Happily Letter After by Vi Keeland
CHAPTER 7
SADIE
It had been almost a month since my last letter from Birdie. I’d followed Dr. Emery’s advice and not written back to my little friend, even going as far as putting Devin on mail patrol—asking her to weed out my daily delivery of any new letters that Birdie might send. Though I’d broken down on more than one occasion, demanding to know if any had come, and Devin swore that she hadn’t had to intervene. Lately, I’d even stopped dwelling on whether my letters had done more harm than help. But today wasn’t one of those days, though for good reason.
I had an appointment on Eighty-First Street with a professional matchmaker—not for me personally but research for the magazine. Next month, I planned to write an article on the pros and cons of using a service, and today was my first interview. Kitty Bloom ran the agency I’d visited and gave me tons of great information for the piece. She’d also given me a free thirty-day membership—which went for a staggering $10,000. Although if I wanted to give it a whirl, I’d have to submit a ton of personal information—from medical clearances and a psychological profile to financial statements and a detailed questionnaire that asked about everything from my hobbies to my fetishes and sexual appetite. I accepted the gift but wasn’t sure I wanted someone poking their nose into my business.
It was a beautiful evening, so I decided to take a walk. The matchmaker’s office was on the ground floor of a block filled with beautiful brownstones, and the Upper West Side was one of my favorite neighborhoods that I could never afford. I was on the corner of Broadway and Eighty-First Street, and Birdie lived somewhere on Eighty-Third Street, which could be close by.
I really shouldn’t.
I’d been so good lately.
But . . . I’m already here . . .
What harm could it do just to pass by?
I’d taken an Uber uptown because I’d been running late, but I could grab the train back downtown from a few different nearby stations. So it wasn’t like I’d really be going out of my way if I strolled for a bit in any direction. I could just walk up Eighty-Third, and if I happened to pass Birdie’s house on my way to the train, then that was fate. I remembered her house number, only because it was my parents’ anniversary, February 10, or 210, but I had no idea what block it crossed with. So it really was up to chance whether I passed it or not. If I reached a train before I came upon Birdie’s house, then I’d get to see her house. Big whoop-de-do.
Yet . . . it felt so wrong.
Especially as I turned down Eighty-Third Street and caught the number on the first house I passed: 230.
Oh my God.
Eighty-Third Street ran forever. It had to be at least a half mile on the west side alone, from Central Park down to near the Hudson River . . . yet the very first block I turned onto happened to be the one that Birdie lived on.
It sort of freaked me out a little bit.
My blood started to pump faster with every step.
228.
226.
224.
It was one of the next eight or so houses up ahead.
Damn, the neighborhood was really nice. Birdie lived on a tree-lined street of brownstones worth some serious money. I didn’t know why, but I had envisioned her living in an apartment building, cramped for space like the rest of us in the rat race, not in such a luxurious home. These things went for millions. Even if they didn’t own it and only rented a floor out, it would still be big bucks.
I started to slow down as I counted the addresses.
220.
218.
216.
Birdie’s house was only three more away.
When I came right upon hers, my heart started to beat so fast. I slowed my walking speed and tried to get a look inside the windows. But it was about ten steps up to the front door from the sidewalk, and I couldn’t really see much from down here. Disappointment came over me. A few steps after passing the staircase that led up to Birdie’s front door, I forced myself to stop staring like I’d been casing the place for a potential robbery. As I looked down, something shiny caught my eye out of my peripheral vision, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs.
Is that?
No . . . it couldn’t be.
I looked around—no one seemed to be paying any attention. So I backed up and bent down to take a closer look.
My eyes widened.
Oh my God.
A silver hair barrette was lying on the bottom step, the kind a little girl would wear to clip back her hair when her father sucked at making braids. And . . . it had a silver butterfly on it.
Butterflies.
Birdie.
There was no doubt that the two went together.
Without thinking, I picked it up.
Only . . . what the hell was I going to do with it once it was in my hand?
