Family Affair by Caprice Crane Read Free Book Online Page A

her happily, though her lottery guess is the closer of the two. I’m also thinking this
is
good news, because it hasn’t even sunk in yet and my face is already advertising. “Are you sitting down?” I ask her, even though she’s standing one foot in front of me.
    Trish gets that look she always has when I’m not getting to the point—or, rather, when I’m dragging something out because Ijust might have really freakin’ amazingly good news and can’t verbalize it. “What
is
it?” she demands.
    “That was PETCO,” I say, trying to contain my grin enough to produce the rest of the sentence.
    “No!” she says.
    “Yes,” I say.
    “Really?” she says.
    “Really,” I say.
    “And?”
    But then the buzzer rings, cutting me off, and in walks an incredibly tall, undernourished man, probably around fifty, his almost equally tall and pencil-like wife, and six greyhounds.
    “Hi,” Trish says, as she ushers in the couple and their similarly starved brood. I can’t decide who’s leaner. I know greyhounds are lithe and lean to begin with, but this family is like a mob of animated stick figures.
    “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” the woman says. “We just left the animal communicator, and we called seven other pet photographers before we finally got you.”
    “Well, it’s no problem
squeezing all of you in
,” Trish quips, and I shoot her a look that I hope says,
These are not the things we say to people, Trish. These are the things we say about people once they’ve left the room
. Geesh, is she going for the Brooke award?
    “Perseverance,” I speak up, trying to deflect from her comment. “If at first you don’t succeed, try and try … the Yellow Pages. And other sayings of the like. Does anyone use the Yellow Pages anymore?”
    “We normally like to meet with the pets and people a week before the photo shoot, so we can get a feel for the animals—their personalities, and also their relationships with their owners,” Trish inserts. “This type of same-day deal isn’t our norm.” She wasn’t so pleased when I okayed the shoot a half hour earlier, but the couple sounded so desperate that I didn’t want to let themdown. Now, with her curiosity boiling out about PETCO, she is
en fuego
.
    “Anyway,” I deflect again, “who do we have here?”
    The man clears his throat. “This is Lucinda. That’s Cally. Hermes. Rocco. Dante. And that’s Wilhelmina.”
    “Are they allowed treats?” I ask, reaching for the cookie jar.
    “No!” both the man and woman shout simultaneously, with a conjoined look that’s like a hot curling iron held at my throat. I immediately withdraw.
    “As I was saying,” the woman huffs. She pats Hermes. At least I think it’s Hermes, but they all moved, so it could be Wilhelmina. “The animal communicator told us that our babies feel left out.
Very
left out. They want to be on holiday cards. They feel that as family members it is a slap in the snoot for them to not be included in our annual photo session.”
    “So wait,” Trish interjects. “You take pictures of you and your children each year? And make those into cards?”
    “These
are
our children,” corrects the woman, as she gestures toward the dogs.
    “Of course they are,” I say.
    “Okay. Wait, wait. So, you guys take pictures of just the
two
of you? And you send those out every year as holiday cards?”
    “That’s what they said, Trish,” I remark a little more aggressively before turning back to the couple. “I totally understand how they feel. And we will rectify that immediately. This year, these gorgeous creatures will be opening at a mailbox near you! Right, Lucinda?”
    “That’s Dante,” says the father.
Dammit, the dogs moved again
.
    “Could you excuse us for a minute?” Trish asks the Skinnys, and before she even gets a response, she drags me into the next room—which is perfectly fine with me, as my brain is itching because I’m so desperate to tell her the incredible