![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: The Details of Unremarkable Days - Spring
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Burke Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, OMC, OFC (Peter/Elizabeth, Neal/Sara)
Word Count: ~4000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:rabidchild
Summary: Peter has retired from the FBI, Elizabeth has sold her business and they have settled in Peter's boyhood home town of Silver Lake, in upstate New York. Like the title says, it's the details of unremarkable days.
Author’s Note: Written as an extra for my Fic-Can-Ukah meme foraragarna. Her prompt was "The details of unremarkable days" and she asked for a story about Peter and Elizabeth. This is the first in a series of four fics in this A/U.
__________________
Spring
“Hey there, Elizabeth!” Carla the waitress called from the counter before she even got both feet inside the diner. Elizabeth returned the greeting and scanned the small restaurant for a set of faces she only knew from emailed photographs. There, in the booth at the far side of the tiny railroad car-style diner, was the young couple she’d been expecting. They spotted her, too, and waved.
“Brad? Emily?” They nodded. Of course it was Brad and Emily Williams, all the way from Beachhurst, Queens. She took a seat on the other side of the booth, wincing as a broken spring poked her in someplace unmentionable. “Have any trouble finding the place?”
“Nope – your directions were perfect. And yes, Google Maps got it wrong.” Brad, a thirty-something hipster with a well-cultivated scruff, seemed incredulous at that fact. “But we enjoyed the drive and once we got clear of the city, it took us – what – two and a half hours?” He turned to his wife for confirmation.
Emily nodded. “The country up here is so pretty and peaceful. I bet the nights are quiet.”
El decided to have a little fun. “They are – although sometimes the coyotes howling keep us up at night.”
The woman’s eyes grew large. “Coyotes? You have coyotes here?”
“And wolves too – but not this close to town.”
Both of the Williamses looked around, fearful, as if they expected slavering beasts to pop out of the cracked vinyl and dented aluminum panels.
Carla, an inveterate eavesdropper, didn’t hesitate to contribute to the conversation. “Don’t worry, we haven’t had a wolf sighting in daylight in a year or so. Not since the Kineskys' kid disappeared.”
Emily put a hand to her throat like some Victorian heroine and looked like she was about to pass out. “Oh my god, a wolf snatched a child right off the street?”
El was enjoying herself a bit too much, but she relented. “Carla’s pulling your leg. A baby goat went missing – wandered off from the herd. Doubt a wolf was involved.”
The couple looked only slightly relieved.
“Come on – you’ll follow me.”
She waited while the Williamses paid their tab, pleased to see that they left a generous tip for two cups of coffee. That boded well.
The vehicle they came in didn’t. The little Prius was fine for town, but the road up to the farm wasn’t going to be kind on the low-slung car.
“How about you travel with me? The road’s kind of rough, so we’ll bring you back, too.”
Brad looked from his bright blue eco-friendly little vehicle to El’s dirty gray truck with its mud-coated sides and beat-up fenders. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Brad was a gentleman and let his wife ride shotgun. The drive to their farm took about ten minutes, and the poor urbanites couldn’t seem to get over how isolated they were. Emily stared out at the rolling scenery. “It pretty, but I couldn’t stand it. There’s no one here, nothing to do.”
El smiled. “Oh, you get used to it.”
“You weren’t born here?”
“Nope, I’m originally from Illinois, but I lived in New York City for most of my life. My husband and I moved up here from Brooklyn about six years ago.”
They gaped at her. “You gave up Brooklyn for this?”
El concentrated on the road – what there was of it. The past winter had been unkind to the area, washing out stretches of pavement and even a bridge – which had just been fixed last week. “We did and we don’t regret it.”
“Really?” Brad seemed to find that incomprehensible.
“Yeah. My husband and I decided that we wanted a quieter, simpler life.”
“Getting back to the land? Like Green Acres?” Brad asked.
“No, I wouldn’t put it that way.” El didn’t like the slight note of contempt in the man’s voice. He might end up going home unhappy if he didn’t watch himself. “My husband’s a retired FBI agent – he once ran the entire Manhattan field office.”
That seemed to take the wind out of Brad’s sails.
The country lane opened up to a long, sweeping driveway, with the lovely old farmhouse just to the left of the curve. It might have been early May, but there was still a nip in the air and woodsmoke curled from the chimney.
“Aw, Brad - it looks like a postcard.”
El winced at Emily’s cooing. She parked the truck and led them into the house via the kitchen. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, working on his laptop. He looked up and smiled at her. “Hey, hon.”
She smiled back at the familiar greeting, leaned over and kissed his cheek, “Hey hon.”
Peter looked over her shoulder, spotting Brad and Emily. “You must be the Williamses.”
Brad held out his hand, “Yes - um - and you’re Mr. Burke - Agent Burke?”
El laughed and caught Peter’s puzzled look - she’d have fun with this later. Peter said, “Just Peter. I’m retired.”