I supposed putting it somewhere safer would be the right thing to do. The pretty little clip could just blow away out here on the last step. Or, at the very least, someone could step on it and break it.
It didn’t look like anyone was home in the Maxwell house anyway. I could just leave it at her front door.
Yeah . . . that was a good idea.
The fact that I might get a better look inside the windows from up at the top of the stairs was just a coincidence. I was doing the right thing, after all, making sure Birdie’s little barrette didn’t get broken. She could be attached to this thing, for all I knew. Glancing around again, I noticed there was also a door underneath the main staircase, a few steps down from ground level. Maybe the Maxwells lived in the basement apartment? Though my gut didn’t think they did.
So I took a deep breath and started up the brownstone stairs. My knees wobbled a bit as I climbed to the top one. God, I really was nervous.
From the sidewalk, I hadn’t realized how tall the front doors were—the double set of ornate glass doors had to be at least ten feet, maybe more. Looking to my left, I could see right into the front window, which gave me a partial view of a big living room. A man’s suit jacket was lying over the top of a chair across from the sofa, and I wondered if it belonged to Sebastian. I stood there staring for a long moment, trying to pick up any small details I could see—the titles of the books on the bookshelf, the photos inside the frames on the mantel—until suddenly the curtain moved.
Someone was home!
I felt all the color drain from my face.
Oh my God.
I need to get the hell out of here!
Panicking now, I looked for a place to leave the hair clip. Finding nowhere suitable, I balanced it on the top of the doorknob, thinking someone would either see it or, if they didn’t, it would fall to the floor when the door opened and snag their attention.
Then I started to haul ass back down the stairs. My heart was pounding so fast, it felt like I was running from the scene of a crime instead of doing a good deed returning a little girl’s favorite hair clip.
I made it only a few steps when I heard a clanking sound from behind me—the sound of a lock opening. Freaking out, I kept going . . . until a deep voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Hey. You. What are you doing?”
Oh. My. God.
I closed my eyes. That voice. Of course, I’d only heard Sebastian Maxwell speak briefly at the carousel, yet I was 100 percent positive it was him. That deep, rich, sexy baritone rasp totally went with the rest of the package.
When I didn’t respond, he snapped again. The second time louder.
“I said, where are you running to?”
I took a deep breath, realizing I was going to have to face the consequences of my actions, and slowly turned around.
Jesus Christ.Sebastian was even better up close. It looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His hair was wet and slicked back, and he had on a simple white T-shirt and gray joggers. Standing so close, I became mesmerized by the color of his green eyes—they were so unusual, not hazel or the green color that most people have, which resembles jade or moss, but the bright color of a brilliant emerald, and the areas surrounding his pupils were filled with flecks of gold.
“You’re late,” he barked.
“Uh . . .”
“The bell isn’t working. I have to fix it this weekend. So you’re going to have to knock a little harder and be on time if you want this job. I have to leave for work in five minutes.”
“Job?”
“You are the dog trainer, aren’t you?”
His beautiful eyes were boring into me, and it made me more than a little nervous. In the moment, I felt like he could see straight through me and was going to think that I was some sort of a crazed stalker of his ten-year-old daughter. I mean, I was, of course, but there was no way I wanted him to think that. So I panicked.
“Umm. Yes. Sorry I’m late. Umm. Traffic.”
What the hell am I doing?
He motioned toward the house. “Well, hurry up. Let’s go. I don’t have all day. I’ll introduce you, and then you’re on your own. Have him back in an hour. The babysitter will be here by then, and she’ll take him when you return. Whatever commands need to be learned for homework, teach them to Magdalene. She’s here more than I am anyway.”
I hesitated but began to walk back up the stairs again. My knees shook more and more with each one. When I got to the front door, Sebastian was already inside. I took a few cautious steps into the vestibule, and out of nowhere, I was attacked.
