Page 18 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

PEPé-THE-DOG

Beckett

I get a text from my father early in the morning.

I’m at the airport. Come pick me up.

- Gregory

Picking him up takes up the rest of my day because of traffic.When we finally get home, my father immediately drops his suitcase in the middle of our kitchen, stares into the fridge for a little more than a minute, then walks away, leaving the door wide open.

I move quickly to close it and take off my t-shirt, feeling the urge to scratch at the tattoo on my chest. The black lines forming Lucia’s name written over my skin are thin and delicate, a perfect tracing of her cursive handwriting.

The idea came to me after finding a letter she wrote to Santa Klaus back when we were kids. Her biggest wish at the time had been Pepé, but we only managed to get the dog a year after that. Mom wouldn’t allow her to adopt a pet if she wasn’t serious about taking care of it, and I…

I really hated the idea of a dog. Dogs can be incredibly overbearing. It took me a while to come around.

“Where’s the orange soda?” Gregory asks, half-expecting a glass to appear out of thin air.

God, I sometimes wish I had a camera recording all the dumb shit people like to say to me. Why would I buy something I don’t even like to drink?

My father might have spent his early years in life as a skin-and-bones boy from a middle class-family, but he hasn’t bothered checking his bank account in over two decades.

Marrying my mother wasn’t just a fresh start; it was a way to bury the past and take a chance at a life he always thought he deserved.

He is by far the most entitled person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet.

“I don’t like orange soda.” I close the fridge, swallowing down my annoyance. “But there’s orange juice if you want.”

“Who doesn’t like orange soda?”

I stare at him, answering dryly, “Me.”

He rolls the long sleeves of his suit up with precision, taking the time to wash his hands before shooting me a long look. The water is warm enough to create some steam. It rises from the sink, floating in the air.

“At what time are we seeing the detective?”

“Monday at eight.”

“Right.” He dries his hands with a napkin, glaring at the dog when Pepé tries to sniff his feet. “Let’s hope this is a one-and-done type of thing.”

“It will be.”

My father spits out, “I already don’t like his face.”

“I don’t either, but I think it’ll be pretty quick,” I reassure him, taking Pepé by the collar and pulling him towards me instead. “They just want to close the case.”

“I told you trusting these people was useless, Beckett. They don’t care about her reputation.” He glares at me, and with the sunlight coming from the window reflecting on his face, his blue eyes seem brighter. “But you’re just so stubborn, you never listen to me.”

“Don’t act like I wasn’t doing a good thing.” I open the back door to let Pepé outside. He hesitates before leaving, as if sensing the tension in the room. “I was only looking out for Lou.”

Dad’s mouth twists downwards, his disapproval still apparent. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

I watch Lucia’s dog run into our yard. Pepé stops around our pool, trying to catch a fallen leaf that’s just above the surface.

“I guess you’re right. The whole thing was pointless,” I answer with a shrug, trying not to let his words get to me too much. “They couldn’t find any other leads.”

Gregory sighs, still staring at me with the kind of exasperation I’ve gotten used to. Coming from my father, this is normal treatment.

“How’s Mom?” I shift awkwardly, not knowing what to do with myself.

“She’s better.” He takes off his suit, dropping it against the dining table. When Dad looks at me again, his gaze soften. “I understand that you don’t want to leave yet, but I just don’t get why you’re keeping the dog.”

I frown. “What?”

“It’s too much work for you. You’re not consistent,” he points out. “What happens when you get too focused with working at the farm and forget to come home again?”

It happened a few times before, but I never slept at Well’s. Actually, I got home late and forgot to do my chores. When I get in the zone, it’s too easy to ignore the rest of the world. Unless I’m keeping a strict routine, my work rhythm is pretty much a mess.

“But he’s our dog, Dad.” I meet his gaze, feeling uncertain.

Though I’m not surprised by his reaction to Pepé being here, I don’t understand where this is all coming from.

Keeping Lucia’s dog was never a problem before.

“Pepé belonged to Lucia,” I add, willing him to understand that I’m not about to give the golden retriever away.

He looks at me like I’ve just spoken in another language.

“Just give the damn dog away to some kid in town, Beckett.”

Pepé barks outside, happily chasing a blue butterfly. I grin despite myself, ignoring the annoyance I feel about his very last comment.

“I want him gone by tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, no,” I snort lightly, trying not to get heated about it. “I’m keeping the dog.”

“Who’s taking care of him?” Gregory’s voice hardens, pressing the issue. “When you’re out there, working at your farm with that old man? I won’t be cleaning up poop off the floor while I’m here, understand?”

“Okay. First of all, it’s not my farm; it’s Well’s.

Second, Pepé doesn’t poop inside ever,” I try to correct him.

The audacity of this man, of thinking he can dictate anything about our lives now, is mind-blowing.

“If it comes down to it, I’ll figure something out.

I can find someone to watch him when I’m not around so you don’t have to. ”

I’ll do whatever it takes, but I’m not about to give Lucia’s pet away. All Pepé has ever known is this house; abandoning him is the most irresponsible, heartless thing I could ever do to him.

My father probably doesn’t understand the attachment Lucia and I feel towards Pepé because everything is just a commodity to him.

He is not a very sentimental man. I don’t think his upbringing allowed him to care about anything other than survival.

Unless the dog is made out of money, his presence is clearly not a necessity.

“Alright, he’s your problem now,”Gregory emphasizes. When I don’t say anything else, he laughs, opens up the fridge again, and grabs the orange juice. “What, am I your fucking babysitter now?”

Too tired to keep arguing about it, I quickly decide to drop the case entirely. A burning headache is creeping in at the back of my skull, latching in a slow, relentless way.

“I’ll work harder,” I say.

“You better,” he sighs and takes out the orange juice from the freezer. “Can you believe your cousin Aaron managed to fuck up our collaboration with the Carltons? He doesn’t have a clue in the world.”

“Right.”

Watching him move around the house, taking up space, acting like he belongs here all of a sudden, stirs the worst visceral reaction in me. It’s an emotion that I can’t quite control. Suddenly, I become a thirteen-year-old boy again, harboring anger against the world, but mostly at him.

The way Lucia and I grew up, in this cold, unwelcoming place we like to call home, is entirely his fault.

He built us that way, keeping us and our mother at arm’s length.

I’m sure they once loved each other, at least at the very beginning, but after I was born it all went to shit. I’m too imperfect for him.

The worst thing you can do to someone who loves you isn’t hating them. It’s never loving them enough in return. Gregory made sure I learned that from an early age. I’d rather die than to grow old to become a man like him.

“You’d be a much better option, Beckett.” He fills his cup and gestures at me. “You’re reliable and serious. You’re not one to mess around.”

“Of course,” I nod, trying to remember whether I should be worried about Aaron not managing the job or not. He is a negotiator, much like my father is. I don’t have a clue about contracts, and I don’t want to be part of the family’s business. “He’ll figure it out, right?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Gregory chuckles. “It’s a fifteen million dollar contract.”

My phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Tony: Meet U At the?

The Usual Spot*

Need A Break From Hpme

Home*

Me: I’ll be there

Tony: K.

thx

“I’m headed out.” I motion towards the door, shoulders dropping. This conversation makes me feel so defeated. “Antony is waiting for me.”

My father frowns. “Fine. Be safe.”

“I will.”

I hand him my spare house keys, grab my surfboard and flip-flops, and walk out. He doesn’t call after me to ask how I’m doing because it doesn’t matter. It never has before, and it’s definitely not going to change now.