The couple stood there, so ill at ease it was almost painful to watch. El made no move to be a good hostess. But Peter had enough manners for both of them. “Would you like a cold drink, some coffee?”
“No, we’re fine - had coffee and pie at the diner.”
“Ah, the diner. Their pie is something - what did you have?”
“Apple - is there any other kind of pie worth having?” Emily answered.
Peter nodded, as if in agreement. As if that answer mattered to him.
El finally decided to get this show moving. “I guess you’d like to see him.”
Emily clutched at her husband’s arm and they both nodded so hard she wondered if their heads would fall off.
“Well, then follow me.” Elizabeth led them into the den, where Lady Day, their golden retriever bitch was keeping court.
“Awwww.”
El cringed. The sound that came out of Emily Williams’ mouth was almost as bad as nails across a blackboard. Peter stood behind her, a warm and steady presence. He whispered in her ear, “You know you can’t keep them.”
She took a deep breath. Her husband knew just what she was feeling. They went through this with each litter. So she put on a smile and opened the pen where a half dozen puppies frolicked. She picked up a round, squirmy bundle with a blue ribbon tied loosely around its neck. His temporary name was Nathan - and he was the puppy that the Williamses had expressed the most interest in.
Nathan was a rascal and kept trying to lick her face and to break free. Not for the first time did she think he’d be better off called “Neal.” She took him into a small, mostly empty room - the one they kept just for the purposes of introducing the puppies to potential buyers.
She set the puppy on the floor and let the Williamses get to know him. They might have irritated her, but they seemed to have all of the qualities that she and Peter looked for in new owners. Neither Brad nor Emily hesitated to get on the floor with the puppy and engage in all sorts of play. Nathan bit and nipped, and El knew too well how sharp those puppy teeth were, but Brad and Emily seemed to take it in stride, shaking off whatever pain Nathan inadvertently caused.
Then came the ultimate test - Emily was holding the puppy in her lap and he peed. Brad laughed and looked around, finding a roll of paper towels and mopping up - or trying to.
Peter whispered again, “They’ll do.”
Yes, they would.
Emily got up and left Brad playing with Nathan. She made a rueful gesture at her damp jeans. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to this.”
“Yeah - it’s one of the hazards.” El retrieved a spray bottle and a clean washcloth. “Here - this will get rid of the smell.”
Emily spritzed and wiped herself down. “I guess I should stock up on this?” She handed the bottle and cloth back to her, but Peter intercepted, leaving them alone as he took the items away. Emily stuck her hands in her pockets and bit her lip. “Listen - is it possible to spend a little time with Nathan’s mommy?”
“Lady Day, you mean?” El would have been surprised if one of the Williamses hadn’t asked her. “Sure.” She gave a short, sharp whistle and the bitch trotted over to them. Even though the pups had been weaned, her teats were still engorged, but she was the picture of canine health and El couldn’t help the surge of pride.
“May I?” Emily clearly wanted to check out Lady Day’s hips.
El nodded, equally pleased that the women had asked her permission and that she had done research into potential health problems. “Her lineage and that of the puppies’ sire has been scored at no more than nineteen for the past six generations. I have paperwork if you’d like to see.”
“I would - and their eyes?”
“Clear for HC and PRA, also for several generations.” Elizabeth handed her the binder with the breeding paperwork and health certificates.
Emily smiled. “We checked you out - you’ve got an excellent reputation. But we still want to make sure. Getting a puppy is a big deal.”
“Yes it is, and we’ve checked you out, too. We make sure that our puppies go to good homes.”
“And do we pass?”
“Yes - though it was a little touch and go on the ride up. I wasn’t too happy about your husband’s ‘Green Acres’ comment.”
Emily laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Brad can take his urban hipster routine a bit too far. Not everything is ironic.”
Brad appeared, holding the now-sleeping puppy. “You’re kidding, right? You might have turned us away because I made a little joke about your lifestyle choice?”
El wanted to smack the young man, who was apparently clueless. “I can still turn you away. There’s a waiting list for Lady Day’s puppies.” In a quick maneuver, she took Nathan away and put him back in the pen with his litter mates.
Peter reappeared, standing at the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, looking more than a little menacing.
Emily, who Elizabeth had first thought was too young and too meek, pulled Brad to the other side of the room and began to lay down the law. It was hard not to smile as the man almost seemed to shrink into himself. They rejoined Elizabeth and Brad apologized.
El looked over at Peter, who nodded his approval. “Okay.”
“Okay? We’re okay? We can buy Nougat? I mean, Nathan?” There was almost too much hope in Brad’s voice.
“Yes, you can.”
Emily gave a deep sigh of relief. She followed Elizabeth back into the kitchen, leaving Brad with Peter and the puppies.
