Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels by Mindy Starns Clark

gave me privacy and water access without a million-dollar mortgage.
    As I neared my turnoff, I called Lindsey, the teenager who always kept my dog when I was traveling. She was surprised to hear from me so soon but said she would have Sal ready to go when I got there.
    Lindsey was as good as her word, and after a quick, two-minute stop, I proceeded to my house with Sal on my lap. She was a good dog, very tiny but not nervous the way so many toy breeds tended to be. She loved riding in the car, and right now she was also happy to have me back.
    There was one light on in the house when we got home, the lamp in the front room I kept on a timer. Otherwise, the place was quiet and dark. I didn’t mind. I found the solitude peaceful and welcoming.
    I flipped on lights as we came in, working my way down the hall to my bedroom at the end. I put my pumps away, took off the suit I had worn all day, and slipped into sweatpants and a warm sweatshirt. I felt weary but wired, and I couldn’t believe I had started the day in a graveyard in Nashville. What a lot had happened since then!
    I went back to the kitchen and heated some canned soup for myself and scooped some dog food on a plate for Sal. My kitchen was wide and functional, with a door to the carport on one side and a sliding glass door that led to the deck on the other. On summer days I could pull a wonderful breeze all the way through. Now that the days were getting colder, however, I wouldn’t be doing that for a while.
    The rest of the house was simple and cozy, its rooms all in a row from front to back. First there was the wide front room with a fireplace, couches, and chairs; then the kitchen with its access to the big wrap-around deck; then the back bedroom, with a small adjoining bathroom. The second bedroom, which I used as an office, jutted out from the side of the house on the right, and I had a feeling it had been added to the cottage’s original structure at a later date.
    Outside, I used the “L” shape of the house to form two sides of a play yard for my dog. I had placed a neat little dog house in the corner and then fenced in the other two sides, putting the gate right next to the carport. In comparison with most of my wealthy neighbors, my home was quite small, but I loved it and found it big enough for my simple needs.
    In the kitchen was a perfectly good table and chairs, but now I ate my dinner standing at the counter, still feeling edgy. After Sal and I had both finished eating, I let her out and then washed my dishes, flipped through my mail, and checked my phone messages.
    There was nothing there from Tom. I walked down the hall to my home office, turned on the computer, and went online to answer my e-mail. There was nothing from Tom there, either.
    I tried calling his cell, his office, and his home phone numbers, but there was no answer at any of them. My frustration surged as I hung up the phone. What was going on with him? What was the emergency, and exactly when was he going to be able to get back to me?
    For the first time, I felt truly cut off from him. It made me realize that no matter how much I liked Tom, no matter how well we got along over the telephone, in the end I was just another employee. When this emergency arose—whatever the nature of it was—he was simply off and gone. That I could understand, of course, but what hurt my feelings was the lack of personal contact afterward. I had thought we were more to each other than that.
    I stood and crossed the hall into the bedroom, intending to change into a nightgown and go to bed. The more I dug through my nightgown drawer, however, the more upset I became. Finally, I slammed the drawer shut, went to the closest, and started digging for some warm clothes, plus gloves, a scarf, a hat, and a big, strong flashlight.
    With everything that was on my mind, I was never going to get to sleep tonight. If I was going to feel this way all evening, I decided, I might as well accomplish something useful