Part 3: The Deal
Continuation of the short story, The Pick
Click here to read Part 1
Click here to read Part 2
The day Olive drove to retrieve the puppy from Eva—the breeder Eugenia had partnered with for stud services—marked the two-year anniversary of her parents’ death, and the hour-long drive gave her plenty of time to ruminate. What if it was her fault? Maybe if she hadn’t left so suddenly, they would have stayed longer and missed that drunk driver altogether.
That morning, upon waking, a leaden grief pinned her to the bed. For several minutes her limbs felt limp and useless, as though they weren’t under her control. Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. Perhaps I haven’t made as much progress as I thought, she told herself.
She threw off the duvet and forced herself upright. It had taken a lot of therapy—and the support of friends—to get this far, to feel moments of joy again. Still, the thing that haunted her most was that she had never said goodbye to her parents. She’d stomped out like a child, failing to be the daughter they wanted her to be.
That day two years ago felt, at once, like yesterday and a lifetime ago.
The accident had thrown her life into a chaotic trajectory. It began with a trip to the morgue in Centralia, Washington, with Eugenia, to identify the bodies. She couldn’t do it. Eugenia had to. Eugenia had done everything—spoken with the highway patrol, learned that a drunk driver had mistakenly turned onto the freeway going the wrong direction. Helen and Nick had died instantly. The drunk driver had too, but Olive found little comfort in that.
Eugenia handled the funeral arrangements, the transport of the bodies to Seattle, all the awful logistics that followed. Olive moved through the first few weeks and months like a ghost. She couldn’t imagine how she would have survived without Eugenia’s steadfast presence.
The barn had been generous. She hadn’t even started her job yet, but they promised to hold it for her. Katie and the other roommates, however, needed someone who could pay rent. So after just three weeks in Portland, Olive packed up her things and drove back to Eugenia’s.
Eugenia had insisted she stay in the guest house until she was back on her feet. Olive stayed nearly a year, seeing almost no one except her aunt. They needed each other. As annoying as Eugenia could be, her love was unshakable—and Olive had come to see that she wasn’t the only one grieving.
Fortunately, Helen and Nick had left their estate in good order. Most of it went into a trust that Olive couldn’t access until she turned twenty-six, but there was a separate sum set aside for a home purchase, a generous gift for Eugenia as executor, and smaller donations to a few charities.
One Saturday in early spring, sunshine poured through the guest house’s windowed wall. Olive was tidying up her breakfast dishes when Eugenia appeared at the door.
“How’d you like to go to an open house today?” she asked. “It just went on the market—down by the barn in Sherwood.”
Olive had been putting off looking. It was time. The long commute, often in darkness or fog on winding rural roads, was draining and dangerous.
“Sure, I’d be up for that,” she said. After all, going to an open house wasn’t exactly a commitment.
The house turned out to be a charming white clapboard farmhouse on a small acreage. Move-in ready. There was a horse enclosure with a covered stable and storage for hay—enough space for two horses, if she ever decided to keep any. And it was within riding distance of the barn.
Eugenia called her realtor friend that afternoon. Before Olive could catch her breath, she had a home of her own.
As she turned onto the road leading to Eva’s, tears began to stream down her face. She pulled into the gravel drive and sat in her car, trying to pull herself together before facing Eva, for whom she had a visceral aversion.
Eugenia and Eva were an unlikely pair: one refined, the other, in Olive’s mind, a chain-smoking, crass woman. They’d met years ago at the Portland Dog Show and bonded over Tibetan Terriers—an ancient breed originating in Tibet that aren’t actually terriers. They were bred for watching and companionship.
Olive once asked Eugenia, “Why are you friends with her?”
“Because she’s not stuck-up like a lot of the other breeders,” Eugenia replied.
Olive climbed the porch steps and knocked. Eva came to the door with a cigarette in one hand and a squirmy fluff ball of a twelve-week-old puppy in the other.
“Tell Gen she’s had all her first shots,” Eva said, signaling for Olive to take the pup.
“What’s her name?”
“‘Lily of the Valley’s what I put on her papers.”
“That’s cute,” Olive said.
“You can call ‘er whatever you want.” A live ash dropped on the wooden porch, and Eva used her toe to extinguish it. “Sorry, I’d ask you in, but my place is a mess—”
“No worries, I’ve got to be somewhere else anyway.”
And with that, Olive said goodbye, placed Lily in the crate she bought the day before, and drove away.
Before the week ended, Eugenia called. Olive assumed it was to arrange a pickup date.
“Liv, I hate to put you out, but could you keep Lily a few more weeks?”
Olive’s heart lifted. “Sure, no problem—”
“The buyers didn’t come through, and I hate to—”
“Really, no big deal!” After hanging up, she picked Lily up and did a happy dance, holding her high in the air as she twirled.
But as the new deadline loomed, Olive felt a weight settling back over her. She had grown to love Lily’s quirky spirit and companionship. And now she might lose her.
The hitch was, she couldn’t afford to buy her. Lily was from champion lines. Eugenia planned to show and breed her. “She isn’t a pet,” she’d said more than once.
Nervous, Olive arranged to meet Eugenia at her favorite teahouse in the Pearl District.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Olive said, “So, I know the month’s almost up, and, well, I’ve gotten pretty attached…”
“Well, you know it’s a big responsibility.”
“I’ve been caring for her already. And you’re the one who kept saying I needed a dog. You were right!” She’d learned that appealing to Eugenia’s pride was often the best strategy.
Eugenia straightened and smiled. “That’s true. But I didn’t mean one of my dogs. I thought you’d get a rescue or something. Lily’s special—she’s worth a lot of money. Money you don’t have.”
Olive felt her face flush. “I love her. And having her around makes me happier. Doesn’t that count? You do want me to be happy, right?”
Eugenia’s eyes softened. “Of course I do. I’ll tell you what—if you promise to show Lily—and I’ll help—and agree to give her one litter of pups, from which I get the pick, then she’s yours.”
Olive nearly shrieked. “Yes!” Had this been Eugenia’s plan all along?
Lily had been a darling puppy. Her coat was mostly white, and her pink skin showed through. Olive had always thought of herself as a horse person, not a dog person, but Lily changed that—though Lily did not warm to her right away. She was no pushover. She hated being picked up or coddled, hated being controlled. Olive could relate.
The first time Olive picked her up, Lily turned and growled—ferociously, for a puppy. Even with those early quirks, she became affectionate, playful, and deeply funny. Her antics brought Olive real joy.
Over time, Olive earned Lily’s trust—the very trust she betrayed the day she made that deal with Aunt Eugenia.
OK, I’m all sucked into the story!