It took another half hour to finish the paperwork. It wasn’t just a matter of money, although the money was considerable. There was the escrow agreement for the funds the Williams had to deposit. Nathan wasn’t going to be shown or bred, and when they provided her with proof of his neutering, they’d get that deposit back.
Emily, a corporate lawyer, had to read everything and she had a few questions that El was happy to answer. Contracts were signed, money exchanged hands, and little Nathan - now Nougat - was tucked into a box with a towel that smelled of his mother.
Peter drove the Williamses back down to town and El set about the never ending task of cleaning up after the rest of the puppies. In a few weeks, they’d all be gone and the life would return to its usual pace.
The days here, in Silver Lake, were slow and peaceful but not empty. She never regretted selling her business and leaving the life of a sophisticated urbanite behind. It had been harder on Peter, of course, but he had a choice - continue working and risk his long-term health or retire with a full pension and make a new life.
They talked about it for weeks. Nothing was a given, health-wise. He could continue working for years and nothing could happen, or he could retire and be incapacitated in a month. But his doctors cautioned him that ongoing stress might result in a second stroke - this time not so minor.
In the end, the decision was made. They’d both retire and sell the house in Cobble Hill. Over the years, they’d gotten offers for it for - as Peter’d once put it - stupid money. The house had been on the market for a little over a day and they received six offers for money that wasn’t just stupid, it was moronic. Choosing where to settle was actually a lot easier decision than either of them anticipated. A few weeks before the house had sold, she and Peter attended his fortieth high school reunion and she fell in love with the little town where her husband had grown up.
It seemed such an unreasonable thing - to fall in love with a village with a population that was probably less than one entire block of her neighborhood. A place without art galleries or fancy restaurants or museums or any of the amenities that she took for granted.
But she did. And she wanted more than just a pretty house in a small town, she wanted a farm. Not a working one, but a place with space and charm and character. Peter had been quick to tell her that here, character and charm meant leaky roofs and creaky plumbing and spiders (and other wildlife) in the cellar.
She didn’t care. She had plans…
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter dropped the Williamses and their new family member off at their car, still parked in front of the Silver Lake Diner. He helped them get the puppy into the brand new carrier and watched them drive off. He felt a twinge of melancholy. It was always a bit sad when the puppies went off with their new owners - their forever homes as someone he knew would say.
They’d breed Lady Day again in late fall or early winter, no more than one litter a year. Peter knew all the arguments for and against purebred dogs, how it was better to adopt a dog from a shelter if you had no plans on showing. He didn’t disagree, but there were benefits to puppies from reputable and conscientious breeders, too.
He enjoyed his life, it had a nice rhythm. Puppies in the spring. The not-so-small garden in the summer. The canning and pickling and deliveries through the autumn months. And the coziness, the quiet life of winter in the countryside, where most everything was dormant, unless you knew where to look.
Sometimes he felt like a boy again and tramping through the woods on a January afternoon as the sun was beginning its final descent, he could hear his grandfather telling him about his own boyhood encounter with a bear awake out of season.
He’d thought that he’d find this place too small, that coming back here would be a terrible mistake. That El would quickly regret her decision, and he’d regret it too - if just because she was unhappy.
But that unhappiness hadn’t come to pass.
“You coming in or are you going to stand outside like a cigar store Indian for the rest of the day?” Neal called out from the diner’s front door.
Peter had to smile. Neal Caffrey was probably the number one reason why he and Elizabeth were enjoying life in Silver Lake.
Carla had deposited his regular order on the table and waited for them to sit down. "Apple pie a la mode, Peter. Can I get you a refill, Mr. Mayor?"
Neal gave the waitress, who was seventy if she was a day, his best - or in Peter's estimation - his worst smile. "Would love a refill."
Peter looked at Neal's now-filled cup and had to laugh. The Silver Lake Diner's coffee had to be as far from the Italian roast that Neal (and he) had loved, as Neal's plaid flannel shirt was from the custom fitted suits he once wore. "You've been here a while?"
"Long enough to hear about the gullible downstaters who came to buy a puppy."
"Gullible?"
"Yeah, apparently El and Carla had a little fun with them - something about wolves and a kid missing from the Kineskys' herd of goats. Looks like the downstaters passed muster and left happy."
Peter nodded. "It was a close thing. There was a little too much irony for El's tastes, but they seemed to bond well with the puppy and didn't get freaked out when it peed on them."
"El always wants to keep the puppies."
"I know." Peter sighed. "She wants to, but knows that she can't."
"Not even one?"
"Nope - because that will be just the thin edge of the wedge."
Neal nodded. "Know how that goes."
"Sara coming up this weekend?"
"Yeah."
Peter enjoyed the look of utter love and devotion in his friend's eyes. Neal and Sara had an unusual relationship, but it worked for them. And what kept Neal happy had his stamp of approval.
