged?

Was she being totally stupid?

She thought of her wish list-twelve lovely things for her to dream about. To replace her list with a dog…

‘I might not be able to aff…’ But she faltered, knowing already that she would afford-how could she not? The moment she’d seen those eyes she knew she was hooked.

But then, amazingly, Nick stopped her before she could say the unsayable.

‘He’s a stray,’ he said gently. ‘But if you’re offering to keep him, then Bailey and I will pay for his operation. We left the school door open. It may even have been our fault that he was run over-maybe he saw the open door from across the street and ran here for shelter. You tell me that in Banksia Bay parents are asked to volunteer for jobs? This, then, is our job. If he’s your dog, then we’ll pay.’

Misty stared up at him, astounded. Her thoughts were whirling.

Extremely expensive was suddenly no cost at all.

No cost except putting her dreams on hold yet again.

How could she not?

Nicholas was looking at her. Her whole class was looking at her.

‘Fine,’ she said weakly. ‘I do need a dog.’

Dreams were just that-dreams.

Frank arrived then, blustering away his absence, playing the School Principal to Nicholas and to Bailey. Misty used the time to excuse herself and phone Dr Cray to say she was accepting Nicholas’s very kind offer.

‘Misty, love, are you out of your mind?’ the vet demanded. ‘You need this dog like a hole in the head. He’s old, neglected and he’ll need ongoing treatment for the rest of his life.’

‘He’s got lovely eyes. His ears… He’s a sweetheart, I know he is.’

‘You can’t save them all. You swore you didn’t want another dog. What about your list?’

‘You know that’s just a dream.’

Of course he did. This was Banksia Bay. The whole town knew everyone else’s brand of toothpaste. So the town knew about her list, and they’d know her chances of achieving it had just taken another nosedive.

She cringed, but she couldn’t back down now. It’d be like tearing away a part of herself-the part that said, Good old Misty; you can always depend on her. The part where her heart was. ‘I’ve fallen for him,’ she said, softly but determinedly. ‘Now that Mr Holt’s paying…’

‘And that’s something else I don’t understand. Who is this guy?’

‘I don’t know. A painter. New to the town.’

A pause. Then… ‘A painter. I wonder how he’d go painting props.’

Fred Cray was head of Banksia Bay Repertory Society. There was a lot more to moving to Banksia Bay than just emptying a moving van. Did Nicholas realise it?

Maybe he already had.

‘Give him a day or so before you ask,’ she pleaded. ‘Just save my dog.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

So she had a dog again. At one time she’d been responsible for Gran, for Grandpa and for four dogs. Her heart had been stretched six ways. Now she was down to just Gran.

But who was wishing Gran away? She never would, and maybe taking this dog was simply accepting life as it was.

Banksia Bay. What more could a girl want?

New blood, at least, she thought, moving her thoughts determinedly to a future. With a dog.

And, with that, she decided she wouldn’t mind a chance to get to know Nicholas Holt. She at least needed to thank him properly. But when she returned to the classroom Frank ushered Nicholas straight out to his office, and that was the last she saw of him for the day.

Bailey stayed happily until the end of school-any hint of early terror had dissipated in the face of Natalie’s maternal care-and then Frank declared himself on gate duty, probably so he’d be seen by this new parent to be doing the right thing.

For there was something about Nicholas…

See, that was the problem. There was something about Nicholas Holt that made Frank think maybe he ought to stick around, be seen, just in case Nicholas turned out to be someone important.

He had the air of someone important.

A painter?

It didn’t seem…right, Misty thought. He had an air of quiet authority, of strength. And he also had money. She knew now what the little dog’s operation would cost and he hadn’t hesitated. This was no struggling single dad.

She cleared up the classroom and headed out to find a deserted playground. What did she expect? That he’d stick around and wait for her?

He’d made one generous gesture and he’d moved on. He had a house to move into. A future to organise.

Boats to paint?

She headed for the car and then to where she always went after school, every day without fail. Banksia Bay’s nursing home.

Gran was in the same bed, in practically the same position she’d been in for years. One stroke had robbed her of movement. The last stroke had robbed her of almost everything else. Misty greeted her with a kiss and settled back and told her about her day.

Was it her imagination or could she sense approval? Gran would have rescued the little dog. She’d probably even have accepted money from a stranger to do it.

‘It’s not like I’m accepting welfare,’ she told Gran. ‘I mean, he’s saving the dog-not paying me or anything. It’s me who has to pay for the dog’s ongoing care.’

Silence.

‘So what shall we call him?’

More silence. Nothing new there. There’d been nothing but silence from Gran for years.

‘What about Nicholas?’ she asked. ‘After the guy who saved him.’

But it didn’t seem right. Nicholas seemed suddenly…singular. Taken.

‘How about Ketchup, then?’ she asked. ‘On account of his broken leg. He’ll spend the next few months ketching up.’

That was better. They both approved of that. She just knew Gran was smiling inside.

‘Then I’d best go see how Ketchup’s getting on,’ she told her grandmother. ‘He’s with Dr Cray. I’m sorry it’s a short visit tonight, but I’m a bit worried…’

She gave her grandmother’s hand a squeeze. No response. There never was.

But dogs had been her grandmother’s life. She’d like Ketchup, she thought, imagining herself bringing a recuperating Ketchup in to see her. Who knew what Gran could feel or sense or see, but maybe a dog on her bed would be good.