“You don't need to make a 'decent living.' And you can't rely on children to fulfill you. They grow up and go off to their own lives. You need something to give you a sense of accomplishment of your own. Children are only temporarily time consuming. And a husband can die or leave you. You need to be someone in your own right, Coco. You'll be a lot happier when you find that out.”

“I'm happy now. That's why I live here. I'd be miserable in the rat race in L.A.” Her mother sighed as she listened. It was as though they were whispering across the Grand Canyon—neither of them could hear the other, nor wanted to. It was almost funny how Coco being a mere dog-walker made both her mother and Jane feel insecure. It didn't have that effect on Coco at all. Sometimes she felt sorry for them.

Talking to her mother depressed her. It gave her the feeling that she had never measured up and never would. She didn't care as much about it now, but it still bothered her at times. She thought about it after they hung up, and she ate another egg roll. In Bolinas, she lived on salads, and bought fresh fish at the local market. She was too lazy to go to the supermarket in San Francisco, and her sister's high-tech kitchen, which looked like the inside of a spaceship, intimidated her. It was easier to order out. She was still thinking about her mother when she went upstairs to her bedroom and put a movie on. Jack happily climbed into bed next to her, without waiting to be invited, and put his head down on the pillow, Sallie settled at her feet with a moan of pleasure. By the time the movie started, both dogs were snoring, as Coco snuggled into the comfortable bed to watch her favorite romantic comedy, with her favorite actor and actress. She had seen the movie half a dozen times and never got tired of it.

She noticed only after the movie was over that someone had sent her a text message on her cell phone. It was from Jane. Coco was expecting it to be something about the dog again. She had had several messages from her in the past two days, with reminders about the house, the dog, the gardener, the security system, their cleaning woman. Coco knew that as Jane got busier with the movie, she'd stop sending texts every five minutes. This one was slightly more involved than the others. It was about a friend of theirs who was apparently going to be staying at the house over the weekend. Coco wondered for an instant if she could ask her to babysit the dog, so she could go home to her place, but she had a feeling Jane would be mad if she imposed on their houseguest and escaped.

It said only, “Our friend Leslie hiding from psychotic, homicidal ex-girlfriend. Will probably show up tomorrow or Sunday to stay for a few days. Knows how to find hidden key and has alarm code. Thanks. Love, Jane and Lizzie.” She couldn't remember meeting a friend of theirs called Leslie, and wondered if it was someone they knew from L.A. It sounded more exotic than most of their friends, who were intelligent and creative but generally a pretty staid group of middle-aged women, most of whom had been in long-term relationships like theirs, and not prone to psychotic homicidal lovers. Since the fleeing Leslie apparently had the alarm code and the key, she didn't need to worry about it. Coco put on another movie, and went to sleep around three a.m. She only had two dogs to walk the next day, and didn't have to show up until noon, so she was planning to sleep late.

She woke up to a brilliantly sunny day at ten a.m., and looked out to see a flock of sailboats on the bay, preparing for a regatta, and all she could think of was how much she wished she were in Bolinas. She was thinking about driving over to take the dogs for a run on the beach, and check her mail.

She stretched lazily, let both dogs out in the garden, and propped the door open so they could get back in. And then she went to the kitchen to make something to eat. She still hadn't had time to buy groceries in the two days she'd been there. She was trying to decide between the Chinese food from the night before, and some frozen waffles she'd found in the freezer, when she realized that she had left the Chinese food out. The containers were still sitting in the sink. So she opted for the frozen waffles and stuck them in the microwave. She found syrup in the fridge, and as she turned around to put it on the table, she saw Jack, standing, with both paws on the sink, happily eating the Chinese food. He had eaten most of it by the time she spotted him, and she had a feeling the spicy beef wasn't going to do him a lot of good. She shooed him away and he barked at her, and then sat down next to the kitchen table to watch her eat. Sallie sat next to him, looking hopeful too.