As Peter dug into his pie, a few other Silver Lake residents came into the diner. Of course they had to stop by and chat with the town's mayor. Watching Neal talk and interact with these people was some of the best moments of his day.
Shelly Wendell and her husband, Mark, owned the liquor store down the block, and were apparently having some problems with their garbage disposal. The trash company hired by the county was unwilling to take all of their empty cardboard boxes. The county said they needed to contract privately with a recycling carter.
"That doesn't seem fair - the town sends a truck to pick up at the house, why can't they pick up at the store? Can't you do something?"
Peter couldn't wait to see how Neal answered. He wasn't disappointed.
"I'm afraid that the county's recycling program doesn't cover the commercial district, but maybe I have a solution for you. Danny Stover, over the grocery store, was complaining about the rising cost of plastic bags - it's all about the price of oil. Anyway - why not see if Danny wants to offer boxes for his customers instead of bags. I bet people would like that. Those liquor boxes already have handles and I bet they’re a lot sturdier than plastic. Maybe he'll take them off your hands."
Mark gave a shout of laughter and clapped Neal on the shoulder so hard he almost fell into his coffee. "You're brilliant, Mr. Mayor. I bet you were all but running Sing-Sing by the time you got out."
Neal gave Shelley and Mark a bright grin, and only Peter's long friendship with Neal enabled him to see the tightness in that expression.
Shelley apologized for her husband. "Mark doesn't mean anything by that. Silver Lake was certainly blessed when you decided to leave the bright lights of the big city and settle here."
Neal was not one to take offense, at least not with his voting-age constituents. "It's okay - and probably not all that far from the truth." He checked the time. "You'll have to excuse me - my wife is coming home tonight, and I need to head into Saratoga to pick her up at the train station in a few hours. So I should go home and get things ready, if you know what I mean."
"Most certainly do. We figured Mrs. First Lady was coming back for the holiday weekend when you picked up that bottle of Veuve-Clicquot yesterday. Will she be staying for the parade?"
"Sara wouldn't miss it for the world. She'll be here all week."
Peter somehow doubted that Sara would enjoy sitting in the grandstand and waving as the locals passed by. Or maybe she would.
Neal slid out of the booth and waved Peter off when he reached for his wallet. "I've got this."
The Wendells moved to their own favorite spot in the back of the diner, giving Peter a few more minutes with Neal. "If you two are going to come up for air at any point, how about coming over for dinner before Sara goes back to the city?" Neal ate at their place once or twice a week, but his time with Sara was generally limited to the weekends, so he and Elizabeth rarely got a chance to see them together as a couple.
"I'll ask - and I'm sure she'd love to see the both of you."
"And the puppies." Peter was always amused to see the oh-so-elegant Sara Ellis-Caffrey on her hands and knees, playing with the puppies, getting covered in dog hair and other, less savory things.
"Yes, the puppies. I kind of think that's why she's managed to take a whole week off. Not to spend time with me."
It was Peter's turn to wave off Neal when he went to leave the tip. "I'll tell El to expect you when? Tuesday or Wednesday?"
"Either sounds good, both sound better." Neal squeezed his shoulder and left. Peter watched his old friend saunter to his car - a sturdy, practical vehicle that Peter could never have imagined Neal Caffrey, con-man, thief, sophisticated urbanite and bon vivant, driving. But then, he never could have imagined Neal Caffrey deciding to follow him back to the hinterlands of upstate New York and settle down fifty miles from the nearest art museum.
It was even harder to imagine Neal making such a success of his life here in Silver Lake that he not only ran for mayor of the small town, but he was elected by a landslide. He had never hidden his past and no one in town seemed to hold it against him. In fact, they all seemed sort of proud to have a convicted criminal as their mayor.
And Neal was - not surprisingly - a splendid mayor. He was genuinely interested in the people and their problems, and took a lot of joy in finding creative, and thankfully lawful solutions to those problems.
His cell phone buzzed - it was El. "Hey hon."
"Hey - you get lost?"
"Nah - Neal was here, we were talking and lost track of time."
"You had pie."
"Yes, I had pie. I hope that's not a crime."
"No, but you know what the doctors said."
"Yeah." He was very careful with his diet, but a man had to live a little. "Anyway, Neal tells me that Sara's going to be here for the whole week and I invited them for dinner. Tuesday and/or Wednesday work for you?"
"She wants to see the puppies, right?"
"Of course - the woman has her priorities straight."
"Both nights are fine. I'll make the game hens."
"Sounds good. Anything you need me to pick up before I head home?"
El was silent for a few moments. "I don't think so. Moz dropped off the seedlings and I did a grocery run yesterday. Unless there's something you want, come home."
