The Choice Page 3

  As she lay on her back, Gabby noted dully that there were way too many stars in a too bright, out-of-focus sky. For a moment, she wondered why she couldn’t draw breath, then quickly became more concerned with the pain that was coursing through her. All she could do was lie on the grass and blink with every throb.

  From somewhere far away, she heard a jumble of sounds, and the world slowly started coming back into focus. She tried to concentrate and realized that it wasn’t a jumble; she was hearing voices. Or, rather, a single voice. It seemed to be asking if she was okay.

  At the same time, she gradually became conscious of a succession of warm, smelly, and rhythmic breezes on her cheek. She blinked once more, turned her head slightly, and was confronted with an enormous, furry, square head towering over her. Nobby, she concluded fuzzily.

  “Ahhhh . . . ,” she whimpered, trying to sit up. As she moved, the dog licked her face.

  “Moby! Down!” the voice said, sounding closer. “Are you okay? Maybe you shouldn’t try to get up yet!”

  “I’m okay,” she said, finally raising herself into a seated position. She took a couple of deep breaths, still feeling dizzy. Wow, she thought, that really hurt. In the darkness, she sensed someone squatting beside her, though she could barely make out his features.

  “I’m really sorry,” the voice said.

  “What happened?”

  “Moby accidentally knocked you down. He was going after a ball.”

  “Who’s Moby?”

  “My dog.”

  “Then who’s Nobby?”

  “What?”

  She brought a hand to her temple. “Never mind.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, still dizzy but feeling the pain subside to a low throb. As she began to rise, she felt her neighbor place his hand on her arm, helping her up. She was reminded of the toddlers she saw at the office who struggled to stay balanced and remain upright. When she finally had her feet under her, she felt him release her arm.

  “Some welcome, huh?” he asked.

  His voice still sounded far away, but she knew it wasn’t, and when she faced him, she found herself focusing up at someone at least six inches taller than her own five feet seven. She wasn’t used to that, and as she tilted her head upward, she noticed his angled cheekbones and clean skin. His brown hair was wavy, curling naturally at the ends, and his teeth gleamed white. Up close, he was good-looking—okay, really good-looking—but she suspected that he knew it as well. Lost in thought, she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, realizing she’d forgotten the question.

  “I mean, here you are, coming over to visit, and you get slammed by my dog,” he went on. “Like I said, I’m really sorry. Usually he pays a bit more attention. Say hey, Moby.”

  The dog was sitting on his haunches, acting pleased as punch, and with that, she suddenly remembered the purpose of her visit. Beside her, Moby raised a paw in greeting. It was cute—and he was cute for a boxer—but she wasn’t about to fall for it. This was the mutt who’d not only tackled her, but ruined Molly as well. He probably should have been named Mugger. Or better yet, Pervert.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  The way he asked made her realize that this wasn’t the sort of confrontation she’d wanted, and she tried to summon the feeling she’d had on her way over.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her tone sharp.

  For an awkward moment, they eyed each other without speaking. Finally he motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “Would you like to sit on the deck? I’m just listening to some music.”

  “Why do you think I want to sit on the deck?” she snapped, feeling more in control.

  He hesitated. “Because you were coming over?”

  Oh yeah, she thought. That.

  “I mean, I suppose we could stand here by the hedges if you’d rather,” he continued.

  She held up her hands to stop him, impatient to get this over with. “I came over here because I wanted to talk to you . . .”

  She broke off when he slapped at his arm. “Me, too,” he said before she could get started again. “I’ve been meaning to drop by to officially welcome you to the neighborhood. Did you get my basket?”

  She heard a buzzing near her ear and waved at it. “Yes. Thank you for that,” she said, slightly distracted. “But what I wanted to talk about . . .”

  She trailed off when she realized he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was fanning the air between them. “You sure you don’t want to head to the deck?” he pressed. “The mosquitoes are vicious around the bushes here.”

  “What I was trying to say was—”

  “There’s one on your earlobe,” he said, pointing.

  Her right hand shot up instinctively.

  “The other one.”

  She swatted at it and saw a smear of blood on her fingers as she pulled her hand back. Gross, she thought.

  “There’s another right by your cheek.”

  She waved again at the growing swarm. “What’s going on?”

  “Like I said, it’s the bushes. They breed in the water, and it’s always moist in the shade. . . .”

  “Fine,” she relented. “We can talk on the deck.”

  A moment later they were in the clear, moving quickly. “I hate mosquitoes, which is why I’ve got some citronella candles going on the table. That’s usually enough to keep them away. They get much worse later in the summer.” He left just enough space between them so they wouldn’t accidentally bump. “I don’t think we’ve formally met, by the way. I’m Travis Parker.”

  She felt a flicker of uncertainty. She wasn’t here to be his buddy, after all, but expectation and manners prevailed, and she answered before she could stop herself. “I’m Gabby Holland.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah,” she said. She made a point to cross her arms as she said it, then subconsciously brought a hand to her ribs where a dull ache remained. From there, it traveled to her ear, which was already beginning to itch.

