“Yes.” Sandee nodded. “It was a last-minute thing. They needed all the help they could get.”
Claire was momentarily taken aback. Perhaps there really was more to Sandee than met the eye. The thought was humbling and nudged at her preconceptions.
Claire wanted to say more, but the dog was already tugging Rob toward the door, and she wasn’t even exactly sure what to say.
Claire and Rob returned to the car, the dog happily sitting in the back seat.
“Do you think you’ll keep him if they don’t find the owner?” Claire couldn’t help but ask, noticing how Rob already treated the dog like a long-lost friend.
Rob sighed. “I don’t know. It’s tough. I’m worried about getting too attached and then having to give him up.”
Claire chuckled. “Then don’t name him!”
Rob looked puzzled. “But we have to call him something. Just calling him Dog doesn’t seem right.”
The conversation shifted as Rob looked over at Claire. “You know, I thought you said Sandee was all about appearances. Wearing designer clothes, always perfectly styled. But she seemed rather down-to-earth today,” he noted, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other patting the dog sitting behind them.
Claire bit her bottom lip, her mind reeling with the day’s revelations. “She did, didn’t she? I’ve always had this image of her, and today just didn’t fit that mold. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been seeing her in just one light. Tammi did say that people are complex, and maybe she’s wiser than I give her credit for sometimes.”
Rob nodded. “Tammi has a good head on her shoulders. It’s easy to pigeonhole people based on a few interactions, but everyone has layers we don’t see.”
Claire sighed. “True. It’s a lesson I keep learning. But you know what they say, ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots,’” she added cautiously, still not fully ready to change her opinion about Sandee.
“Spot! That’s a great name for him!” Rob exclaimed, his face lighting up as he turned to pet the dog again. “See, he likes it.”
Claire chuckled, her heart warming at Rob’s enthusiasm. “He does seem to be responding to it,” she admitted.
Rob grinned. “It’s settled, then. Spot it is, at least for now.”
After closingthe door behind Rob and Claire, Sandee collapsed on her worn-out couch, her muscles aching and her mind buzzing. She looked around at the whirlpool of wagging tails and excited eyes surrounding her. There was Bella, a golden retriever with a heart of gold, and Rosco, a lumbering, lovable mastiff. Dexter, the high-energy border collie, was already vying for her attention. And then there was Peanut, the tiny Chihuahua, who hid behind the larger dogs, trembling and clearly still frightened by all the recent changes.
She reached into a jar on the coffee table and pulled out some of her homemade red Beach Bones treats. “Okay, everyone, treattime!” she announced. The room erupted into happy barks. Even Peanut inched forward at the smell, his tiny nose twitching.
As she handed out the treats, her mind wandered back to Claire’s unexpected appearance. She hadn’t known Claire was dating Rob. The moment their eyes met, she’d seen something flicker in Claire’s gaze—an inkling of understanding, maybe? As if Claire finally saw that Sandee wasn’t the villain she’d painted her to be. And was that a hint of jealousy? Sandee had to admit, Rob was kind of cute. But the idea of encroaching on Claire’s territory never crossed her mind, and besides, Sandee was done with men for the foreseeable future.
Her relationship with Peter had taught her the importance of focusing on herself, her own happiness, and these abandoned animals that gave her so much joy and purpose. “Right, guys?” she asked, scratching Bella’s ears, earning a thump-thump of approval via the dog’s wagging tail.
She thought about the uneasy truce between her and Claire. If there were ever a time for the ice to thaw, it seemed like now could be it. But Sandee wasn’t going to make the first move. She’d extended the olive branch before, and it had snapped. This time, if Claire wanted peace—if she wanted to negotiate about Beach Bones—she’d have to be the one to extend her hand first.
And until then, Sandee had these wonderful dogs to keep her company. She sank deeper into her couch, allowing herself a rare moment to just breathe, each wagging tail and wet nose nudging her closer to something that felt like redemption. “We’re a motley crew, but we’re perfect,” she whispered, smiling as even little Peanut finally hopped onto the couch, curling into a tiny ball beside her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The office of Father Frank at St. Mary’s was as unassuming as the man himself—a room of simple, utilitarian design. A wooden desk, a couple of chairs, and a small bookshelf filled with theological texts and Bibles occupied the space. The walls were adorned only with a crucifix and a framed painting of the Virgin Mary. There were no frills, just essentials, and that seemed to perfectly match Father Frank.
Father Frank, the embodiment of pleasantness, sat across from them. He had a calming presence, eyes twinkling with an inherent kindness. Snow-white sideburns framed his lined face, complementing his genial appearance. His voice, gentle yet firm, had the unique ability to put anyone instantly at ease.
Internally, Bunny was practically buzzing with excitement. She felt they were on the verge of solving the mystery of the gift and finally finding the intended recipient. She glanced at Sam, who looked equally expectant as he handed Father Frank the church bulletin they’d found.
After uncovering the bulletin that mentioned a family facing a joyless Christmas, Bunny and Sam had decided to delve deeper into the church archives. Their persistence had paid off when they stumbled upon another article that highlighteda charity benefit organized for a local family. The article went on to describe how the community had come together in an unprecedented manner, contributing record-breaking donations that included a sizable trunk brimming with gifts. The article didn’t mention who the family was, but Bunny figured that if anyone would know, it would be Father Frank.
Father Frank took his reading glasses from his desk and skimmed through the pages. “Ah, I remember this well,” he said, referring to the notice about the charity benefit and the trunk full of donated gifts. “I was just a young priest back then. We held a benefit for a family in dire straits. The father had died suddenly, leaving the wife and children to fend for themselves.”
As they talked, Bunny couldn’t shake off a nagging feeling. The notion of the gift being merely overlooked seemed too simple, too convenient. She looked over at Father Frank and Sam, feeling the weight of the unsolved mystery on her shoulders.
“But then, how did the trunk end up in Mrs. Perkins’s attic?” Bunny asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
Father Frank paused, considering the question. “That is indeed puzzling. Perhaps the trunk was misplaced and then forgotten over the years. When families go through significant changes, especially under stressful circumstances, things can be easily misplaced or misattributed.”