“You know, you guys are pigs,” she said, addressing both dogs. Her long coppery hair hung straight down her back, and she was wearing her favorite flannel nightgown with the hearts on it, with pink wool socks because her feet were always cold at night. She looked like a kid as she sat there, with both dogs staring at the waffles as they disappeared into her mouth. “Yummm!” she teased, laughing at them as Jack turned his head from side to side. “What? The Chinese food wasn't enough? You're going to make yourself sick,” she warned him. After she had finished the waffles, she walked back to the fridge to put the maple syrup away. Some of it had dripped down the sides, and she thought about wiping the bottle off, which was probably what Jane would have done, but Coco promised herself she'd do it another time. Jane wasn't coming home to check on her, and she wanted to shower and walk her two clients' dogs. She had almost made it to the fridge with the dripping bottle of maple syrup, when the scent of it overpowered Jack. He took a wild leap past Coco, and knocked the bottle from her hand. It spun across the granite floor, broke, and spilled the sweet-smelling syrup everywhere. Before she could stop him, Jack had leaped into it and was trying to gobble it up amid the broken glass, and she was pulling him away, as Sallie suddenly reverted to her shepherding origins and ran circles around them, barking. Coco was pulling Jack away by his collar when her socks slipped in the syrup and he knocked her down. She was sitting on the ground in a pool of syrup, fortunately with no glass in it, as Jack barked frantically at her. He wanted the syrup and she was determined to keep him away so he wouldn't cut himself on the glass. Her nightgown and socks were soaked by then, and she had even managed to get some of the syrup in her hair. She was laughing while both dogs barked, as she struggled to her feet and pulled the mastiff away. And as she did, she suddenly realized there was a man in the room watching them. In their excitement over the syrup, even the dogs hadn't noticed him, and they barked even louder as he took a step back, and Coco told them both to stay. It was a scene of utter chaos, and the man looked terrified of the dogs, and mystified by her.

“What are you doing here?” Coco asked sternly as she looked at him. He was wearing jeans, a turtleneck, and a black leather jacket, and he didn't look like a burglar, but she had no idea how he'd gotten in.

She was still standing in the maple syrup as she stared at him, and he was trying not to smile at the vision and the acrobatics he had just seen. She looked like a lion tamer, with her long, red hair wild around her head, her nightgown and socks soaked in maple syrup, and the huge dog barking in her arms, while the Australian shepherd ran rings around them, yelping frantically. He could smell the maple syrup and see it in her hair, glistening like spun glass. He couldn't help noticing that she was a very pretty girl and looked about eighteen.

“Did you have some sort of food fight?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “I'm sorry I missed it. I love that sort of thing. I think I'm meant to be a houseguest here for a few days, or a refugee.” He held up the key to show that he entered the premises honorably, as Coco caught her breath. That couldn't be. Her sister had told her that a woman would be staying there. There had been no mention of him. Or had she also given access to someone else? And then suddenly, it all registered, the British accent, and as she stared at him, she nearly screamed. It couldn't be. This was impossible. She was dreaming it. She had watched him two nights in a row on her sister's enormous screen.

“Oh shit… oh my God… it can't be you…,” she said. But it all fit together now. Leslie. Not a woman. Leslie Baxter, the world-famous British heartthrob and movie star. How could her sister not warn her who it was? She blushed furiously as she looked at him, and his eyes laughed as he smiled, just as they did on screen. She had watched his movies a thousand times, and now he was here.

“I'm afraid it is me,” he said apologetically, and then he glanced at the mess around her. “I suppose we ought to do something about this.” She nodded, bereft of speech for the moment, and then she looked up at him again.

“Do you suppose you could get the dogs outside…” she asked, pointing to the open door to the garden, “so I can clean this up?”

“I would,” he said hesitantly, “but I'm terrified of dogs actually. If you do the dog thing, I'll find a Hoover somewhere and clean up.” She laughed at what he said, as much over the suggestion as the word. Ian had called their vacuum cleaner a Hoover too. Leslie Baxter was British, and no vacuum cleaner was going to suck up maple syrup.

“Never mind,” she admonished him, and commanded both dogs to follow her, which very reluctantly they did, as he shrank away from them. Coco was back sans dogs a minute later. She picked up the glass in paper towels, and peeled off her socks so she wouldn't slip again. It was a miracle none of them had gotten hurt with the broken glass. Then she soaked up the gooey mess with her sister's pristine, spotlessly white, seemingly brand-new kitchen towels, while he helped. He got some of it on his good-looking brown suede shoes, and she had it all over her, as he smiled and tried hard not to laugh.