Alright. So “attacked” might not be the right word. But I was suddenly knocked on my ass, with two giant paws pressed to my chest holding me down. And the biggest tongue I’d ever seen began to slurp the side of my face.
“Marmaduke,” Sebastian yelled. The giant black-and-white-spotted Great Dane looked over his shoulder and practically laughed at the big, angry man looking down at him. He then proceeded to go back to licking my face.
After the shock wore off, I was somehow able to push the behemoth off me. I wiped the saliva from my face and climbed to my feet, only to find Sebastian looking not so happy. What the hell? I was the one who had just gotten pillaged, not him.
He put his hands on his hips. “I seriously hope that wasn’t a demonstration of your training skills. You had less control over him than I do.”
I got annoyed. “What do you expect? He knocked me over without warning. Nice of you to extend a hand to help me up, by the way.”
Sebastian scowled. “You don’t look German.”
I dusted off my pants. “Well, that’s probably because I’m not.”
He squinted at me. “Then why do you teach your training commands in German?”
Oh shit.“Umm.” I blinked a few times before pulling an answer out of my ass. “Please don’t start questioning my methods already. If you don’t want me to train your dog, who clearly needs training that you’re not capable of providing, then say so, and I’ll just be on my way.”
The corner of Sebastian’s lips twitched upward. “Fine. I’ll get his leash.”
Seriously?What the hell was I doing? I had needed a visit to Dr. Emery to discuss my actions surrounding a little girl who had written to Santa. What did pretending to be a dog trainer who taught commands in German warrant, then? Being institutionalized? Lord, how the hell did I get myself here?
Sebastian came back with the leash and handed it to me. I was surprised when he softened his tone and extended his hand. “I apologize. I didn’t introduce myself. That dog just gets the best of me sometimes. I’m Sebastian Maxwell, and I assume you must be Gretchen.”
Gretchen. Of course!Because the woman not from Germany who trains in German would logically be named Gretchen. I put my hand into his large one and shook. The minute my skin made contact with his, my pulse took off like a runaway train. When his grip tightened around my hand, it sent a shock of electricity up my arm. Great, more unsettling behavior to discuss with Dr. Emery—though it did make sense that I lit up like a Christmas tree, since I was damn Santa Claus. I’d need a loan to pay for my therapy sessions after today.
Pulling my hand back, I focused on getting the hell out of there. Apparently, I’d be taking my new student with me. I managed to clasp the end of the leash onto Marmaduke’s collar and did my best impersonation of a professional animal handler. “Okay. So I’ll be back in an hour.” I tugged at the giant dog’s collar, and amazingly, he followed. Just to solidify that I was totally losing it, I turned back at the top of the steps and smiled at Sebastian Maxwell. “Danke.”
After I said it, I started to question whether that was even German for “thank you” or not. Oh well, too late if it wasn’t. Marmaduke bolted down the stairs, and I had to run to keep up. At the bottom, I stood my ground and yanked hard on his leash.
“Whoa . . . ,” I said.
Shit.Whoa? That was for a horse and in English, wasn’t it? I looked over my shoulder and back up the stairs, hoping Sebastian had gone back inside and hadn’t heard me. Of course, I had no such luck.
Sebastian stood at the top of the stairs watching me. He looked really damn skeptical.
Yeah, you and me both, dude. You and me both.
Marmaduke and I went to a nearby park that had a doggy run, which meant I could let him off the leash in the fenced-in area while I googled dog training.
I spent a good half hour reading up on the basics of schooling a dog on obedience and then asked Google for reasons to train a dog in German. Surprisingly, it was more common than I would’ve guessed. Many people trained dogs in the native language of the breed. And who knew . . . a Great Dane wasn’t actually Danish—it was of German descent. So that made sense, I guess. Plus, training in a foreign language made it easier for the animal not to get confused when others used common words near them. I also looked up a couple of words for basic training in German. Sitz, pronounced zitz, meant “sit.” Platz, pronounced plah-tz, meant “down,” and nein, pronounced nine, meant “no.” I figured Marmaduke desperately needed those three words in his life.