"Sounds good - see you soon, hon." Peter ended the call, but he sat in the booth, staring out at the parking lot and the light traffic on Main Street. Some people might find it boring, but Peter couldn't imagine anything better than one unremarkable day following another unremarkable day.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Burke Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, OMC, OFC (Peter/Elizabeth, Neal/Sara)
Word Count: ~4000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:
rabidchild Summary: Peter has retired from the FBI, Elizabeth has sold her business and they have settled in Peter's boyhood home town of Silver Lake, in upstate New York. Like the title says, it's the details of unremarkable days.
Author’s Note: Written as an extra for my Fic-Can-Ukah meme for
aragarna. Her prompt was "The details of unremarkable days" and she asked for a story about Peter and Elizabeth. This is the first in a series of four fics in this A/U.Spring
“Hey there, Elizabeth!” Carla the waitress called from the counter before she even got both feet inside the diner. Elizabeth returned the greeting and scanned the small restaurant for a set of faces she only knew from emailed photographs. There, in the booth at the far side of the tiny railroad car-style diner, was the young couple she’d been expecting. They spotted her, too, and waved.
“Brad? Emily?” They nodded. Of course it was Brad and Emily Williams, all the way from Beachhurst, Queens. She took a seat on the other side of the booth, wincing as a broken spring poked her in someplace unmentionable. “Have any trouble finding the place?”
“Nope – your directions were perfect. And yes, Google Maps got it wrong.” Brad, a thirty-something hipster with a well-cultivated scruff, seemed incredulous at that fact. “But we enjoyed the drive and once we got clear of the city, it took us – what – two and a half hours?” He turned to his wife for confirmation.
Emily nodded. “The country up here is so pretty and peaceful. I bet the nights are quiet.”
El decided to have a little fun. “They are – although sometimes the coyotes howling keep us up at night.”
The woman’s eyes grew large. “Coyotes? You have coyotes here?”
“And wolves too – but not this close to town.”
Both of the Williamses looked around, fearful, as if they expected slavering beasts to pop out of the cracked vinyl and dented aluminum panels.
Carla, an inveterate eavesdropper, didn’t hesitate to contribute to the conversation. “Don’t worry, we haven’t had a wolf sighting in daylight in a year or so. Not since the Kineskys' kid disappeared.”
Emily put a hand to her throat like some Victorian heroine and looked like she was about to pass out. “Oh my god, a wolf snatched a child right off the street?”
El was enjoying herself a bit too much, but she relented. “Carla’s pulling your leg. A baby goat went missing – wandered off from the herd. Doubt a wolf was involved.”
The couple looked only slightly relieved.
“Come on – you’ll follow me.”
She waited while the Williamses paid their tab, pleased to see that they left a generous tip for two cups of coffee. That boded well.
The vehicle they came in didn’t. The little Prius was fine for town, but the road up to the farm wasn’t going to be kind on the low-slung car.
“How about you travel with me? The road’s kind of rough, so we’ll bring you back, too.”
Brad looked from his bright blue eco-friendly little vehicle to El’s dirty gray truck with its mud-coated sides and beat-up fenders. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Brad was a gentleman and let his wife ride shotgun. The drive to their farm took about ten minutes, and the poor urbanites couldn’t seem to get over how isolated they were. Emily stared out at the rolling scenery. “It pretty, but I couldn’t stand it. There’s no one here, nothing to do.”
El smiled. “Oh, you get used to it.”
“You weren’t born here?”
“Nope, I’m originally from Illinois, but I lived in New York City for most of my life. My husband and I moved up here from Brooklyn about six years ago.”
They gaped at her. “You gave up Brooklyn for this?”
El concentrated on the road – what there was of it. The past winter had been unkind to the area, washing out stretches of pavement and even a bridge – which had just been fixed last week. “We did and we don’t regret it.”
“Really?” Brad seemed to find that incomprehensible.
“Yeah. My husband and I decided that we wanted a quieter, simpler life.”
“Getting back to the land? Like Green Acres?” Brad asked.
“No, I wouldn’t put it that way.” El didn’t like the slight note of contempt in the man’s voice. He might end up going home unhappy if he didn’t watch himself. “My husband’s a retired FBI agent – he once ran the entire Manhattan field office.”
That seemed to take the wind out of Brad’s sails.
The country lane opened up to a long, sweeping driveway, with the lovely old farmhouse just to the left of the curve. It might have been early May, but there was still a nip in the air and woodsmoke curled from the chimney.
“Aw, Brad - it looks like a postcard.”
El winced at Emily’s cooing. She parked the truck and led them into the house via the kitchen. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, working on his laptop. He looked up and smiled at her. “Hey, hon.”
She smiled back at the familiar greeting, leaned over and kissed his cheek, “Hey hon.”
Peter looked over her shoulder, spotting Brad and Emily. “You must be the Williamses.”
Brad held out his hand, “Yes - um - and you’re Mr. Burke - Agent Burke?”
El laughed and caught Peter’s puzzled look - she’d have fun with this later. Peter said, “Just Peter. I’m retired.”