  Staring at her profile, Travis could tell that she was angry. Her mouth had a tight, pinched look he’d seen on any number of girlfriends. Somehow he knew the anger was directed at him, though he had no idea why. Aside from being tackled by the dog, that is. But that wasn’t quite it, he decided. He remembered the expressions that his kid sister, Stephanie, was famous for, ones that signaled a slow buildup of resentment over time, and that’s how Gabby seemed to be acting now. As if she’d worked herself up to this. But there the similarities with his sister ended. While Stephanie had grown up to become a certifiable beauty, Gabby was attractive in a similar but not quite perfect kind of way. Her blue eyes were a little too wide set, her nose was just a bit too big, and red hair was always hard to pull off, but somehow these imperfections lent an air of vulnerability to her natural good looks, which most men would find arresting.

  In the silence, Gabby tried to collect her thoughts. “I was coming over because—”

  “Hold on,” he said. “Before you begin, why don’t you sit down? I’ll be right there.” He started for the cooler, then rotated in midstride. “Would you like a beer?”

  “No, thank you,” she said, wishing she could get this over with. Refusing to sit down, she turned with the hope of confronting him as he strode past. But, too quickly, he dropped into his chair, leaned back, and put his feet on the table.

  Flustered, Gabby continued to stand. This was not working out as she’d planned.

  He popped open his beer and took a short pull. “Aren’t you going to sit?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “I’d rather remain standing, thank you.”

  Travis squinted and shaded his eyes with his hands. “But I can barely see you,” he said. “The porch lights are shining behind you.”

  “I came over here to tell you something—”

  “Can you move just a few feet to the side?” he asked.

  She made an impatient noise and moved a few ste
ps.

  “Better?”

  “Not yet.”

  By then, she was almost against the table. She threw up her hands in exasperation.

  “Maybe you should just sit,” he suggested.

  “Fine!” she said. She pulled out a chair and took a seat. He was throwing this whole thing completely out of whack. “I came over because I wanted to talk to you . . . ,” she began, wondering if she should start with Molly’s situation or what it generally meant to be a good neighbor.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve already said that.”

  “I know!” she said. “I’ve been trying to tell you, but you haven’t let me finish!”

  He saw her glare at him just the way his sister used to but still had no idea what she was so wound up about. After a second, she began to speak, a bit hesitantly at first, as if wary that he was going to interrupt her again. He didn’t, and she seemed to find her rhythm, the words coming more and more quickly. She talked about how she’d found the house and how excited she’d been, and how owning a home had been her dream for a long time, before the topic wandered to Molly and how Molly’s nipples were getting bigger. At first, Travis had no idea who Molly was—which lent that part of the monologue a surreal quality—but as she continued, he gradually realized that Molly was Gabby’s collie, which he’d noticed her walking occasionally. After that, she began talking about ugly puppies and murder and, strangely, something about neither “Dr. Hands-on-me” nor vomit having anything to do with the way she was feeling, but in all honesty, it made little sense until she started gesturing at Moby. That allowed him to put two and two together until it dawned on him that she believed Moby was responsible for Molly getting pregnant.

  He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t Moby, but she was on such a roll, he thought it best to let her finish before protesting. By that point, her story had veered back on itself. Bits and pieces of her life continued to come tumbling out, little snippets that sounded unrehearsed and unconnected, along with bursts of anger randomly directed his way. It felt as though she went on for a good twenty minutes or so, but Travis knew it couldn’t have been that long. Even so, being on the receiving end of a stranger’s angry accusations about his failures as a neighbor wasn’t exactly easy, nor did he appreciate the way she was talking about Moby. Moby, in his opinion, was just about the most perfect dog in the world.

  Sometimes she paused, and in those moments, Travis tried unsuccessfully to respond. But that didn’t work, either, because she immediately overrode him. Instead, he listened and—at least in those moments when she wasn’t insulting him or his dog—sensed a trace of desperation, even some confusion, as to what was happening in her life. The dog, whether she realized it or not, was only a small part of what was bothering her. He felt a surge of compassion for her and found himself nodding, just to let her know he was paying attention. Every now and then, she asked a question, but before he could respond, she would answer for him. “Aren’t neighbors supposed to consider their actions?” Yes, obviously, he started to say, but she beat him to it. “Of course they are!” she cried, and Travis found himself nodding again.

  When her tirade finally wound down, she ended up staring at the ground, spent. Although her mouth was set in that same straight line, Travis thought he saw tears, and he wondered whether he should offer to bring her a tissue. They were inside the house—too far away, he realized—but then he remembered the napkins near the grill. He rose quickly, grabbed a few, and brought them to her. He offered her one, and after debating, she took it. She wiped the corner of her eyes. Now that she’d calmed down, he noted she was even prettier than he’d first realized.

  She drew a shaky breath. “The question is, what are you going to do?” she finally asked.