The one good thing about a big puppy with a lot of energy was that he wore himself out pretty fast. Once he seemed more subdued, I took him out of the doggy area and went and found a quiet tree to sit under and work on training him.
He laid his enormous body across my legs. I petted him as I spoke. “So, Marmaduke, tell me about the people you live with. Is Sebastian as much of a jerk as he seemed like back at the house? He’s definitely not anything like I’d expected him to be after hearing about him from Birdie.” When I said “Birdie,” Marmaduke started to wag his tail. I wanted to see if it was a coincidence or not. So I waited until his tail stopped wagging and then talked to him a little more. “Yeah. So I expected a really nice guy, maybe soft-spoken, even though he’s clearly a big dude like you. But Sebastian’s kind of a meanie, isn’t he?”
Nothing. Marmaduke just kept looking at me, but his tail didn’t budge.
“I really hope he doesn’t talk to Birdie like the way he spoke to us.”
The minute I said “Birdie,” the dog’s tail took off wagging. I smiled and scratched his ears. “Yeah, I get it, buddy. I could tell she was really special just from her letters. I’m glad you’re there to protect her.”
Birdie had written in one of her first letters that she’d asked for a dog for Christmas and Santa hadn’t brought her one. So I couldn’t help but wonder what made her father get one now. Was some stalker lurking around the neighborhood, and he felt she needed some protection when he wasn’t home? Well, some stalker other than me, that is. I hoped that wasn’t the case.
I really needed to teach this dog something today, because it was almost time to bring him back already. But most of the training information I’d read said you needed dog treats. So I improvised. I dug around inside my purse for whatever I had that might be a decent substitute. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with too many choices—only one stick of gum and a KIND bar, which was mostly nuts. Since half the world seemed to be allergic these days, I googled can dogs eat nuts to be safe. They could but needed to avoid macadamia and walnuts. After checking out the ingredients of my KIND bar, I shoved the stick of gum in my mouth and stood. Marmaduke stood right along with me. I broke the KIND bar into a few pieces and showed him one.
“Sit,” I said sternly. “Oh wait, no. Sitz.”
The dog just looked at me. I sighed and called up one of the better articles I’d read on dog training and scanned for the section on teaching a dog to sit.
Step one. Kneel directly in front of your pet.
Great. Grass stains on my white pants. I took a deep breath and dropped to my knees anyway.
Step two. Holding the treat in your hand, let your dog see their reward, then bring it to their nose.
That seemed kind of mean. I hoped Marmaduke wouldn’t lunge for my fingers and take a few of those along with the KIND bar for taunting him. But he didn’t. Hmm . . . maybe the person who drafted this article was onto something. So I continued.
Step three. Tuck the reward into your hand and raise your hand upward. Tell your dog to sit.
I tucked the chunk of nut bar into my palm, then spoke in a stern voice. “Sitz!”
Holy shit.
Marmaduke sat.
He actually sat!
I gave him the treat and scratched behind both of his ears. “Good boy. You’re a good boy.”
By the time I left the park to head back to the Maxwell house to return my prized student, he’d followed my command at least five times. The very last time, I didn’t even have a treat in my hand. The moment I raised my arm, he simply parked his ass on the grass. I couldn’t believe it. But while I’d managed to accomplish one small task, I definitely was not a professional trainer. And I needed to nip this craziness in the bud. My meddling in Birdie’s life had already caused enough damage. I was supposed to be stepping back from interfering, not diving into it headfirst. Though I had to admit, I was really excited to get to meet the sweet little girl. And the fact that I was returning to the sitter and not Sebastian made me feel way less stressed than I would’ve been if I’d had to face him again.
I arrived on Eighty-Third Street a few minutes later than the time I was supposed to return. Stopping to take a few deep breaths, I recomposed myself and headed up the flight of stairs to the Maxwell brownstone. I rang the bell and waited, but no one came to the door. After a minute, I remembered what Sebastian had said about the bell being broken and that I needed to knock loudly. So I did.