The couple stood there, so ill at ease it was almost painful to watch. El made no move to be a good hostess. But Peter had enough manners for both of them. “Would you like a cold drink, some coffee?”
“No, we’re fine - had coffee and pie at the diner.”
“Ah, the diner. Their pie is something - what did you have?”
“Apple - is there any other kind of pie worth having?” Emily answered.
Peter nodded, as if in agreement. As if that answer mattered to him.
El finally decided to get this show moving. “I guess you’d like to see him.”
Emily clutched at her husband’s arm and they both nodded so hard she wondered if their heads would fall off.
“Well, then follow me.” Elizabeth led them into the den, where Lady Day, their golden retriever bitch was keeping court.
“Awwww.”
El cringed. The sound that came out of Emily Williams’ mouth was almost as bad as nails across a blackboard. Peter stood behind her, a warm and steady presence. He whispered in her ear, “You know you can’t keep them.”
She took a deep breath. Her husband knew just what she was feeling. They went through this with each litter. So she put on a smile and opened the pen where a half dozen puppies frolicked. She picked up a round, squirmy bundle with a blue ribbon tied loosely around its neck. His temporary name was Nathan - and he was the puppy that the Williamses had expressed the most interest in.
Nathan was a rascal and kept trying to lick her face and to break free. Not for the first time did she think he’d be better off called “Neal.” She took him into a small, mostly empty room - the one they kept just for the purposes of introducing the puppies to potential buyers.
She set the puppy on the floor and let the Williamses get to know him. They might have irritated her, but they seemed to have all of the qualities that she and Peter looked for in new owners. Neither Brad nor Emily hesitated to get on the floor with the puppy and engage in all sorts of play. Nathan bit and nipped, and El knew too well how sharp those puppy teeth were, but Brad and Emily seemed to take it in stride, shaking off whatever pain Nathan inadvertently caused.
Then came the ultimate test - Emily was holding the puppy in her lap and he peed. Brad laughed and looked around, finding a roll of paper towels and mopping up - or trying to.
Peter whispered again, “They’ll do.”
Yes, they would.
Emily got up and left Brad playing with Nathan. She made a rueful gesture at her damp jeans. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to this.”
“Yeah - it’s one of the hazards.” El retrieved a spray bottle and a clean washcloth. “Here - this will get rid of the smell.”
Emily spritzed and wiped herself down. “I guess I should stock up on this?” She handed the bottle and cloth back to her, but Peter intercepted, leaving them alone as he took the items away. Emily stuck her hands in her pockets and bit her lip. “Listen - is it possible to spend a little time with Nathan’s mommy?”
“Lady Day, you mean?” El would have been surprised if one of the Williamses hadn’t asked her. “Sure.” She gave a short, sharp whistle and the bitch trotted over to them. Even though the pups had been weaned, her teats were still engorged, but she was the picture of canine health and El couldn’t help the surge of pride.
“May I?” Emily clearly wanted to check out Lady Day’s hips.
El nodded, equally pleased that the women had asked her permission and that she had done research into potential health problems. “Her lineage and that of the puppies’ sire has been scored at no more than nineteen for the past six generations. I have paperwork if you’d like to see.”
“I would - and their eyes?”
“Clear for HC and PRA, also for several generations.” Elizabeth handed her the binder with the breeding paperwork and health certificates.
Emily smiled. “We checked you out - you’ve got an excellent reputation. But we still want to make sure. Getting a puppy is a big deal.”
“Yes it is, and we’ve checked you out, too. We make sure that our puppies go to good homes.”
“And do we pass?”
“Yes - though it was a little touch and go on the ride up. I wasn’t too happy about your husband’s ‘Green Acres’ comment.”
Emily laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Brad can take his urban hipster routine a bit too far. Not everything is ironic.”
Brad appeared, holding the now-sleeping puppy. “You’re kidding, right? You might have turned us away because I made a little joke about your lifestyle choice?”
El wanted to smack the young man, who was apparently clueless. “I can still turn you away. There’s a waiting list for Lady Day’s puppies.” In a quick maneuver, she took Nathan away and put him back in the pen with his litter mates.
Peter reappeared, standing at the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, looking more than a little menacing.
Emily, who Elizabeth had first thought was too young and too meek, pulled Brad to the other side of the room and began to lay down the law. It was hard not to smile as the man almost seemed to shrink into himself. They rejoined Elizabeth and Brad apologized.
El looked over at Peter, who nodded his approval. “Okay.”
“Okay? We’re okay? We can buy Nougat? I mean, Nathan?” There was almost too much hope in Brad’s voice.
“Yes, you can.”
Emily gave a deep sigh of relief. She followed Elizabeth back into the kitchen, leaving Brad with Peter and the puppies.
It took another half hour to finish the paperwork. It wasn’t just a matter of money, although the money was considerable. There was the escrow agreement for the funds the Williams had to deposit. Nathan wasn’t going to be shown or bred, and when they provided her with proof of his neutering, they’d get that deposit back.