  He hesitated, trying to draw a bead on what she meant. “About what?”

  “The puppies!”

  He could hear the anger beginning to percolate again, and he raised his hands in an attempt to calm her. “Let’s start at the beginning. Are you sure she’s pregnant?”

  “Of course I’m sure! Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

  “Have you had her checked by a vet?”

  “I’m a physician assistant. I spent two and a half years in PA school and another year in rotations. I know when someone’s pregnant.”

  “With people, I’m sure you do. But with dogs, it’s different.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I’ve had a lot of experience with dogs. Actually, I—”

  Yeah, I’ll bet, she thought, cutting him off with a wave. “She’s moving slower, her nipples are swollen, and she’s been acting strangely. What else could it be?” Honestly, every man she’d ever met believed that having a dog as a kid made him an expert on all things canine.

  “What if she has an infection? That would cause swelling. And if the infection is bad enough, she might be in some pain, too, which could explain the way she’s acting.”

  Gabby opened her mouth to speak, then closed it when she realized that she hadn’t thought of that. An infection could cause swelling in the nipples—mastitis or something like that—and for a moment, she felt a surge of relief wash through her. As she considered it further, however, reality came crashing back. It wasn’t one or two nipples, it was all of them. She twisted the napkin, wishing he would just listen.

  “She’s pregnant, and she’s going to have puppies. And you’re going to have to help me find homes for them, since I’m not bringing them to the pound.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t Moby.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “But you should know—”

  She shook her head furiously. This was so typical. Pregnancy was always a woman’s problem. She stood up from her chair. “You’re going to have to take some responsibility here. And I hope you realize it’s not going to be easy to find homes for them.”

  “But—”

  “What on earth was that about?” Stephanie asked.

  Gabby had disappeared into the hedge; a few seconds later, he’d seen her enter her home through the sliding glass door. He was still sitting at the table, feeling slightly shell-shocked, when he spotted his sister approaching.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough,” she said. She saw the cooler near the door and pulled out a beer. “For a second there, I thought she was going to punch you. Then I thought she was going to cry. And then she looked like she wanted to punch you again.”

  “That’s about right,” he admitted. He rubbed his forehead, still processing the scene.

  “Still charming the girlfriends, I see.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my neighbor.”

  “Even better.” Stephanie took a seat. “How long have you been dating?”

  “We’re not. Actually, that’s the first time I’ve ever met her.”

  “Impressive,” Stephanie observed. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “What?”

  “You know—making someone hate you so quickly. That’s a rare gift. Usually you have to know a person better first.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so. And Moby . . .” She turned toward the dog and lifted a scolding finger. “You should know better.”

  Moby wiggled his tail before getting to his feet. He walked toward her, nuzzling Stephanie in her lap. She pushed the top of the head, which only made Moby push back harder.

  “Easy there, you old hound dog.”

  “It’s not Moby’s fault.”

  “So you said. Not that she wanted to hear it, of course. What’s with her?”

  “She was just upset.”

  “I could tell. It took me a little while before I could figure out what she was talking about. But I must say that it was entertaining.”

  “Be nice.”

  “I am nice.” Stephanie leaned back, evaluating her brother. “She was kind of cute, don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, sure you didn’t. I’d be willing to bet it was the first thing you noticed. I saw the way you were ogling her.”

  “My, my. You’re in quite a mood this evening.”

  “I should be. The exam I just finished was a killer.”

  “What does that mean? You think you missed a question?”

  “No. But I had to really think hard about some of them.”

  “Must be nice being you.”

  “Oh, it is. I’ve got three more exams next week, too.”

  “Poor baby. Life as a perpetual student is so much harder than actually earning a living.”

  “Look who’s talking. You were in school longer than me. Which reminds me . . . how do you think Mom and Dad would feel if I told them I wanted to stay in for another couple of years to get my PhD?”

  At Gabby’s house, the kitchen light flashed on. Distracted, he took a moment to answer.

  “They’d probably be okay with it. You know Mom and Dad.”

  “I know. But lately I get the feeling that they want me to meet someone and settle down.”

  “Join the club. I’ve had that feeling for years.”

  “Yeah, but it’s different for me. I’m a woman. My biological clock is ticking.”

  The kitchen light next door flashed off; a few seconds later, another flashed on in the bedroom. He wondered idly whether Gabby was turning in for the night.

  “You’ve got to remember that Mom was married at twenty-one,” Stephanie went on. “By twenty-three, she already had you.” She waited for a response but got nothing. “But then again, look how well you turned out. Maybe I should use that as my argument.”

  Her words filtered in slowly, and he furrowed his brow when they finally registered.

  “Is that an insult?”

  “I tried,” she said with a smirk. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention to me or whether you’re thinking about your new friend over there.”

  “She’s not a friend,” he said. He knew he sounded defensive but he couldn’t help it.

  “Not now,” his sister said. “But I get a funny feeling she will be.”