A pleasant-looking woman who was probably in her midfifties answered the door. With her warm smile, she wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the guy I’d had to deal with earlier.
“You must be Gretchen,” she said.
I nodded. “Yup, that’s me. Gretchen the dog trainer.”
She stepped aside. “Come in. I’m Magdalene. Mr. Maxwell said I should learn anything that we need to work on at home to help with Marmaduke’s training.”
I looked around as I entered. The house was quiet. No sign of either Sebastian or Birdie. “Umm. Is Mr. Maxwell home? Everyone is welcome to join in on the training.”
She shook her head. “No. He left for work. He works nights. But his daughter and I are anxious to work on the training. He’s her dog.”
My heart did an unexpected little flutter at the mention of Birdie. “His daughter’s dog. Oh, okay. Can she join us?”
Magdalene shook her head. “No, she’s out with her Girl Scouts troop doing a fundraiser in front of the supermarket. But I’ll teach her whatever you think we should work on.”
I felt deflated. No Birdie.
Swallowing a sigh, I nodded. “Okay. Well, today we worked on sit, but his commands are in German. I’m out of treats—would you have any so that I can demonstrate?”
“Sure. Just a moment. They’re in the cabinet in the kitchen. Please, make yourself at home while I grab one.”
A part of me felt so guilty about what I was doing, yet another part of me couldn’t help but look around, given the opportunity. The uglier part won out when I saw the framed photos on the mantel above the big fireplace that I’d spotted earlier from the window. My heart squeezed when I picked up the first one. It was a picture of Sebastian and his wife bundled up in winter coats and hats, in front of a snow-covered mountain. They both had on skis, and Sebastian held Birdie up in the air with one arm—and she had a snowboard strapped to her little feet. She couldn’t have been more than five or six in the picture. Her chubby cheeks were all red, and she wore the biggest, happiest smile I’d ever seen. Even though Sebastian looked super handsome, it was Birdie’s smile that I couldn’t peel my eyes from.
Magdalene returned before I could stop staring. Seeing what had captured my attention, she smiled sadly. “That’s Mr. Maxwell and his daughter, Birdie.” She made the sign of the cross. “And his beloved wife, Amanda. She’s gone now. God rest her soul.”
I felt myself starting to get all choked up, so I coughed to clear my throat and set the frame back down. “Well, they’re a very beautiful family.”
Magdalene nodded. She handed me the dog treat, and I returned my attention to Marmaduke. I hoped like hell he remembered what he’d learned. Following what we’d practiced, I let him see the treat and then held up my hand with it tucked inside. “Sitz,” I said. Miraculously, Marmaduke sat right down.
Magdalene smiled. “Oh my goodness. You’re very good at your job. This big boy doesn’t listen to anyone.”
As nutty as the entire situation was, I still felt proud of what I’d accomplished. “Thank you.” I smiled. “Or danke.” I almost laughed after I said that last comment, but I couldn’t help getting into the act. After my demonstration, I gave Magdalene some tips I’d picked up from the internet, and then it was time to go.
“Okay. Well. Good luck with him. He’s a sweet dog.”
Magdalene walked me to the door. “You’ll be back next week, right?”
“Umm. Well . . .”
“Birdie is going to be so upset she missed today. To be honest, we’d forgotten all about your coming when she made these plans with her troop. I’m sure she’ll be standing at the door waiting for you next Tuesday.”
Standing at the door waiting for me.
I pictured Birdie with her nose pressed to the glass, excited to work on the dog’s training.
I couldn’t let her down. Could I?
One more week won’t hurt too much, will it?I mean, I was already this far in—how could I end things without at least meeting little Birdie now? Plus, she’d be so disappointed if the trainer quit after the very first day.
“You know what, sure. I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
I walked outside and took a deep breath.
Shit. Here we go again.