Emily, a corporate lawyer, had to read everything and she had a few questions that El was happy to answer. Contracts were signed, money exchanged hands, and little Nathan - now Nougat - was tucked into a box with a towel that smelled of his mother.
Peter drove the Williamses back down to town and El set about the never ending task of cleaning up after the rest of the puppies. In a few weeks, they’d all be gone and the life would return to its usual pace.
The days here, in Silver Lake, were slow and peaceful but not empty. She never regretted selling her business and leaving the life of a sophisticated urbanite behind. It had been harder on Peter, of course, but he had a choice - continue working and risk his long-term health or retire with a full pension and make a new life.
They talked about it for weeks. Nothing was a given, health-wise. He could continue working for years and nothing could happen, or he could retire and be incapacitated in a month. But his doctors cautioned him that ongoing stress might result in a second stroke - this time not so minor.
In the end, the decision was made. They’d both retire and sell the house in Cobble Hill. Over the years, they’d gotten offers for it for - as Peter’d once put it - stupid money. The house had been on the market for a little over a day and they received six offers for money that wasn’t just stupid, it was moronic. Choosing where to settle was actually a lot easier decision than either of them anticipated. A few weeks before the house had sold, she and Peter attended his fortieth high school reunion and she fell in love with the little town where her husband had grown up.
It seemed such an unreasonable thing - to fall in love with a village with a population that was probably less than one entire block of her neighborhood. A place without art galleries or fancy restaurants or museums or any of the amenities that she took for granted.
But she did. And she wanted more than just a pretty house in a small town, she wanted a farm. Not a working one, but a place with space and charm and character. Peter had been quick to tell her that here, character and charm meant leaky roofs and creaky plumbing and spiders (and other wildlife) in the cellar.
She didn’t care. She had plans…
Peter dropped the Williamses and their new family member off at their car, still parked in front of the Silver Lake Diner. He helped them get the puppy into the brand new carrier and watched them drive off. He felt a twinge of melancholy. It was always a bit sad when the puppies went off with their new owners - their forever homes as someone he knew would say.
They’d breed Lady Day again in late fall or early winter, no more than one litter a year. Peter knew all the arguments for and against purebred dogs, how it was better to adopt a dog from a shelter if you had no plans on showing. He didn’t disagree, but there were benefits to puppies from reputable and conscientious breeders, too.
He enjoyed his life, it had a nice rhythm. Puppies in the spring. The not-so-small garden in the summer. The canning and pickling and deliveries through the autumn months. And the coziness, the quiet life of winter in the countryside, where most everything was dormant, unless you knew where to look.
Sometimes he felt like a boy again and tramping through the woods on a January afternoon as the sun was beginning its final descent, he could hear his grandfather telling him about his own boyhood encounter with a bear awake out of season.
He’d thought that he’d find this place too small, that coming back here would be a terrible mistake. That El would quickly regret her decision, and he’d regret it too - if just because she was unhappy.
But that unhappiness hadn’t come to pass.
“You coming in or are you going to stand outside like a cigar store Indian for the rest of the day?” Neal called out from the diner’s front door.
Peter had to smile. Neal Caffrey was probably the number one reason why he and Elizabeth were enjoying life in Silver Lake.
Carla had deposited his regular order on the table and waited for them to sit down. "Apple pie a la mode, Peter. Can I get you a refill, Mr. Mayor?"
Neal gave the waitress, who was seventy if she was a day, his best - or in Peter's estimation - his worst smile. "Would love a refill."
Peter looked at Neal's now-filled cup and had to laugh. The Silver Lake Diner's coffee had to be as far from the Italian roast that Neal (and he) had loved, as Neal's plaid flannel shirt was from the custom fitted suits he once wore. "You've been here a while?"
"Long enough to hear about the gullible downstaters who came to buy a puppy."
"Gullible?"
"Yeah, apparently El and Carla had a little fun with them - something about wolves and a kid missing from the Kineskys' herd of goats. Looks like the downstaters passed muster and left happy."
Peter nodded. "It was a close thing. There was a little too much irony for El's tastes, but they seemed to bond well with the puppy and didn't get freaked out when it peed on them."
"El always wants to keep the puppies."
"I know." Peter sighed. "She wants to, but knows that she can't."
"Not even one?"
"Nope - because that will be just the thin edge of the wedge."
Neal nodded. "Know how that goes."
"Sara coming up this weekend?"
"Yeah."
Peter enjoyed the look of utter love and devotion in his friend's eyes. Neal and Sara had an unusual relationship, but it worked for them. And what kept Neal happy had his stamp of approval.
As Peter dug into his pie, a few other Silver Lake residents came into the diner. Of course they had to stop by and chat with the town's mayor. Watching Neal talk and interact with these people was some of the best moments of his day.
Shelly Wendell and her husband, Mark, owned the liquor store down the block, and were apparently having some problems with their garbage disposal. The trash company hired by the county was unwilling to take all of their empty cardboard boxes. The county said they needed to contract privately with a recycling carter.
"That doesn't seem fair - the town sends a truck to pick up at the house, why can't they pick up at the store? Can't you do something?"
Peter couldn't wait to see how Neal answered. He wasn't disappointed.
"I'm afraid that the county's recycling program doesn't cover the commercial district, but maybe I have a solution for you. Danny Stover, over the grocery store, was complaining about the rising cost of plastic bags - it's all about the price of oil. Anyway - why not see if Danny wants to offer boxes for his customers instead of bags. I bet people would like that. Those liquor boxes already have handles and I bet they’re a lot sturdier than plastic. Maybe he'll take them off your hands."
Mark gave a shout of laughter and clapped Neal on the shoulder so hard he almost fell into his coffee. "You're brilliant, Mr. Mayor. I bet you were all but running Sing-Sing by the time you got out."
Neal gave Shelley and Mark a bright grin, and only Peter's long friendship with Neal enabled him to see the tightness in that expression.
Shelley apologized for her husband. "Mark doesn't mean anything by that. Silver Lake was certainly blessed when you decided to leave the bright lights of the big city and settle here."
Neal was not one to take offense, at least not with his voting-age constituents. "It's okay - and probably not all that far from the truth." He checked the time. "You'll have to excuse me - my wife is coming home tonight, and I need to head into Saratoga to pick her up at the train station in a few hours. So I should go home and get things ready, if you know what I mean."
"Most certainly do. We figured Mrs. First Lady was coming back for the holiday weekend when you picked up that bottle of Veuve-Clicquot yesterday. Will she be staying for the parade?"
"Sara wouldn't miss it for the world. She'll be here all week."
Peter somehow doubted that Sara would enjoy sitting in the grandstand and waving as the locals passed by. Or maybe she would.
Neal slid out of the booth and waved Peter off when he reached for his wallet. "I've got this."
The Wendells moved to their own favorite spot in the back of the diner, giving Peter a few more minutes with Neal. "If you two are going to come up for air at any point, how about coming over for dinner before Sara goes back to the city?" Neal ate at their place once or twice a week, but his time with Sara was generally limited to the weekends, so he and Elizabeth rarely got a chance to see them together as a couple.
"I'll ask - and I'm sure she'd love to see the both of you."
"And the puppies." Peter was always amused to see the oh-so-elegant Sara Ellis-Caffrey on her hands and knees, playing with the puppies, getting covered in dog hair and other, less savory things.
"Yes, the puppies. I kind of think that's why she's managed to take a whole week off. Not to spend time with me."
It was Peter's turn to wave off Neal when he went to leave the tip. "I'll tell El to expect you when? Tuesday or Wednesday?"
"Either sounds good, both sound better." Neal squeezed his shoulder and left. Peter watched his old friend saunter to his car - a sturdy, practical vehicle that Peter could never have imagined Neal Caffrey, con-man, thief, sophisticated urbanite and bon vivant, driving. But then, he never could have imagined Neal Caffrey deciding to follow him back to the hinterlands of upstate New York and settle down fifty miles from the nearest art museum.
It was even harder to imagine Neal making such a success of his life here in Silver Lake that he not only ran for mayor of the small town, but he was elected by a landslide. He had never hidden his past and no one in town seemed to hold it against him. In fact, they all seemed sort of proud to have a convicted criminal as their mayor.
And Neal was - not surprisingly - a splendid mayor. He was genuinely interested in the people and their problems, and took a lot of joy in finding creative, and thankfully lawful solutions to those problems.
His cell phone buzzed - it was El. "Hey hon."
"Hey - you get lost?"
"Nah - Neal was here, we were talking and lost track of time."
"You had pie."
"Yes, I had pie. I hope that's not a crime."
"No, but you know what the doctors said."
"Yeah." He was very careful with his diet, but a man had to live a little. "Anyway, Neal tells me that Sara's going to be here for the whole week and I invited them for dinner. Tuesday and/or Wednesday work for you?"
"She wants to see the puppies, right?"
"Of course - the woman has her priorities straight."
"Both nights are fine. I'll make the game hens."
"Sounds good. Anything you need me to pick up before I head home?"
El was silent for a few moments. "I don't think so. Moz dropped off the seedlings and I did a grocery run yesterday. Unless there's something you want, come home."
"Sounds good - see you soon, hon." Peter ended the call, but he sat in the booth, staring out at the parking lot and the light traffic on Main Street. Some people might find it boring, but Peter couldn't imagine anything better than one unremarkable day following another unremarkable day.
Tags:
no subject
Date: 2019-10-29 01:25 pm (UTC)